Crystal chandeliers—fourteen in all—cast a warm, golden glow over everything and everyone, making even Honey Hollow’s most notorious gossips look angelic. That would be Suze. There’s even a snowman ice sculpture situated in the midst of all the dessert tables that’s at least four feet tall.
The smell of gingerbread, peppermint, and pine mingles with expensive perfumes, creating a sensory assault that screams Christmas is at hand.
“Carol of the Bells” blasts through the speakers and every surface not occupied by auction items sparkles with tinsel, holly, or miniature white lights. It’s as if a Christmas bomb detonatedin the ballroom, then someone sprinkled diamond dust over the mess for good measure.
“Well, don’t you look hot-to-trot,” Carlotta coos, appearing at my side in a red sequined dress that makes her look like she’s auditioning for the role ofSexy Mrs. Claus: The Vegas Years. The neckline plunges so dramatically it’s practically introducing itself to her navel. “Nice to see you wearing something besides those elf pasties from the community center,” she teases.
“You clean up nice, Toots,” Aunt Cat agrees, sidling up on my other side. Her silver lamé pantsuit reflects so much light she could probably be used as a backup generator if the power went out. “Though I still say you should have gone with the plunging neckline. Detective Dreamy wouldn’t have known what hit him.”
“I prefer keeping my assets under wraps in public,” I reply, smoothing down my emerald green cocktail dress that apparently is quite the spectacle. “Besides, the last time I showed that much cleavage, someone died face-first in it.”
Carlotta lifts her champagne glass my way. “Now that’s a compliment to the girls—a couple of lethal weapons if ever there were some.”
“Hear, hear,” I say.
Suze and Lily materialize from the crowd, both looking festive in their holiday best. Suze’s navy sequined dress makes her look like a starry night sky, while Lily’s red and white striped number gives strong candy cane vibes without crossing too much into costume territory.
“Have you tried Lottie’s mini gingerbread cheesecakes?” Lily asks, already halfway through one. “They’re criminal. I’ve eaten six, and I only got here twenty minutes ago.”
“Pace yourself,” Suze advises. “You’ve still got seven dessert stations to hit, and that’s not counting the Italian cookie table.”
The dessert spread along one wall showcases Lottie’s finest creations from the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery with toweringplatters of holiday cookies, bite-sized pecan tarts, peppermint fudge squares, gingerbread houses too pretty to eat (although that’s never stopped anyone before), and at least four different varieties of cheesecake—eggnog, gingerbread, peppermint swirl, and double chocolate—all decorated with a festive flair. Just looking at it all adds five pounds to my hips.
Around the perimeter of the ballroom, auction tables display everything from vacation packages to jewelry to gift baskets the size of small cars. Bidders mill about, sipping champagne and scribbling on sheets with escalating fervor. It’s a silent auction, but the competitive glares being exchanged over certain items are anything but quiet.
In the center of the action, Santa’s throne—a gold monstrosity that looks like something out ofGame of Thronesbut with fewer skulls and more tinsel—sits occupied by none other than Gabriel Esposito, who appears to have found his true calling. His white beard is fluffy as can be, and the line of children waiting to sit on his lap stretches halfway across the room. The irony of the Christmas shop owner playing Santa after complaining about Nicholas Bianchi usurping his Santa role isn’t lost on me.
I spot Lottie across the room with Noah and Everett flanking her like particularly attractive bookends. Lottie’s strapless crimson gown hugs her curves in a way that makes both men look as if they’ve forgotten how to breathe. Of course, Noah and Everett look far too dapper for their britches, both in classic black tuxedos that have every woman in the room paying them the attention they deserve.
“Merry Christmas EveEve,” I sing as I come upon them.
“Eve,” Suze adds.
“EveEve,” Lily corrects.
“Eve Eve Eve,” Aunt Cat concludes with a solemn nod, like she’s completing a sacred ritual.
Lottie laughs and manages to sound as warm as fresh-baked cookies. “Merry whatever-number-of-Eves-we’re-at to you, too. Any updates on the Santa Slayings?”
“Is that what we’re calling them now?” I ask.
“The Bianchi Brothers Bludgeoning has a better ring to it,” Noah suggests.
“Except they weren’t bludgeoned,” Everett points out. “They were poisoned.”
“The Pentobarbital Pair-Off doesn’t have the same snap,” Noah admits.
“I’ve got nothing,” I confess, snagging a flute of champagne from a passing server. “Cooper is playing his cards close to his vest, and I’ve got my own... complications to deal with.”
Like how to avoid assassinating my boyfriend’s sister while still appeasing my homicidal uncle.
“Speaking of complications”—Lottie nods toward the dance floor— “I wouldn’t mind busting a move.”
Sure enough, Noah and Everett exchange challenging looks, before each extending a hand toward Lottie.
“Dance with me?” they ask in unison.
“Maybe I’ll just dance withbothof you,” Lottie suggests with a mischievous smile, taking both their hands as they lead her toward the dance floor with expressions that suggest they’ve won the lottery but have to share the prize.
