Raspberry Tart Terror (Murder in the Mix Book 30) by Unknown (hot novels to read .TXT) 📗

place. And why are there so many floodlights? Are they trying to be seen from space?”

Everett blows out a breath. “I could hire a wrecking ball, Lemon. It would be an act of mercy.”

“I don’t know,” Noah muses. “It has sort of an apocalyptic charm.”

I let out a hard breath. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to sue you.”

The three of us head on in, and no sooner do we get through the front doors than we’re met with a throng of bodies. Men and women stand about enjoying lively conversation with matching glowing pink cocktails in hand.

“What in the heck are all these people doing here?” I ask as we try our best to maneuver around them.

Everett turns my way. “I heard rumors there was a nightclub percolating here.”

“A what?” I shrill, but my voice is hardly audible over the buzz of the crowd.

The flooring has been switched out to a pink harlequin pattern travesty, and the walls thankfully are still lined with dark mahogany and unscathed from an ounce of paint, but hanging in the foyer—across from a newly installed oversized gilded mirror—are two life-size oil paintings, one of each of their tacky new owners.

Cormack’s face looks slightly disfigured, giving her plumper lips and fuller cheeks. And Cressida looks oddly elongated with a neck that a giraffe would be envious of. They’re both wearing flashy pink dresses that show plenty of leg and plenty of boobs—far more boob than either of them actually owns.

“Oh my word,” I growl as I look to the boisterous masses. “As if the décor wasn’t enough, everyone in here is three sheets to the wind.”

Noah sighs. “My dad mentioned something about the liquor license being approved.”

I spot Evie and give her a wave as she speeds in our direction.

“Mom!” She bounces in her high heels. “Can you believe this place? It’s everything Glam Glam wishes it could have been!”

“No, it’s not,” I’m quick to inform her. “It’s—” But before I can get another word out, one of the teenage girls by her side gasps as she looks to Everett.

“The hot judge is here!” she shrieks, and before we know it, Everett is swept up in a mob of teenage girls and grown women alike.

“Geez,” Noah says as he pulls me to the side in an effort not to get trampled to death. “I don’t think it matters to these women that the hot judge is currently suspended from his duties.”

“Oh, they know.” Evie is quick to nod. “In fact, it just makes him hotter.” She sticks a finger down her throat and pretends to gag. “And sorry, Mom, but no one seems to care about the hot baker.” She shrugs. “But guess what? They really care about me. I’m up to six million followers!” She jumps and squeals before getting lost in the crowd again.

“Six million followers?” I shake my head at Noah. “Is it safe to have six million people monitoring your every move?”

He scowls at the crowd around us. “Nothing feels safe anymore.”

A hand reaches out from the mass of bodies, and before I know it, I’m in Carlotta’s clutches.

“What do you think, Lot Lot?” She holds a hand out at the travesty before us. “Welcome to the best little whorehouse in Honey Hollow.”

I look back at Noah. “At least she’s honest. About this.” I snatch back my wrist. “Carlotta, why would you tell Teddy I was your sidekick? And are sharing your transmundane status with the people you lose money to at bingo?”

She glowers my way. “I tell my bingo girls everything. That’s bingo code. I can’t help it, Lot. Once those numbers start jumping in that cage, it’s like a truth serum is dispersed and everyone under that roof starts spilling all sorts of secrets. I know everything about everyone thanks to my Tuesday night vice. The rest of the world might have Bambi Bailey to fill in the juicy telltale gaps, but I’ve got my bingo bimbos.”

“Carlotta, the only truth serum circulating under that roof is whiskey. Those innocent bingo numbers have nothing to do with it.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve got a suspect all primed and ready to go for you in the library. Come on, Lot. Dig your heels in and winnow out the killer before those nitwits beat you to it. We’re taking bets down at Red Satin to see who’ll crack the case first. I hate to break it to you, kid, but the odds aren’t in your favor this time.”

Noah leans in. “You mean they were betting on me a few weeks back?”

“More like betting against you. But don’t feel bad, Foxy. Lot Lot is easy money—just like she’s easy in other ways, too. Speaking of which, you’d better practice your moves. It’s almost showtime. Tonight’s the big dance-off here at the B&B. Men only. Good thing the hot judge showed. There were rumors of women looking to kidnap him. Now that he’s here, he’s safe. Mostly.”

Carlotta whisks me off through the crowd, and before you can say psychotic socialite shenanigans, we’re in the library, or what used to be the library.

I gasp at the sight of it. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are suddenly devoid of books and filled with—

“Stuffed animals?” I balk.

Cormack runs up with her hands swinging side to side like a child.

“Well, it’s about time, Lynnie.” She gives me a wink. Cormack has her blonde hair in loose waves, and her celadon green eyes are full of mischief. She’s donned a gold dress with a pink scarf, and her accouterments—in combination with the stuffed animal brigade—send my nausea soaring out of the blue. “Sorry to break it to you. But I’ve already been given some very valuable information regarding who the killer is in the case of Verity Prescott, and soon I’ll have my prime suspect apprehended and behind bars where they belong. I’m afraid your days as an amateur spoof are numbered. You really should leave these kinds of things to the professionals, such as myself and the