Page 8 of Peach Cobbler Confessions
“Not so fast, soul sister.” Carlotta shakes her head, quick to refute the idea. “There’s another baby daddy in the running.”
Collette belts out a ghostly howl of approval, and just as I’m about to reprimand them both, I spot a familiar blonde trying to blend in the crowd as she moves to get a better look at the body. Her hair is the color of vanilla ice cream and she has on a light coat pulled up to her chin as if she were trying to go unnoticed. She steps forward and gawks at poor Dane and a slow smile creeps up her cheeks before she pivots and bolts for the exit.
“Oh no, you don’t.” I bolt right after her and my stomach sloshes in a vat of hot acid. I manage to grab ahold of the woman’s arm just as she’s about to sail out the exit, and a horrible moan works its way up my throat. I let go of her to clutch at my stomach.
“Hey?” She leans in. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I force the words from my lips as a spasm of pain shoots across my abdomen. “It’s you,” I say, struggling to straighten. “You’re Sammy. I heard Dane say your name when he was asking for cobbler.”
She gasps as her fingers fly to her mouth. Her gaze dips down to where my arm is strapped across my belly.
“Don’t leave—” The words come out faint as I work hard to fight off the coming wave of nausea. “What happened to Dane?”
“Forget about Dane.” She helps me over to a bench nearby. “Hon, I think you need to get home. You don’t look so hot.” Her silver-blue eyes ride up and down my body. “In fact, if I were you, I’d go sit on the toilet. I bet it will all come out in the end and you’ll be right as rain.” She gives a little wink before shooting out the door like a bullet.
The toilet?
No thanks to this stomachache, both my reputation and my investigation are about to go down the toilet.
I force myself to stand and do my best to stagger back toward Carlotta.
“Lottie!” a familiar voice trills my name, and soon not only is my mother upon me, but so are Noah’s mother, Suze, and Everett’s mother, Eliza. “Is it true, Lottie?” Mom rattles me by the shoulders with a look of unmitigated glee in her eyes. “Are you going to give me a grandchild soon? Oh, first with Evie, and now with Lainey about ready to have a baby, I’m going from zero to three, in a year’s time!”
Suze grunts my way and, honest to God, I can see bona fide steam coming from her ears. Noah’s mother has never been a fan of mine.
“It had better not belong to my son,” she gravels out the words like a threat, and coming from her, they’re just that.
Suze is tall, blonde, and built like a linebacker with short hair that swoops down low over one eye. She’s mean-spirted, always shoots from the hip, and has never so much as pretended to like me.
Eliza shares her son’s dark hair and demanding blue eyes. She’s a stunner no matter what age she is, and she carries herself like royalty.
“Oh, who the hell cares.” Eliza winks my way. “I’m sure my Essex will raise it as if it were his own whether or not it has Fox DNA. Congratulations, Lottie. Shall we hope for a boy this time?”
By this time, I’m assuming she’s talking about the fact Everett and I already have a girl. Speaking of which—
“Mom!” Evie runs over and pulls me into a strangling embrace. “Am I really going to be a big sister? Oh, please, let me name it. Please,please. I like Glock if it’s a boy and Gravity or Champagne if it’s a girl. But I could change my mind, so ask me again when the baby is here.”
“What?” I can’t seem to wrap my head around the madness taking place.
Everett’s sister comes up, huffing and puffing as if she were struggling to keep up with her exuberant niece. She, too, is a carbon copy of Everett but with a feminine appeal.
“Oh, Lottie,” Meghan coos. “I hope it’s twins. Or triplets. The Baxter family is known for both.”
Evie’s upper lip twitches at the thought. “I bet I had a twin and Cressi-duhtraded it in for a Birkin bag.”
Sadly, knowing her bio mother, she might not be wrong.
“Look, ladies”—my stomach does a hard roll—“I’m not having a…Oh, oh no.” I push my way past them as my body temperature spikes, my stomach starts to sizzle, and the very real prospect of bringing up my dinner is upon me.
I quickly lose myself in the crowd, and as I’m about to make a run for the nearest restroom, I spot Kent Noble talking to Ridge Porter, the star ofUnsolved Mysteries Tonight.
My feet move in that direction like a pair of trained circus poodles, and I force myself to take a deep breath to curb my nausea.
“Gentlemen?” I grimace at the two of them. “I’m so sorry about your friend.”
Kent Noble, the heavyset man with a stubble-riddled beard, nods my way.
“Thank you,” he says. “I’m sure whoever did this will be apprehended quickly.”