here.”
“Right,” Keelie says as we glide into the well-lit foyer, with its ritzy flocked Christmas tree bejeweled with extravagant red and white ornaments. “Hey? Maybe I can find out if Everett rented a room?”
I quickly link my arm to Keelie’s and give it a death squeeze.
Evie leans in. “Why would Dad rent a room here? Did Uncle Noah give him the boot? If Dad is moving into the luxury digs at the Manor, I might have to come with him.”
“Traitor,” Carlotta belches the word out, and I glower over at her.
“Evie,” I say. “I will never accuse you of being a traitor for loving your father.”
She shrugs. “I was going to say it’s because they have a spa on site.”
“Think of the cats,” Carlotta pleads with her. “Who’s gonna feed them? You know half the time all Lot cares about is feeding herself. Heck, without you there to run the house, Lottie might eat those furry little kittens. And what about our system? I knock three times if I have a boy over and you knock three times if you—”
Evie makes crazy eyes at Carlotta and stops her in her tattletale tracks.
“Evie?” I growl at her without meaning to. “Please tell me you’re not having boys over.”
“Wouldn’t you just like to accuse me of it,” she hisses. “First, you take away my ski trip, and now you want to take away my friends. Don’t worry, Mom. Carlotta has her imaginary ghostly boyfriend, and I have mine. It’s a fun game we play.”
Great. Why do I get the feeling I’m the one getting played?
We hit the front desk and pretty much assault a poor young man with a jumble of words all at once. And while he tries desperately to make heads or tails out of it all, I speed toward the ballroom and bypass it until I find a small hallway with a door marked private. It’s exactly where Elodie said it would be. I try the handle, but the room is locked.
Shoot.
“What’s the matter?” Carlotta pops up next to me and pulls a bobby pin from her bra. I’m not even going to ask. “Can’t get in, huh? That’s what you got me here for.”
Evie appears in the murky shadows, and I groan.
“Evie, you can’t come in,” I tell her. “Your father will kill me.”
Carlotta chuckles. “Well, then it will be a double homicide because I’m pretty sure you’re going to kill him.”
Evie’s mouth falls open. “What’s going on? What did Dad do? Does this have something to do with that sick pamphlet I found lying around on your dresser the other day? And before you ask, I needed to borrow an ugly sweater for a party I was going to.”
“An ugly Christmas sweater?” I ask. “I don’t think I have one.”
“Oh, Mom, you’ve got plenty.”
Carlotta nods. “An unfair amount. Before you went and bought them all out, I wish you would have left some for the rest of us.”
“Very funny,” I say just as the door glides open, and Carlotta steps in and switches on the lights.
Evie steps in before me. “This looks so basic.”
I take it all in. “If your definition of basic is a desk and a filing cabinet, then you’re right.”
“Don’t forget the couch.” Carlotta is quick to make herself comfortable on a tiny loveseat that narrowly fits wall to wall.
Evie picks up a colorful, large tin and opens it to reveal cheese-flavored popcorn.
“We’ve got snacks!” she sings as she dives next to Carlotta.
“I wouldn’t trust those. They could be poisoned for all you know.”
Carlotta grunts, “Who are we kidding, Lot? You’re the only killer in this one-horse town. The only guessing game is, who are you gonna pin it on this time?”
“You’re on the list,” I say as I touch the mouse and the computer screen lights up. I spot Numbers, the exact same software I use at the bakery to keep up with my business accounting, and I head on in.
Chris Holiday is the money bags around here. I’m assuming I’m looking at his handiwork. I scan the last few months but don’t find anything suspicious. All of the expenses seem legitimate to me. A lot of withdrawals, but I’m assuming that’s to purchase gifts and food and whatever else they need to make up the Christmas baskets they’ll be delivering this year. The last row to each transaction requires electronic initials. It’s standard on the software to require an ID before inputting.
A thought comes to me. In order to make any changes