Page 18 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

NOAH

I can’t stop smiling as I settle behind my desk.

It’s the next afternoon, and my mind keeps replaying last night on an endless loop. Who knew Everett’s little foray into domestication disasters would turn out to be the best thing to happen to me all night, all month—heck, all year ?

The original plan was for Carlotta to bunk at my place, too, but she took one look around at the tower of empty pizza boxes and declared it an affront to her aesthetic sensibilities before promptly vacating the premises.

Within twenty minutes, she’d called Mayor Nash and sweet-talked her way into his bedroom.

Some people would call that a lucky break. I call it divine intervention.

That left just Lottie and Lyla Nell in my cabin—exactly where they belonged, even if it was just for one night. After dinner (pizza from Mangias, our favorite) and bathtime for Lyla Nell (which somehow resulted in more water on me than on her), Lottie crawled right into my bed and so did Lyla Nell.

I had the privilege of reading them both a bedtime story, and once they fell asleep, I did, too. It was bliss sleeping in the same bed as Lottie again. And having Lyla Nell sleeping between us felt like heaven on top of that.

I chuckle at the thought, shuffling papers I’m not actually reading. The case files on my desk should have my full attention, but they don’t stand a chance against the memory of Lottie’s sleepy smile this morning when she found me making pancakes.

Everett fared just fine himself, from what I heard. Evie came home from college and spent the night mopping the floors and tending to her laid-up father. They, too, split a pizza along with a bag full of Chinese food from the Wicked Wok. I don’t feel sorry for him in the least.

In fact, Evie had Everett’s doctor do a home visit, and they prescribed a few days of bed rest.

And Lottie didn’t bother hiding her delight at that prescription. How the tables have turned—Mr. I Never Stop Moving finally forced to lie still while his very pregnant wife waddles circles around him. Poetic justice at its finest.

Regardless, getting Everett out of the picture for one night felt... wonderful. Necessary. Like coming up for air after being underwater too long.

Too bad there isn’t some specialist I could consult about making this a more permanent arrangement. Maybe someone with experience in, shall we say, removing moving obstacles.

I shake my head at my own dark joke. I’m kidding, of course.

Mostly.

A brisk knock interrupts my felonious daydreaming, and before I can respond, the door swings open.

Eliza Baxter herself strides in wearing a long cream-colored coat, her dark hair swept neatly into a bun.

Speaking of someone with a potential talent for problem-solving of the permanent variety—or at least that’s what the facts have determined.

“Eliza?” I stand, and she waves me to sit back down before doing the same across from me.

“Good afternoon,” I tell her. “What can I do for you?”

She frowns my way and sighs. “It’s not what you can do for me. It’s what I can do for you .”

I inch back, amused and yet slightly alarmed. “What would that be?”

Eliza meets my eyes with her steely gaze. “I’m here to confess.”