The Honey Pot is filled to the brim with my mother and her cohorts as their cheeky book club commences for the day. The air in the Honey Pot is thick with the scent of fresh morning coffee, and the sweet scent of syrup permeates the room as patrons fill the seats in hopes to fill themselves with one of our scrumptious breakfast selections.

The book club peeps are a riotous bunch with their explosive bouts of laughter and their just as sudden pensive lulls. This month’s literary selection has a woman in a billowy dress on the cover while a villainous looking man with a sharp goatee chases her through a valley. The Viscount’s Wench was my mother’s saucy pick. I know so because she furnished both Lainey and me with fresh copies from the bookstore right after she chose her spicy selection. My copy is sitting at the bottom of a box in Lainey’s garage without much hope of retrieval. I can hardly think of unpacking, let alone reading. For sure I can’t get my head around moving. All I can think about these days is who killed Merilee Simonson. You might say it’s consuming me. And it’s probably a good thing too since I was most likely threatened by the killer myself last night.

That note comes back to me, bright yellow, tucked aggressively into my purse, my personal property. That clear invasion of my personal space let me know they’re not afraid to get in my face, without actually revealing theirs. Before I left, I asked Naomi if the Evergreen Manor had security cameras in the ballroom and was met with an enthusiastic no. Shutting me down in any capacity has always been Naomi’s favorite thing to do, so the enthusiasm in general didn’t surprise me.

“More coffee!” my mother sings as she flags me down. Since my mother’s club is close to thirty strong, and they seem to require more attention than your average customers, I usually make it a practice to tend to them myself, freeing up the waitresses to focus on the tourists and regulars alike.

I do a quick round of refills as the women chatter among themselves. Most have already leashed their purses to their shoulders signifying an upcoming mass exodus. Eve Hollister and Chrissy Nash hold what appears to be a casual conversation with a couple of women on the end. I’m secretly hoping Chrissy will leave so that I can corner Eve before she takes off, too. I have to get to the bottom of this and find out who that mystery woman was that day at the orchards. I couldn’t believe my ears when Chrissy entered into a blatant lie about Laurie Ackerman. I had Lainey call to confirm the fact she was still in fact bedbound.

“Lottie”—Mom claps her hands together dramatically, and I can feel the onset of a ripe embarrassment coming as sure as a thunderstorm—“your pumpkin spice coffee cake was to die for! Do tell us your secret.” She gives a playful wink. My mother’s mission in life is to praise and uplift her daughters, but as it stands, that often goes hand in hand with a mingling of public humiliation.

My cheek flinches as she lets the morbid analogy fly, and at least a handful of women offer sideways glances in my direction. It’s no secret that I’m the one that found Merilee. It’s also no secret that I was taken to court by the sisters and brutally evicted the morning before her body was discovered. I’m not too sure anyone in Honey Hollow thinks I’m capable of murder, but considering the fact that it was most likely someone from our sweet town who plunged the knife into Merilee, I’m as good a suspect as any.

“Thank you, Mother.” I offer the ladies around her a crimped smile. “My secret is there’s love in the mix. I can’t imagine a day without baking. It just makes me happy.”

An echo of coos circles around the table as the women surrounding my mother look up at me as if I just gave birth to a puppy in front of them. The funny thing is, I’ve never quite envisioned myself having a human child. Growing up, while my friends and sisters were playing mommy with baby dolls, I was the pretend mother to an entire litter of puppies and kittens. I always thought I’d end up with a dog one day, but when Nell said she needed to place one of the kittens she picked up, I took one look and knew he was the one for me. Pancake and I have been family ever since.

One by one the women gather their belongings, and as fate would have it, Mayor Nash comes in for his morning cup of coffee and usual cowboy omelet. It doesn’t take long for Chrissy to notice her ex and offer a spirited bid adieu to her book-loving besties before dashing out into the brisk morning air. Eve says goodbye to a couple of women before leaning over to pick up her tote bag brimming with copies of The Viscount’s Wench. Most of the ladies have made it a habit to donate their paperbacks once they’re through. And I see this as my golden moment.

“Are those books for the library?” I force my affect to brighten. Eve has always known me as a cheery person, and this isn’t the time to show my newfound suspicious side. “I’m heading that way in a bit to have lunch with my sister.” Sort of true. Although my cheeks heat as if brushed with brimstone. I have never been a good liar. There’s a reason I’m not starring in Hollywood movies.

Eve bucks a moment as her fingers spread wide. Eve Hollister has always been an animated woman. She’s exactly my mother’s age but looks as if she has ten years on her easily. Her hair is a shock of white, the bags under her eyes have evolved to full-blown suitcases the size of water balloons, and she’s made a habit of wearing too much foundation to cover up the fact, but it only seems to make the lines on her face more prominent. Time and fate have not been kind to Eve. She lost her husband early in their marriage and spent the rest of her time focusing on her children. I think that commonality bonded her and Mother more than anything else. Then last year she had a health scare that had her name at the top of every prayer chain in the state, but she powered through that just fine.

“Why yes, you may. That’s so kind of you.” She hands me the overladen tote brimming with remnants of a forest. “Have you read the book? Please feel free to take a copy for yourself and even a few for your friends.” She leans in as a silver lock swings between her forehead like a sickle.

“Oh, I have a copy and so does my sister, but I’ll ask around in the back before I get the surplus to the donation center.” I bite down hard on my lip as she hastily puts on her chenille cardigan, a deep forest green. “Say, can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.” Her head ticks back an inch, and there’s a sparkle in her blue eyes as if the attention were feeding some underling emotional need and I have no doubt it is. Eve’s children all moved to Ashford years ago, and all she’s had to keep her company are the characters in the novels she reads. According to my sister, Eve is a voracious reader.

I give a quick glance over her shoulder at my mother who seems to be engrossed in a conversation of her own. “Remember that day at the orchard—the day Merilee was killed?” I wince even bringing it up, as does she. As much as I want to come right out and ask her who that woman was standing with her that day, I don’t think it’s the best approach. “Someone said there was a woman asking the secretary about a cookie bouquet, and I think it may have been that woman you and Chrissy were with. Would you happen to know her name? I’d hate to have a customer upset with me because of a delayed delivery.”

“What woman?” Her fingers claw at the gold chain around her neck.

“You and Chrissy Nash were speaking to the Simonson sisters just as I arrived. It looked pretty heated.” Stupid, stupid me. Why would I bring that up? I’m sure Eve is working hard to forget the dirty details of that day just like everyone else. “Anyway, she was standing there with you. I thought it might be her.”

Eve straightens, stiff as a corpse. Her baby blue eyes glaze over as if she’s just seen her dead husband pop up behind me.

“Oh goodness, I can’t remember a thing about that.” She flings a black and white checkered scarf around her neck and weaves through the furniture. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in less than ten minutes. If you’ll excuse me, I need to make tracks.” She speeds out of the Honey Pot so fast you’d think I just threatened to set her hair on fire.

Mom comes up as the rest of the ladies clear out. “What was that about?”

“I think maybe Chrissy Nash and Eve Hollister are covering up a murder.”

Mom tips her head back and chortles as her blonde curls spring over her shoulders. She’s donned a bright orange pea coat and looks as fashionable as ever. My mother does love to dress for the seasons, and she looks every bit the autumn queen.

“Please, Lottie. Those women would no more house a murderer than you or I.” She makes a face. “And don’t worry, Lottie. I don’t believe for a minute you’re capable of doing something so heinous. Although, I might be the only one at the moment.”

“Mother.” I shudder at the thought of being the town lunatic. “That’s exactly why I need you to do me a favor, to clear my good name.”

“Anything.” She leans in and takes up my hand. “You know I’d move the moon for you.”

“Good. Because judging by your stubborn friends, you just might have to.” I fill her in on the odd conversation Eve and Chrissy were having with the Simonson sisters that day along with the mystery woman I couldn’t quite identify. And then I fill her in on how evasive both Eve and Chrissy have been. I omit the white lie Chrissy shed in a moment of discomfort. Just the thought of a murderer running free in Honey Hollow has just about everyone on edge. I can forgive her for that.

Mom’s shoulders square out, her head held high. “Don’t you worry, Lottie. I’ll have this wrapped up by this afternoon. Whoever this mystery person is, I’ll have her name to you in no time.”

“You really think they’ll open up to you just like that?” I’m afraid my mother isn’t quite aware of what her friends are capable of. It seems that no sooner did fall come around than the dark side was ushered out of everyone in this tiny part of the country.

She gives an affirming nod. “I have my ways, Lottie. I’ll have one of them singing like a canary in a coal mine by dinner. Just you wait and see.” She dots my cheek with a kiss before speeding out the door.

I hate to be the one to break it to her, but canaries in coal mines don’t usually sing. They die. And a part of me is terrified I may have inadvertently put my mother in grave danger.

Hours go by slow as molasses in January, and just as I’m beginning to think my mother’s talent of wrangling even the most delicate information from an unsuspecting person has subsided, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from my mother with just two words.

Melissa Hagan.