Baby Bundt Cake Confusion (Murder in the Mix Book 31) by Unknown (reading eggs books .txt) 📗

not a sign of anything supernatural at the helm, at least not as far as I can see.

“Watch it, Harry,” I hear Carlotta’s voice with a clear mark of agitation to it. “I can’t bend that way.”

“Put a little oomph into it,” he grunts.

The shelf dances over a foot, and just as it starts to rain books, a gunshot goes off and blasts a hole in the wall behind us, missing both Everett and me by a mile as Slater takes a step forward.

“That was a warning,” he shouts as he takes Ariella by the hand and attempts to lead her around us.

“This isn’t one,” Everett says as he fires two shots and Slater bucks.

“You shot me!” Slater shouts as he clutches his right arm and blood oozes from his fingers. His pant leg is quickly turning crimson as well. His knees buckle and he falls to the floor.

“Nobody shoots at my wife,” Everett growls.

The thundering of footsteps bursts into the room as Noah jumps over with his weapon in hand.

“Freeze!” he shouts just as Mayor Nash and Carlotta jump out from behind the bookshelf with their hands in the air, their clothes in all the wrong places.

Lil’ Mama explodes with barking as my stomach seizes up again just as intense as the last time.

The entire room devolves into chaos as Ariella tries to slink out the door, and Everett quickly apprehends her and helps Noah cuff them both.

“They confessed,” I groan hard as the pain ratchets up to unbelievable heights. “They both did it. They killed Owen and Jasmine.”

It takes no time at all for the room to fill with sheriff’s deputies, and soon I’m in Everett’s arms once again.

“Lemon, are you okay?”

“Yes,” I drag the word out with a hiss as the contraction subsides.

“No, she’s not,” Nell insists. “She’s having the baby.”

Everett pulls back to inspect me because he just so happened to hear Nell’s commentary, seeing that he’s holding my hand. “Is this true?”

“No, it’s just those darn Braxton Hicks again,” I say just as Greer hops up from the desk behind me.

“It’s done!” she shouts. “The move ’em out manifesto is complete!”

Winslow picks up the thick stack of papers to the right of the typewriter and waves them at me. “And now to distribute this latest, perhaps greatest, work of literature.”

“Hey?” Greer bumps her hip to his. “Maybe Wiley’s publishing house will pick us up? We can write spooky novels from the great beyond.” She wiggles her fingers to add to the mystical effect.

Everett lifts his brows my way. “They wouldn’t be the first ghostwriters.”

I’d laugh, but my contraction is still on its way down.

“Come on, Lottie Lemon. Follow us,” Greer calls out as she and Winslow lead the charge.

Everett and I follow along, as does Nell. And soon Greer and Winslow are met with little Lea and their little black cat, Thirteen, as they all file into the conservatory.

Little Lea looks back my way and slashes her machete through the air.

“If this stunt doesn’t get rid of them”—Lea brandishes that machete once more—“then we’ll have to do things my way.”

I’m not entirely opposed to another double homicide taking place. I’d like to blame my hormones on the dark thought, but I know better.

Another contraction hits, and I force myself to breathe through it because I am not missing out on the supernatural show Greer and the gang is about to put out.

I spot Cormack and Cressida dancing away in the middle of the melee just as Greer and Winslow float to the top of the vaulted ceiling, and with one quick motion they toss all of the loose-leaf papers in their hands down over the crowd like confetti.

The revelry dies down as the partygoers each snap up a page and gobble up the otherworldly gossip it has to offer. Soon gasps, stern whispers, and even bouts of laughter circle the room. And in less than a few seconds, all eyes are feasted on Cormack and Cressida.

Everett snaps up a paper that sails our way and we both begin to read at once.

And there it is, in black and white, every nasty dealing Cressida has ever been involved in, from burying a girl alive—albeit temporarily during a sorority stunt—to the fact she hid her own daughter away from Everett for a decade and a half. And nestled in between that spectrum it outlines her dalliances with an entire litany of prominent men, and not so prominent men as well.

In fact, it tells of her stint as a working girl with the Elite Entourage, and the fact she secretly likes to buy from secondhand stores and even wears those purchases to exclusive parties. The fact she has far less money than people think. That she lives off a strict allowance doled out by her father and can hardly afford herself a Birkin bag.

That might explain her having to earn her bags the old-fashioned way.

As for Cormack, there’s just a sentence or two and none of them are all that titillating.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Greer says as she zooms my way. “But Cormack doesn’t talk to herself in the mirror the way Cressida does. Apparently, it’s a highly therapeutic activity that her therapist suggested.”

A laugh gets caught in my throat as I look up at Everett. “I guess she didn’t count on a ghost listening in on those sessions.”

The room breaks out into conversation once again as it resumes its frenetic pace, and the music hikes up a notch as well.

“Lizbeth!” Cormack roars as both she and Cressida head this way.

“What is this stunt?” Cormack shakes a fistful of papers my way. “You made me lose the killer! She took off as soon as I looked up.”

“I got the killer,” I tell her. “We both did.” I give Everett’s hand a squeeze, and he drops a kiss to my cheek.

“It was all you, Lemon. I’m just glad I could help.”

Cormack sucks in a lungful of air as she straightens. “Aarrgghh!” she roars as she takes off for