Raspberry Tart Terror (Murder in the Mix Book 30) Unknown (christmas read aloud .TXT) 📖

the snake-like line that makes its way clear down Main Street and head into the shop where more than a couple dozen women sport pink T-shirts on over their sweaters that read A Whole Lotta Troublemakers on the front and Carlotta’s Captives across the back.

Wonderful. Carlotta has brainwashed the masses into doing her bidding. First, the Vermont best-sellers list, next—the world.

Inside the quaint bookshop, the walls are painted mint green and the bookshelves that line the majority of the expansive shop are snow white. Large pink signs orient the customers to each of the different sections—romantic literature, historical, contemporary, paranormal, and so on. The floors are white with iridescent sparkles, and the scent of vanilla is igniting my senses right up until I realize it’s coming from the box I’m holding.

“We’ve got to set these cookies down before I eat them all,” I say as Everett and I thread through the bodies in an effort to get deeper into the shop. To the right there are three tables set out with Carlotta on one and Bambi Bailey on the other, and snug in between them is my mother. Both Carlotta and Bambi have impossibly long lines, and my poor mother is twiddling her thumbs with not even Wiley in sight to keep her company.

“Whoa”—Everett nods behind me, and I turn to find a hive of people all clamoring to get someone’s attention—“I think that’s Evie in the center of that commotion. I’d better go check it out.”

“Oh my goodness,” I huff at the sight. “What in the world has she stepped into?”

“Lottie!” Mom calls out and I make my way over—more like waddle my way over. “Oh, Lottie, this is a nightmare,” she wails as she tosses up a pen. “Nobody is interested in my beach fiction.” Her hair is neatly coiffed and she’s donned a bright red dress with glittery ruby earrings. She looks all dolled up, and not a soul seems to have noticed. “Nobody is interested in my steamy romances either. And would you look at this?” She hitches a thumb to both her left and right. “They can’t get enough of these two.”

My eyes drift over to Bambi’s book on display with its cherry red cover and a picture of Bambi herself pretending to lean over with her hand to her cheek as if she was about to spill the world’s biggest secret. And with a title like Bambi Tells It Like It Is, I bet she’s about to do just that.

Tonight, Bambi is dressed in a red plaid dress and her bright red hair is spilling every which way in curly waves. Her strong lantern jaw rides up and down as she laughs, and she seems to be interacting with each and every person who comes her way.

Boy, what I wouldn’t do to get ahold of her book.

There’s just something about celebrity gossip that hits the spot once in a while when it comes to reading. And Lord knows I’m craving a little gossip about someone else for a change. It seems I’ve been standing in the Honey Hollow rumor mill spotlight for far too long. It’s hot and lonely at the top of this dunghill and not at all where I envisioned I’d be while standing at the doorstep of thirty.

I glance back to my poor mother.

“Here,” I say, putting the box of cookies down and opening them up. “Free fresh cookies!” I shout, and within ten seconds they’re all gone and the cookie vultures that grabbed them have gone back to their respective lines—to the right and left of my mother. “I’m sorry.” I wince. “Where’s Wiley?”

“He’s still working at the B&B. Cormack and Cressida are very strict about leaving early. It’s grounds for termination.” She gives a solemn nod. “I got a pass since it was my book signing, but only because I promised to give them a sliver of my sales. Lottie, what am I going to do? I risked it all in hopes to make it as a writer, and now look what’s happened? Carlotta is the one taking readers captive.”

“There is so much I want to tackle,” I seethe. “I’m furious with Cormack and Cressida. I can’t believe they’re treating you so poorly. And threatening to terminate you? The next thing you know they’ll be kicking you out on the street.”

“Well, if I’m not careful—”

“Don’t you even dare tell me they implied it.” An angry growl streams from me just as a crowd encroaches from Carlotta’s side and I’m forced to step closer to my mother’s table. “Geez,” I say, nodding over at a cluster of women furtively putting on one of those signature pink T-shirts over their clothes. “It’s like Carlotta is unstoppable,” I say just as Carlotta waves to me from between the women crowding around her table.

“Hey there, Lot Lot!” Carlotta stands for a moment and cups her hands around her mouth. “Everyone! This here is the real life Leona Lemon I wrote about in my book!” she hollers while pointing my way. “I had to keep her identity under wraps so she wouldn’t sue me and whatnot. Didn’t I tell you she was knocked up but good? The baby daddy is still a mystery, though. I wouldn’t bother poking around for clues if I were you. But the pool is still open if you want to place bets on either Moxy or Sexy.” She shrugs my way. “You can’t disguise sexy, Lot Lot.”

She’s got a point there.

A blonde waves my way as she makes her way over and it’s Sugar Hartley, the very suspect I’m here to question. She’s donned a pink chiffon dress that floats behind her in an ethereal manner. Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her eyelids are dusted in metallic green eyeshadow. Her right arm is lined with those gold bangles—just like the one I found in the snow—and there’s something fairy-like about her in general. But perhaps the best accessory she has on is one she’s