Page 17 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

EVERETT

“ G eez ,” Noah shouts as he glides his way into the kitchen and nearly passes me by as if he were floating on air. “Everett?”

“Right here,” I grunt, still flat on my back from the fall I took this morning.

“What the hell?” Noah barks. “What’s happening to the floors? I think you need to fire your housekeeper.”

“Believe me, I’m on it.” I blow out a breath.

“Only in this case, the housekeeper is me. The real housekeeper had a family emergency, so I thought I’d pinch-hit.

I’m an idiot who thought I could clean limestone without professional training.

” I groan, not bothering to move. “I’ve been down here since this morning.

My phone is under the fridge. Please tell me, you’re not letting Lemon set foot in this place. ”

“ Lottie, make sure you stay outside ,” Noah calls out. “Everett tried to clean and turned this place into an ice rink.” He slogs his way over and winces at me. “So, what’s going on?”

“I thought I’d spend the day counting the speckles on the ceiling. You’re the big detective. What do you think is going on? I did a somersault and landed flat on my back, threw it out in the process. I can’t move two inches without a hot poker shooting up my spine.”

Noah’s eyebrows hike a notch. “You know Lottie thinks you’ve been kidnapped, right? She’s mobilized half the town.”

“Of course, she has,” I sigh. “I’d get up to deal with the fallout, but I’m pretty sure my L4 vertebra has lodged itself somewhere near my kidneys.”

“I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No, don’t do that. I just need you to help me up. As long as I can make it to the couch, I should be fine.”

I lift my hand his way, but before Noah can ice skate over, a gray-headed hurricane glides into the room howling and screaming, and all around having a good time.

“ Carlotta ,” Noah shouts. “Slow down, you can really hurt yourself in here. Case in point, the judge splayed out on the floor.”

But Carlotta is oblivious to his threats because she already has enough inertia going to launch her to the moon. Unlike Noah, she doesn’t attempt to slow down. She barrels forward with her arms flailing like mad.

“Sexy! You’re alive ,” she screeches, sliding across the freshly polished floor like a bedazzled hockey puck.

“Carlotta, stop ,” Noah and I shout in unison, but it’s too late.

She crashes into the kitchen island, sending perfectly arranged copper pots and pans raining down from the overhead rack. And it sounds a lot like someone dropped a drum set down a flight of stairs.

Carlotta, not being one to fall gracefully, pinwheels backward and directly toward me.

“Geez.” I wince.

I can’t move, can’t dodge—I’m more or less a helpless target.

She lands directly on top of me, knocking what little breath I had left completely out of my lungs. And somehow—because the universe has a twisted sense of humor or Carlotta has very good aim—we end up face-to-face, lip-to-lip.

For one horrifying microsecond, Carlotta and I are all but kissing on the kitchen floor.

“Get off of him,” Noah gruffs as he attempts to pluck her away, but not before I get new pain from her elbow in my sternum, adding to my collection of injuries. “All right, Carlotta, stop trying to steal first base.”

“ Please ,” Carlotta huffs, trying to right herself but only managing to dig her knee into my thigh and I grunt hard because of it.

A few inches north and I’d be in a whole different world of hurt.

“I’ve had better kisses from my great-aunt Mildred’s taxidermied poodle,” she snips as she claws her way to her feet.

“Put a little oomph into it next time, Sexy. It’s like you don’t even care. ”

“Everett, is everything okay?” Lemon shouts from the front door and I shake my head at Noah.

“Tell her I’m fine.”

“He’s laid up, toes to the ceiling, can’t move, and his phone is under the fridge,” Noah says with a deranged grin. “He greased the floors with enough furniture polish to host the Stanley Cup finals right in your living room.”

A groan comes from the other room. She’s not thrilled, but then neither am I.

“I can’t live like this,” Carlotta says with her hands on her hips. “Where am I supposed to go?”

I lock eyes with Noah, who shakes his head frantically.

“Go with Noah, across the street,” I reply without hesitation, ignoring his dagger-filled glare. “His cabin is plenty big enough to house you, Lemon, and Lyla Nell for the night until I can get someone out here to strip the floors—or rip them out.”

Carlotta tips her head my way. “That’s Sexy flexing his funds.”

Noah chuckles my way. “And yet all the money in the world couldn’t save you from yourself.”

As Noah helps me to my feet—every joint in me protests the movement—I realize that surviving eight hours stranded on my kitchen floor might have been the easy part of my day. The real challenge will be surviving the night knowing Lemon will be in his bed instead of mine.

Hopefully, Noah will have enough sense to let her have his bedroom to herself. But something tells me he won’t.

Where is a killer when you need one?