Raspberry Tart Terror (Murder in the Mix Book 30) by Unknown (free ebook reader for ipad txt) 📕

her gaze from mine. “The only thing that means anything at all is the fact Essex stole Florenza Angel Face Canelli’s body from the morgue.” Her lips knot up. “The DA landed an offer on my desk this morning.”

“No.” Lemon doesn’t hesitate with the answer.

“It’s a decent deal,” Fiona goes on without regard to Lemon’s protest. “Eight years instead of the maximum of fifteen. With good behavior—that is, if you’re capable of it, you can get out in half that time. Fenwick is half-empty. They’d welcome you with open arms.”

Lemon straightens in her seat. “What’s Fenwick?”

“Prison.” Noah takes a breath. “A somewhat cushy correctional facility in upstate New York.”

“New York?” Carlotta lifts a brow in Lemon’s direction. “Don’t knock it, Lot. Think of all the hot weekend getaways in your future.”

“I’m not going to New York, and neither is he,” she snips. “The baby will be four by the time he gets out—if he gets out for good behavior. That’s unacceptable.” Lemon slaps her hand over mine. “Everett, you are a brilliant man. I demand you make this go away right this minute.”

Fiona’s chest bucks with a laugh. “Oh, Essex, you’ve truly spoiled her in the bedroom for her to think anything is possible.” She flits her eyes to Lemon. “I’m not surprised you think he hangs the moon, or that the sun shines from his boxers or whatever sleepy weepy euphemism your sappy mind wants to dream up. But the only place you can make demands of him are behind closed doors. And you just might want to ramp that up a bit. Your time together will be coming to a halt.” She snaps up her briefcase and stands. “Stop thinking with your little brain and put the big one into overdrive. Think of a defense, and think about that deal, too. If we can’t come up with a rock solid measure to infiltrate that jury’s mind with doubt, I’ll make sure you get a room with a view at Fenwick.”

She takes off and any hope I had of avoiding a sentence takes off with her. I can’t bring myself to look at Lemon. I don’t dare offer her a smidge of hope when I don’t see any myself.

Noah’s chest inflates with his next breath. “You’re not going down for this, Everett. At least not alone. It’s just not happening. I’ll tell Fiona the truth. I’m culpable.”

“Fiona doesn’t care about the truth.” I shoot daggers at him for the audacity. “You have one job, Noah. You keep your nose clean. Lemon is going to need you, and that baby will need you, too.” My jaw clenches tightly because I know what I have to do. I have to somehow find the strength to send Lemon into Noah’s orbit once again. The last thing I want is for her to worry about me, worrying about anything once she has this baby.

She deserves to be happy. Hell, so does he. And that baby deserves to have a father around.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t look as if that father will be me.

My phone pings and I pick it up to find a calendar reminder flashing on my screen.

“It’s time for your prenatal appointment, Lemon.”

A weak smile plays on her lips. “You’re already a great father, Everett.”

I could have been.

Instead, I’m forced, once again, to hand everything over to Noah Fox on a silver platter. Evie, the baby, Lemon.

Life couldn’t get any worse.

My phone pings again and I pull it forward. This time it’s a text from Jimmy Canelli.

We need to talk.

I was wrong.

Things just got worse.

Lottie

Dr. Barnette’s office is swarming with pregnant bellies and rather bored looking men, both of which have their heads buried in their phones.

Soon enough, Everett, Noah, and I are ushered to the back, and I do the usual peeing in a cup and stripping into a paper gown routine, while Dr. Barnette gives me a looksee under the hood.

Dr. Barnette is a pretty brunette with a white toothy smile, and is as sharp as a whip.

“Thank you for the raspberry tarts, Lottie. My staff is raving about them already. And the fried pickles, too,” she says that last bit a little unsure as she pokes and prods me before giving my thigh a tap, signaling I can sit up. “Everything looks great. The baby is right on track. Its head is already down and ready for takeoff next month. Your belly is measuring right where it should be, but you’ve gained another twenty pounds since your last visit. I’d ask what you were eating, but judging by your occupation, I’m sure I can guess.” She shoots both Noah and Everett a wry look. “Essex, see to it that your wife includes a few cruciferous vegetables into her diet.”

And yes, Dr. Barnette has very much earned the right to call my husband by his far more carnal moniker. And shockingly, this does not surprise me in the least.

“Lottie?” Her attention swings back my way. “Do you have any constipation? Any sign of hemorrhoids?”

I gag at the thought of discussing my bathroom habits in front of Noah and Everett.

“No,” I frown as I tell her. “I’m as regular as the sunrise. But I will include a few more cruciferous vegetables per your request.” As soon as I google what veggies qualify for that three-dollar word.

Noah steps up. “Any chance we can see the baby today?”

“You bet.” Dr. Barnette pulls the equipment toward her. “So tell me, Lottie, is the nursery ready? At this point the baby could very well arrive whenever he or she likes. We’re out of the danger zone and preemies aren’t all that uncommon.”

“The nursery?” My entire body seizes at the thought. “You mean it’s that time already?”

A laugh bubbles from her. “Of course, it’s time. And don’t think for a minute that the next four weeks won’t fly by.”

“We’ll get on that nursery today,” Everett is quick to assert.

Poor Everett. He’s been brooding and angry just under the surface ever since Fiona left the bakery