He starts to waddle away, then turns back with an afterthought. “Oh, and Lottie? Next time you’re about to confront armed killers, maybe give us a heads-up first? The sheriff’s department prefers to be involved in these things from the beginning.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I call after him, though we both know that’s probably not going to happen.
“Everett!” a breathless voice calls out, and we all turn to see Jolene Johnson running toward us with the kind of determination usually reserved for people chasing the last helicopter out of a disaster zone.
She’s wearing a skimpy pink bathing suit that seems to have been designed by someone who believes fabric is optional, and she’s beaming with a toothy grin.
“Your baby girl is covered from head to toe!” she announces triumphantly, gesturing toward the shoreline.
We all turn to look, and sure enough, Evie is huddled under a towel that’s large enough to form a tent around her entire body. She looks like she’s been wrapped by someone who’s very familiar with the concept of total coverage—and oddly, I doubt that was Evie herself. It’s more or less a foreign concept to her.
“How did you do that?” Everett asks, his voice filled with the kind of awe usually reserved for natural phenomena.
“I have my ways,” Jolene replies with a wink that suggests those ways might involve blackmail, bribery, or possibly witchcraft. “In fact, I always get my way, too.” She leans closer to Everett and waves Noah closer with a flick of her finger—close enough to initiate a lioness-worthy growl from me. “It turns out, Muffin Whitmore heard me lamenting about not being able to afford the fertility treatments I needed, and let’s just say she cut me a check so big I may never have to work another day in my life.”
My mouth falls open. “She what?”
“She said she has no problem getting rid of some of her ex-husband’s dirty money,” Jolene says with a cheeky wink. “Nothing like a murder investigation to make people generous with their checkbooks.” She looks between Noah and Everett with renewed interest. “Now, which one of you is going to lend me a hand, or another body part that will help me out in the baby department?”
“NO,” Noah and Everett say in perfect unison, and if I didn’t know better, there’s a slight panic in their eyes, the kind usually reserved for people who’ve just spotted a charging rhinoceros—who happens to be clad in hot pink.
“Now, boys,” Jolene says with a laugh. “Let’s not be hasty. I’m talking about a very lucrative business arrangement here.”
“We’re very flattered,” Noah says with a mournful smile, “but we’re going to have to respectfully decline.”
“Respectfully but firmly,” Everett adds, tightening his grip on Corbin as if Jolene might try to snatch him for genetic material.
Jolene sniffs the air as if she’s been personally insulted. “Your loss. I would have made beautiful babies with either of you.”
Her attention suddenly shifts to Wiley, who’s been watching this exchange with the kind of horrified fascination usually reserved for car wrecks.
“How about it, you handsome bunny, you?” she purrs, sidling up to him with predatory grace upon spotting fresh prey.
I gasp, because this is exactly the kind of move you’d expect from someone who’s graduated from the Carlotta Sawyer School of How to Pick Up Men. Heck, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn Carlotta once mentored Jolene in that department.
“I hope he doesn’t fall for it,” Everett mutters under his breath.
“Wiley Fox only loves one thing more than himself,” Carlotta observes with the wisdom of a wily wench who’s spent years studying the male species. “Money.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Noah groans. “I’ll have a talk with him.”
“And if that doesn’t work,” I add, “I’ll have a talk with him with my Glock. Ethel has been missing my company.”
The announcement for the Easter egg hunt crackles over the festival speakers, and suddenly the place erupts in organized chaos as parents start corralling their children toward the designated hunting grounds.
“Oh my goodness!” Mom exclaims, pulling out her phone with the commitment that comes from having a very important job to do. “I need to get lots of pictures! All of my grandkids are participating in this!”
Wiley starts to follow, but Jolene is quick to sidle up next to him, her hand sliding through his arm like a serpent on the prowl.
“So, Wiley,” she says in a voice that could melt chocolate, “I hear you’re a very successful man. Very accomplished. Very...fertile-looking.”
“Oh, good heavens,” I mutter, watching the train wreck unfold. “This is going to be worse than watching Carlotta try to seduce the mailman.”
“Hey!” Carlotta protests. “That was a perfectly legitimatecourtship! And Elmore had excellent health insurance—and a pretty good back, too.”
We make our way toward the egg hunt, which has been set up on the grassy area near the lake. Plastic eggs in every color of the rainbow are scattered across the ground like confetti, and children are already lining up at the starting line with the kind of focused intensity usually reserved for Olympic athletes. My sisters and their children, my friends and their little ones, too. Everyone in Honey Hollow is somewhere on the field this afternoon.
Lyla Nell is practically shaking with anticipation, her little hands clenched into fists as she stares at the egg-covered field.
