Page 15 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

“That won’t be necessary.” Eliza smooths her blood-spattered dress with remarkable composure. “My driver is already out front. I need to clean up a bit first.” She lifts herhands a notch before looking my way. “You know where to find me.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

She gives a curt nod to each of us—longest to Everett, briefest to Carlotta—before stepping back into the community center.

“I think I’ll walk her out,” Everett says, giving me a look that spells outwe are not donein the most aggressive manner before bolting into the crowd.

“Bloody Hands Baxter strikes again,” Carlotta announces once they’re out of earshot. “She sliced him up smoother than a country club pâté.”

Lottie makes a face but chooses to ignore her for the most part.

“Noah”—Lottie steps in close and I wrap my arms around her like a reflex—“you have to know she’s innocent. This is Eliza we’re talking about.”

Her body is shivering, her lips are trembling, and she looks all around ready to collapse.

“Lottie, I’m going to say this in the nicest way, but I need you to stay out of this one. And off your feet if possible.”

Her eyes narrow over mine and I can tell I just pulled the pin on a very hormonal grenade.

“Oh, so you’d like for me to be eating bonbons on the sofa until the babies arrive?”

“Feel free to swap bonbons for donuts, but yes, I want you safe.” I touch the tip of her nose with my own. “Scratch that. Ineedyou safe and I need the babies safe, too. Besides, this is the last bit of time that Lyla Nell can get you all to herself. Put your feet up. Read her books, snuggle with her. In fact, I wouldn’t mind getting in on that snuggling action myself.”

Everett reappears and growls on command. “What did I miss?” He lifts a brow before eyeing my arms wrapped around his wife like a vine.

“Nothing much,” Carlotta pipes up. “Just Foxy here trying to schedule some snuggle time with Lot Lot before the yip yips take over. He’s making his move while you were busy escorting Stabby McRichpants to her getaway car.”

Everett grunts my way and his eyes narrow dangerously on me. “Keep your focus off my wife and on my mother. I want her name wiped off your suspect list ASAP.”

“You know I can’t do that,” I say with a frown because, let’s face it, I’m mad about it, too. “Not until the evidence clears her.”

“Then find the evidence,” he thunders. “Because we both know she didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Hate to break it to you, Sexy.” Carlotta ticks her head to the side. “But his blood on her hands suggests otherwise. It’s what we in the amateur sleuthing business call not a great look.”

My phone chirps and it’s a text from Ivy requesting my presence.

I say goodnight and head back to ground zero. And as I head back to the crime scene, I can’t help but feel caught between impossible loyalties—to my job, to Everett, to Lottie, and most of all, to Eliza.

The Redhead Roundup promised Irish luck and celebration, but as the night grows colder, I know only one thing for sure. By the time this case closes, the killer’s luck will have run out—no four-leaf clover or pot of gold will be enough to hide them from justice.

And if Eliza is the killer, something tells me that Everett and I will be testing our luck and our devotion to the law to the killer extreme.

It’s a bad day to be Eliza Baxter.

And quite possibly a bad day to be me.

I glance down at the corpse one last time.

It is definitely a bad day to be Sebastian Gallagher.

EVERETT

The morning light filters through the kitchen windows, casting a honey-colored glow across the limestone floors.

Coffee percolates in the background, filling the air with its rich aroma—a scent that would normally comfort me but fails to penetrate the fog of my sleepless night.

I still can’t fathom what happened yesterday.

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