“He’s my man.” Lemon frowns over at Carlotta as she puts together a heaping plate of cookies. “And I don’t think this is funny. This whole Insta Pictures thing is turning into a nightmare for Evie and for all of us.”
Noah nods. “Evie showed me another message Verity sent this morning.”
My stomach stings just hearing about it. “What did it say?”
He shrugs over his coffee. “She congratulated her on yet another viral post. She said something about remembering to use your celebrity status for good and not evil.”
Lemon shudders. “Just the thought of Verity texting from the dead sounds evil to me.”
“Essex?” Fiona calls from behind as the sound of her heels click in this direction, and there’s a briefcase dangling from her hand like a weapon. Her hair is pulled back tightly, her jaw set to a scowl as she examines us all through her dark-framed glasses. “All of you, follow me.”
We do as we’re told—Carlotta included—and soon we’re seated at a table by the window with a plate of those cookies Lemon fixed up for us.
“Coffee?” Lemon offers, but Fiona merely holds up a hand.
“I’m doing the talking. Do not speak unless spoken to,” she snips while looking at Carlotta. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“I’m Lot Lot’s DNA donor. Don’t worry, sister. I’m not crazy about her either.”
“It’s true.” Lemon nods as she picks up a raspberry tart. “She abandoned me as an infant.”
Fiona’s chin lifts a notch as she reexamines Carlotta through this new lens. “I like you better already.” Her eyes shift my way, and I can feel the white-hot spotlight of her anger falling over me. “Are you purposefully trying to turn potential jurors against you? Not only has your teenage daughter turned your naked body into a viral sensation overnight, but that bimbo, Bambi Bailey, has turned her social media gossip column up full volume as well on your behalf. Congratulations. Do you want to know what her headline was? Hot Judge? Or Hot Felon?” Her eyes widen with rage.
Carlotta grunts, “My vote is for hot felon,” she says while hitching her thumb in Lemon’s direction. “I keep trying to tell this one just how juicy some incarcerated lovin’ can be, but she just won’t listen.” She nods to Fiona. “But I can tell by that gleam in your eye, you’ve been pushed up against a state-issued vending machine or two. Lottie Dottie here thinks she’s better than folks like you and me. I think a stint in the big house might be good for her. She needs a little hair on her chest.”
Fiona doesn’t so much as twitch a muscle on her face.
“Your little Lottie Dottie isn’t the one in the hot seat.” She turns my way. “Essex, you are staring down the barrel of a prison sentence. Our entire case is built on the fact you’re an upstanding citizen. I’m sorry, but soft porn images do not an upstanding citizen make. And neither does what amounts to grave robbing. Have you thought of a defense?”
I’m slow to answer. “No.”
Noah shrugs. “I’ve got my wheels spinning as well, if it means anything.”
“It doesn’t,” she fires back without bothering to break her gaze from mine. “The only thing that means anything at all is the fact Essex stole Florenza Angel Face Canelli’s body from the morgue.” Her lips knot up. “The DA landed an offer on my desk this morning.”
“No.” Lemon doesn’t hesitate with the answer.
“It’s a decent deal,” Fiona goes on without regard to Lemon’s protest. “Eight years instead of the maximum of fifteen. With good behavior—that is, if you’re capable of it, you can get out in half that time. Fenwick is half-empty. They’d welcome you with open arms.”
Lemon straightens in her seat. “What’s Fenwick?”
“Prison.” Noah takes a breath. “A somewhat cushy correctional facility in upstate New York.”
“New York?” Carlotta lifts a brow in Lemon’s direction. “Don’t knock it, Lot. Think of all the hot weekend getaways in your future.”
“I’m not going to New York, and neither is he,” she snips. “The baby will be four by the time he gets out—if he gets out for good behavior. That’s unacceptable.” Lemon slaps her hand over mine. “Everett, you are a brilliant man. I demand you make this go away right this minute.”
Fiona’s chest bucks with a laugh. “Oh, Essex, you’ve truly spoiled her in the bedroom for her to think anything is possible.” She flits her eyes to Lemon. “I’m not surprised you think he hangs the moon, or that the sun shines from his boxers or whatever sleepy weepy euphemism your sappy mind wants to dream up. But the only place you can make demands of him are behind closed doors. And you just might want to ramp that up a bit. Your time together will be coming to a halt.” She snaps up her briefcase and stands. “Stop thinking with your little brain and put the big one into overdrive. Think of a defense, and think about that deal, too. If we can’t come up with a rock solid measure to infiltrate that jury’s mind with doubt, I’ll make sure you get a room with a view at Fenwick.”
She takes off and any hope I had of avoiding a sentence takes off with her. I can’t bring myself to look at Lemon. I don’t dare offer her a smidge of hope when I don’t see any myself.
Noah’s chest inflates with his next breath. “You’re not going down for this, Everett. At least not alone. It’s just not happening. I’ll tell Fiona the truth. I’m culpable.”
“Fiona doesn’t care about the truth.” I shoot daggers at him for the audacity. “You have one job, Noah. You keep your nose clean. Lemon is going to need you, and that baby will need you, too.” My jaw clenches tightly because I know what I have to do. I have to somehow find the strength to send Lemon into Noah’s orbit once again. The last thing I want is for her to worry about me, worrying about anything once she has this baby.
She deserves to be happy. Hell, so does he. And that baby deserves to have a father around.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t look as if that father will be me.
My phone pings and I pick it up to find a calendar reminder flashing on my screen.
“It’s time for your prenatal appointment, Lemon.”
A weak smile plays on her lips. “You’re already a great father, Everett.”
I could have been.
Instead, I’m forced, once again, to hand everything over to Noah Fox on a silver platter. Evie, the baby, Lemon.
Life couldn’t get any worse.
My phone pings again and I pull it forward. This time it’s a text from Jimmy Canelli.
We need to talk.
I was wrong.
Things just got worse.
Lottie
Dr. Barnette’s office is swarming with pregnant bellies and rather bored looking men, both of which have their heads buried in their phones.
Soon enough, Everett, Noah, and I are ushered to the back, and I do the usual peeing in a cup and stripping into a paper gown routine, while Dr. Barnette gives me a looksee under the hood.
Dr. Barnette is a pretty brunette with a white toothy smile, and is as sharp as a whip.