Page 39 of Poison Apple Crisp

Everett and I head back into the house, and he wraps his arms around me as our eyes meet.

“Lemon.” His brows pinch in the middle. “You’re not backing down from this case.”

I shake my head. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Then I’d better help Noah solve it. The quicker the better.” His cheek flickers on one side as his lids hood dangerously low. “Do you know what’s not better quicker?”

“Sexy time with Essex?” Carlotta shouts from the sofa, and I groan.

The house next door has already been leased, and it’s becoming abundantly clear I am never getting rid of Carlotta before or after the baby comes.

But I am catching a killer.

And with Noah and Everett putting a little muscle behind it, we might just hammer this one into the ground in record time.

But if the killer finds out I’m looking for them, I might be the one who meets with a hammer, or a lethal dose of cyanide.

Chapter 11

Since I don’t have to open the bakery this morning, the plan was to blissfully sleep in until my body decided it was time to wake up, but the universe had other plans.

“Let’s go! Let’s go! One and two and three and four! Shake your booty to the floor!”

A hard groan comes from me, and I pat the spot on the bed next to me and smack Everett in the stomach without meaning to.

“Whoa.” He catches my hand and kisses it before freezing solid. “What’s that noise?”

“I don’t know.” I moan. “Let’s go find out and kill it with fire.”

I throw on my robe, and Everett hops into his sweats as we stagger out of the house like a couple of zombies, only to find about thirty women crammed onto the lawn of the house next door—all of them wearing yoga pants and tank tops and their hair knotted up at the top of their heads. The woman leading the charge in front is a tall, fit brunette with almond-shaped eyes. And unlike her underlings, she’s wearing short shorts and a T-shirt that cuts off at the midriff. It’s clear that she’s immune to autumn’s early morning chill.

Carlotta and Evie stagger their way over, and Everett and I head down to the sidewalk just as Noah and his golden retriever, Toby, appear.

“It’s not even six in the morning.” Evie grunts. “What’s wrong with these people?”

Everett glowers at the bodies kicking and punching their way to physical fitness.

“It looks like a club of some sort,” he says. “I think I’ll go over and let them know there’s a noise ordinance.”

Noah shakes his head. “Let me. I’ll flash my badge, make it look official. That way if they’re going to get upset with anyone, it’ll be the sheriff’s department.”

We head over just as the brunette in the short shorts leads the group into deep knee squats.

“Looks painful,” Carlotta notes as she pops up next to me. “Aren’t you glad you’re knocked up, Lot? Now that you’re going to be a mama, you don’t have to worry about squeezing yourself into those painted-on booty pants.”

“I still fit in my booty pants,” I tell her.

“Not for long,” she counters. “Just think of all these women parading around daily in front of your men, Lot. Squatting and sweating up a storm, getting their beach bodies on while you turn into a beach ball.”

I shoot her a look in lieu of a response. “I’m not turning into a beach ball.”

Flashes of Lainey’s distended belly and Keelie’s at the nine-month mark flit through my mind. Keelie really did look like a house.

“Oh my God, I’m turning into a beach ball.”

Noah jogs over to the woman in charge while flashing his badge, and half the women swoon with delight.

“Great,” Carlotta bleats. “No sooner do you turn Foxy loose than a cult of attractive women move in right across the street from him. They don’t call him a lucky fox for nothing.”