Percy lets out a ghostly cackle. “Oh, this is delightful. Ten out of ten. Root beer floats and a killer for all!” He gives a lively squawk, and I shoot him a look.
Carlotta and I are briskly escorted to the door by security while Francine Dundee wrings root beer out of her massive bun, and half the room watches with snickers and giggles. I catch Mom’s eye as we’re being herded out. She’s pushing the boys in the stroller and trying very hard not to laugh.
Outside, the clouds have opened up. Rain pours down in thick sheets, drumming against the roof.
Carlotta and I stand there, watching water stream off the edges.
“Well,” Carlotta says cheerfully, adjusting her now damp victory rolls, “that could’ve gone worse.”
“We got kicked out.”
“But you got intel. And an invitation to a mysterious meeting in Leeds.” She grins. “I’d call that a win.”
I look down at the card in my hand.
The Velvet Lounge. 7p.m.
Percy appears on the stone railing, rain passing right through his spectral form. “Do be careful, LottieLemon. People who know where bodies are buried usually know how to add to the collection.”
“Noted.”
But I’m going anyway.
Because somewhere in this town, a killer is walking around in pearls and a perfect smile, thinking they got away with murder.
And tonight, in a lounge in Leeds, I might just get the answers I need to prove them very, very wrong.
LOTTIE
No sooner did Carlotta and I get kicked out of Evergreen Manor—still damp from the great root beer fountain incident—than my phone started buzzing.
The caller ID readHONEY HOLLOW PRESCHOOL.
Turns out, Carlotta wasn’t the only family member kicked out on her ear today. Lyla Nell had organized what Miss Moody called a hostile takeover of the classroom. She’d divided the children into teams, assigned roles without consent, and when several refused to participate in her block tower mega house, she told them they were fired from preschool. Three children cried. One wet himself. Another demanded to speak to his parents’ lawyer.
Miss Moody suspended her until Friday.
Suspended. From preschool. My baby girl!
I picked up my tiny dictator, who seemed genuinely confused about why beingda bosswas a problem, and headed home with Carlotta and the twins in tow.
No sooner do I stand in the driveway than Noah’s truck and Everett’s sedan pull up at the very same time.
Both men climb out looking as if they’ve had the kind of daythat requires either copious amounts of liquor or an attorney. Possibly both.
“Hey,” I call out as they make their way over. “Rough day?”
“You could say that,” Noah mutters, walking toward his mailbox.
Everett comes over and greets me with a kiss before heading to our mailbox as well. And they both stop dead.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, setting Corbin’s car seat on the porch.
“Come see this,” Everett says, and his tone suggests I really, really don’t want to.
I make my way over, and the smell hits me like a wall made of all things stinky. It smells rank and briny, and a stench that makes you question your nose’s ability to ever recover.
Both mailboxes are hanging open. Both are stuffed with mail. And sitting on top of each pile is what looks like a dead fish.
