Eggnog Trifle Trouble (Murder in the Mix #28) - Addison Moore Page 0,63
baby to look after.”
“Aren’t you forgetting someone?”
I press my hand to my chest. “Pancake and Waffles. I’m sorry, boys,” I shout to them in the kitchen. “Mommy loves you!”
“But you don’t love your mama?” Carlotta snarls as she stalks over and shuts off the lights.
“What they heck are you doing?” I try to navigate my way in that direction to turn them back on, but she intercepts me.
“If we want Elm to show up, we gotta kick up the sexy a notch. A man like that needs to be wooed.”
“What are you talk—”
“Elm is coming over?” Evie shrieks as she heads this way. “So freaking cool! I gotta get my phone.” She runs down the hall.
“And turn out the lights,” Carlotta calls after her.
“Elm?” I whisper as I look up at that creepy painting glowing in the candlelight and catch the initials painted over the bottom right. “E.L.M. Elm.” I shake my head. “Do you really think he’ll show up tonight?”
“After that smoke show he and I put on last night?” Carlotta shakes her wrist. “Woo-wee. Let’s just say not even the Grim Reaper could hold him down tonight.”
A spray of miniature red and green stars breaks out over by the Christmas tree, and Kringle appears, causing both Pancake and Waffles to growl and swat.
Evie sucks in a quick breath in that direction. “Carlotta! Has your emotional support mouse shown up?”
“His name is Kringle,” Carlotta bleats as she leads Evie and me to the living room by the hand. “You gotta show the spirits a little respect.”
“Hey, Kringle!” Evie jumps and waves with excitement.
Kringle traipses across the floor and hops onto the coffee table with his wobbly little body and gives a happy wave himself.
“Well, if it isn’t Evie Stevie.” Kringle looks genuinely pleased to see her.
Evie lets out a little scream. “I heard him! I really really heard him!” she howls with a laugh, and I yank my hand from Carlotta’s.
My dear God, I completely forgot I act like a conduit if someone is holding my hand—or holding my hand by proxy. This is all my fault.
“Wait a minute,” I snap, giving Carlotta the stink eye. “That is all your fault, Carlotta!”
One hundred percent gospel. If Carlotta would stop calling the dead her emotional support animals, Evie wouldn’t have been dragged into this supernatural mess to begin with.
“All right, fine.” Carlotta sticks her tongue out at me before shifting her cranky eyes to Evie. “That was me, kiddo. Kringle is just a big, fat figment of my imagination.”
Kringle’s aura turns red as a fire engine. “Who you calling fat, lady?”
Carlotta snaps her neck his way.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“Carlotta,” Evie moans. “You mean this whole thing is nothing but a foray into your lively yet slightly demented imagination?”
I nod her way. “I knew you were inciteful.”
Carlotta makes a face. “And heavily influenced by this one.” She hitches her thumb my way. “Now get, Evie. It’s late, and you’ve got your first day of Christmas break tomorrow. I want to see you sleeping in until noon and not rolling out of bed one minute earlier.”
“Fine.” Evie gives us both a hug. “Night, Pancake. Night, Waffles,” she says as she stomps toward the hall. “Night, Kringle—even though you’re just a figment of Carlotta’s crazy imagination.”
Kringle huffs. “You’re a figment of Carlotta’s crazy imagination,” he shouts right back while pumping a fist in the air. With his chunky cheeks and bowl full of jelly belly, he’s ridiculously adorable, and it completely counteracts his ability to look angry. He’s unstoppably cute in every way. “I’m real!” he riots, zipping through the air after her. “As real as that guy standing in the corner.” He points to the right of the door, and both Carlotta and I swing our heads in that direction.
No sooner does Evie slam her door than Carlotta pulls me to the floor in front of the fireplace.
“Quick, Lot, criss-cross applesauce.” She sinks a candle between us, and Kringle hops down and dances on the flame.
“So romantic,” Kringle coos.
“You bet your pudgy patootie,” Carlotta chimes. “Now get over here, my sweet, sexy Elm—you gorgeous ghost—you stately specter—you strong, virile, well-dressed spook. It’s time we had a little powwow with my baby girl Lot Lot. She’s a lean, mean supersensual machine. And I’m thinking maybe she might be able to help you with your problem.”
“Problem?” My eyes widen as I look to Carlotta. “Please tell me this little problem has nothing to do with what