Page 16 of Plum Pudding Peril (MURDER IN THE MIX #50)
EVERETT
A s soon as I stepped out of the courthouse, I shook off the weight of the day’s proceedings like snow from my coat.
The air outside is crisp, and it’s the kind of cold that snaps me to attention as the festive lights of downtown Honey Hollow bring a semblance of cheer to my otherwise heavy thoughts. It’s snowing out and that helps a little, too.
Mangias is tonight’s destination, and it happens to be an Italian gem nestled just across from Lemon’s bakery.
Right now, it’s a beacon of warmth and the promise of good food, both of which I’m in need of.
Lemon asked if I wouldn’t mind meeting up with her, Noah, Evie, and Lyla Nell for dinner, and it was an offer I couldn’t refuse. A simple family meal is just what I’m craving, but as of late, my life is anything but simple.
The courthouse was utter chaos today. Far more chaos than usual, and definitely more than we’ve ever had in December. And I’ll admit, I’ve had far more anxiety than I’ve had in any other month of the year combined. During those few moments when I was in my chambers today, I hesitated more than once to pick up the phone and call those poor women—the mothers of my children.
Lemon must have sensed this because at about three she sent me a text and asked if we could do it together. I was more than relieved at the offer. That’s exactly why I love my wife so much. She has a kind heart and always seems to intuitively know what I need and when. And heaven knows I need her now more than ever before.
No sooner do I walk through the doors of Mangias than the warmth hits me along with the scent of garlic and tangy marinara sauce.
It’s cozy in here. Sinatra is blaring, the crowd is thick and boisterous, and by the looks of it, the waitstaff is running around wearing Santa hats, jolly as can be. It seems to be on order, considering ’tis the season.
I don’t take more than two steps before a blonde waitress jumps in front of me, Santa hat and all.
“Judge Baxter,” she shouts up over the music with a laugh. “I can’t believe Harper Harper is your kid! That’s such exciting news. You’re practically a celebrity by defacto.” She trots off, and yet I can’t seem to move a single muscle.
What the heck just happened?
Did I hallucinate that?
My heart begins to drum out of my chest before pulsating straight through to my ears, doing its best to drown out the noise from this place.
I stride in deeper and spot Lemon, Noah, Evie, and Lyla Nell near the back, but before I can get to them, several patrons offer up their congratulations as well. And the congratulations go on and on like some sort of otherworldly domino effect.
“All those new kids, you must be thrilled!”
“That’s a lot of child support,” another chides.
“Congrats on the growing brood!”
“You really took that be fruitful and multiply thing seriously, didn’t you?”
By the time I get to the table, I feel as if I’ve walked through the zombie apocalypse with a paternity twist.
“What the heck is happening?” I ask as Lyla Nell practically jumps out of her high chair and into my arms.
“ Daddy ,” she cries and I scoop her up without hesitating.
“Oh my gosh,” Evie shouts. “It’s like everyone freaking knows!”
Both Lottie and Noah look pensive as they offer meager smiles. I kiss Lemon on the lips before falling in next to her.
The breadsticks and drinks are already on the table, although my appetite has up and left me.
“I don’t know what happened.” Noah shakes his head. “But it looks as if the word got out.”
Evie grimaces my way. “I may have told Dash. But I promise I swore her to secrecy. She did admit that her sister may have overheard while we were talking, and I bet that little rat squealed to everyone she knows. I can have Uncle Jimmy put a hit out on her if you want.”
“Not funny.” I shake my head at her.
“No putting a hit out on anyone.” Lemon is quick to squash all thoughts of a felony before she cringes my way. “And well, it may not have been Dash’s sister’s fault. I sort of told Keelie this morning. Then she sort of accidentally told Suze, and well, Lily and Effie know, too, and basically whoever else was in the bakery this morning.”
“What happened to our pact?” I ask. Although I’m not all that blindsided. After all, Carlotta was in the room at the moment, and I knew that didn’t bode well for me. “Never mind.” I glance around and note that more than half the patrons are ogling at our table while whispering amongst themselves.
An explosion of cackles emits from the bar and we all turn that way to find Carlotta, Suze, and a redhead, each wearing purple Santa hats, as they down shots while wildly cheering one another on.
“Don’t mind them,” Lemon says, taking my hand. “Carlotta and Ivy’s mother really hit it off at the tree lot earlier. And well, Suze decided to tag along, too.”
Evie nods. “They’re trolling for dudes, and apparently, there’s an elf that Cray Cray has her eye on.”
“ Thimby Wicky ,” Lyla Nell shouts and claps.
“An elf ?” I raise a brow at Lemon. “Would this be the same elf from the Evergreen Manor?”
“The one and only dead elf,” she says, shooting a wry look in that direction. “He’s mostly harmless. Although he does believe there’s a portal to the North Pole and that he once worked in Santa’s workshop. And now he’s quasi-alive and does his best to impart the Christmas spirit.”
“Oh wow,” Evie muses. “So that’s how it works.”
I shake my head at her. “That is not how it works. It sounds like he wasn’t too invested in reality while he was here and it’s carried over.”
“Speaking of reality…” Noah ticks his head to the side. “If everyone in Honey Hollow knows about your paternity results, then?—”
“Then I’d better make those phone calls asap.”
“How about right now?” Lemon asks. “I’m right here. We’re all right here. I can go outside with you?”
A waitress comes by and drops off two large pizzas, and Lyla Nell practically dives for a slice as Noah helps put her back into the high chair for me.
“It’s snowing out,” I tell Lemon. “And it’s not so loud here in the back. You guys eat. I’ll see if I can get someone on the phone.” I pull out that list with the phone numbers on it and frown. “First up is Harper Harper’s mother.” A hard sigh expels from me. “Elizabeth Harper, renowned chef.”
I dial her number and it rings twice before someone picks up.