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

I should know, I was one of those people.

“Coaches”—Serena points over to Noah and me—“your mother-to-be is going to rely on you exclusively to cheer her on. Now is the time to think up clever little motivational sayings that go above and beyond you can do this. Get creative! You want to jar your partner emotionally with the wonderful things you can come up with to spur her on. You’re a team. If she’s unhappy, you’re unhappy. The entire emotional state of your partner rides on your shoulders.”

“Don’t worry, Lemon,” I whisper in her ear. “I’m going to be your biggest supporter. I already know you can get this done with ease. You’re the smartest woman I know, and you’re tough as nails.” I land a kiss to her earlobe, and she bubbles with a laugh.

“You keep that up, Baxter, and I might just start believing it.”

Serena and Lainey come around and teach us a few controlled breathing techniques. They let us know it’s best to focus on one object in the room while riding the wave of the contractions, and breathing slow, even breaths until the pain has subsided.

Something tells me I’ll be implementing these breathing techniques for the next fifteen years if things go south for me.

Serena and Lainey go around the room once again, teaching each set of partners the various birthing positions available.

“I draw the line on getting on all fours,” Lemon says as Lainey struggles to contort her into yet another uncomfortable position.

Noah chuckles as he leans my way. “She never said those words to me.” He flexes a short-lived grin at the thought.

“I’m not laughing.” And I’m certainly not telling him about my experiences with Lemon in that position. Some things aren’t meant to be shared.

My lips purse as I watch my sweet, beautiful wife.

Dear God, she is not meant to be shared. But perhaps the noblest thing I can do for her is give her away.

My heart physically aches at the thought.

I’d rather be in the morgue than in that cell. Either place is interchangeable at this point.

But I will survive this. I have to. For Lemon, for Evie, for the baby. Even if Lemon isn’t mine anymore after all is said and done, we’ll always be family.

Noah kicks his foot to mine. “Hey, wake up, old man. Lottie gets one last massage out of this. It’s called the slow dance.”

I look up to see Lemon doing a macabre sort of slow dance with Lainey as they practice their methodic breathing.

“Why don’t you take this one?” I tell him. “I’ll cut in soon enough.”

“Like you always do,” he says, jumping to his feet, and the next thing I know, he’s got Lemon in his arms as they get their breathing in sync.

And soon enough, they just might be getting their lives in sync, too. My heart breaks just witnessing it, but I might as well give them a head start.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s a message from Evie.

Get home quickly. Verity just sent me another message. I’m scared, Dad. I’m really scared. I need you.

Lemon and Noah insisted on taking off early with me, and seeing that there were only ten minutes left in the class I didn’t put up a fight. Besides, Evie needs all of us. And I need Noah to be a part of her life, to fill the void I’m about to leave in it.

But regardless of having Noah in her life, Evie still needs me. Lemon and the baby need me, too. And I will do everything in my power to fight for the right to remain right here in Honey Hollow, in their lives.

We need each other.

Our happily ever after is just within reach. I can’t let anything stand in the way of that.

But then again, there is that bullet to the heart Jimmy Canelli wants to gift me and the fifteen year extended vacation at Fenwick the DA has planned for me—something is definitely standing in the way of that happily ever after.

And maybe, just maybe, Lemon, Evie, and the baby get that happily ever after with someone other than me.

Noah

Lottie’s new rental is lit up like a beacon in the night. A crowd of women is staked out on the frosted lawn, sitting around the trunks of their cars, sipping from thermoses and snacking on cookies as if they were tailgating. They scream their heads off at us as if we were rock stars as we make our way into the house.

“Evie?” Everett riots as he charges into the living room, and out she springs from down the hall, along with Carlotta.

“Dad, it’s, like, super terrible!” Evie wails. “This is getting weird. I want off this ride.”

She thrusts her phone at him, and he glances at it before closing his eyes.

I snap the phone out of his hand, and Lottie and I read the message for ourselves.

You didn’t listen to me. Now you must pay. The next body buried in your uncle’s backyard will be yours.

Carlotta grips Evie by the shoulders. “No one touches my Evie Stevie! Someone is going to pay for this. Call the sheriff’s department, Foxy.”

“I am the sheriff’s department,” I say as I flick through the previous messages sent from this monster. “Ivy just texted me a few minutes ago. It turns out, a representative at Insta Pictures confirmed the messages were indeed coming from Verity’s account but via another host than Verity was using.”

Carlotta gasps. “Way to go. Did you get their phone number? Let’s ring this sucker up and tell ’em they’re going to be buried behind bars for the rest of their lives.”

“Ivy didn’t get a number, but I got an IP address.” I look to Lottie and Everett. “All I know is, they’re in Honey Hollow. It’s time to do a deep dive. Lottie, where’s your laptop? I’ll dig into it right now.”

In less than a minute, I’m settled on the couch with Lottie and