Raspberry Tart Terror (Murder in the Mix Book 30)

by Unknown

  It’s a blessing.

  A miracle.

  And some way, somehow, I’m going to have to squeeze it out of my nether regions.

  Something tells me I’ll be needing a miracle myself to pull that feat off.

  And a whole lotta drugs to go along with it.

  But Verity Prescott won’t ever get the chance to experience this miracle for herself. There’s a killer out there who robbed her of every opportunity she would have had. And tomorrow, I’m going to see if Juliet Jackowski can help narrow the field on who that killer could be.

  And maybe, just maybe, I might be speaking to the killer herself.

  Everett

  Hot Judge? I’m calling a meeting, STAT. Bring your cohorts in carnal crime.

  Fiona isn’t amused.

  Heck, I’m not amused.

  Since Lemon, Noah, and I are already at the bakery, Fiona agrees to meet us here.

  Lily refills my coffee with a wink. “Here you go, Hot Judge. And by the way, I just opened an Insta Pictures account and so did Keelie, Meg, and Lainey.” She nods to Lemon. “Your mom did, too. Oh, and Keelie and I opened one up for both you and the bakery. Of course, the Honey Pot Diner has one now, too. I’m sorry, Lottie, but we can’t afford to get left behind in the digital dark age. They say businesses should give free stuff to influencers who have large social media followings. It’s the only way to be seen these days.” She bats her lashes my way. “And boy, do I miss seeing you. You really are a hot judge, Essex. But then, I already knew as much.” She lifts her shoulder as she takes off to tend to the customers at the register.

  Carlotta gurgles out a laugh. “Everyone knows that about you, Sexy. Rumor has it, you’re already a pinup for half the girls at Honey Hollow High, and don’t get me started on the things those university girls want to do with your picture.” She waves her mug over at Lemon. “I’m sorry, Lot Lot, but they cropped you out. In fact, you’re the most hated woman in America. Other women don’t like someone trying to put the moves on their man.”

  “He’s my man.” Lemon frowns over at Carlotta as she puts together a heaping plate of cookies. “And I don’t think this is funny. This whole Insta Pictures thing is turning into a nightmare for Evie and for all of us.”

  Noah nods. “Evie showed me another message Verity sent this morning.”

  My stomach stings just hearing about it. “What did it say?”

  He shrugs over his coffee. “She congratulated her on yet another viral post. She said something about remembering to use your celebrity status for good and not evil.”

  Lemon shudders. “Just the thought of Verity texting from the dead sounds evil to me.”

  “Essex?” Fiona calls from behind as the sound of her heels click in this direction, and there’s a briefcase dangling from her hand like a weapon. Her hair is pulled back tightly, her jaw set to a scowl as she examines us all through her dark-framed glasses. “All of you, follow me.”

  We do as we’re told—Carlotta included—and soon we’re seated at a table by the window with a plate of those cookies Lemon fixed up for us.

  “Coffee?” Lemon offers, but Fiona merely holds up a hand.

  “I’m doing the talking. Do not speak unless spoken to,” she snips while looking at Carlotta. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  “I’m Lot Lot’s DNA donor. Don’t worry, sister. I’m not crazy about her either.”

  “It’s true.” Lemon nods as she picks up a raspberry tart. “She abandoned me as an infant.”

  Fiona’s chin lifts a notch as she reexamines Carlotta through this new lens. “I like you better already.” Her eyes shift my way, and I can feel the white-hot spotlight of her anger falling over me. “Are you purposefully trying to turn potential jurors against you? Not only has your teenage daughter turned your naked body into a viral sensation overnight, but that bimbo, Bambi Bailey, has turned her social media gossip column up full volume as well on your behalf. Congratulations. Do you want to know what her headline was? Hot Judge? Or Hot Felon?” Her eyes widen with rage.

  Carlotta grunts, “My vote is for hot felon,” she says while hitching her thumb in Lemon’s direction. “I keep trying to tell this one just how juicy some incarcerated lovin’ can be, but she just won’t listen.” She nods to Fiona. “But I can tell by that gleam in your eye, you’ve been pushed up against a state-issued vending machine or two. Lottie Dottie here thinks she’s better than folks like you and me. I think a stint in the big house might be good for her. She needs a little hair on her chest.”

  Fiona doesn’t so much as twitch a muscle on her face.

  “Your little Lottie Dottie isn’t the one in the hot seat.” She turns my way. “Essex, you are staring down the barrel of a prison sentence. Our entire case is built on the fact you’re an upstanding citizen. I’m sorry, but soft porn images do not an upstanding citizen make. And neither does what amounts to grave robbing. Have you thought of a defense?”

  I’m slow to answer. “No.”

  Noah shrugs. “I’ve got my wheels spinning as well, if it means anything.”

  “It doesn’t,” she fires back without bothering to break her gaze from mine. “The only thing that means anything at all is the fact Essex stole Florenza Angel Face Canelli’s body from the morgue.” Her lips knot up. “The DA landed an offer on my desk this morning.”

  “No.” Lemon doesn’t hesitate with the answer.

  “It’s a decent deal,” Fiona goes on without regard to Lemon’s protest. “Eight years instead of the maximum of fifteen. With good behavior—that is, if you’re capable of it, you can get out in half that time. Fenwick is half-empty. They’d welcome you with open arms.”

  Lemon straightens in her seat. “What’s Fenwick?”

  “Prison.” Noah takes a breath. “A somewhat cushy correctional facility in upstate New York.”

  “New York?” Carlotta lifts a brow in Lemon’s direction. “Don’t knock it, Lot. Think of all the hot weekend getaways in your future.”

  “I’m not going to New York, and neither is he,” she snips. “The baby will be four by the time he gets out—if he gets out for good behavior. That’s unacceptable.” Lemon slaps her hand over mine. “Everett, you are a brilliant man. I demand you make this go away right this minute.”

  Fiona’s chest bucks with a laugh. “Oh, Essex, you’ve truly spoiled her in the bedroom for her to think anything is possible.” She flits her eyes to Lemon. “I’m not surprised you think he hangs the moon, or that the sun shines from his boxers or whatever sleepy weepy euphemism your sappy mind wants to dream up. But the only place you can make demands of him are behind closed doors. And you just might want to ramp that up a bit. Your time together will be coming to a halt.” She snaps up her briefcase and stands. “Stop thinking with your little brain and put the big one into overdrive. Think of a defense, and think about that deal, too. If we can’t come up with a rock solid measure to infiltrate that jury’s mind with doubt, I’ll make sure you get a room with a view at Fenwick.”

  She takes off and any hope I had of avoiding a sentence takes off with her. I can’t bring myself to look at Lemon. I don’t dare offer her a smidge of hope when I don’t see any myself.

  Noah’s chest inflates with his next breath. “You’re not going down for this, Everett. At least not alone. It’s just not happening. I’ll tell Fiona the truth. I’m culpable.”

  “Fiona doesn’t care about the truth.” I shoot daggers at him for the audacity. “You have one job, Noah. You keep your nose clean. Lemon is going to need you, and that baby will need you, too.” My jaw clenches tightly because I know what I have to do. I have to somehow find the strength to send Lemon into Noah’s orbit once again. The last thing I want is for her to worry about me, worrying about anything once she has this baby.

  She deserves to be happy. Hell, so does he. And that baby deserves to have a father around.

  Unfortunately, it doesn’t look as if that father will be me.

  My phone pings and I p
ick it up to find a calendar reminder flashing on my screen.

  “It’s time for your prenatal appointment, Lemon.”

  A weak smile plays on her lips. “You’re already a great father, Everett.”

  I could have been.

  Instead, I’m forced, once again, to hand everything over to Noah Fox on a silver platter. Evie, the baby, Lemon.

  Life couldn’t get any worse.

  My phone pings again and I pull it forward. This time it’s a text from Jimmy Canelli.

  We need to talk.

  I was wrong.

  Things just got worse.

  Lottie

  Dr. Barnette’s office is swarming with pregnant bellies and rather bored looking men, both of which have their heads buried in their phones.

  Soon enough, Everett, Noah, and I are ushered to the back, and I do the usual peeing in a cup and stripping into a paper gown routine, while Dr. Barnette gives me a looksee under the hood.

  Dr. Barnette is a pretty brunette with a white toothy smile, and is as sharp as a whip.

  “Thank you for the raspberry tarts, Lottie. My staff is raving about them already. And the fried pickles, too,” she says that last bit a little unsure as she pokes and prods me before giving my thigh a tap, signaling I can sit up. “Everything looks great. The baby is right on track. Its head is already down and ready for takeoff next month. Your belly is measuring right where it should be, but you’ve gained another twenty pounds since your last visit. I’d ask what you were eating, but judging by your occupation, I’m sure I can guess.” She shoots both Noah and Everett a wry look. “Essex, see to it that your wife includes a few cruciferous vegetables into her diet.”

  And yes, Dr. Barnette has very much earned the right to call my husband by his far more carnal moniker. And shockingly, this does not surprise me in the least.

  “Lottie?” Her attention swings back my way. “Do you have any constipation? Any sign of hemorrhoids?”

  I gag at the thought of discussing my bathroom habits in front of Noah and Everett.

  “No,” I frown as I tell her. “I’m as regular as the sunrise. But I will include a few more cruciferous vegetables per your request.” As soon as I google what veggies qualify for that three-dollar word.

  Noah steps up. “Any chance we can see the baby today?”

  “You bet.” Dr. Barnette pulls the equipment toward her. “So tell me, Lottie, is the nursery ready? At this point the baby could very well arrive whenever he or she likes. We’re out of the danger zone and preemies aren’t all that uncommon.”

  “The nursery?” My entire body seizes at the thought. “You mean it’s that time already?”

  A laugh bubbles from her. “Of course, it’s time. And don’t think for a minute that the next four weeks won’t fly by.”

  “We’ll get on that nursery today,” Everett is quick to assert.

  Poor Everett. He’s been brooding and angry just under the surface ever since Fiona left the bakery this afternoon. And I know for a fact there’s not a darn thing I can do to cheer him up. I hate feeling helpless.

  Noah nods. “We could hit the hardware store after we grab a bite, Lottie. You can pick out the exact color you like. Was it Granny Smith apple green you mentioned before?”

  “Probably. It’s the color I’ve been thinking about,” I say as my breathing picks up. I can feel the panic rising in my throat, and suddenly it’s impossible to catch my next breath. Dr. Barnette is right. The next four weeks are going to fly by.

  “Don’t worry about the paint.” Dr. Barnette waves the idea off. “The baby will most likely sleep in a bassinet in your bedroom for a while. You have up to a year before you need to worry about putting the nursery together. As long as you have a bassinet, you’re all ready to meet your new addition.”

  “I don’t have a bassinet,” my voice spikes. “I don’t have a crib, or that thing Keelie uses to warm her baby wipes. I don’t have a fancy rocking chair like Lainey that feels as if you’re gliding through the clouds, and I don’t even have a single diaper in my house.” My mouth falls open as I look to Noah and Everett. “What are we thinking rolling around my bed watching my naked belly move like a bunch of cave people? We’re going to be parents! And we’re ill-equipped for the effort. I need a baby bag. I need clothes for this poor child. And if Suze is a blood relation, I might need an exorcist, too. Sorry.” I cringe over at Noah as he shrugs it off.

  “I’m right there with you, Lottie.” He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “Everything you just mentioned can be taken care of with a few simple clicks on the internet. How about we go on a shopping spree tonight?”

  Everett clears his throat and glowers at Noah a moment. “Don’t worry, Lemon. This baby won’t want for anything, and neither will you. I’m not certain, but isn’t your mother planning something? A shower like the one she threw for Lainey?”

  “Oh, I doubt it. My mother can’t remember who she is anymore, let alone the fact I’m about to have a baby. Her head is all over the place ever since she gave away the B&B. And she’s practically despondent that Carlotta has swept in and become an overnight sensation in the book world.”

  “Ooh,” Dr. Barnette says as she splashes some warm jelly over my stomach before pressing an apparatus that looks like a mouse over it. “I’ve heard great things about her book, Lottie. A couple of copies are circulating right here at the office. You should bring your mother with you next time. My staff would love to have her sign their copies.”

  I’d ask which mother she was talking about, but I’m afraid I know exactly which one.

  Dr. Barnette regales us with images of our sweet little sugar cookie and tears spring to life in my eyes. Tears of joy because I get to finally see my sweet angel very very soon, live and in person. And tears of grief because Everett may not be here to enjoy the moment with me. And tears of anger because whoever killed Verity Prescott has unwittingly unleashed a wildfire into my own life—in Evie’s and into Everett’s after last night.

  I can’t control when the baby arrives. I certainly can’t control whether or not Everett goes to prison. But I can most certainly do my darnedest to land Verity’s killer behind bars.

  Whoever killed Verity is going to pay for her death and the carnage they’ve unleashed in my world. In fact, I’m not wasting any time hunting them down.

  Juliet Jackowski, I’m gunning for you tonight.

  Lottie

  By the time we get back to Main Street the three of us are famished.

  Okay, mostly it’s me that’s famished, but Noah and Everett are pretty hungry, too. Truth be told, I’m just as hungry for justice as I am anything I can shove into my pie hole, so I’ve hatched a little scheme.

  I asked Noah to pick up a pizza and some sandwiches from Mangias. And I asked Everett to pick up the works from the Wicked Wok.

  And I asked them to meet me back at the bakery as soon as they could before we hightailed it home to enjoy our feast. Of course, I didn’t actually lie to Everett and Noah. I stopped by the bakery long enough to let Lily know that if Everett and Noah got back before I did to let them know I was in the back office and that I would be out momentarily. And under no circumstances were they to come back there.

  Lily gave me the stink eye. She let me know under no circumstances was she going to bend the truth. So I did what any self-respecting business owner would do. I let her know I’d pay her for an additional two hours. And to make her feel better, I left through the back door. For all she knows, I’m in the office stuffing my face with raspberry tarts and monitoring my sales.

  But I’m not.

  I’m right back on Main Street as the streetlamps shine down over the fresh blanket of snow covering the sidewalks. Pink and red twinkle lights adorn the windows of all the businesses that line the street, and it casts a mystical glow in the night. I traipse across the street, and just as I hit the sidewalk, a spray of red stars appears to my right, and soon enough Teddy is swinging from my neck, sitting on the side of my
tummy, and I can feel her warming my body.

  “Hey there, cutie,” I say. “Perfect timing. I was just about to head into the knit shop and speak to Juliet Jackowski.”

  “My goodness”—she cranes her cute little head past me—“where is Carlotta?”

  “She’s not here. And believe me, that’s great news. Carlotta has a knack for making a bit of a mess of things. Trust me, things will move a lot smoother without her.”

  “But the way Carlotta was telling it, you work as some sort of a dynamic duo. She said you weren’t the greatest sidekick, but that the fates had spoken and she was stuck with ya.”

  I roll my eyes at that one.

  “In fact”—Teddy is quick to continue—“she was telling the girls at bingo last night that she’s kind enough to let you tag along on her investigative adventures, but that, well, you were sort of a hot mess.”

  “What?” I squawk and a small group of women walking down the street turn my way. “Good evening,” I hum as I put a little pep in my step as I hustle my way toward Juliet’s knitting shop. “Listen”—I whisper to Teddy as I cradle her in my right arm as if she were a baby, and she feels every bit as adorable—“I’m not Carlotta’s sidekick. It’s the other way around,” I say as we come upon the shop. Not that I’d give Carlotta the coveted title of sidekick. She’s the hot mess in the investigative equation. “I’ll explain everything later. But we’re going to have to make this visit super quick before Noah and Everett get wind of where I am.”

  The Social Knitwork is light and bright inside and is lined with what looks like bookshelves covered with skeins of yarn in a rainbow of colors. And it’s those balls of colorful yarn that give this place a cozy feel that makes me want to stay and linger.

  To the right there’s a tall silk ficus tree that hugs the shelves, and in the middle of the shop there are tables set out and chairs as if encouraging the patrons to sit and knit for as long as they like. Easy music plays from the speakers, and the scent of cinnamon lingers in the air. To the left there’s a counter with a register, and sitting behind it is a rather bored looking teenager with a pair of earbuds plugged into her head as she stares vacantly on her phone.