Chocolate Chip Cookie Conundrum (Murder in the Mix Book 32) by Unknown (the lemonade war series .TXT) 📕

dead, she’s suddenly wearing a blue one. It makes me wonder what happened to the white one.” I lift a brow. “She just might be our killer.”

Noah comes out just as a tall, leggy redhead makes her way over—Detective Ivy Fairbanks, Noah’s counterpart down at the homicide division. She’s a looker, and she’s got her sights set on Noah, too. Suffice it to say, Ivy and I have never really cared for one another.

“Well, well”—Ivy smirks my way—“and to think I was glued to my set just waiting to hear which of these gentlemen is the official father of your child.”

“They’re both official,” I snark back, not caring one bit that it hardly makes any sense. “And besides that, Carlotta didn’t kill that woman.”

Ivy’s eyes grow wide. “So Carlotta is the one they just called in as the suspect due on arrival?” She crimps her lips, amused. “It seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, now does it? Let’s hope this homicidal cycle is broken now that you have a daughter yourself. Noah, why don’t you brief me?” She stalks off inside and Noah nods my way.

“I need to get back to work.” He lands a kiss to my cheek. “Go ahead and take Lyla Nell home. I’ll bring pizza later if I’m able.”

He takes off and Everett navigates us back inside.

“Miranda,” he calls out as my mother heads this way with the baby still secured safely to her chest. “Would you please take Lemon and the baby home? I’m heading down to the sheriff’s department to meet with an attorney for Carlotta.” He lands a kiss to the top of the baby’s head then to my lips. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll have her home in time for dinner.” He takes off and a mean shiver rides through me.

“Oh, Lottie.” Mom’s voice is rife with worry. “Please tell me you don’t think Carlotta did this. After the way she threatened that woman? And it certainly was clear Candace had some serious dirt on Carlotta. I wonder what that was about?”

“I wonder what that was about myself,” I say, looking out at the crowd of stagehands bustling back and forth, each one of them with a morose expression on their faces.

In the distance I see Burt Walker, the producer, engaged in a serious conversation with Woody Hawthorne and my eyes float up and down Burt’s body in that all black outfit with the white whipstitching that glows in the murky light. I glance up at his shirt and take a sharp breath. “The red handkerchief,” I whisper to myself. “That’s where I saw it! Woody had it tucked in his shirt,” I mumble.

“What’s that?” my mother asks, taking a step in my direction.

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head just as the redhead, the author with the cartoonish smile I met earlier, speeds this way with her purse cinched over her shoulder.

“Didn’t that turn out to be a shocker?” she says, clutching at her throat. “Who saw that coming, huh?” She shakes her head at my mother and me. “And to think Candace was the one used to doling out the surprises. It was nice meeting you, Lottie. I’ll stop by that bakery of yours soon. I’m always looking for more tackling fuel for my writing. And I’m not one to turn down a delicious carb either.”

“You’re a writer? I’m a writer!” Mom is quick to flaunt her own career as a scribe. She takes a quick breath. “You’re Fern Cranston, aren’t you? I’ve seen you on the show before. And I’ve read a few of your books. Oh, I just love you.”

“Well, thank you. It’s always great to meet other writers. In fact, I’ll be at the Mystery and Mayhem Fest at that old haunted B&B up in Honey Hollow. If you can, you should stop by! I hear it’s just as ritzy as it is tacky these days.” She gives three short honks as she laughs.

“Mystery and Mayhem Fest?” Mom blinks back. “This is the first I’m hearing of it. But I can assure you I’ll be there.”

And she will—as the scullery maid. Cormack and Cressida have let her continue to live at the B&B and work as the head housekeeper. Wiley, the moron, was elevated to the head groundskeeper. Mind you, there is only one housekeeper and one groundskeeper.

“I’ll see both of you gals around!” She beams a giant smile as if it were the best day ever. “The future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades.” She pulls out a pair of sunglasses and slips them on as she zips for the door.

Mom scoffs. “She’s not too broken up about Candace, now is she?”

“No, she’s not, is she?”

I look to my right and note Burt Walker staring off down that fated corridor, and I’ll be darned if he doesn’t have a smile on his face, too. It looks as if we’ve got more suspects than needed to kick this investigation off in the right direction.

The baby starts to fuss and I take the carrier from my mother and land my sweet Lyla Nell right where she belongs, with me.

“Poor thing”—Mom adjusts the pink knit cap over the baby’s head—“she still doesn’t know who her father is.”

“It won’t change anything. She has two,” I say, rocking her right back to sleep.

Two very loving men who are very attentive to her every need and mine. And I’m willing to bet both of those men will help me hunt down the person who really killed Candace Cottonwood.

Somewhere in the distance a rooster crows, and I have no doubt that ornery bird will be right on the case with me, too.

“Sorry, Lyla Nell,” I whisper over her sweet head as I take off my scarf. “It looks as if my life is just as chaotic as ever. But don’t you worry. I won’t let a single person hurt a hair on your precious head.” I walk over to a chair a few feet away and set my scarf down as