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

It looks as if I won’t have to start in with any of the shenanigans I had planned. It was going to take a lot of nerve to say some of those things I thought up—things like I’m really good at judging people and the defendant looks guilty to me. Meg told me to say that one. Although that wouldn’t work because there’s no one seated next to Fiona to fill those guilty shoes.

Or the one where I start howling like a loon and clawing at my neck—Carlotta’s suggestion. It sounded like solid advice yesterday, but in the light of the courtroom, and how put together and, dare I say, gorgeous Fiona looks today—not to mention Annie Get Your Fun—I don’t want to be the loon in this scenario.

Fiona Dagmeyer is a smart, pretty brunette with her hair slicked back into a French knot, a pair of dark-rimmed glasses resting on her nose, and a turquoise power suit on, giving off that sexy librarian vibe. I’m not all that thrilled she knows my husband in the carnal sense.

Mr. Wolfe goes first and starts pegging random jurors with an entire litany of questions before he gets to me.

“What about you, juror number twenty-three?” His lips twitch, and Annie sighs as he comes in close. He’s a wolf, all right. I can tell he’s taken up Everett’s baton as the official Ashford County womanizer of the courthouse. “Do you agree with the phrase bad things don’t happen at random—someone is always to blame?” His lids hood my way, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was hitting on me.

“Of course, there’s always someone you can blame. But on occasion, we bring things on ourselves.” I’m not sure about anything I just said, but I’m hoping I confused him enough to make him think twice about keeping me around.

His eyes ride up and down my body, and I wrap my arms around this beach ball of flesh I have sitting under my dress.

“How do you feel about the justice system?” He doesn’t even blink at my blooming belly.

“I suppose it’s a necessary evil.” A part of me wishes I told him that I hated it and that I would rather run through the halls naked eating fried pickles than sit in this chair another minute, but out of respect for Everett I choose to display a modicum of sanity. I’ll save my rage for later where the judge himself can help me vent in a much more physical manner.

Mr. Wolfe ticks his head to the side. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a baker. I’m essential to getting the entire town of Honey Hollow off to a good start with my coffee and fresh baked breakfast offerings. You should probably dismiss me. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for an entire cranky town, now would you?”

A light chuckle circles the jury pool.

Mr. Wolfe purses his lips. “I’m sure they could make do for two or three weeks.”

“Two or three weeks?” I balk. “You people are insane if you think you’re going to hijack our lives for that long.”

Everett’s eyes widen a notch as a collective groan works its way through the jury box in agreement.

Mr. Wolfe chuckles. “You’re feisty. I like you. How do you think those who know you best might describe you?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask my husband?” I glance over at the man seated up on a perch and all eyes drift his way.

Everett stretches a short-lived smile across his face.

“Mr. Wolfe, Ms. Dagmeyer, juror number twenty-three is my wife.”

A guttural moan comes from at least six different women in the jury box, the most prominent belonging to Annie. She might be down, but she’s not out. I’ve already caught her licking her lips and winking at the Wolfe of Wall Street here. It’s always sensible to have a plan B. Or in her case a plan W.

“Really, Essex?” Fiona Dagmeyer says with a laugh caught in her mouth, and he nods her way.

Okay, so she didn’t know Everett and I tied the knot, but then, not many people do, considering it started out as a business transaction while I was dating another man. I’m betting Fiona didn’t peg Everett for the marrying kind. Not many people would—especially not many of his exes who have garnered themselves “Essex” privileges.

Annie huffs my way, “I suppose that’s his baby, too.”

“The jury is still out on that one,” I mutter under my breath.

Mr. Wolfe rocks back on his heels. “Judge Baxter, what kind of a juror do you think your wife would make?”

Everett draws a steady breath, his serious eyes never leaving mine.

Come on, Everett. Tell them how scatterbrained I’ve been. I made coffee at home the other day and forgot to put the mug under the single-serving dispenser. The entire counter was dripping with boiling hot java. Or how just yesterday I put the cereal in the fridge and the milk in the cupboard. Granted it was midnight and he was nibbling on my neck, but still—that could be a lethal oversight for a potential juror.

Everett nods my way. “I think she would make a fine juror. Please proceed with questioning.”

Oh, he’s going to get it. Or not. This is a punishment we’re talking about. But then, that’s one punishment that works both ways.

Mr. Wolfe holds his hands up. “By all means, Judge Baxter. If she’s good enough for you, she’s good enough for me.”

Perfect. I shoot Everett a look for that one.

Mr. Wolfe takes a seat, and soon Fiona Dagmeyer, aka The Dagger around these judicial parts, is quizzing everyone but me on a bevy of questions that range from their thoughts on tattoos to what they ate for breakfast.

She knots up her lips as she gets to me, and her eyes narrow over mine. Fiona is as razor sharp as she is gorgeous. She won’t want me mucking up her jury. I already know she thinks I’m a ditz. Fiona