Page 29 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

“Oh no,” I moan because, let’s face it, I’ve trained to spot a Carlotta catastrophe a light year away.

As Fondu takes her first tentative step down, Carlotta makes a sweeping gesture that sends her martinis flying—right onto the pony in front of her.

The animal rears onto its hind legs, its unicorn horn tilting precariously before he launches into the air like a glittery missile with a magnificent rainbow mane.

The tiny horse takes off with a start and screams abound, and Vivian unleashes an entire litany of unholy expletives—some far more creative than I have ever heard Carlotta string out and that’s saying a lot.

The crowd screams.

The birthday girl screams.

At least six different waiters make a mad dash after the rainbow-colored cutie, soon followed by several of the mothers, then an entire herd of children, and before we know it, the entire party has devolved into a chaotic conga line led by the quasi-mythical creature.

Keegan tosses her bouquet aside and lifts her dress at the knees as if she, too, were about to engage in a full-blown sprint. But before she can take a step, the unhinged unicorn dives right into the seven-tiered birthday cake with a satisfying thud.

The cake explodes, the conga line comes to an abrupt stop, causing the masses to tumble backward like a row of perfectly set dominos, and more expletives ring out all around.

“My masterpiece of a party!” Vivian wails as she shakes her fists at the sky. Then in three angry stomps she lands in front of the mother of all this destruction, none other than my own biological mother, Carlotta. “YOU!” Vivian’s scream could shatter crystal.

Carlotta backs away with her hands raised in surrender. “In my defense, that unicorn is a boozer if ever there was one.”

Chaos erupts—mostly from the owner of said boozer. Vivian lunges forward, with her designer heels sinking into the manicured lawn as she charges toward Carlotta.

The birthday girl begins to wail twice as loud. The unicorn is busy eating its fill of what looks like a luscious vanilla cake withraspberries and cream filling before he decides he’s had enough of the sugary nonsense and trots directly through the buffet table, sending canapés flying like tiny edible frisbees.

Shoot.

I knew I should have loaded up while I had the chance.

“I should probably...” I gesture vaguely toward the escalating disaster.

Keegan hands me a hastily assembled wreath of clovers. “For luck. Something tells me you’ll need it.”

Sebby chortles as he strides by my waddling side. “And here I thought the afterlife was where all the good parties happened! I’d better help clean up the mess. Dead or alive, I’ll never say no to cake.” He takes off and I’m tempted to follow along and do my part in cleaning up the mess, too. After all, I have not and will not ever say no to cake.

And I won’t say no to bringing a killer to justice as well.

I’ve already established the fact that Keegan is hiding something. And ironically, she seems to think that Eliza is hiding something.

Carlotta runs this way with Vivian hot on her heels.

“Throw me the keys, Lot Lot!”

I do just that, and Carlotta misses and my six-pound keyring pegs Vivian right in the forehead.

“Oh geez!” I’m about to waddle her way or in the least make a run for it myself when my phone pings.

It’s a text from Evie.

Mom something’s happened to Dad. He’s missing. I think he’s been kidnapped.

NOAH

The precinct is far too boisterous today, and my desk is far too messy. It’s not anywhere near quitting time, but my mind left the building about an hour ago.

I glance at the new file that materialized this morning, the one with Sebastian Gallagher’s name stamped across it.

How is it possible that Eliza Baxter, of all people, is the only viable suspect so far in this case?

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