“I’ll text Bear to meet us at the hospital!” I shout as I do just that.
“Lottie!” Keelie wails. “Something’s wrong! I feel pressure. I think I need to push!”
“No, no!” I scream right back. “Don’t do that. We need to get you to the hospital. It’s only a few minutes away. Just hold it in or something.”
A horrible groan comes from my sweet best friend as she sinks to her knees.
“Lottie”—Noah thunders—“lay that cardigan onto the ground and I’ll set her over it.”
I do as I’m told and Keelie lands on her elbows in the sand as she begins to pant and howl up a storm.
“I see a blanket a few feet away,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
My feet move swiftly like a gazelle in flight because that blanket just so happens to feel a mile away at the moment.
Everett heads this way with a chair in each arm, and I wave for him to hurry with a marked sense of urgency.
“Keelie’s having her baby!”
“What?” He helps me snap up the blanket and we make a mad dash back to where we see Noah holding a writhing little being just as the tiny creature lets out the bleat of a cry.
“Keelie!” I drop next to her and pick up her hand. “You did it!”
“Noah did it,” she whimpers as she struggles to look at the tiny babe wriggling in Noah’s hands. “What is it, Noah? Do I have a son or a daughter?”
Noah holds up the precious little lamb. “It’s a boy!”
We let out a cheer as Everett whips off his shirt and wraps the sweet angel in it before laying him over his mother’s chest.
The wail of an ambulance sears through the night as a crowd swells around us.
Soon enough, Keelie is taken on a gurney, and I ride in the ambulance with her and her sweet baby boy—who has his mama’s eyebrows and cute bowtie lips, his daddy’s pointy ears and ornery growl, and I fall more in love with him by the minute.
Once we arrive, Keelie and the baby are met with a frantic Bear, who is elated to have a son to call his own, and I watch as the three of them are taken behind a set of metal doors.
“Lemon.”
I turn to find Everett and Noah helping Lainey this way, and by their side are my mother and Meg.
“Lottie!” Mom calls to me, frantic. “I can’t get ahold of Forest. Oh, Lottie, Lainey is having contractions, and they’re very close. She’s having the baby! It’s finally time!”
It all happens so fast.
Lainey is whisked upstairs, and my mother and sister and I are right there by her side. Forest arrives, skidding into the labor and delivery room in a panic, and several hours later, Lainey and Forest are holding a tiny pink bundle in their arms. It’s happy tears all around as we take turns holding my shiny new niece.
She’s light as a feather, as pink as a rose, and I’m mesmerized by her beauty.
Everett and Noah come in, looking a bit bedraggled from sleeping out in the waiting area, and admire the sweet little angel themselves. Carlotta is here as well. She said Evie gagged at the thought of seeing all the blood and gore but promised to come by tomorrow.
Mom takes the tiny babe from me and she can’t take her eyes off of her tiny little granddaughter.
“Don’t keep us in suspense, Lainey,” Mom all but whispers. “What are the two of you going to name her?”
Meg sniffs back tears. “Spill it, Forest. I know you two have been keeping it a secret for weeks now.”
Lainey looks up at Forest and nods.
“We’ve decided to name her after both of our fathers. We figured those names would work well for either gender.”
Mom gags. “So Joseph Oliver Donovan?”
Carlotta straightens. “Okay then. Hello, little Joseph.” She makes a face. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she chides the rest of us. “Go on. Try it on for size.”
A collective, albeit out of rhythm, hello, little Joseph circles the room, and to be honest, it’s not sitting well with any of us.
Lainey and Forest burst out in laughter as Lainey wipes the tears from her eyes.
“All right, so we’re going to jazz it up a bit.” Lainey wiggles her fingers and my mother lands the baby in my sister’s arms. “Her name is Josephina Olivia Donovan.” She offers a sly smile our way. “And we’re going to call her Josie.”
A cheer breaks out as we all give little sweet Josie a proper welcome.
We stay a little while longer until Lainey begins to yawn right along with her adorable angel, and we leave the new little family of three to bond.
Meg, Carlotta, my mother, Noah, Everett, and I head down the hall to sneak a quick peek at Keelie’s new angel.
We find Keelie and Bear sitting up in bed while Keelie holds the tiny bundle in her arms. Her mother, Becca, is there and her father, Sheriff Jack Turner, is there as well, both with tears in their eyes while Naomi, Keelie’s brunette twin sister, coos over at the newborn with his light peppering of gold spun hair.
“Congratulations, Keelie and Bear,” Carlotta says it first, and we all repeat the sentiment.
Bear points over at Noah. “I owe you, man. You saved the day. You saved Keelie and my boy.” He sniffs hard. “Thank you, man.”
Keelie nods. “Thank you, Noah.” She offers a quivering smile at the entire lot of us. “Everyone, I’d like for you to meet Otis Noah Fisher.” She shrugs up at Noah. “It’s the least we could do.”
The room breaks out into a collective cheer as we welcome the baby by name.
Keelie holds up a finger and garners our attention once again.
“But we’re going to call him Bear.”
“Aww,” I coo. “Welcome to the world, little Bear.”
Carlotta sucks in a quick breath. “You know what I just thought of? These two little rugrats both entered the world on Foxy’s birthday.” She slaps Noah over the shoulder and a light laugh circles the room.
I bite my lip as I look up at him. “It looks as if you’ll be sharing your birthday with two very special people from here on out.”
He lifts his hand as if he were about to swear under oath.
“It’s my pleasure.”
Our group disbands, and Noah, Everett, and I head out into the hall right here in the maternity ward.
I pull Noah and Everett in close.
“Thank you both. You’re real troopers and I appreciate your support. What a wild ride. Happy Birthday, Noah. This was one for the books.”
The three of us share a warm laugh as Everett pulls me in close.
“Let’s get you home.” He dots a kiss to my forehead. “You’ve got to be exhausted.”
“Oh, I am.”
We turn to leave just as a familiar face comes our way.
“Dr. Barnette.” I brighten at the sight of her.
Dr. Barnette is an OB/GYN who’s a stunning brunette with a winning smile. I initially met her last December when Noah thought I was pregnant and I didn’t have the heart to tell him I wasn’t in fear he’d fall back into a coma. Then we met up again the day after Dane’s murder when I took the pregnancy test and she drew my blood work. “You’ve had a busy night,” I say as we share a warm laugh.
“Lottie.” She nods my way, but her eyes snag on Everett. Can’t really blame her. Even with a still slightly swollen lip, he is a specimen. Noah too.
Her eyes widen a notch. “Essex?”
Oh hell.
I glower up at him a moment.
Is no one sacred?
He offers a rather guilty brief smile my way before nodding back at her.
“Priscilla.” A dull laugh rumbles in his chest. “It’s been a long time.”
“Too long,” she purrs as her lids hood low. She eyes his hand around my waist and her lips twist. “I see you’re making the rounds.” She winks over at him.
“Priscilla”—he warms me with his arm—“this is my wife.”
I nod over at her. “That’s me,” I sing with a touch of pride before wincing at Noah, and he shake
s his head as if it were fine.
“Wow”—she muses—“I guess some leopards really do change their spots.” She frowns over at Noah. “Hey? Weren’t you the one that came into my office with Lottie last year? I remember you—the homicide detective.”
Great. She’s probably going to hit on Noah, too.
“He’s actually with me as well.” I shrug up at Everett with a little nonverbal apology. I can’t help it, though. It’s late—or more to the point, very early the next morning, and I don’t feel like sharing.
Dr. Barnette’s lips part with confusion.
“So who’s the father?” She laughs as she looks to the three of us.
A laugh bubbles from me as well. “We’re actually just visiting. My best friend, Keelie, just gave birth—and my sister, Lainey, did, too. That was the delivery you just helped with.”
She nods. “I know about Keelie and Lainey. But the father of your child, Lottie, which is it?” Her mouth rounds out as she looks to Everett. “Essex? Are you going to be a father? Congratulations!”
“Dr. Barnette.” I hold a hand up. “I took a test in your office and it came back negative. I’d hate for Noah or Everett to think I was having a baby. Please make it crystal clear to them that I am not having anyone’s child.” The words come out tight as if all the tension these last few weeks combined had sifted through them.
She tips her head with a quizzical look on her face before heading over to a computer stationed a few feet over.
She shakes her head. “No, that’s not right. I was just looking at your blood work yesterday when it landed on my desk. I remember thinking you and your sister would have children close in age.” She dances her fingers over the keyboard and the screen populates with my name as she brings up my chart.
A surge of panic rises in me. The last thing I need is Dr. Barnette propagating rumors. And God knows she’s a lot more credible than Carlotta.
“But I peed in the cup and everything,” I say. “And the nurse said it was negative.”
“Huh.” She squints at the screen. “I suppose there could have been a mix-up with the urine specimens. I’m not proud to say it’s happened before.” She shakes her head. “But I’m right. According to your blood work, you’re pregnant, Lottie. In fact, your numbers are way up. You’re very pregnant.”
“I’m pregnant?” The words stream from me numbly. “I’m very pregnant?”
She offers a friendly smile my way. “So who’s the lucky father?” Her mouth opens with delight as she looks to a stunned Everett and Noah.
“Oh,” I pant as I bring my fingers to my lips. “I, uh…” I look to Noah and Everett in horror. “I guess I don’t know. Technically, it could be either of them, depending on how far along I am.”
Dr. Barnette inches back as if I let an offensive odor fly.
A nurse calls to her from down the hall.
“I have to go.” She forces a smile. “It was nice seeing you all. I’m sure I’ll be seeing plenty of the three of you in the very near future. Make an appointment with my office as soon as possible, Lottie,” she calls out as she dashes down the hall.
“Lottie?” Noah pulls me in with a stunned look on his face. “You’ve just given me the best birthday gift a man could ask for.”
Everett swoops me back into his arms. “Lemon, we’re going to have a baby.”
I look to Noah and Everett with a whole new level of panic.
“We’re going to have a baby,” I say just as the world begins to swirl around me.
We’re going to have a baby.
I’m going to have to deliver a baby.
And nothing in our world will ever be the same again.
*Thank you so much for reading the book! I hope you enjoyed this trip to Honey Hollow. Feel free to visit again by heading right here—>Poison Apple Crisp (Murder in the Mix 25)
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.
It’s fall. The air is crisp, and the apples are poison. Evie is turning sixteen, my life has been upended, and then there’s that body…
Living in Honey Hollow can be murder.
*Love Janet Evanovich? You’ll have a blast with Meow for Murder. Enjoy the sneak peek!
Pick it up NOW! —> An Awful Cat-titude
A highly inaccurate psychic. A grumpy writer. And a corpse. Welcome to Starry Falls. Running from the mob can be murder.
Confession. I’m no psychic. But I can sort of see the future—albeit not accurately. And you better believe, I’ve never let that little detail stop me from prognosticating my way into a pickle. So when I ticked off the mob, the feds, and my wily ex, I decided to take my Uncle Vinny’s advice and start over with a new name and new hair color while relying on my old shtick—getting my psychic wires crossed and putting myself in danger.
Chapter 1
“I don’t want to die!” The words rip from my throat as if they were being pulled out with barbed wire.
My name is Stella Santini. I’ve got long black hair, light brown eyes, stand at an average height of five-foot-five, and I can see the future.
Okay, fine.
Confession: I’m no psychic. Nor have I ever come close to predicting what the future might hold—not with any accuracy anyway.
You see, ever since I was a little girl, I had what my Nana Rose liked to call the shakes. Technically, it’s more of a shiver, and when you get down to it, there’s a warm, fuzzy feeling involved that makes me want to forget about the world around me for a moment and retreat to the dark recesses of my mind where a thought plays out like a movie and I see things.
And trust me when I say, I have been wrong about interpreting the things I see on more than one occasion.
Take now for instance. This morning when a scene from the West End Woods flashed through my mind and I saw myself running for my life—I thought maybe I might be running from a serial killer looking for his next victim on this odd jaunt through the woods or running from a bear looking for his first meal post-hibernation, thus the solemn decision I came to during my second cup of coffee to stay the heck away from the West End Woods for the duration of my supernatural life.
But in a twist that only fate could provide, here I am, a mere hour later, panting, ducking evergreen trees and their prickly branches that threaten to poke my eyes out as if my life were on the line, and, oddly enough, I think it is.
“Don’t kill me!” I howl once again, ducking and jiving my way through the forest as my Uncle Vinnie chases me through the woods with a bona fide weapon in his hand.
“I’m not gonna kill you for God’s sake!” he riots right back.
“Then why are you holding a gun?”
Let’s backtrack for a minute. After I enjoyed my third cup of coffee this morning, Uncle Vinnie called and said I had fifteen minutes to get dressed because we had things to discuss and he was picking me up pronto.
He sounded serious, morbid even. And I know him well enough to realize he meant business. I had an inkling about the subject he was going to prick. I happen to be what the mob likes to call a dead girl walking. Less than twenty-four hours ago, in what I and any sane person would call a very unfortunate chain of events, I managed to tick off the mob, the federal government, and break up with my idiot boyfriend of two years, Johnny Rizzo, all within a fifteen-minute span. And judging by this mad dash through the West End Woods, you could toss my Uncle Vinnie on that ticked-off list, too.
My foot catches on a buckling root system and I trip, slowing myself down enough for me to know I’ve just widened that bullseye on my back.
“Don’t shoot!” I cry out, jogging to a finish as I spin around.
Uncle Vinnie stops within feet of me, panting, the veins on his neck throbbing like a couple of angry garden snakes about to wiggle their way into his brain.
Uncle Vinnie is
tall, with black hair, dark eyes, and bushy eyebrows that hover over his face, giving him that perpetually angry look he’s got going for him in life. But, by and large, he’s a good guy who stepped up to the plate once my father was put away five years ago on RICO charges. He treated my brother, sister, and me as if we were his own children while my mother got a quickie divorce and began to chase men far younger straight into her bedroom.
“Please,” I beg. “Put down the gun.”
“What?” He squints over at me. “What the heck are you talking about? This ain’t no gun.” He shoves something toward me and I turn my head in horror.
It’s not unusual for a man of my uncle’s standing within the organization to take care of his own once word gets out that their proverbial number is up. And by take care of, I mean bump off the planet in a far more humane method than the fate that awaits them otherwise. And that’s exactly why I suspect my Uncle Vinnie has dragged me out to this isolated strip of nature just outside of Hastings, New Jersey, the town in which I was born and raised.
He’s brought me here to die. My loving uncle is about to impart what the family refers to as a mercy execution.
“It’s not a gun?” I stagger for a moment. “You mean you’re going to stab me to death? My God, how could you? Is that any way to treat a girl you said you regarded as a daughter when your own brother went to prison?”
He blinks back, stunned. “Stella, look in my hand,” he growls as he rattles the instrument of death my way once again. “It’s a box of hair dye.”
“Oh God, you’re going to poison me?” I bury my face in my hands a moment. “Do you even realize how painful that will be? How much worse do you really think it will be for me at the hand of the Morettis?”
Ten years ago, after my father single-handedly unraveled the entire Fazio family in a mere weekend, the Morettis took over all of New Jersey with an iron fist, and one of their underlings happened to be my ex, Johnny Rizzo.
Johnny is the one that dragged me into that whole let’s screw the Morettis scheme while they screw the government. It involved a car wash, a donut shop, a chop shop, dirty money, and a monster profit that’s kept me in Louis Vuitton bags for the past six months, but the inner workings of Johnny’s idiotic scheme are far too complicated to dig into at the moment, nor do I care to relive them.
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