Wicked Whoopie Pies by Addison Moore (english novels to improve english TXT) 📕

Terri Norris is dead.

Lottie

“She’s dead!” a woman wails just as Noah storms into the room with a swarm of sheriff’s deputies and his leggy sidekick dripping off his shoulder.

I note Lyla Nell is no longer with him. But I’m positive he didn’t leave her out in the front of the church with a for sale sign next to her the way Carlotta suggests just about every morning once she accuses Lyla Nell of robbing her of her sleep. The truth is, Carlotta is plenty capable of doing that to herself.

Soon, the entire room is on their feet, and both Charlie and Carlotta run my way.

“I was hoping to see you in action,” Charlie pants with a look of glee on her face—my face as it were. “And you did it again. In a church no less!”

Evie pops up with Lyla Nell in her arms. “Take the stinker, Mom. I’ve got a body to document.”

“Don’t you dare,” I snip as I take Lyla Nell from her. “Evie, I forbid you to take a picture of that poor woman and post it to any of your social media sites.”

“Who said anything about social media?” Evie snips back. “I’m helping you get a leg up on your investigation.” She takes off before I can stop her.

Carlotta tugs at Charlie’s elbow and Charlie nearly elbows her right in the chest. They mumble to themselves for a minute and I see this as my chance to escape, but before I can, Carlotta steps in my path.

“Not so fast, Lot Lot.” She threads her arm through mine. “Charlie’s got something to confess, but before she does, I just want to take a minute to soak in the fact there are four Carlottas standing here today.”

I scowl over at her. It’s true. When Carlotta dumped me at the fire station, she pinned a note to my blanket asking that I be named Carlotta. Of course, Miranda Lemon being the kind soul she is, promptly complied, but she also promptly nicknamed me Lottie and we’ve stuck to it ever since. And well, in a hormonal haze I somehow let Carlotta bamboozle me into naming my own sweet pea Carlotta. But much like her mama, we will be calling her by her nickname from here on out, Lyla Nell. I know Lyla is a stretch from Carlotta, but Noah convinced me it would work and I believed him—still do.

Charlie growls over at Carlotta—I still can’t seem to refer to her as our mother. None of this seems natural. A part of me wonders if I hit my head a few years back and fell into a world where Carlotta keeps replicating herself again and again—using me as the portal to do it through.

“What’s the confession?” I ask, anxious to speed the circus along so I can get going on that investigation Evie is beating me to.

“I love to cook.” Charlie sets those death lasers she calls eyes on mine, and why did that just come off like some bakery-based threat?

Mom traipses up, and thankfully interrupts us, and along with her is Meg.

“Oh, Lottie, take my coffee and enjoy it. I haven’t had a sip yet.” She thrusts a Styrofoam cup my way. “I’ll trade you for this little love bug. Come to Glam Glam, my little sweet princess. I don’t think Papa Wiley has kissed you silly yet.” She whisks her off into the crowd without any regard for the fact there’s a body in the room. One might say my mother is jaded at this point in our Honey Hollow homicidal adventures.

“So what’s the real confession?” I turn back to Charlie without missing a beat. I highly doubt it had anything to do with her whipping up a tasty treat.

Charlie lifts her chin as if she’s already bested me before she can be bothered to answer. “I’m looking for a job, and I thought the bakery would be perfect for me.”

“The—um, Suze”—I point to the door as if Noah’s sourpuss of a mother was around—“I think—”

“I think it’s a no.” Charlie takes a moment to glare at me. “That’s okay. I’ll find something on my own. Unlike some of us here, I was never a fan of taking a handout from family.”

A breath hitches in my throat. “Is that a dig at me because Nell left me the bakery?” Among other choice pieces of real estate, but I decide to leave those out of the conversation for now.

Meg smacks her on the arm. “You’re welcome down at Red Satin anytime. I teach the dancers at the strip joint their moves, and I’d be glad to take you under my wing.”

“No way.” I practically shove Meg out of the way. Red Satin is a gentlemen’s club down south of us, in a dicey town called Leeds. I may not know Charlie all that well, but she’s my little sister and I don’t want her setting foot in Leeds, let alone Red Satin. And dancing for that smarmy establishment? I should break every single one of Meg’s high heels for even suggesting it. “You’ll work for me, Charlie,” I say, picking up her arm and offering it a quick pat.

“Too late.” She yanks her arm back. “I’m looking for employment elsewhere.”

Everett and Sergio crop up next to us and Sergio leans in.

“What’s this?” His dark brows lift a notch. “Did I hear you say you were looking for work? Mangias always seems to have a revolving door of waitresses. The job is yours if you want it. You look so much like Lottie, half the patrons will think we have the town baker working for us.”

“Well then.” A sly smile glides up her cheeks. “It looks as if you’ve got yourself a shiny new waitress.” Her expression sours as she turns my way. “It seems my family isn’t all that thrilled to see me after all.” She zips off and a croaking sound emits from me.

“Charlie, wait! That’s not true.”

“Face it, Lot.” Meg