Page 44 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

“Because right now, you’re my number one suspect, Eliza. And as much as I hate to say it, you’re probably Lottie’s number one suspect, too. You and I both know she’s investigating this whether Everett and I want her to or not.”

That gets her attention. Her face goes pale in an instant.

“Look”—I sigh as I say it— “you’re like a mother to me. I want you to know that if you have anything else to say regarding Sebastian’s death, then I’m a safe place for you.”

For a split second, there’s a dash of genuine fear in her eyes. Then in an instant it’s gone, replaced by cold, hard anger.

Eliza stares daggers at me, then looks across at Everett. He’s wrapping his arms around Lottie, grimacing from his back pain but smiling at something she said. They look happy. Normal.

“I’m sorry, Noah.” Eliza closes her eyes for a moment. “I’m not having this conversation again. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

As soon as she says those words, she walks straight out of the tent without looking back. Without so much as a goodbye to Everett or Lottie.

I watch her leave, then look back at Lottie holding up her trophy for a photo. Everett has his arm around her, and Carlotta is being Carlotta.

They have no idea what’s coming.

EVERETT

Mangias Italian food.

Wicked Wok Chinese takeout.

A toddler who’s decided her new life goal is to launch lo mein across the living room.

And Carlotta with chopsticks. All here in my living room with far too much noise happening at once.

Some might say this is bordering on a nightmare. But that wouldn’t be me. I wouldn’t want it any other way than it is right now—sans the searing pain in my back.

Noah sits across from me, digging into a pile of garlic knots while feeding every other one to his golden retriever, Toby.

Evie sits next to Noah, happily plucking dumplings off his plate while he pretends not to notice. Lyla Nell is covered in marinara, cheerfully feeding Waffles a noodle. And Carlotta? She’s holding her chopsticks as if she’s about to stab a man. It would not surprise me.

“Dad, you need to elevate your legs more,” Evie fusses, shoving another pillow under my knees. She’s been home from college for exactly twenty-four hours and has already rearranged the entire living room into what she calls an optimal healing environment. It looks more like a triage center if you ask me.

“I hurt my back, not my leg,” I point out, but it’s useless. The pillows keep coming.

“Come on, Dad, you know the body is all connected,” she informs me with the confidence of someone who took a single anatomy class. “The position of your legs affects your spinal alignment.”

I don’t argue. It’s easier that way. Not to mention that actually made sense.

Lemon waddles in from the kitchen with a precarious stack of takeout containers teetering on her belly, looking just one wobble away from disaster.

“Okay, who ordered the beef with broccoli?” she calls out. “And where’s my sweet and sour chicken?”

“I’ve got something sweet and sour right here,” Carlotta announces, holding up a bottle of whiskey that definitely wasn’t part of our delivery order.

Noah pops up behind Lottie, relieving her of the containers before they empty their contents at her feet.

Of course, he does. He’s been playing hero all evening, opening containers, pouring drinks, and generally being annoyingly helpful while I’m trapped under what feels like every pillow in the house.

“Lemon, take a seat,” I suggest. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything after we trekked around at the fairgrounds.”

“I’m pregnant, not incapacitated.” She pins a brief smile on her face and it lets me know I’m walking on thin ice, which is tantamount to what I had transformed the floors in this house to.

Thankfully, Evie was able to reverse the curse, as she put it. And reverse it she did.

Lemon will be back in our bed tonight. And regardless of whether or not I’m there with her, I’m just thankful Noah won’t be anywhere near her in a horizontal position.

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