Page 26 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

Keelie nods. “And that’s why I’m bummed.” She gives an impish shrug. “But at least I qualify for the diamond art mani-pedis.” She leans in hard. “They’re using actual diamonds.”

I look at Venus and she nods to affirm this.

“Well, then there’s no stopping me from getting my nails done, too,” I say. “Regardless of the fact I can’t see my feet.”

We all share a laugh at that one just as I spot a certain older blonde sitting all by her lonesome on a picnic table laden with an assortment of flowers. And by the looks of things, she’s trying to make a bouquet of some sort.

Venus looks my way then follows my gaze. “Oh, that’s my mother,” she sighs. “She insisted on having a horticulture table set up for the kids. I tried to tell her that toddlers weren’t all that into greenery that they couldn’t stomp on, but she insisted.”

“My mother loves horticulture, too,” I tell her.

Venus is about to say something else when her phone chirps. “It looks like I’m needed in the east wing. Vivian has asked my girls to hold Fondu’s train for the big procession.” She gives a little shrug. “What can I say? She’s all about grand entrances.”

She no sooner takes off than I turn to Lainey and Keelie. “Would you girls mind watching Lyla Nell for a minute? I think I need to get off my feet for a while.”

They’re both happy to do it and I’m more than happy to boot scoot my way to the flower power table and have a little chat with one of my suspects.

Time to dig into the dirt and see if her story comes up roses, or if I’ve finally found my killer in full bloom.

LOTTIE

Iwaddle—because let’s be honest, I’m way past the point of walking gracefully—over to the flower-laden picnic table where Venus’ mother, Keegan Meryl, is currently engaged in a one-woman battle to create an acceptable bouquet.

The sweet scent of roses mingles with lavender and something citrusy, creating a fragrant oasis amid the chaos of screaming children and clinking champagne flutes. A gentle breeze carries the melody of the harpist from inside, competing with the carnival sounds from the backyard attractions—and Keelie screaming with joy now that she’s up at bat with the unicorn. That’s exactly why I love my bestie.

By the look of sheer concentration on Keegan Meryl’s face, you’d think she was defusing a bomb instead of arranging carnations. Her red hair catches the sunlight as she snips a wayward stem with surgical precision. She’s beautiful, much like her daughter, and in this light, she looks exactly like Venus plus twenty years.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, accidentally miscalculating the distance of the bench and landing with apfftthat sounds borderline inappropriate.

Oh, who are we kidding? I can no more control my bladder these days than I can other questionable bodily functions and poor Keegan had to hear my malfunction firsthand.

She gives a little laugh once my body decides to break the ice or break other things as it were.

But who cares about a little public humiliation? My feet throb with relief the moment they’re no longer supporting the combined weight of twins, this particular bakery owner, and the approximately seventeen cupcakes I’ve sampled today. Sure, I might regret them, but boy, were they good.

Keegan’s blue eyes sparkle. “Oh! Lottie, of course. Sit, sit.” She flutters a hand toward me. “You don’t need help, do you? Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, no. And please excuse my body’s dramatics. It’s just its way of announcing that I’m very, very pregnant.”

Her mouth lifts at the corners. “Yes, well, you certainly have a glow about you.”

“Ha! That’s just the result of being approximately two percent human, ninety-eight percent pastry at this point.”

We share a quick laugh and it feels like a win in my favor.

Keegan Meryl is polished and elegant, the kind of woman who looks like she has a standing weekly appointment for facials and imported tea, but she’s also sharp, and I’m getting the feeling she’s very controlled. And that’s certainly something that would work in the favor of a killer looking to get away with murder.

“You’re not inside enjoying the Enchanted Forest Princess Open Bar?” I ask, gesturing toward the house, where the sounds of screaming toddlers and clinking champagne glasses harmonize in a caustic symphony.

Keegan purses her lips. “Believe it or not, I prefer a quieter setting.”

“As a mother of almost three, I can already relate.” I nod, plucking a sprig of lavender from the assortment in front of her. “This party is really…"

“Alot,” she finishes for me. “Vivian has never been one for subtlety.”

That earns a genuine laugh from me. “So, I’ve sort of noticed.” I wrinkle my nose.

“There’s a Shetland pony in a tiara being shown up by a unicorn.”

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