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

A harrowing howl comes from the poltergeist up above as his entire being glows an electric shade of green. Jags of lightning go off as a wind so powerful starts up, the entire room seems to be floating all around us in its wake. And caught up in the whirlwind are my sweet cats, yowling and screeching as they begin to float off the ground.

I spike to my feet in a rage at the glowing beast above me.

“ENOUGH!” I riot out the word so loud the walls shake, and that sweet little sugar cookie buried in my belly gives a violent kick in response.

And then, just like that, the wind stops cold, the glowing poltergeist is gone, and oddly enough, a gentle rain starts to fall from the ceiling.

“What in the heck?” Evie squawks from the hallway, and both Carlotta and I gasp her way.

“Evie, get back to bed.” I traipse in her direction while doing my best to shoo her from the living room.

“Mom?” Evie’s voice pitches. “Why is it raining in the house?”

“The sprinkler system must have gone off,” I say in a weak attempt to explain the unexplainable.

Evie scoffs in disbelief. “I didn’t know we had a sprinkler system.”

“I didn’t either. But you can be sure it’ll be gone by morning,” I say, giving her a kiss to the cheek and watching as she stalks off to her room as both Pancake and Waffles dart in ahead of her.

I turn back around to scold Carlotta for even thinking about dragging that haunted painting into our lives, only to find her levitating on her back, her hair flying freely all around her as if she were under water—and floating right above her is that surly ghost.

He points a finger my way as a bolt of lightning blasts from it, and I’m forced to squeeze my eyes shut tight. And when I open them, he’s carrying Carlotta off to her bedroom while the room continues to pulsate with lightning.

“Don’t wait up, kiddo,” Carlotta calls out. “I’ll do what I can to get Mr. Testy to communicate what he’s trying to tell us.”

They enter her room, and the door slams behind them as loud as a shotgun blast.

“What a mess,” I say as I turn back to the living room, but miraculously not one drop of water remains. What does remain is the disorganization of it all, throw pillows on the dining room table, those jar candles knocked over—and thankfully put out, but the melted wax has leeched onto the floor. The sofas are off-kilter, and the Christmas tree has lost half its ornaments.

I’ll deal with this disaster tomorrow.

Instead, I head off to bed, without my gorgeous husband by my side to kiss me goodnight.

Silent tears run down my cheeks at the thought of losing Everett.

The baby kicks, and I warm my belly with my hand.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper.

And deep down, I wonder.

Chapter 14

With all that’s been happening in this whirlwind month, I had almost forgotten about the craft fair my mother is hosting at the B&B. And I would have had she not called this morning and put in an extra order for about a couple dozen gingerbread houses—assembled yet unfinished so that the women could decorate them on site.

Everett texted as soon as I got to work this morning. He said I love you, to which I responded right back with the same sentiment. Then he asked me to dinner. Normally, I wouldn’t have hesitated to reply. Normally, I would have jumped at the chance to have dinner with my husband, but on this day I hesitated. Then I got very busy, and before I knew it, hours had passed since he sent the message, and now I’m afraid my silence is only widening the divide between us.

Keelie and Meg helped me deliver all of the goodies to my mother’s B&B, to the conservatory specifically, and we’ve laid out all of the platters of my sweet holiday treats on the refreshment table along with carafes of my peppermint Jolly Holly coffee. And on another table we’ve set out the gingerbread houses for people to decorate, and it’s been a hit with the throngs of women already circulating around the far too crowded room. My mother thought that the gingerbread houses could be used as centerpieces for the Jingle Hop Ball tomorrow night, and I thought that was a great idea. And as an added way to make a little money for the Christmas Angels, the gingerbread houses we decorate today will be auctioned off to the highest bidder at the table.

My ghostly friends, Greer Giles and Winslow Decker, stand with me as we watch the frenetic pace in which the women around us hunt and peck for the greatest Christmas deals.

Meg has loaded up on quilted custom-made tote bags, and I’m secretly hoping one of them is for me. Keelie is buying up some homemade lip gloss that’s said to be made from Honey Hollow honey. I’d love some of that, too. Lainey is buying up baby blankets made of fuzzy chenille by the dozens, and I really want one of those. In fact, I not only want one for the baby, but I want one for the cats as well, and maybe one for Noah’s dog, Toby.

My mother is pushing her steamy romances, but it doesn’t look as if she has too many takers. And Carlotta is hocking her kinky candles sans a discount and seems to be raking in money as quick as the patrons can shoot it at her. I’ll admit, some of those candles smell amazing. There’s one scented exactly like peanut brittle, and I confess, I’ve been more than tempted to eat it—as in the candle itself. Suffice it to say, I’ll be whipping up some peanut brittle along with my traditional Christmas fudge as soon as I get back to the bakery.

Greer and Winslow shake their heads at one another.

“I’m sorry, Lottie,” Winslow