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

when her body would be ready, not that I was going to storm the castle on night one. Her body has been through a lot. And I want to give her all the time she needs to heal.

“You’re underestimating my ability to get creative. In fact, dare I say I can be more creative than you?”

A dark laugh strums from me. “I don’t think you know what you’re up against.”

“It sounds as if you just threw down the gauntlet.” Her fingers work my buttons loose before she pauses the effort. “I have a question for you, Everett. Were you and Noah talking about that mystery woman out there? I thought I heard you mention her.”

I take a breath and my silence speaks volumes.

She nods my way. “You know something, don’t you?”

“No.” My gut cinches. Technically, that’s true, but a technicality is still a far cry from the truth.

She pulls back and studies me with a pensive stare.

“Are you lying to me, Everett?”

This is it, do or die.

“Yes.”

Lottie

It seems as if all of Honey Hollow has packed itself into the oversized studio right here in Leeds.

The lights shine bright over the tiny set that consists of an orange sofa, a matching wingback chair, and a pine coffee table as an army of crew members run back adjusting, securing, and overseeing every little detail that will be needed while we film our live paternity reveal.

Everett and Noah are having what looks to be a serious discussion backstage over by the refreshment table. Of course, my bakery provided enough chocolate chip cookies for every person under this roof, and both Lily and Suze are here passing those out to anyone who would like them.

Carlotta is backstage as well, trying to comfort Mayor Nash. He’s been pretty upset that there’s a paternity debate at all when it comes to me, and I feel terrible about it.

Kit Knickerson has been zooming back and forth like a bolt of lightning, and was as kind as can be once we stepped into the studio this morning. She was talking to Fern Cranston who Cormack is set to interview right after us since Fern’s new book didn’t get the promotional spotlight the way it was supposed to the day Candace was killed. And Woody is here, already barking out orders to those around him—Burt being one of them.

“I’m so nervous,” I say to Lainey, Meg, and my mother as I press a kiss to Lyla Nell’s sweet head before securing a knit cap over it. The day might be heating up outside these studio walls, but it’s an icebox in here. And no matter how much I move my body, I can’t seem to warm up. We’re standing at the edge of the set while looking out at the sea of people already taking their seats in the audience, and it feels as if we’ve been transported right back to that day of the murder.

“Keep her in the carrier while she’s sleeping,” I tell my mother as we make the handoff. “And I have three bottles in there, enough for all day. Oh, and I brought a few different outfits for her if she’s too uncomfortable in that frilly dress. The camera is only going to be on her for one second. And please, I don’t care what is happening or if they kick us all out, if Lyla Nell smiles, I want you to bring her to me.” I whimper through that last sentence. “I can’t miss my baby’s first smile! And she’s on the verge, I can feel it,” I wail as tears spring to my eyes.

“Relax, Lot,” Meg snips. “She’s going to smile for the next one hundred years and maybe longer than that. You’ll be around to see almost all of them. She might even smile while she’s telling you off as a teenager.” She chuckles to herself, and I take a moment to frown at my sister.

Meg has ironed out her dark hair, stick-straight and with a glossy finish. She looks more model than she does monster today with her makeup toned down a bit and her eyes glowing like glaciers. But she’s kept up the biker chick appeal where her wardrobe is concerned with a black leather jacket and matching pants. She has me wishing I had worn leather instead of my sundress. But it’s adorable nonetheless. It’s a powder blue number with white and blue polka-dotted panels in the skirt. It’s not nursing friendly, but I’ve already made it work as best as I could twice this morning.

Mom scoffs with a laugh in her throat. “Don’t listen to your sister, Lottie. Lyla Nell will not tell you off with a smile.” Her brows knit together a moment. “Although, Meg, I seem to recall you did just that on a few occasions to me.”

Mom is certainly living up to her Glam Glam moniker clad in a royal blue satin dress and her hair and makeup expertly applied. It’s clear she’s ready for her close-up, and she’ll get it, too, considering she’s the one holding the baby.

“I never told you off, Mom.” Lainey winks with a touch of pride. “I was more of a door-slammer, eye-roller, passive-aggressively-disobeying-commands type of a child.”

“Don’t forget sneaking out of your window to see your friends,” I add. “And boyfriends.”

Lainey’s eyes bug out at me. She has her hair in a French twist, a pink cardigan with printed flowers and bunnies all over it, and a long butter yellow prairie skirt on, looking like the quintessential librarian she is.

Mom gasps as she looks to her oldest daughter. “Elaine Noelle!”

Mom has rarely invoked Lainey’s formal name, but when she has it always means that Lainey is in the deepest kind of trouble.

“Thanks, Lottie.” Lainey swats me on the arm. “I’d threaten to reveal a few of your own secrets, but I think today is going to bring more than enough of that for you. I can’t believe you might be the daughter of a mob boss.”

“Me either,”