“No,” I tell them. I look Jimmy Canelli right in his wicked eyes, and I don’t back down. “Nobody pays for my sins but me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a pregnant wife to tend to. I believe she has a craving for some fried chicken.” I rise from my seat. “I’ll keep an eye open for the impending ambush.”
Carlotta clucks her tongue. “I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. I’ve seen Jimmy’s men in action. You’ve got nothing but the best when it comes to your execution. They’re so slick and quick, you’ll still be standing and lusting after Lot Lot long before you realize you’re dead.”
“I feel better already.”
I make my way over to the bar.
In a way, Carlotta’s words do bring on a consolation of sorts. I’d love nothing more than for my last thoughts to be of Lemon, for Lemon to be the last thing I see before I close my eyes one last time.
“Everett.” Lemon’s face is rife with worry as she turns my way.
The phone in her hand chirps and she looks down and gives a hard blink.
“It’s Evie.” She looks up at Noah and me. “She says her life was just threatened.”
“By whom?” My heart thumps hard at the thought of anyone hurting my baby girl.
Lemon takes a deep breath. “By Verity Prescott herself.”
Noah
Country Cottage Road is inundated with a large number of cars, none of which belong here, all of which are infiltrated with girls and women of various ages. And those willing to brave the inclement weather are standing on the front lawn of Lottie’s new rental, holding up signs that read #TeamHotJudge, #TeamHotCop, and #TeamLeftovers.
I park the van in the garage and entomb us inside with a flick of the button. No sooner do we get into the house than the banging starts at the front door.
“This is insanity,” Lottie says as she peers out of the window and the sound of screams comes from the other side of the glass.
The house is lit up bright as a jack-o’-lantern, and I’d hate to point it out, but the windows that line the dining room have no coverings.
Everett sighs as he looks toward the barren windows. “We should put up sheets.”
“Sheets?” Lottie looks physically ill at the thought. “The curtains I ordered should be here in a few days. I doubt anyone is looking through those windows. They’d be trespassing if they could see in.”
“I’ll test that theory.” Carlotta heads over to the nearest window and lifts her sweater, flashing the unsuspecting crowd. And sure enough, the sounds of retching and howls of disapproval can be heard.
“Point proven,” Lottie says. “I’ll get some sheets and excavate Evie from her room. Can’t wait to see what Verity has to say now,” she belts that last part out with marked anger.
I watch as she disappears down the hall before stepping over to Everett.
“All right, now that Lottie’s out of earshot, there are a few things I think we should discuss.”
Carlotta scuttles up. “The fact her fun bags have blown up to the size of watermelons?”
“No.” I inch back at the thought.
Although, I’ll admit, I’ve noticed. Leave it to Everett to have Lottie to himself when her body is primed for maximum fun. Not that she wasn’t fun with me. And certainly not that I would reject her for having a far more diminutive body. I’d take Lottie in any configuration that she would allow.
Carlotta grunts, “It’s because she hogged that whole bucket of Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken to herself on the ride home, and she polished it off before we hit the driveway. I thought it was a case for concern myself. What do you think, Foxy? Should we stage a poultry-based intervention?”
“No.” A dull laugh bumps from me as I shake my head at this older, zanier version of the woman I love. “I was thinking we put together a baby shower for her.” I nod over at Everett. “Specifically you.”
Everett doesn’t bother letting me know how he feels with words. Instead, that dark frown says it all.
“You think I should organize Lemon’s baby shower?”
“Yes.” I give a hard nod his way. “You need something to take your mind off of things.”
Carlotta shrugs. “You’ve got a bullet coming to the heart, Sexy. Maybe losing yourself in diaper pails and rattles isn’t the worst idea.”
Everett gives a measured blink. “I’m one step ahead of you. I talked to Miranda this afternoon. She says she’s already on it. Lainey, Meg, and Keelie are helping out, too.”
A croaking sound emits from Carlotta. “What about me? Didn’t anyone think to ask if I wanted to be included in on that good time?”
Everett pulls out his phone. “Actually, Miranda mentioned that she was trying to get in touch with you. She said you blocked her calls.”
Carlotta straightens and gags. “The woman gave me no choice! She kept wanting to know insider secrets on how I made the Vermont’s best-sellers list. She wants me to give her writing tips. She wants me to look over her work. I can’t just go blabbing all my best-kept secrets to everyone out there, or soon every writer in Vermont will be on that best-sellers list and it won’t mean a thing.”
“I’ll bite,” I say. “What’s your secret?”
“Whiskey.”
“Good to know,” I say. A rustle comes from down the hall from the room that will be the nursery, and I look over at Everett. “When’s the baby shower?”
“Three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” I inch back. “That’s next month. Why the delay? Lottie’s due next month, too.”
“She’s due at the end of next month,” he says. “Miranda thinks there will be plenty of time. Besides, she was having a hard time choosing a venue, so I told her she could have it here or at the bakery if she needed to. She’s not sure she can book the B&B.”
Carlotta snorts. “Three weeks, eh? I’ll tell you why they delayed it. That buys Miranda three extra weeks to try to hack into my laptop. The woman is relentless.”
“Carlotta.” My cheeks flicker. “I hardly think Miranda poses a cyber threat to you.”
“What do you know?” She steps in close. “I bet you hardly thought Sexy posed a cyber threat to you, and now look who’s been sentenced to a life without fun bags?” She leans in another notch. “Worse yet, someone else is playing with your fun bags.”
“Mom!” Evie shouts as she heads this way with both Pancake and Waffles in her arms. “They’re talking about your boobs. Hurry up before I stick my head in the sink and drown myself.”
Lottie waddles out of her bedroom and tosses a stack of sheets onto the dining room table.
“Carlotta,” she hisses. “Are you telling lies about my boobs again?” She makes a face at me. “Noah, my nipples are not the size of dinner plates.”
I invert my lips to keep from laughing. “She didn’t say a thing about dinner plates.” My eyes drift south of her face for a moment, and suddenly I’m hungry for dinner.
Evie hands Pancake to Lottie. “She called them fun bags.”