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

I blow out a breath. “I’m fine. Fiona is a master in the courtroom. I have faith she can turn that jury upside down if she wants to. I’ve seen her pump a jury full of so much doubt they were left double guessing what day of the week it was.” Fiona might be a master, but she’ll have to be a magician to pull off the grand feat I’ve set before her. Fiona may have a strong case, but the DA’s case is stronger. They wouldn’t have taken me to court if they didn’t think they could win. This will be an uphill battle. It doesn’t look good for me, but I’ll be the last to vocalize it, especially to Lemon. “There is some good news.”

“Give it to me.” The smile is gone from her face. She’s serious as stone.

“The trial will be short and sweet. There isn’t much to mull over.” The bad news is, it’s exactly those kinds of trials that don’t do any favors for the defense. But Lemon doesn’t have to know that. She’ll figure it out soon enough if things go to hell.

Her chest pumps with a silent laugh. “So that must mean they think they have an open and shut case against you. Lovely.” She nods. “If this goes sideways for you, Everett, I will never forgive myself.”

“Lottie!” Miranda calls her daughter to attention. “Oh, give me that sweet baby.” She scoops Lyla Nell out of my arms. “Eliza, Suze? How about the three of us pose for a picture together?”

Lemon and I watch as Meg takes a few shots of the three of them. Meg has been playing the part of official photographer this afternoon, and I’m glad we’ll have the memories. It already feels as if it’s zipping by far too fast.

“My turn!” Evie calls out before motioning for the two of us. “Come on, family pictures! You, too, Uncle Noah.”

I look his way to see him having what looks to be a tense conversation with his father. Can’t say I blame him. I’d like to have a rather tense conversation with his father, too. First, for the things he once put my mother through, although per her instructions, I’ve chosen to rise above it, and secondly, to shake him for convincing Miranda to sell her B&B. It wasn’t necessary.

Why would he need hundreds of thousands of dollars to run his so-called publishing empire when he’s a one-man show with two authors under his belt? Something is not adding up. But then, with Wiley, the math never does.

We head over and I wrap my arms around Evie and Lemon while Noah stands on the other side of Evie and the baby. We take one picture after the next and a part of me wonders if Lyla Nell will look back on these photos one day and think that was the last picture she took with her dad before he went off to prison.

My own father wasn’t going to win any awards while he was still living. I hadn’t given much thought to the kind of father I’d make, but I always figured it would be a better one than the one I had. And here I’m staring down the barrel of a prison sentence that could keep me from the first fifteen years of Lyla Nell’s life. That’s the maximum sentence for unlawful removal of a corpse, and I have no doubt the judge I’ll be facing will send me away for the entire duration.

I get it. Their bench is on the line.

The general public is suddenly mighty interested in the sentencing procedures when we’re judging one of our own. They want to make sure there aren’t any favors being doled out, no special interest. If they even get a whiff of favoritism, that judge’s career could very well be on the line. It’s me or them, and they’re not the one that committed the crime.

Meg takes off to chronicle the rest of the party while Evie takes Lyla Nell over to her friends and that boyfriend of hers. He seems like a nice enough kid, but he’s with Evie, so instinctually I can’t like him all that much.

Lainey runs up waving a giant pink gift bag and Keelie is right beside her.

“I’ve got a present!” she sings as she hands the bag to Lemon. “Open it. It’s for both you and Lyla Nell. You’re going to love it.”

Lemon pulls the pink tissue paper to the side and pulls out a large iridescent pink photo album. “Lainey, this is gorgeous! I don’t remember the last time I held a physical picture in my hands. Do they still make those?” she teases.

“Of course, they do.” Lainey bumps her with her elbow. “It’s for scrapbooking. I want us to get together once a month and put together albums. And don’t worry. I’ve got all the paper, the gel pens, the die cuts, and the stickers you could want. I’ll make the coffee if you bring the cookies.” She looks to Keelie. “You have to get into this, too. You have an automatic invite. Now that we’re mothers, we need to document every single moment of our child’s life.”

Keelie shakes her head. “I’m not documenting anything. I’m too tired to think, let alone glue pictures in a book. Besides, I’ve got all the pictures on my phone, and they go straight into the cloud. And one day in the future I’ll make it rain memories. But I’ll come for the cookies and the coffee.”

“Oh, Essex.” My mother and sister stride up with Lyla Nell bouncing in Meghan’s arms. Mom is far too overdressed for the occasion with her silver beaded gown. I can’t blame her, though. Overdressing has been a family tradition for as long as I can remember. But Meghan rounds it out with her denim jacket and jeans.

My sister shakes her head. “You and Lottie make beautiful