Baby Bundt Cake Confusion (Murder in the Mix Book 31) by Unknown (best way to read books .TXT) 📕

heaven knows. Greer Giles and the rest of the ghostly gang have already made it clear to me they’re not interested in sticking around under the socialites’ tyranny. “But now that you’ve got your tacky hands all over it, it’s nothing more than a cheap bordello.”

“Ha!” Cormack bucks with a laugh. “We don’t sell lunchmeat!” She nods to her partner in socialite arms. “Remind me to ask the chef to order some of that fancy Italian lunchmeat. I’ve got a hankering for an Italian hero.” She dares to wrap her arms around Noah. “Just like I do an Irish hero.”

“Would you”—I bat her away until she’s whimpering next to Cressida—“please leave. Don’t you have friends here you haven’t seen in ages? Why do you insist on terrorizing the fathers of my child?” More than a few heads turn this way, and I can feel the room still with tension.

Great. Leave it to me to cause a scene—as I try to avoid a scene.

Cormack shakes her head. “It’s not a wonder you don’t know who the father of your child is. Rumor has it, you don’t even know who your own father is.”

A choking sound comes from me. “My biological father is Mayor Nash.” I decide to leave the man who raised me out of this horror show for now. Joseph Lemon was my true father in every way.

Cormack and Cressida share a snide look.

“So you think.” Cormack lifts a brow. “Or is that just a line Carlina fed you to get you off her back? And land herself on her own back with Mayor Nash on top!”

I suck in a sharp breath as a crowd begins to gather.

“All right, enough,” Everett roars as he holds up a finger to the two menaces before us.

“Carlotta would never make something like that up,” I say as Everett pulls me close to him. I think he’s more than well aware I’m about to coldcock a couple of ditzes and make sure everyone here has a reunion to remember. I glance back at Carlotta. “Tell ’em you wouldn’t make that up.”

Carlotta’s mouth falls open. “I, bab, ub, hub… I’d best go looking for that ghost dog.”

“Carlotta!” I snap as I grab her by the wrist before she can make her escape. “Are you trying to tell me that Mayor Nash is not my father?”

“Of course, he’s your father, Lot. I think. These nitwits have me all twisted around.”

Cressida gurgles out a laugh. “I guess that means there’s more than one man in the running for your paternity, too. The trampy fruit didn’t fall far from the trampy tree.”

“Carlotta, is this really true?” My voice hikes at the woman who bore me.

Her mouth falls open again as she looks to the ceiling, and dear God, if she doesn’t look like a Thanksgiving turkey that I’m about to roast twelve ways till Sunday.

“We will talk,” I hiss her way just as Evie steps up.

“What’s all the ruckus?” Evie demands as she gives both Cormack and Cressida the evil eye. “What are you two dumbos doing to my mom?”

Cressida takes a satisfied breath. “Not a thing, sweetie. Her own paternity is in the air, much like that of the question mark swimming in her belly. I’ll tell you what, Linka. I’ll donate one hundred thousand dollars to the Honey Hollow General Hospital neonatal unit if you announce your paternity reveal on the Marissa Popovich Show.”

“No way,” I tell her. “That’s a national show designed to bring humiliation and disgrace to its guests. I would never do anything to hurt my child, Noah, or Everett. This is a private matter, and it’s staying that way.”

Evie steps in close. “That’s sort of a lot of money, Mom.”

I shake my head at her. “I can’t be swayed by the almighty dollar.”

Serena steps in close. “That money could mean a much-needed renovation to both the NICU and the PICU.”

I know that she’s talking about the neonatal and the pediatric intensive care units, and now my heart feels heavy that I’m outright refusing the money.

It seems every critical eye in the bourgeoning crowd around us is on me as if they’re awaiting an answer themselves.

“I said no and I mean it. I’m sorry, but that show is centered on nothing more than voyeuristic humiliation and I won’t put my family through it.”

“Okay”—Cressida shrugs—“have it your way. I’ll donate two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to any children’s unit at Honey Hollow General Hospital if you do your paternity reveal on live TV. But since you’ve deemed Marissa Popovich beneath you, how about something a little more local? Like the Getting Candid with Candace Show?”

A light round of applause breaks out among us.

“No,” I’m quick to refuse it. “But I’m sure there are plenty of people who would be willing to take you up on that offer.”

“It’s not available to anyone but you.” Cressida spears me with that obnoxious look on her face because she thinks she’s bested me.

“You’d better do it, Lot,” Carlotta whispers. “People have their phones out and pointed in your direction.”

Everett holds up a hand “It’s not happening. If the children’s unit is in need of money, I’m sure the townspeople of Honey Hollow can throw a fundraiser together for it. But our family is off-limits.”

“One million dollars.” Cressida flexes a short-lived smile.

I glance around at all of the frozen faces awaiting my response—frozen from all the Botox, I’m sure. And I can’t help but note that more than a few phones are trained in my direction. If I refuse a one million dollar payday for the hospital, my bakery could reap the backlash, not to mention that Noah and Everett have dealt with enough backlash from being in my proximity let alone for potentially giving me a child.

“We’ll think about it.” I flash a short-lived smile right back at Cressida.

The crowd breaks out into applause once again, and soon the room swirls back to its regularly scheduled merriment as the music seems to tick up a notch in