Baby Bundt Cake Confusion (Murder in the Mix Book 31) by Unknown (reading eggs books .txt) 📗

us is heavily congested as the sidewalks become increasingly infiltrated with boisterous partygoers, all trying to catch a glimpse of the parade at hand.

The parade seems a bit chaotic with drunken bystanders staggering into the street and mucking up the band formation. There looks to be a few cheer squads, a handful of green mascots, and even a few floats coming down the pike. A disarray of music seems to be going off all at once, and from every direction. Not only is the band honking away, but those bagpipes I heard earlier are going on nonstop as well. And then there are the bars. Who knew the seemingly innocent streets of downtown Fallbrook were lined with Irish pubs? And the one that Noah leads us to just so happens to be called Hooligans.

It only seems fitting. Here’s hoping Ariella can lead us to the hooligan in question who gunned down her husband.

Hooligans is thick with bodies. It’s standing room only, the music is loud, the beer is green, and the women are all shockingly wearing their own red fuzzy beards.

“I guess I’m not the only weirdo with a beardo around here,” I say to Carlotta.

“No, but you’re the only weirdo with a beardo who can see ghosts. I’ve just got the beard and ghosts going for me.” She flashes a short-lived smile as Lil’ Mama floats right into her arms.

The sparkling specter lets out a few quick barks. “What fun is this? It reminds me of the parties that young Jazzy would throw when her parents went away for the weekend. There would be rivers of beer. And on one occasion the entire swimming pool turned green. And, of course, Jazzy herself would turn green the next morning. I guess she was a true-blue, or should I say true-green, Irish girl after all.”

“I sure wish we knew as much about Owen as we do about Jasmine.”

“I can help you with that,” a friendly female voice calls from behind as Ariella Kellerman smiles at us with an orange fuzzy beard of her own. The beard is just a shade lighter than her hair. But Ariella is cute despite the facial foible. She’s donned a green sweater, green jeans, and even has a matching green fanny pack cinched around her waist. You have to admire her enthusiasm for the festive day. “It’s so good to see you guys again.” She pulls Noah and Everett in for a quick embrace and the scent of her perfume wafts past me. It smells nice, clean, yet warm and homey—the exact way brown sugar enlivens the air when I’m melting it down with butter. “Let’s get a table,” she says as she inches us over to a standing height circle of wood where we can rest our elbows. She raises a hand and points toward the bar and miraculously five large steins of glowing green ale appear at the table. “I’m sorry, Lottie. I can get you some water if you like.”

“Oh no, that’s okay. I have everything I need right here.” I hold up my oversized bag as evidence.

Carlotta nods her way. “Lot’s got a bona fide convenience store tucked in her purse in the event she gets a bad case of the munchies. Want a fried pickle?”

“No thanks.” Ariella wrinkles her nose our way. “But I’ll pitch for appetizers. In fact, it’s all on me. The owner and I are the ones in charge of the debauchery taking place outside. I’ve got a running tab here that I don’t plan on paying.” She gives a good-natured laugh before she stops a waitress and puts in an order for some pretzel dog cheese dip. She turns my way. “I would have asked what you wanted, but it’s the only item on the menu.”

“That’s more than fine,” I say. “Anything with the words cheese dip on it will eventually find its way into my mouth.”

Carlotta elbows Noah. “Take notes, Foxy.”

“Everett”—Ariella pulls back and inspects him—“you don’t have a speck of green on. Just like the old days, huh? Hoping you’ll get a hearty pinch from every girl on the street. Well, you’re an old married man now.” She reaches into the fanny pack sitting on her hip and produces a large green button. “Here, this should fix things—or make things worse.” A tiny laugh trembles from her as she pulls her hand back and I read the button.

Blink if you want to get lucky.

Noah’s chest bucks at the sight. “What a coincidence. He used to have that very thing tattooed on his forehead.”

“I’ve got a pin for you, too, Noah.” She pulls another one out of her magic pack and secures it to his lapel, and once she pulls away we take a look at it.

“World’s tallest leprechaun,” Carlotta reads as she slaps the table with her hand with a laugh.

“To leprechauns.” Everett raises his beer to Noah. “The Irish fairy.”

Lil’ Mama barks. “I love fairies. Jazzy was a fairy herself just about every year on Halloween. She said she hadn’t been good enough to earn a halo, so she just went with the wings.”

Sounds as if Jasmine had an honest streak—albeit seasonal.

Ariella waves Everett off. “You two never change. Always going at it.” She laughs my way. “Don’t be insulted, Noah. A leprechaun is thought to be a supernatural being, who not only has a knack for getting their way, they’re often associated with very good luck.”

Getting their way? It’s safe to say Noah comes from a very long line of leprechauns, starting with Suze.

“Thank you,” he tells her. “And considering the fact I might be a father in just a few days, I indeed consider myself lucky.”

“That’s right.” She winces as she glances my way. “You’re still not sure who the father is. But I know either one of these guys will make a very good father. Everett, I hear you’re there already. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” he says as his expression grows a touch somber. It’s not too different from his regular expression, but I’ve