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

“So what’s our next move?”

Her lips twitch back and forth as she tries her best to restrain a smile.

“You know that asking to help me on a case is tantamount to shamelessly flirting.” She gives me a cheeky wink.

“And you can’t stop me from the effort. I mean it. Who’s next?”

“Do you have to ask? I think Bambi Bailey has some serious explaining to do.”

I nod. “I say we don’t waste any time. Let’s go find her.” I hold a hand out her way. “Team?”

Lottie places her hand in mine and gives me a squeeze. “We’ll always be a team, Noah.”

“Now that is music to my ears.” I kiss the back of her hand before she can protest. “Hot Cop and Hot Baker on the case. For life.” A smile rides on my lips as I say it, and a laugh bubbles from her.

But she doesn’t shoot the idea down.

And I’m betting that’s because she knows it’s true.

Lottie

It doesn’t take long to track down Bambi Bailey. Being the social media maven she is, she leads us straight to her doorstep—or more to the point, the coffee shop in which she’s currently taking up residence.

Lava Java is located in downtown Leeds on a ubiquitous corner in this seedy town that looks as if you could get shanked just walking through. Usually this end of town is reserved for drug lords and porn pins, and outside of that it’s typically a ghost town, but tonight there’s hardly any parking for blocks. Which is the exact reason Carlotta, Noah, Everett, and I landed and parked and trekked a million miles in the snow uphill both ways until we finally get to the door.

We come upon the coffee-inspired establishment and a sharp gasp circles the vicinity as the women get a gander at both Noah and Everett. Not that I can blame them. Noah and Everett look particularly sharp tonight with their dark hair slicked back, dark wool jackets, and those cuttingly handsome faces. It’s unfair that they’ve both landed in my life at essentially the very same time. But I’m not exactly knocking fate either.

A big sign on the window reads Slam Poetry Night! Open mic! Bring us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses of angst.

Inside the Lava Java the walls are dark gray, the floor and furnishings are comprised of dark wood, and the scent of heavenly coffee lights up our senses. There’s a makeshift stage up front to the right of the coffee counter, and a young girl stands with a spotlight on her, talking about global warming with enough angst to fuel a rocket to the moon. That must be the slam poetry in action. It’s kind of catchy, and I can’t help but get sucked right into the world the girl is weaving with her angsty words.

Bodies are everywhere you look, but there are plenty of tables set out to accommodate, and we find one in the middle of the melee where we take a seat.

It’s mostly teenagers and twenty-somethings in the crowd tonight. Each table is brimming with people, coffee, and desserts. But it’s the desserts that catch my eye, especially the ones consisting of heavenly looking thumbprint cookies and thick fudge brownies, and I think I see a slice of triple layer chocolate cake that looks tempting enough to dive into and never come out of.

A spray of pink and red stars ignites, and Teddy materializes in all of her furry, fuzzy, adorable glory.

“Carlotta, it’s about time you arrived. The case is really heating up,” she trills in her ghostly warble. “Bambi is set to take the stage soon. You won’t want to miss it. Everyone here is buzzing and on the hunt for Bambi, or so they say.”

I make a face because I’m pretty sure Carlotta is getting the lowdown because Teddy is convinced she’s driving this investigative train. It would figure that stealing my mother’s limelight just wasn’t enough. Carlotta is after mine, too.

“Good to know, cute stuff.” Carlotta gives a hard sniff. “Foxy, why don’t you go up and fetch us some of that magic brew they’re doling out? My pecker’s starting to pucker.”

“Ooh”—I whisper his way—“pick up some of those cookies and brownies for us, too, would you? And don’t you dare come back without a slice of that triple layer chocolate cake. It looks so rich and moist, I might need to shake someone down in the back until they fess up the recipe.”

Everett’s lips twitch. “Make that two slices of chocolate cake.”

Carlotta shakes her head. “Make it six. One for each of us and three for the munchie monster.”

I scoff at the thought. “That would be seven slices. And I am not a munchie monster.”

Carlotta shrugs. “I was talking about Teddy, but if the munchies fit.”

“Funny.” I scowl her way as Noah takes off.

Everett scoots in next to me. “I might need to make a quick stop somewhere after this.”

“Not a problem,” I say. “Full disclosure, I was thinking we should stop off at Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken and hit the drive-thru. I have a sudden craving to lick your fingers clean.” I give a cheesy wink his way. In my defense, all of my come-ons have been food-related as of late. I can’t help it. Everett and food are my twin cravings.

“It’s like you read my mind. I’m in the mood for a little pickin’ and lickin’ myself. I’ll aim for far more interesting places than your fingers, cupcake. But they’ll make for a fine appetizer.” His brows pinch and he looks decidedly handsome, but it’s those blue eyes of his that shine bright in this otherwise monochromatic world we’ve stepped into. “I’ll even get you your own bucket tonight.”

“Now you’re just flirting shamelessly with me.” I lean his way. “And don’t think I’ll forget about that pickin’ lickin’ threat. I’m holding it to you.”

A smile plays on his lips, but he’s too stubborn to give it. “I’ll be holding you to a lot of