Page 52 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

“About as well as you’d expect,” Della sighs as she says it. “He laughed in my face and said no one would believe me. He said he’d tell people that I’d given him permission to access my accounts, and threatened to destroy my business reputation ifI tried anything.” She takes another drink and the top of her orange beard is now stained green. “Then he walked away like I was nothing.”

Carlotta leans hard into the woman. “And later that night, someone just so happened to stab him. Convenient timing, Ginger Snap.”

“Ooh, Ginger Snap.” Sebby wiggles his tail with delight. “That does make me hungry for a cookie.”

Me, too. And because of that, I don’t waste any time gobbling down the cookie that’s spiked onto that mountain of whipped cream in front of me. Ginger snap, indeed.Mmm.

“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re implying,” Della says sharply. “Although I can’t say I shed any tears at the news either. Sebastian had a talent for making enemies. I’m just one in a long line of people who wanted him off of this planet.”

“Oh, do make her tell,” Sebby pleads. “Back in the day, Sebastian used to brag in depth about all of the women he wronged. And he seemed rather proud of it, too.”

Charming.

“Go on, Carrot Top.” Carlotta leans toward Della, suddenly all ears. “Nothing bonds women like sharing stories about terrible men.”

Della hesitates, then shrugs. “Sebastian Gallagher was the love ’em and leave ’em type. As in leaving them holding the bag. Rumor has it, he would marry women then take off with everything they owned.” She takes another sip of her drink. “And he once did some shady business deals with a person who ended up in prison because of it. Sebastian walked away clean as a whistle while his partner took the fall.”

“Partner in business or crime?” Carlotta raises an eyebrow.

I shrug at the two of them. “With Sebastian, it sounds like they were one and the same.”

“Both,” Della confirms. “I don’t know much about it, just that someone went to the slammer while Sebastian kept right on making whiskey and breaking hearts.”

“He sounds like a real prince,” I say as dry as that man’s whiskey—and heart, apparently.

Sebby hops onto my shoulder, peering at Della with newfound interest. “Ask her about his family. Sebastian the original, his father, was quite the family man. Had seven children and remembered all their names... most of the time.”

I clear my throat. “Did Sebastian have a family of his own? Any children?”

Something flickers across Della’s face and it looks a lot like pity. “He had a wife and a couple of kids once. But he walked right out the door and never came back. Rumor has it, he left them with nothing but his name, which probably did them more harm than good.”

“Oh wow.” I shake my head at the horror. “What was his wife’s name?” I ask, trying to sound casual while my heart pounds a rhythm in my ears. I’d bet money the ex-wife was the killer. And if she wasn’t, the killer did her a solid.

Della scrunches her nose. “Kay, I think. I asked him about her once, and he said, ‘Leave Kay out of this.’ That was the end of that conversation.” Della drains the rest of her glass. “The man had more secrets than Area 51.”

“Men always do.” Carlotta gives a dramatic sigh. “The pretty ones especially. I once dated a guy who claimed to be a bachelor. Turned out, he had three wives in three different states. I’d have been impressed by his time management if I wasn’t so ticked off at him.”

“How did you handle that?” Della asks, momentarily distracted from her own troubles.

“Let’s just say his other wives and I formed a support group that involved his credit cards and a very expensive booze-filled spa weekend.” Carlotta winks. “We found solidarity in margaritas and expensive shoes.”

“Look”—Della says, trying her best to extract one last green drop from her glass—“I need to get going. I’ve probably said too much already, but beer really does have a way of loosening up my lips. Plus, I don’t mind telling you ladies what a mule that man really was.”

“Had Sebastian been a mule all along?” Sebby looks stymied by the analogy. “Well, that explains why he had a habit of kicking people when they least expected it.”

Sounds about right from what I’ve heard.

“Della”—I say quickly before she leaps out of her chair—“just one more question. About how much did he take from you?”

For the first time, genuine emotion crosses Della’s face. “Nearly two hundred thousand dollars. My life savings, my home equity, everything. I was going to open my own real estate agency. Now I’m back to square one, working for a boss who takes sixty percent of my commissions.”

“Did you see anything unusual that night?” I ask, returning to the killer in question. “Anyone hanging around Sebastian who seemed out of place?”

Sebby floats to the ceiling and back. “Yes, Della, did you notice any suspicious characters? Perhaps someone muttering ‘I’m going to stab Sebastian in his cruel, cold heart?’ Now that would be a solid clue.”

I make a face his way.

Della considers my question while idly spinning her glass on the bar top. “Not really. Though there was that older woman he was talking to. A blonde, elegantly dressed. They seemed to be having a pretty intense conversation.”

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