Raspberry Tart Terror (Murder in the Mix Book 30) Unknown (christmas read aloud .TXT) 📖

“He’ll be back. Maybe not tomorrow, but in the meantime, I’ll be right there by your side.”

“Me, too.” Lainey pats my back in lieu of a hug. “I’ll see you both tomorrow at five-thirty. Don’t be late and try not to show up hungry.” She takes off and I sigh in her wake.

How I hate that life keeps happening without Everett here to experience it with us.

Noah nods as if he were thinking the exact same thing.

A woman with the words coroner’s office emblazoned over her navy jacket steps into the room and begins taking pictures, just in case this turns out to be a homicide, and it will.

It always does.

I look to the two women huddled together—Sugar and her friend the brunette, then to the man with the ill-fitting suit as he glares over where Verity lies, and then to Bambi who’s in hysterics with theatrical weeping, and I can’t help but wonder if one of them caused this carnage.

Noah helps me round up Evie, and we leave out the back door from which we entered. Just as I gird myself to step onto the snowy path that leads to the parking lot, something gold and glittery catches my eye on the ground.

“Noah.” I grab his arm as I point down to it.

Lying on the snow is not only a gold bangle, but the remnants of one of my raspberry tarts, and next to that another whole one.

“Oh, Noah,” I say. “Verity came out this way earlier. And I know exactly who that bracelet belongs to.” I pull out my phone in haste and snap a picture of the scene.

“Whoa.” Noah holds out his arm so that neither Evie nor I can take another step closer to what could be evidence. “Do you think this bracelet belongs to the killer?”

“Maybe,” I say. “And I’m starting to think you should test that tart for poison as well.”

Another death.

Another killer.

Another cursed night right here in Honey Hollow.

Another ghost and another mystery to solve.

When will it all end?

Something tells me it won’t.

Noah

I ended up bringing my golden, Toby, over to Lottie’s place and we hung out all night.

Toby thankfully gets along great with Pancake and Waffles, Lottie’s white, fluffy Himalayan cats, and a good time was had by all. I had Mangias deliver a large pepperoni pizza, and I made a fire while Lottie put on some movie about Valentine’s Day on the Holiday Channel. Evie raved all night about the fact she was on a dead woman’s Insta Pictures account, and seemed more than thrilled with the street cred that was already giving her at Honey Hollow High. Carlotta boasted about selling out of her new self-help book and shared that she’s already planning another one. And I held Lottie on the couch, our minds drifting from that fresh new homicide then straight to Everett and back on a loop.

I never did go home last night. I tucked Lottie in then read to that sweet baby in her belly. And once Lottie fell asleep, I hung out on the bed until I fell asleep, too.

I’ll admit, it felt right. It felt as if I had come home. I don’t need a paternity test to let me know that the baby she’s carrying is my own. I’m not sure how I’ve become so convinced of it—most likely from sheer desperation—but I’d bet everything I’ve got that the baby is mine.

Valentine’s Day is coming up, and it stings a little more each year it sneaks up on me. It was just two years ago on the day that I was set to propose to Lottie when my ex-wife, Britney, came back into the picture and planted an axe right between Lottie and me.

It was painful then, and it’s painful now.

I don’t know why I didn’t just tell Lottie that Brit and I were separated. I had already told her about Brit, but I may have made it sound as if we were already divorced. I probably figured it was inevitable at that point. We hadn’t seen one another in a year. I was already pursuing the effort.

Regardless, Lottie and I blew apart. And I sent her sailing right into Everett Baxter’s arms. My nemesis, my brother, all rolled into one. And even though Everett and I aren’t blood, I do consider him just that.

The Ashford County Sheriff’s Department sits gray and lethargic this afternoon with mounds of pristine snow butting up against it as I head in its direction. And oddly, this tired building feels like home, too.

Hell, I miss it just a notch less than I miss Lottie.

This is who I am. My identity is sunk in this place. They took my gun away the night they arrested me, but I simply pulled one out of my own weapons cache and planted it right into my holster. I need it almost as much as I need my badge. In truth, I feel naked without both.

I trek on into my old stomping grounds. Heck, my suspension is so new that none of this feels old at all.

A few deputies nod my way with a friendly hello as if nothing at all had transpired—as if they didn’t show up just a few days ago and haul me down to the station like some common criminal. Not that they shouldn’t have. I’ve certainly given the department more than a few reasons to distrust my judgment. Hell, I don’t know if I trust myself anymore.

Lottie asked me what I thought that fated night. She wanted my opinion regarding the fact Florenza Canelli’s ghost demanded we move her body from the morgue. Deep down, I knew I should have said no, but I didn’t. And now here we are. Both Everett and me with our careers on the line, and Everett with the balance of his freedom on the line as well.

I make a beeline to the processing department then use my affable