Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 28-30: Cozy Mystery by Addison Moore (books like beach read .TXT) 📕

didn’t go over well with my poor boyfriend, and shockingly, that wasn’t the end of us. But eventually, Noah and I decided to part ways so that I could see if Everett and I were going anywhere. It’s a long and sordid story, but that’s what brings us here.

As for Everett and me, we share a sixteen-year-old daughter that happened to pop into Everett’s life unexpectedly a few months back. Everly—Evie—Baxter’s mother is a birdbrain with a heart of coal, and since Evie and Everett want nothing to do with her, I’ve happily stepped into the role as her mother.

I reach down and hug my belly before giving Everett a covert nod letting him know I fully approve of those dress removal shenanigans he has planned for later. Not to mention the fact I’ll be needing his help to get out of this sheer lace and lavender satin number anyway. Everett bought this gorgeous dress for me, a formal maternity gown that must have set him back a fortune.

Lily Swanson lands the last platter of my sweet treats onto the dessert table before us. Her dark hair is swept up into a bun, and she’s wearing the requisite little black dress that this night practically demands. Lily is my right-hand gal down at the bakery. She was once one of my high school bullies, but now that I sign her paychecks, we seem to get along great.

She scoffs my way. “Lottie, your belly just shot out like a bullet overnight. Are you sure you’re not stuffing your dress with a pillow? I’ve never seen anyone pop like that.”

“It’s not a pillow,” Everett tells her. “I can testify to that.” His lips curve as he takes up my hand and half the women in the room sigh in his direction. “I’ve seen her without a stitch of clothing on to prove it.” His lips flicker and I can hear a low growl coming from behind—most likely from Noah.

Everett is caustically handsome, but tonight with his black suit, black tie, hair the color of the darkest midnight, and eyes that shine like the sea, he looks dangerously delicious. And I’m suddenly having a mad craving for one hot and more than naughty judge.

Not only is Everett stone-cold handsome, he’s slow to smile, has a body built for speed that most definitely meets all of my needs, and exudes a dangerous level of sexual appeal that demands the attention of every estrogen-bearing card member in a ten-state radius. There is something undeniably magnetic about him that commands the women in the room crane their necks in his direction at any given time.

“Lot Lot!” Carlotta Sawyer runs this way doing an odd little bow-legged hop as if she had a watermelon tucked between her knees, wearing a dress that’s far too short and far too glittery. “This is the best cake you’ve ever made.” She holds out a plate with a stack of waffles six high.

“Carlotta, that’s not a cake,” I’m quick to tell her.

“It’s a cake, Lot,” she insists while taking another bite. Both Carlotta and I share the same caramel-colored hair, hazel eyes, and the exact same name—Carlotta. We also share the same ability to see the dead. In fact, it was her wonky genetics that gave that quirky gift to me to begin with.

Carlotta is my biological mother. Almost three decades ago, Carlotta left me on the floor of the Honey Hollow Fire Department and took off for baby-less pastures. But lucky for me, the Lemons quickly took me in, gave me two sisters and a stable home to boot. Then just a couple of years ago, Carlotta pranced right back into my life.

She moans her way through a bite. “We need to give this cake a name, Lot Lot, and frost it up for the masses.”

“We’ll call it Carlotta’s Midnight Surprise Cake That’s Not a Cake, ” I tell her.

“I vote for Better Than Sex Cake.” Lily snorts. “Each bite is a taste of heaven.”

Carlotta honks out a laugh. “The day Lot Lot starts selling Better Than Sex Cake, it’s curtains for you, Mr. Sexy.”

Mr. Sexy is the nickname baristas the world over have gifted to Everett, and they’re not wrong. Carlotta has picked up on it, and I don’t think she plans on letting go of it either.

Everett’s cheeks flicker. “I trust she’d add an addendum to the name of that cake just for me.” His lids hood a notch as he looks my way and my insides do that swirly thing he’s so good at sponsoring in every woman with a set of functioning ovaries.

Lily laughs. “That would make a Better Than Sex Cake with the exception of Essex. Of course, that’s a given for me, too.” She winks his way.

I frown over at her. Essex is Everett’s formal moniker, and the only people he allows to use it freely—with the exception of his mother or sister—are the women he’s danced in the sheets with. And yes, Lily qualifies, as do countless of other women who are probably in this very room tonight. Everett has done the deed with a good portion of the females in Vermont—heck, most likely the Eastern Seaboard. He was quite the playboy before he met me, but I choose to overlook it. I still call him with the name I’ve used from the beginning and he doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll pass on calling the coital nickname for the waffles,” I say, breaking off a piece of Carlotta’s questionable cake and popping it into my mouth. Mmm, she’s so right. It’s delicious if I do say so myself, even if it’s not a cake.

“Never mind the cake, Lot.” Carlotta gives my arm a tug. “I’ve got to introduce you to my friends. They’re all here tonight, every last one of ’em.”

“What friends?” I can’t help but ask. Carlotta’s not exactly Ms. Congeniality, and the only friends she does have are…

I suck in a quick breath. “You don’t mean…”

She nods. “That’s right. All the big