Pecan Pie Predicament (Murder in the Mix #27) - Addison Moore Page 0,17
I’m not afraid to flaunt him—even if it is to a bunch of ex-cons.
Everett ditched the suit for this venue and donned a pair of jeans with a black wool coat, and boy, does it ever bring out the come hither in his eyes—and mine. Everett’s brand of masculinity is cutting to the bone. It’s no surprise to me that the female masses congregate around him wherever we go. It’s no surprise to me that they call him Essex either. I’m not thrilled about it, but at this point it’s to be expected.
He inches his head back with a look of dismay.
“Lemon, we will have a date night soon enough, and I guarantee you this is not it. Not in my wildest dreams would I take you here under any circumstances, with the exception of this one. And that’s only because I know there’s no stopping you.”
“You know me well.” I give a little shrug. He opens the door like the perfect gentleman he is and it’s surprisingly light and bright inside. There are wooden floors, small round tables strewn around the periphery, a stage where surprisingly we find Maizy Burton crooning into the microphone an upbeat country song that has my shoulders moving and hips grooving. And there are enough people doing just that in the middle of the establishment that a part of me can’t wait to get out there myself. Who knew chasing down a suspect would prove to be a good time?
To the left sits the bar with a couple of grinning bartenders tending to the scantily clad masses. And I’m betting those bartenders are grinning because they’re able to extract large tips from the inebriated patrons. The men-to-women ratio seems to be about equal, and the scent of everything deep-fried enlivens my senses.
“Ooh.” I cinch Everett in close. “I don’t know what smells like I died and went to deep-fried heaven, but I want a triple portion—with a side of hot sauce and ranch dressing to go along with it.”
“Your culinary wish is my command. Let’s get our food game on.”
No sooner do the words leave Everett’s mouth than a tall brunette wearing short shorts and a red sequin tank top saunters our way with a couple of menus, and a couple of knockers rippling for our attention, too. I’ve got to give it to Everett for keeping his eyes above her chin line.
“Table for two?” Her eyes expand with unmitigated glee as she takes in the handsome judge.
“Three,” I tell her. “We’re expecting one more.”
But she’s not paying attention to me or my request to procure Noah a seat. Her eyes are glued on my handsome hubby, and soon her mouth is contorting in surprise.
“Judge Baxter?” she squeals with delight. “Well, cook my goose! I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Personally, I’m shocked Everett hasn’t already cooked her goose. But seeing that she didn’t refer to him as Essex lets me know she’s still raw and unadulterated, at least by my husband.
“Ah, yes.” Everett tips his head back as if seeing her in a whole new light. “I see you’re taking my words to heart when I said I didn’t want to see you in my courtroom again.”
She breaks out into a wild cackle. “You can bet your naughty little knickers I did. I did my time, and I’m not dating that scumbag that roped me into trouble anymore. Felonies might be fun, but freedom is funner. I’ve cleaned up my act and here I am doing honest work.” She motions to her barely-there accouterments. Not quite the epitome of honest work, but hey, if it keeps her a free woman, who the heck cares? She’s making some honest green.
“Well, come on, you two.” She navigates us to a table near the window. “Best seat in the house for the best looking judge in Ashford County. Can I get any appetizers going for you? Bacon wrapped onion rings? Artichoke dip? Potato skins with bacon, sour cream, and cheddar cheese?”
“Yes, please”—I’m quick to tell her—“all three. Oh, and do you have any deep-fried pickles?”
Her lips twist as she looks to the ceiling. “No, but we have deep-fried butter. It’s something new the chef is trying.”
“Butter?” Every last butter-loving cell in my body sits at attention at the thought of the freaky fried treat. “Bring it all. In fact, make the fried butter heaven a double order. Why, you were practically holding out on me.”
A laugh strums from her. “Honey, when you’ve got this man on your