Chocolate Chip Cookie Conundrum (Murder in the Mix Book 32) Unknown (me reader txt) 📖

Gasps emit all around me. And I can’t help but notice that a breeze is hitting my flesh in places I’ve never felt a breeze before in public.

The judge nods my way with a slight frown before looking to Fiona.

“Proceed.”

Oh, thank God. The last thing I wanted was to get kicked out on my rear. I really want to hear Fiona finish this off with a bang.

Fiona starts in on Cormack again when suddenly a loud rather obscene noise emits from Carlotta.

A horrible groan escapes her followed by what sounds like a popcorn machine going off.

“Fire in the hole!” she calls out before bolting right out of the courtroom.

Fiona glares in my direction. “As I was saying—” She looks back to the jury, and just as she opens her mouth, a large, rather frightening, belching sound comes from Mayor Nash.

“Chili pepper contest.” He lifts a finger as he looks to the ground. His body bounces as a horrible retching noise comes from him. He hops up and clamps his hand over his mouth while bolting right after Carlotta.

Great. The jury isn’t going to remember a thing Fiona is trying to tell them. But what they will remember is the bodily malfunctions Carlotta and Mayor Nash just displayed—and maybe my left boob, too.

“Judge Everett Baxter knew that Noah Fox was actively attempting to woo his wife away from him,” Fiona dares to continue.

Noah lets out a hard groan and grips his stomach. “I’m sorry, Your Honor.” Another hard groan rips from him as he rises from his seat and begins to stagger toward the door before his knees buckle and he holds himself up by the edge of a chair.

“Noah!” I cry as I do my best to traipse down the aisle after him, and just as I’m about to enter the clearing, I trip just enough to dislodge Lyla Nell, and my boob bounces out of my blouse like a cantaloupe for all to see. “Oh!” I say, trying to right myself.

Noah speeds back my way and I lurch forward, slapping him right in the face with my boob.

A brief titter of laughter circles the room, and Fiona looks as if she’s going to pull every hair on my head right out in retribution for bungling her case.

She looks to the jury. “Oh, what the heck. Judge Essex Everett Baxter was sleepwalking that night. You must find him innocent. Thank you for your time.”

And just like that, it’s over.

Noah retches, Lyla Nell screams at top volume, and I bounce myself and my free-range body parts right on out of that courtroom.

Some impression I made on the jury.

Here’s hoping I didn’t ruin anything.

Something tells me I did just that.

Lottie

“I know I was wearing a diaper”—Carlotta rambles on as we step back into our rental home—“but it doesn’t mean I wanted everyone to hear my hind end singing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’.”

“And I appreciate that,” Everett says, placing Lyla Nell’s car seat on the coffee table and scooping her right out of it.

We drove straight home right after the courthouse. Evie went to dinner with friends, and Noah said he was going to head to the sheriff’s station to get some work done. The jury will be in deliberations tomorrow, so we might just have another long day ahead of us.

“She’s sleeping like an angel.” I sigh. Right after court was over, I nursed her in the minivan for about ten minutes before we left. That, coupled with the long drive home, lulled her into what looks to be a blissful nap. “But you realize as soon as we put her down she’s going to make us pay for it. She’s not a fan of the bassinet.”

“And she seems to hate the crib,” he says. “That mattress isn’t made of nails, is it?”

“You’re funny, Judge Baxter.”

His expression darkens. “Just Everett will do.”

“That’s right, Lot,” Carlotta says as she jumps on the sofa and collects Pancake and Waffles in her arms, and surprisingly Cluck Norris, too. “He’s saving that nickname for the Big House. I bet that title is going to garner you a lot of respect in a place like that.”

“It’ll garner me something,” he says, pulling a blanket out of the diaper bag and getting comfy on the sofa with Lyla Nell sleeping over his chest. He turns on the television and a game pops up on the screen. “You want to watch anything, Lemon?”

“You watch the game. You’ve earned that, and then some.”

Cluck Norris floats my way in all his cocky glory. “Who’s the next suspect, Lottie?” he crows out a few buck-buck-bucks along with it.

“Burt Walker,” I do my best to whisper.

“What’s that?” Everett turns my way slightly.

“I was just thinking. We didn’t pick up dinner on the way home. And Wicked Wok sounds like it would really hit the spot.”

“That sounds like just what I need,” he says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Oh no, no, no,” I say, taking his phone and placing it on the coffee table just out of his reach. “You relax and cuddle up with Lyla Nell. I’ll call in the order. Carlotta and I will pick it up and we won’t have to wait for their ridiculously long delivery times.”

I put in a quick call and double the size of our usual order. I’m half-starved and I know Everett is, too, although I’m not sure why either of us has an appetite considering the circumstances.

“I think I’ll pump really quick since Lyla Nell seems satiated and I’m filled to the brim.” I head to the kitchen where I’ve got my milking station set up at the bistro table in the corner and it takes about fifteen minutes to get about five ounces. I quickly land the bottle next to Everett, scoop up Carlotta, and head for the door.

“We’ll be back soon,” I say. “Shoot, I might have to stop by the bakery. Is that all right?”

“Take your time,