“Oh, we’re well past the running and screaming stage,” I tell him. “We moved straight into acceptance and pizza.”
“Smart approach,” Lenny agrees. “Though I have to admit that pizza smells incredible. I don’t suppose ghostly lions can partake in Italian cuisine?”
“Have at it,” I tell him. “In fact, have a box or two.”
Carlotta perks up at the sight of the luminescent lion. “Hon, you’re built like a gladiator and got the appetite of one, too. That’s my kind of man.”
“He’s commenting on the pizza.” I fill in the blanks for Noah, Everett, and Evie.
Carlotta chuckles. “If you ever want something spicier than pepperoni, sweetheart, I take walk-ins. And I’ve got entertainment options,” she says with a wink and the sane among us all cringe in unison. “What are your thoughts on leashes? FYI: I look great in them.”
“Carlotta!” I gasp, horrified. “He’s dead! Not to mention an entirely different species.”
“Oh, hush your pie hole, Lottie Dottie. Death is just another adventure,” she replies with the confidence of the living.
“We’re not having this conversation,” I interrupt, covering my ears. “There are children present. And adults who can’t take much more of your insatiable, unbelievable appetite.”
“Well, I’m not talking to the adults or the little yippers in the room.So why don’t you all just stop eavesdropping on my conversation. I’m talking to the furry and fabulous among us,” she says, completely ignoring my plea for silence. “What do you say, tall, dark, and feral? I’ve got leashes that would make even a king of the jungle roar with appreciation! Harry’s coming over in about twenty minutes, but I can always make time for a little demonstration of what’s cookin’ in my sexy stash.”
Lenny looks distinctly uncomfortable, as he should be. “Perhaps we should focus on the murder investigation at hand instead.”
“Good idea,” I agree quickly, before Carlotta can extend any more inappropriate invitations to our ghostly guest. “He thinks we should change the subject.” I’m not suggesting murder because I have zero intention of letting Noah and Everett in on the fact that I’ve already started my investigation. They wouldn’t be nearly as impressed as they should be.
“How was your day, Lemon?” Everett asks, and just like that, my plans are foiled.
I take a bite of pizza to buy myself some time, watching Lyla Nell continue her supernatural joyride around the coffee table. “It was... educational. I went to Honey Lake to listen to Bunny Whitmore’s seminar called Wellness and Wisdom from the Wild Side. She’s got some fascinating ideas about nutrition and natural healing. I’m thinking about implementing some simple lifestyle changes.”
Both Noah and Everett growl simultaneously, a sound that would be intimidating if I weren’t holding a slice of pizza and watching my daughter ride an invisible lion while cackling at the top of her lungs.
“You spoke with a suspect,” Noah states with a flat tone, and I can tell he’s trying very hard to remain patient.
“Did I?” I bat my eyelashes with practiced innocence that would fool absolutely no one. At least no one in this room. Or this town. Or maybe the state of Vermont.
“Lemon,” Everett says, and oh my goodness, when he uses that voice—all stern authority mixed with barely controlled desire—I almost forget we’re talking about murder instead of our impending medical clearance. Waiting six weeks post-delivery to return tonormal bedroom activities is a real struggle when you have a husband as handsome as I do.
The man may not be impressed with my investigative activities, but he’s sexy as heck when he’s trying to be protective.
“The killer is dangerous, Lot,” Noah adds gently. “Maybe you should focus on Easter preparations instead. I bet the bakery is brimming with orders.”
I sigh, because he’s absolutely right and I’m not entirely thrilled. “It is. We’re booked solid through Easter Sunday, and I’ve got three custom cake orders that are going to require architectural engineering at that.”
“Well, I don’t want to change the subject, but—” Evie interjects from her position as official family photographer, still documenting Lyla Nell’s supernatural circus act as if she’s about to make a scrapbook out of it.
“Please change the subject,” Noah, Everett, and I all shout in perfect unison. It’s something she’s getting used to.
“I’m just saying, Noah and Dad could be doing so much good in the world by donating their DNA for a worthy cause.” Evie is nothing if not persistent. “Think about it—they could help Dash’s mom have another baby, and then Dash and I would practically be sisters forever!”
“Evie.” I gag as I struggle to get another word out.
“I thought you said this was strictly a clinical procedure,” Carlotta narrows her eyes at Evie. “I’ve got a business plan due to Suze in the morning, and I can’t go complicating it with words likefamilyandchild support.”
“Itisa clinical procedure,” she insists with an earnestness that’s honestly starting to worry me. “And just in case you wanted to know, our potential new sibling would definitely be attractive. Or in Dad’s case, siblings as in plural, since he doesn’t mess around when it comes to producing offspring.”
Everett nods with wry acceptance. “I don’t mess around, apparently. And somehow, I managed to achieve both quality and quantity. I guess you can say it’s my strong suit.”
Evie laughs at the thought. “I bet I have an evil twin out there somewhere. It would be just like Cressi-duhto split us up. She’s extra damaged that way.”
Cressi-duhas in Cressida Bentley. Evie’s biological mother is an uptight, questionably sane socialite who hid Evie from Everett and the world until a few years ago. The woman essentially raised her daughter in a series of boarding schools, which makes it miraculous that Evie turned out as well-adjusted as she did.
