Harry Nash has wavy light hair, a cheerful countenance, and more than a little mischief in his eyes.
“You’re lookin’ good, kid.” He offers me a quick embrace. He’s donned a suit and a bright red tie and looks mighty mayoral for the occasion. He and Carlotta hit it off while he was still married to my mother’s friend Chrissy, and because of that extra-marital affair—well, here I am. Mayor Nash and Chrissy have three children as well. They’re all about my age, late twenties, my half-sisters, Kelleth and Aspen, and my sweet and awesome half-brother, Finn. “Are you ready to find out if I’m your daddy?” He gives a little wink when he says it. Last month there was some debate regarding the issue, and the dingbat who dreamed up this paternity reveal scheme threw my own paternity into the mix simply as an extra cruel measure.
“I’m more than ready,” I tell him.
Carlotta waves it off. “Don’t worry, Lot. You’re his kid.”
I frown over at her. Last month she hinted that there might be a chance that I belong to either Jimmy Canelli or Luke Lazzari—neither of which I invited to show up for this farce. And neither of which was tested to prove their genetics. If Harry isn’t my father, then that’s the end of it. I’m not going to barrel my way into a crime family simply because I’ve got the genes to do so. Besides, I already tried to pull the family card with Jimmy Canelli to get him to remove the hit off Everett, but it was a no-go. Some potential father he turned out to be.
“I’ll catch you on the flip side.” Mayor Nash pecks a kiss to my cheek before offering a touch of a morose smile. “It will all turn out for the best.” He takes off and Carlotta squints over at me.
“One more thing about Candace,” she whispers. “If she starts spouting things off about me, just know they’re probably untrue.”
“What kind of things?” I ask, but it’s too late. She heads for the front row and takes a seat on the other side of Evie.
My eyes flit over the crowd and thousands are all facing this way. It’s enough to take my breath away. I see the real culprits of today’s festivities out in front as well, Cormack Featherby and Cressida Bentley, the ditzy socialites who bought my mother’s inn.
All of this hullabaloo is so that I can get my mother’s B&B back to her, but only Cressida was interested in surrendering her half. She didn’t need the money, she wanted humiliation—but settled for both. And well, I’m sacrificing myself, Noah, Everett, and Lyla Nell’s dignity to do it. I suppose Evie’s, too. Even though she thinks it’s oh so cool at the moment, she might feel differently come tomorrow. She’s a teenager. She’s prone to changing her mind and slamming doors to prove it.
Kit Knickerson, the tall woman with short hair, quickly shuttles me to the stage and the bright lights are already warming me up far too much.
“All you have to do, Lottie, is sit right between your men. Candace will ask a few benign questions and we’ll get right to the paternity reveal, short and sweet.”
“Short and sweet.” I nod. “Okay. I can do this,” I say mostly to myself.
A redhead speeds this way, the exact redhead I saw earlier having it out with Candace.
“Fern Cranston, glad to meet you.” She jabs a hand my way, and I’m quick to shake it. She’s a touch shorter than me, older by ten years or so, a larger woman, has shoulder-length red hair that’s layered in a cute shag, bright green eyes, and cartoonish red painted lips that seem to stretch across her face with an ear-to-ear smile.
Kit nods. “Fern is the best-selling author of the Death in Vermont Mystery Series. She’s a frequent guest. She’s doing the spot after yours, promoting her new book. What’s it called again?” She looks to the grinning redhead.
“Death of a Cheater.” She winks. “The title really resonated with the women in the twenty-five to eighty demographic, so my publisher went with it.” She shrugs before leaning in. “It’s based on a true story, and boy, I can’t wait to get it into the hot little hands of my readers. It’s a real page-turner, if you know what I mean.”
“I’ll be sure to pick up a copy,” I tell her. “I love mysteries, especially true crime, and your book sounds like it’s both.”
A couple of voices escalating from my left garners our attention and we look over to see Candace rioting at Burt the producer. They’re still backstage, so thankfully the studio audience isn’t privy to their row. Just as I’m about to turn away, I see Candace haul off and slap the man.
Wow.
And goodness up in heaven, if he doesn’t look as if he wants to haul off and do the very same thing to her.
Another short bell goes off and everyone scrambles about as Kit navigates me to the sofa, and soon Noah and Everett are seated on either side of me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whimper to the both of them as I take up their hands. “I’m sorry I’ve ruined your lives, and now I’m dragging you down to the lowest dregs of society.” My chest thumps as tears fill my eyes.
Candace hustles over and glares at me as she takes a seat.
“Buck up, Lottie,” she grouses. “Nobody cries on my show until I make them.”
Kit snaps the clapperboard. “And three, two, one—we’re live!”
Candace stretches a plasticine smile across her face, and I can’t help but note it looks sickly sweet, not to mention one hundred percent fake.
“Welcome to another addition of Getting Candid with Candace! I’m Candace Cottonwood, your host, and I have with me Honey Hollow’s own infamous throuple!”
“Teamwork makes the dream work!” someone shouts from the audience and it sounds decidedly like Carlotta.
Good grief.
Candace bellows out a laugh. “The two gentlemen we have here today are Detective Noah Fox and Judge Essex Everett Baxter—he lets me call him Essex.”
She winks in the camera as if that meant something. It doesn’t. In fact, if he did let her call him Essex, it would certainly mean something. It would mean that she was either related to him, and thus stubbornly refused to call him by his preferred middle name, or she’s done the sideways hustle with him—in bed. And that last scenario is far more common than one might think.
Before Everett met me, he was quite the playboy. And even though I more than qualify to shout his formal moniker from the rooftops, I still call him by the name I’m most comfortable with.
Candace smears a smile my way, inadvertently showing off the fact that greasy red lipstick of hers has stained her lips, and I can’t help but think it looks like blood.
“Let’s not forget the mommy at the center of today’s paternity debate. Baker Lottie Lemon, the owner of the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery right there on Main Street in adorable little Honey Hollow.”
Usually I’m thrilled when my bakery gets any kind of coverage. But right now, I’m not so much thrilled as I am embarrassed to drag my sweet little bakeshop into this mess. Then again, everyone else I love has already been sucked into the muck and the mire, what’s a business or two?
The three of us are quick to thank her for having us on, but I can tell by both Noah’s and Everett’s dispositions neither of them is thrilled to be here, and it just makes me feel ten times worse. It’s not like I expected anyone to be hopping up and down with joy, but now that this nightmare is playing out in real time, it feels as if the walls of the universe are crashing down around me—and smashing everyone else on the sofa along with me.