Lazy Daisy (Southern Fried Sass #3) - Julia Mills Page 0,1

sisters kept tellin’ me that the Brulé Bears were most definitely not cuddly and cute. I’m not buyin’ it till I see it for myself and that is that.)

Anyhoo, Rosie and Mal and Benny Brulé, the Alpha Bear of the Brulé Sleuth and owner of Brulé’s Bountiful Bakery had become fast friends. Mostly because my lovely sis had a sweet tooth that wouldn’t quit, and her whiskered Mate had taken to getting her a new ooey-gooey, mouth-watering, yummy confection every morning since they’d become officially mated. (Still no Mating Ceremony, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed. I love a good wedding. Don’t you?)

Grinning from ear-to-ear as I took in the scene before me, I couldn’t have been happier. All my girls, both Dragonette and Witch, were measuring and mixing and chatting away. I’d done it. They were having fun. (Darn it, I’m getting good at this ‘big family’ stuff.)

Crossing the enormous kitchen, I asked, “What can I do to help?”

“Can you get the ovens turned on, please ma’am? Our hands are all covered in flour and dough?” Kerrirose giggled with glee. “Two at three-fifty, one at four hundred, and two at four-twenty-five.”

Giving a goofy salute, I snapped my heels together and darted across the kitchen. Twisting the knobs and pushing the buttons as the detailed instructions advised, I turned to head back to the tables to help with the prep just as the strange scent of burning hair and warming pork cracklins wafted from the oven behind me.

"Do you smell that?" I asked anyone listening.

All noses went up in the air, and a collective sniff filled the sudden silence. "Sure do," Dru nodded. "What a doll you are, making sausage to go with our brekkie."

“I…umm…yeah…I’m not making anything. I just flipped the switches and jiggled the knobs.”

Turning back to the gigantic commercial ovens, I tentatively reached for the handle and slowly opened the door. It took a second for me to realize what I was looking at, but when I finally did, my spine-chilling shriek was so loud dogs quite literally howled all over Hairy Wort, "Holy hotcakes from Heck and beyond. It's Miss Poffenporker, and she's dead!"

One

“Get-in-here-Get-in-here-Get-in-here. Hurry up! What the heck are ya’ doin’? Somebody’s gonna see.”

“Hurry my ass! Somebody’s gonna smell. What the hell are ya’ burnin’?”

“Shut up, Matt!” Not waiting for an answer, I yanked him through the door and shoved him backward as I grabbed for Dash with my other hand.

“What in Satan’s sandals took so long?” I whisper-yelled. You know the one. That mom thing. Like when you’re giggling and pointing at the naked, wrinkly, old Witches at your Coven’s annual Samhain Ceremony and your mom comes up behind you, grabs you by your ear and whisper-yells, “Daisy Jo Nightinblossom….” The threat is real. She’s gonna kick your butt just as soon as she gets you home. I know you’ve been there, too. Just own it. Goddess knows I had to after the hundred-thousandth time it happened to me. Yep! I was that kid but more about that later.

“Get your butts in here before Beau catches wind of this poo-poo parade. Listenin’ to him rant and rave will make my head explode,” Fflur, my absolutely gorgeous and incredibly powerful Dragonette sidekick snarled. “That Gator dances on my every nerve sometimes.”

“Girl, I hear ya’.” Freddie nodded her head with so much enthusiasm that I swear her mismatched ponytails spun like tassels on a stripper’s…well, ahem, you get the picture.

Slamming the door shut with a resounding, and might I add, comforting, thud, I clicked the locks into place with a snap of my fingers, took the first deep breath since I’d discovered Miss Poffenporker’s sizzling remains, and pointed towards the ovens. Waiting for Dash and Matt, Hairy Wort’s finest and only deputies, to process the scene before them, I looked at my sisters and Dragonettes who were blessedly continuing with the morning’s baking.

Slowly turning his head towards me, Dash – aka Dashiel Broussard – the absolutely gorgeous blond-haired, blue-eyed, Sloth Shifter who happened to be my sister, Rosie’s BFWD (Best Friend Who’s a Dude) stammered and stuttered, “Is that…I mean…Is she…Well, of course…What the…?”

“Yes, it’s Penelope Poffenporker. Yes, she’s dead. Yes, she has a hole the size and shape of a meat mallet in the back of her head. And…yes, her fingers, toes, nose, and the tips of her ears are crispy. I imagine that goes for her tail too but I didn’t touch her to check.” Letting out an exhausted exhale, I added, “That’s my