8. Everett
EVERETT
L ainey’s husband Forest shows up faster than an apparition as the party here in the Evergreen Manor continues to rage, undeterred by the fact a double homicide just went down in the parking lot.
“What’s wrong?” Forest barks with enough fear in his voice to fuel that fire truck he drives.
“I’m fine,” Lainey says a little too loud, and her voice shakes as if protesting her words. “It’s nothing more than a little Braxton Hicks contraction. Just the warm-up act before the big show.”
I’m more than familiar with Braxton Hicks contractions. Lemon had a few when she was expecting Lyla Nell. Apparently, Lainey is right. They are indeed the warm-up act before the big show. But Lainey is not a doctor.
“You should get seen,” I suggest. “Just in case.”
“Of course, she’s going to get seen.” Lemon latches onto her arm, but Lainey retracts it. “And I’m going with her. In fact, I’ll call Dr. Barnette right now.”
“No way.” Lainey laughs at the thought. “I promise, Forest will take good care of me,” she insists, patting his chest like he’s her own personal armored knight and he’s just as good. “Besides, I can’t go popping out a kid early and stealing Meg’s wedding thunder, can I?” She winks over at her sister and I try not to look at Meg, considering she has both of her breasts hanging out now. Albeit one is currently occupied with the task of feeding her infant. And little does that infant know, she has a buffet of which to choose from.
Forest throws a reassuring arm around her and nods at the rest of us. “You’ve got my word. She’ll be resting at home with some herbal tea in no time. We’re heading out.”
We say goodnight just as Meg adjusts the mummy wrap slung around her and follows them to the door, mumbling something about hoping Lainey steals her thunder anyway. She’d like nothing more than a live birth at the altar to remember her wedding day.
“There’s that,” Carlotta says. “You heard your sister. Meg wants a live birth at the altar, Lot. Here’s your chance to steal Lainey’s thunder. She can only pop out one kid; you can do two! You know you want to do it. You’re a show-off that way.”
Lemon scoffs. “Well, I’m not showing off my hoo-ha to all the guests at a double wedding, thank you very much.”
“Aw, come on, Lot,” Carlotta chides her. “You know your mother’s haunted B&B is your favorite place to give birth.”
Noah shakes his head at Carlotta. “Nice try.” He kisses Lemon on the cheek. “I’d better head out. Stay safe.”
“Not so fast, Foxy.” Carlotta plucks a couple of cookies from the platter and soon she’s holding two cookies between her fingers like she’s about to deal blackjack.
“Here, boys,” she says, handing one to Noah, who gives it a suspicious glance, then another to me. “Something sweet for Lot’s big strong protectors,” she says with a wink. “Go on and read ’em.”
Noah squints at his. “I wanna kiss you all over,’” he reads out loud and gives a quick chuckle as he waggles his brows at Lemon.
“Subtle, Carlotta,” I growl at Noah as I say it.
“Relax, Mr. Sexy.” Carlotta waves it off. “It’s a cookie, not a marriage proposal. What does yours say?”
I look down at the sugar heart in my hand and see the words stamped out in bold, pink lettering, “You’re my late night snack,” I read. My lips curve as I cock a brow at Lemon. “Well then, I do believe this cookie is prophetic.” I glare over at Noah. “Just mine.”
Carlotta belts out a laugh while clapping her hands. “Don’t say you weren’t warned, Lot. Sexy times up ahead! Try not to keep the volume down this time. I still get paid a king’s ransom for audio, you know.”
Both Lemon and I groan at the thought, and Carlotta’s face lights up because of it.
“Yes! Do it just like that,” she snaps her fingers with glee.
“And on that note”—Noah’s chest expands twice its size—“I need to run. Everett, I’m counting on you to keep an eye out.” He tips his head toward Lemon before heading for the door.
Naomi Turner glares this way like a woman about to tear a hole in a wall with rage. “You’re going to pay for this, Lottie Lemon.” Naomi stomps over with her heels clacking against the ballroom floor like gunfire, her ire laser-focused on Lemon.
“Naomi,” I say as sternly and yet sweetly as I can.
“Don’t you Naomi me, Essex,” she growls my way. And for the record, she chooses to brandish my proper name despite the fact I‘ve never so much as shared a cup of coffee with her. “You are definitely going to pay for this, Lottie,” she hisses once again, pointing a manicured fingernail that could probably draw blood.
Lemon inches back. “Naomi, contrary to whatever it is you might be thinking, I had nothing to do with the fact there are two bodies sitting in a pile in your parking lot. It’s not my responsibility to beef up security around here, now, is it?”
“Way to go, Lot!” Carlotta claps and cackles, and yet I can’t help but wince. Once Naomi bites, she doesn’t let go, but little does she know, Lemon’s bite is a whole lot worse than it used to be now that her hormones are on fire.
“Oh, don’t you play innocent with me,” Naomi snaps, narrowing her eyes on Lemon. “The Evergreen Manor is essentially cursed now. And it all started with you .”
“Eh.” Carlotta shrugs. “She’s not wrong, Lot. You do bring a certain deadly ambiance to the place.”
Lemon sighs hard. “Naomi, the manor is not cursed. It’s just been a rough night, that’s all.”
Naomi’s eyes narrow as she waves an accusatory hand around the room. “A rough night? I don’t think so. No sooner did you walk in, and suddenly we’re knee-deep in a homicide, broken teeth, and rock-hard cookies. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”
“ Double homicide,” Carlotta corrects and Naomi seizes.
“What?” Naomi’s head snaps in the direction of the exit. “I need to get out there and do some damage control times two.” She takes off as if the building were on fire. And come to think of it, a simple structural fire would have done better for the Evergreen Manor’s reputation.
“And those were not my cookies,” Lemon shouts after her. “I would never weaponize baked goods. Not even against Noah’s mother!”
“ Yeah ,” Carlotta shouts as well. “And you can’t blame Lottie for adding a little nocturnal slumber to the festivities. That’s just her special touch!”
“Good grief.” Lemon closes her eyes as if trying to disappear.
I’m about to suggest we head out the door ourselves when I spot a familiar face in the crowd.
“Everett Baxter?” A tall man with a shock of dark hair and a perennial smile on his face steps over and gives me a partial embrace. He’s got about fifteen years on me, which puts him in his fifties, and I can see a dusting of gray at his temples to prove it.
“Caudwell,” I say, pulling back and giving my friend a pat on his back. “Long time no see. This is my wife, Lemon, and her mother.” I quickly do the intros and he shakes both of their hands in turn.
He’s wearing his typical business attire, dark suit, white dress shirt, red tie. But then, we’re not in a legal office so my best guess is he’s here looking for love with the rest of the singles.
“Your wife, huh?” He gives a good-natured laugh at the thought. “I can see you’ve been keeping busy.” He nods to her growing middle.
“That’s right.” Lemon laughs. “And we’ll be even busier next month. We’re having twins, on top of the other two kids we have.”
“Wow.” Caudwell tips back and I can see what looks like a dark stain against his ribs, but when he rights himself, his jacket covers it. Typical bachelor. He probably figured the stain wouldn’t matter so long as he kept his jacket on. And he’s right.
“And I was going to ask if you’ve been keeping out of trouble.” He tips his head my way, causing Lemon and Carlotta to chuckle once again.
“Caudwell used to work for the courthouse for years. Although I haven’t seen him in a while. Have you been keeping out of trouble?” I toss the question his way and he laughs.
“I’m just here for the sugar, my friend,” he says. “In fact, that’s why you haven’t seen me around. My uncle passed away and I took over his position at Baker’s Best Brand. It was his sugar baby.”
“No kidding?” Lemon’s eyes widen with wonder.
“No kidding,” he says. “I clawed my way, right up to CEO.”
“That’s fantastic,” she says. “Everett, Baker’s Best Brand is a famous corporate entity that has a hand in many bakeries and cafes.” She turns his way again. “I’m so impressed with your company.”
“Thank you.” He nods her way.
“Sounds like you’re keeping busy yourself,” I tell him. “Did you hear what happened?” I hitch my head toward the rear of the building and he gives another far more solemn nod.
“Indeed, I did. It’s a shame. They were two very prominent people in the baking world. I’m sure their loss will be immensely missed.”
“Not by Suze,” Carlotta interjects.
A swarm of deputies enters the room and Caudwell’s chest expands.
“I’d better get going and give these guys some room to work,” he says. “It was nice meeting you ladies. And great seeing you again, Judge Baxter.”
We watch him leave, and I’m about to turn my attention back to Lemon when I spot something that piques my curiosity. It’s Jed Silver standing in the dark corner, schmoozing it up with a woman who is decidedly not Sam—neither is she Meg. She’s a tall blonde who happens to be hanging off him like last year’s tinsel, and he’s lapping it up like he’s in his own personal candy store.
I shake my head at the sight. It’s probably best it’s me who handles this. Noah would fire a round into his chest.
“Carlotta”—I sigh her way—“keep an eye on Lemon for a sec, would you?”
“What?” Lemon balks. “I can take care of myself. Better still, I’ll be the one taking care of Carlotta. You do realize her head is hardly attached to her body.”
“I know,” I say softly for Lemon’s ears only as I give her kiss. “I’ll be right back.”
“And if you stumble upon a few screws, they probably belong to her,” Lemon calls after me, but I’m already ten steps out.
I’m too busy watching Jed to respond—watching the way his arms are swiveling up and down that woman’s back, then lower still before giving her a squeeze, and I can’t believe my eyes. And yet, I very much believe them.
I cut through the crowd and make my way to the bar, stepping right in between him and the woman he’s currently goosing.
I grab him by the arm and yank him back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”