Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 28-30: Cozy Mystery Addison Moore (the reading strategies book .txt) 📖

Candy Brighton?

I glance over at Suze as she rants away to Serena and shake my head.

All right, Suze. I’ll talk to Candy next.

Don’t say I never did anything for you.

The baby kicks and my hand quickly clamps over my belly.

Huh. It makes me wonder if I’m in the process of doing something much bigger for Suze—like giving her a grandchild she already wants nothing to do with.

Don’t worry, Sugar Cookie. Mommy wants you here, plenty.

And I want that killer put away, too.

It’s almost Christmas, and I want this holiday homicide solved long before Santa ever hops into his sleigh.

And if I can make a prediction myself—it will be.

I’ll make sure of it myself.

Chapter 6

“Other women wish they can be you, Lot Lot,” Carlotta says after I finish up puking into the bushes.

Once Everett texted and said the house was ready for me, Carlotta and I packed it up and headed back to Country Cottage Road. We made it a little more than halfway before my stomach became a spin cycle and I had to deposit my lunch into the bushes in front of my sister Lainey’s house. A part of me is tempted to run on in and see my new little niece, Josie. And the other part of me doesn’t want to tell my sister the real story behind my impromptu visit, so I decide to do a quick rinse with the travel-size mouthwash I keep in the glove compartment, chug some water, and soldier on.

“No one wants to be me,” I counter as we pull onto our street. “Look at that.” I slow the car down next to the two lots of charred out rubble where my home and Everett’s once stood. Not even the snow wants to stick to that mess. “That’s outright destruction, Carlotta. And it’s all because I couldn’t seem to listen to Nell and not get involved with the Hearst murder investigation back in October. I’m an idiot is what I am. And somewhere in the burnt out mess lies a metaphor for my life that I don’t dare try to winnow out. Besides, I’m a mother now.” I sniff back tears, my eyes still very much glued to the vacant wasteland before me. “I’ve got someone else to think about other than myself. I need to put the baby first. Maybe Noah and Everett are right. Getting tangled up in these homicide investigations isn’t in the baby’s best interest.” They’ve been saying it for months. And I’ve been ignoring them for months on the subject, too.

“Don’t let a man tell you what to do with your life, Lot Lot. I may not have taught you much, but you get that nugget through your stubborn little noggin. You’re a killer catcher, Lottie Lemon. Legends are made of women like you. Sure, you’re probably going to get snared in the barbaric clutches of some deranged psychopath one of these days—and Foxy and Sexy will have to concede and marry those blonde bimbo stalkers of theirs—and your kid will be raised by Evie Stevie and me—and the bakery will end up closing its—”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, never mind.” I zip into my new driveway and honk the horn per the instructions Everett gave me, and sure enough, Noah and Everett come running out of the house, as do Evie and Mayor Nash.

“Ha!” Carlotta barks. “Well, look at the party!”

We get out of the car and my eyes magnetize to my new rental.

“The door!” I gasp. When I left this morning, the little white house across the street from Noah’s cabin was almost an exact replica of my old rental which once stood next door to it. It has the same one-level design, same wraparound porch, but the door had faded from a cheery bright red like my own door had been, to a somewhat spotted pink catastrophe.

After my neighbor, Hot Hannah, was brutally killed last month, the house went for lease and Everett snatched it right up. We had a chance to tour the inside, and everything is pretty much the same as my old place with the exception that the master bedroom and bathroom are palatial.

That bathtub can fit half of Honey Hollow in it, and you can bet your bottom bubble bath dollar that Everett and I will be swimming in it as soon as tonight—naked, of course, with lascivious intent. Our stay at Noah’s has been a rather prolonged dry spell for the both of us. Let’s just say I’ve made more coital visits to the Ashford Courthouse than I’ve ever imagined these past few weeks. But in my defense, I have needs and hormones and a husband to keep happy.

But right now, that door is painted a bright candy apple red, and there’s even a fresh evergreen wreath on it. A strand of colorful Christmas lights is strung over the roofline and lit up like a dream. It might be late afternoon but with those dark purple clouds up above, and the entire house illuminated like a jack-o-lantern, it looks more like the dead of night.

Evie hops in front of me. “Check out the decorations on the porch, Mom!” She grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs.

Giant poinsettias sit at either side of the door and evergreen garland outlines the door.

“This is gorgeous,” I say, turning to look at Noah and Everett.

Everett has on jeans and a flannel, a look I’m not used to seeing on him, and, might I add, he looks drop-dead gorgeous. Not a euphemism someone like me should be using but still.

“It was all for you, Lemon.” He pulls me in, and I can’t help but notice a sugary sweet scent clinging to his shirt. “I went down to the tree lot and picked up the garland and the wreath.”

Noah steps up. “And as soon as your car pulled away this morning, I painted the door for you.”

Mayor Nash grunts hard and we look over to see him scooping up Carlotta in