Page 39 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

I lean her way. “Is that the man you shot?” I’ve heard stories.

Carlotta gives a knowing nod my way and I quickly drop it.

“Distillation is a fascinating process,” Glinda continues, and there’s something almost wistful in her voice. “I mean, the chemistry of it is what draws me in—converting sugars to alcohol, controlling the environment. One wrong calculationand the whole batch is ruined. Or worse.” She shoots a cold glance at the sky.

“Worse?” I prompt. “Don’t tell me that whiskey has something in common with sourdough starter—one wrong move and the entire thing can blow up on you.”

“Something like that.” She laughs. “Bad booze gives you bad hangovers. You learn to appreciate quality when you’ve had time to—well, reflect on the alternatives. “Speaking of quality”—Glinda pivots, reaching for a cloth-covered basket—“I’ve got a fresh batch coming out of the portable ovens. Would you like to try some? With proper Irish butter, of course.”

The loaf she unveils sends a waft of yeasty perfume into the air that makes my mouth water instantly. My cravings kick into overdrive as she slices the still-steaming bread, revealing a perfect crumb structure with bubbles the size of quarters——which reminds me, I haven’t had a fried pickle in a hot minute. I’ll have to rectify that, and soon.

“The fermentation process does produce trace amounts of alcohol, but it’s baked off during cooking,” Glinda says. “Go on, Lottie, it’s perfectly safe.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I say.

She hands me a piece that’s still warm enough to melt the butter into glistening pools. I take a bite and nearly groan out loud. The contrast between the crusty exterior and the tangy, chewy interior is nothing short of miraculous.

The bread is warm, the butter is delicious, and suddenly it’s painfully obvious a single slice—heck, a singleloaf—just won’t be enough.

“This”—I declare between bites—“might be worth going to prison for.”

Glinda belts out a laugh, pausing mid-slice while her knuckles whiten around the handle of a knife just for aheartbeat. “Well, that’s quite the endorsement. Although I can assure you, no laws were broken in the making of this bread.”

“Glinda”—I lean in and snatch up another warm slice while I’m there—“did you see anything the other night that you thought was suspicious?”

She gives a cool glance around and leans my way. “I did. I saw three things that made me think twice after the fact. I saw an older blonde woman having it out with him. And she looked plenty mad.”

“Was that Venus’ mother, Keegan?”

“Keegan, yes.” She snaps her fingers my way. “I was briefly introduced by her son-in-law. I guess he was heading things up.”

I rack my brain trying to think if I saw Keegan getting testy with the deceased but come up empty.

Glinda gives both Carlotta and me another slice of oven-hot sourdough. “Then I saw Eliza having words with the man. Whatever he must have done or said to her really set her off. Eliza is one of the most even-keeled women I know.”

“Same,” I say through a mouthful of warm, buttery sourdough that makes my life feel complete.

“And let’s see”—Glinda squints at the sky—“oh yes, there was a redhead, real pretty thing that looked as if she wanted to throttle him. She’s a popular realtor out here.”

“Della Crane,” I say. Did I know she was a realtor? Oh goodness, I really should start taking notes. That or deliver these babies. It would be nice to have a brain once again, but then again, I suspect I won’t be sleeping much for the next eighteen years anyway. “I saw that as well. Anything else that you found suspicious?”

Her lips purse as she glances around once again. “I’ll be honest, the man was as handsome as the day is long. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn he was in a love triangle of some sortwith those women. You know the type, far too handsome for his britches so he plays the field.”

“Don’t they all.” Carlotta shakes her head as she helps herself to another slice. She glances to our left just as an older man with a thicket of crimson locks stops to admire the sourdough display. “Well, howdy-do.” Carlotta doesn’t waste any time before she begins flirting. “So, is your hair that color all over, or just where the public can see?”

I’m about to intervene before Carlotta gets us kicked out of the booth when something across the crowded fairway catches my eye.

I gasp at the sight and grab ahold of my belly.

The twins had better hold on. We’re in for a bumpy ride.

LOTTIE

My gasp is loud enough to draw Glinda’s attention, and possibly shift one of the twins into my chest cavity.

“What is it?” Glinda asks, scanning the crowd for whatever caused my sudden mini heart attack, and a heart attack is right. “Did you find Eliza?”

“No,” I flatline. I wish. “What I did find is my husband—who is supposed to be flat on his back at home.”

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