To Dolly, hovering near the kitchen door, looking like she’d leap out of her skin if anyone raised their voice.
My brain pulls at threads, weaving everything together.
The affair Vivienne bragged about, the embezzlement, the hush money, the leverage, the speeches, the desperation.
Something clicks into place with a terrible, satisfying snap, and my blood runs cold.
“I think I know who it is,” I whisper.
Greer steps closer, eyes wide, the crimson at her chest glowing brighter. “Lottie?”
Percy’s feathers puff up, tail fanning in anticipation. “Well? Don’t leaveushanging, Lottie Lemon. Who killed Mother Vivi?”
I lock my phone, sliding it into my clutch.
The Mothers of Honey Hollow laugh and sip punch, completely oblivious to the terror among them. Meanwhile, I’ve just figured out who killed Vivienne Pemberton-Clarke.
She’s here.
In this garden.
And I’m about to confront her.
LOTTIE
Istep out of the shadow of the lattice archway and back into the sunshine, and for a moment, I just breathe in the afternoon.
Spring has fully arrived in Honey Hollow. Tulips and daffodils everywhere, the smell of fresh cut grass mixing with something sweet—lilac, maybe, or the honeysuckle climbing the fountain trellis. Birds are going wild in the maple trees overhead, the sun is warm, and women’s laughter floats across the lawn, mixing with clinking glasses and soft jazz from hidden speakers.
It’s perfect and beautiful.
And I’m about to ruin it by accusing someone of murder.
Percy lands on my shoulder, his spectral form shimmering in the sunlight. “So what’s the plan, Lottie Lemon? Dramatic accusation? Citizen’s arrest? A strongly worded letter? A strongly worded Jell-O salad?”
“I need to call Noah and Everett,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. “I need to get them here before?—”
“Lottie Lemon!”
I freeze solid.
Midge Thornbury walks toward me with her butter yellowdress swishing around her knees, her dimpled smile firmly in place. She’s carrying a tray of her day-glow banana pudding cups and looks ready and willing to shove one down my throat. Not that I would mind, but I would never tell her that.
I can’t help but frown at those orange-hued wonders.
“Midge! Hi.” I slip my phone back into my pocket and smile. “The party is gorgeous. You must be so proud of how everything came together.”
“Oh, it’s been wonderful.” Midge shifts the tray slightly. “And the weather cooperated perfectly. Your mother is a saint for hosting.”
“She’ll be thrilled to hear that.” I take a breath.“Um, I keep forgetting to tell you that I have your husband at my home.” I wince. “I mean, his remains, the rocks?My mother told me what they were. I found the blue velvet box after you left the community center after the casserole and Jell-O competition, and I keep forgetting to give them to you.”
Midge’s smile falters. She looks away, and her expression tightens into a frown. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “That’s kind of you to hold on to him. He always did love a pretty woman.” She’s silent for a moment, then seems to shake it off before her dimpled smile returns. “I just had to tell you,” she says, stopping in front of me, “I tried your banana pudding. The one Suze brought in?”
“Oh?” I force a smile. “What did you think?”
“Well.” She tilts her head, her smile sharpening just slightly. “It’s very, very rustic. You know, homemade in thatI tried my bestkind of way.” She laughs, a tinkling sound that makes my teeth clench. “Oh, don’t you worry. Not everyone can achieve perfection, dear. Some of us are just naturally gifted.”
Heat floods my chest, and my hands curl into fists. I’m not one to choose violence, but everything in me is screaming choose violence.
