Baby Bundt Cake Confusion (Murder in the Mix Book 31)

  Baby Bundt Cake Confusion

  MURDER IN THE MIX 31

  Addison Moore

  Contents

  Connect with Addison Moore

  Book Description

  1. Lottie

  2. Lottie

  3. Lottie

  4. Noah

  5. Everett

  6. Lottie

  7. Lottie

  8. Lottie

  9. Lottie

  10. Noah

  11. Everett

  12. Lottie

  13. Lottie

  14. Lottie

  15. Lottie

  16. Noah

  17. Everett

  18. Lottie

  19. Lottie

  20. Lottie

  21. Lottie

  22. Noah

  23. Lottie

  24. Everett

  Recipe

  Books by Addison Moore

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2021 by Addison Moore

  Edited by Paige Maroney Smith

  Cover by Lou Harper, Cover Affairs

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2021 by Addison Moore

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  Book Description

  My name is Lottie Lemon, and I see dead people. Okay, so I rarely see dead people. Mostly I see furry creatures of the dearly departed variety, aka dead pets, who have come back from the other side to warn me of their previous owner’s impending doom.

  Noah and Everett take Lottie to their high school reunion. The catty women show up in droves and so does a killer. It’s almost Lottie’s birthday and her due date. It's raining suspects and contractions. There’s a baby in the mix—and a killer, too.

  Lottie Lemon has a brand new bakery to tend to, a budding romance with perhaps one too many suitors, and she has the supernatural ability to see the dead—which are always harbingers for ominous things to come. Throw in the occasional ghost of the human variety, a string of murders, and her insatiable thirst for justice, and you’ll have more chaos than you know what to do with.

  Living in the small town of Honey Hollow can be murder.

  Lottie

  My name is Lottie Lemon, and I see dead people. Okay, so rarely do I see dead people. Mostly I see furry creatures of the dearly departed variety who have come back from the other side to warn me of their previous owner’s impending doom. But right now, I’m not seeing a single dearly departed entity. Instead, I’m looking up at the glitziest establishment known to man, the Lux Plaza Hotel, right in the heart of downtown Fallbrook.

  It’s behemoth and as glittery as can be, and right out front there’s a large sign nestled in a gilded frame that reads Welcome to the Fallbrook Premier Academy Class Reunion! It’s a freezing night in early March and I’ve ventured out of my cozy little town of Honey Hollow to attend this throwback in time with the men I love.

  Everett groans just looking at the sign. “Here we go.” And there’s not a note of enthusiasm in his voice as he says it.

  “Yup.” Noah expels a heavy breath. “It’s going to be a long night.”

  “Oh, come on, you two,” I say, linking arms with both of them and giving them a jostle. “It’s going to be great. We’ve already come this far. I’m sure it’ll be over before we know it, and not half as bad as you think it’s going to be. Sort of like a root canal.”

  “That about sums it up, Lemon.”

  Everett has almost always called me by my surname for as long as I’ve known him and I don’t mind one bit. It’s sort of become a sweet pet name at this point in our relationship. And Everett and I do have a relationship—we’re married. Okay, so it began as more or less a business transaction while I was dating Noah. Everett needed an official plus one so he could procure the rest of his trust fund and I helped him meet that matrimonial stipulation.

  And since Noah and I were on and off again more times than either of us could count, I decided a while back that I should give it another shot with Everett to see if there was still anything there. Noah came up with the same conclusion at about the same time, and well, Everett and I have been together going on nine months ever since.

  Speaking of nine months…

  The muscles around my bloated belly feel as if they’re tightening into concrete and I give a long blink before the discomfort loosens. It just so happens that I’m in my final month of what feels like a fifty yearlong pregnancy.

  My due date is next week and my own birthday is two weeks after that. But it looks as if I’ll be getting the best birthday gift of a lifetime a little bit early this year—an entire new life to care for—and I can hardly wait, emphasis on the hardly wait. My body has morphed into a Macy’s Day float, and I’m ready to give this baby an eviction notice because of it.

  “Are you okay, Lot?” Noah examines me a moment with a serious look in his eyes. Noah has been extra attentive to me during the last nine months. They both have. As they should be—they’re both in the running to be the father. You see, I was saying a rather spirited goodbye to Noah the day we decided to take a break to see where my relationship with Everett might lead, and then I said a rather spirited hello to Everett to inaugurate ourselves as an official couple. And well, the situation quickly grew maternal.

  “I’m fine,” I say, patting my belly, silently begging my body not to pull another stunt like that until I’m safely tucked in the maternity ward at Honey Hollow General Hospital and amply pumped full of enough narcotics for me not to notice.

  Noah Corbin Fox is a dark-haired, green-eyed stud, with dimples and a body built for fighting off the bad guys. Up until a few weeks ago he was working as the lead homicide detective for the Ashford County Sheriff’s Department.

  And Judge Essex Everett Baxter has black hair, demanding blue eyes, and a face and body sculpted by the masters. He’s slow to smile and quick to elicit the attention of everyone with a functioning pair of ovaries, as is Noah. And sadly, they’ve both been suspended from their prestigious positions for reasons I’d rather not think about right now.

  “Okay, gentlemen,” I say to the two handsome steeds by my side. “We’re going in.” They’ve both donned dark suits with glossy dark ties as if they were headed to a funeral. I found a plum-colored beaded gown that ties off in the back and actually accentuates my curves—not necessarily a good thing in my condition, but I do feel fancier than I’ve felt in months. “Is there anything else I should know before I get thrown into the deep end of the Fallbrook social scene?”

  “Yes, Lemon. You should know that the only reason we’re here tonight is because Wiley Fox orchestrated this entire event almost two decades ago before robbing my mother blind and taking off with as much of her fortune as he could get his greedy little hands on.”

  Noah nods into the admission. “And don’t forget he promptly faked his death.” He shakes his head. “Sorry again. I have a feeling I’ll be apologizing for that man for as long as I live. And I’m sorry to you, Lot. Not only has my father resurrected himself, but he’s set his destructive sights on your mother.”

  “Don’t apologize for him.” My blood boils just thinking about Noah’s jackass of a father.

  It’s no secret that Noah and Everett went to a fancy private school. In fact, Everett attended Piedmont, an exclusive boarding school, for a while until his mother married Noah’s father and the two families attempted to meld together.

  The unholy union didn’t last long as Everett just mentioned. Wiley Fox, Noah’s wily father, took off with as much of Eliza Baxter’s fortune as he possibly could and then proceeded to fake his own death. He’s back now, alive and well and wreaking havoc in Honey Hollow—latched onto my poor mother, of all people.

  Anyway, Eliza plucked Everett and his sister, Meghan, from their fancy boarding school and enrolled them into Fallbrook Premier Academy so they could be with their new siblings, Noah and his brother Alex. And so basically it is all Wiley’s dumb fault we have to subject ourselves to this night of torture.

  Initially, both Noah and Everett rejected the invitation to attend tonight, but once my shop, the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, was invited to cater the desserts, they heartily agreed to join me in the endeavor.

  “There is one more thing you should probably kno
w, Lot.” Noah chuckles to himself as we reach the entry to this glitzy palace. “See this gaudy spectacle parading around as a humble hotel? Your husband happens to own it.”

  “What?” I shriek as I give Everett’s arm a tug. “Is this true?” I have it on good authority that it could be. Almost all of Eliza Baxter’s wealth comes from the fact she’s a hotel heiress.

  “It used to be.” Everett winces. “Come to think of it, this might still be one of our holdings. My mother did a little fancy footwork with some of the properties a while back. I’ll have to revisit the portfolio.”

  Noah huffs. “I’ll have to revisit the portfolio,” he mimics before chuckling. “See that, Lot? He’s keeping things from you. Did you sign a prenup?”

  “I don’t think so.” Last year I could have given a far more definitive answer, but the baby has been nibbling on my brain cells as of late, so there’s that.

  Noah leans my way. “Play your cards right and this place can be yours. And if I play my cards right, this place could be ours.” He waggles his brows, and I give him a playful swat.

  We step into the glamorous hotel, with its glossy white marble flooring, dark mahogany covered walls, and enough chandeliers to ensure the blind can see. But distracting from all the opulence are the gorgeous women in ultra-short glittering gowns showing off legs for miles, bosoms for days, and enough cosmetics on their frozen faces to outfit the makeup counter at the mall. Let’s not forget their purse puppies. About every third woman here is holding a tiny cute pooch in the crook of her arm as if it was the latest fashion accessory. A few men in dapper suits roam the vicinity as well with a smattering of salt and pepper hair, and more than a few have bloated bellies and wrinkles. It’s easy to say that the women all look a heck of a lot more well-preserved than the men in this scenario.

  Both Noah and Everett are in their mid-thirties, with Everett being a year older. I’m in my late twenties, but with my creaky joints and body as limber as a tree trunk, I feel about a hundred as of late. Make that two hundred since technically there are two of us residing in my body.

  The women here all look impossibly thin. It’s a phenomenon I’ve noticed ever since my body has morphed into a beach ball to accommodate this sweet little sugar cookie in my belly. I’ve pretty much gifted my child the equivalent of an Olympic-sized swimming pool to move around in, mostly in part to my obsession with fried pickles and just about anything else I can shove into my pie hole.

  I can’t help it. I’m half-starved at any given time. I once left the house without any food on me and was half-tempted to eat a pack of tissues. And from that day forward, I always travel with at least a half dozen fried pickles and a couple of crullers on me. I finally understand the need for mothers to haul around purses the size of small luggage. It’s to accommodate the desires of their insatiable appetites.

  We find a table to the right with a couple of women assisting everyone as they sign in, and no sooner do we take a step in that direction than all-out chaos ensues.

  Hysterical cries of Essex and Noah echo throughout the massive lobby, and soon both men have been plucked away from me and are being equally mobbed by a bevy of beauties doing their best to climb Mount Baxter and Mount Fox.

  Sure, Everett is my husband, but that’s never stopped me from feeling protective and just a wee bit possessive over Noah as well. I’ve got a cauldron’s worth of hormones brewing in me, not to mention Noah’s prospective child, so I don’t mind one bit laying claim to him, too.

  I quickly sign the three of us in, impart a little impromptu Kung Fu to free Noah and Everett, and drag the three of us—four if we’re counting Sugar Cookie—into the grand ballroom that’s playing host to this evening’s festivities.

  Cheery music filters through the speakers, the chandeliers sparkle up above, the room is swimming with glittering women and handsome men, and somewhere layered beneath the clash of expensive perfumes and colognes, the scent of vanilla lights up my senses. I follow that dreamy scent all the way over to the refreshment table, where not one but three people who are helping me out for the evening are serving up sliver after sliver of my lemon Bundt cake with its rich thick layer of creamy lemon icing.

  “Come to Mama,” I say as I break loose from Noah and Everett and quickly snap up a slice for myself.

  “Mom!” Evie, the sixteen-year-old brunette stunner of a daughter that I share with Everett, comes around the table and gives me a firm embrace. “You look freaking amazing. Don’t be intimidated by all these plastic blowup dolls running around. You’re the real deal, even if you do look as if you swallowed a pumpkin and are about to eat the next person you see. I bet you’ll have to fight off the men just like Dad and Uncle Noah are fighting off the women.”

  “What?” I glance back, and sure enough, they’re both being mobbed once again. There’s even a small white Maltese with long satin hair that gleams as it drapes its entire tiny frame. The poor thing is yipping and yapping as it attempts to penetrate the madness, but it’s wisely deciding to stand back and watch the melee from a safe distance.

  “Don’t act surprised, Lottie,” Lily Swanson, my trusty right-hand gal at the bakery, says as she replenishes the dessert plates as quickly as people snatch them away. “Women have been asking all night if the Golden Boy has arrived.” Lily is a pithy brunette who once bullied me way back when, but now that I sign her paychecks, she’s miraculously a lot kinder to me.

  Carlotta snorts.

  Carlotta Sawyer is my biological mother. We share the same caramel-colored wavy tresses, hazel eyes, and ability to see right through to the other side—as in the supernatural side. Over more than two decades ago, she had the wherewithal to abandon me on the floor of the Honey Hollow Fire Department when I was just a few hours old. And believe me, I’ve been thankful ever since. The family that adopted me, the Lemons, was a better family than I could ever have hope for. Still are.

  “Hear that, Lot Lot?” Carlotta chuckles to herself as she whacks off another slice of lemon cake. “Every woman here is hungry for a bite of Foxy pie.”

  Foxy is a nickname Carlotta has for Noah as a play on his surname.

  “And don’t forget Essex.” Lily winks my way as she says it.

  It just so happens that Everett prefers to go by his middle name. But as fate and Everett’s playboy past would have it, the only people he allows to call him by his proper moniker are women he’s danced in the sheets with—save for his mother and sister, and sometimes Noah’s mother, too. And even though I more than qualify for that Essexy party prize, I still call him by the name I’ve always called him.

  “That’s right.” Carlotta slaps her belly as if she’s just finished a filling meal, and seeing that she’s in close proximity to one of my favorite desserts, I can’t blame her. “Mr. Sexy has been in high demand, too.” Mr. Sexy is the nickname that the baristas of the world have gifted Everett, and face it, they’re not wrong. “I don’t suspect you’ll see too much of either of them for the rest of the night. A couple of women are hoping to join Club Essex before the night is through.”

  Evie pretends to gag, or at least I’m hoping she’s pretending, but nevertheless I’m about to join her.

  “No one is joining Club Essex tonight or any other night.” The words come from me like a battle cry as I head over to the tangle of bodies that are swirling like a human hurricane.

  “Don’t worry, Mom.” Evie strides by my side. “I won’t let them defile Uncle Noah either. These women are creepers. And I don’t want anyone who grew up with Cressi-duh to get anywhere near my uncle.”