“Three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” I inch back. “That’s next month. Why the delay? Lottie’s due next month, too.”
“She’s due at the end of next month,” he says. “Miranda thinks there will be plenty of time. Besides, she was having a hard time choosing a venue, so I told her she could have it here or at the bakery if she needed to. She’s not sure she can book the B&B.”
Carlotta snorts. “Three weeks, eh? I’ll tell you why they delayed it. That buys Miranda three extra weeks to try to hack into my laptop. The woman is relentless.”
“Carlotta.” My cheeks flicker. “I hardly think Miranda poses a cyber threat to you.”
“What do you know?” She steps in close. “I bet you hardly thought Sexy posed a cyber threat to you, and now look who’s been sentenced to a life without fun bags?” She leans in another notch. “Worse yet, someone else is playing with your fun bags.”
“Mom!” Evie shouts as she heads this way with both Pancake and Waffles in her arms. “They’re talking about your boobs. Hurry up before I stick my head in the sink and drown myself.”
Lottie waddles out of her bedroom and tosses a stack of sheets onto the dining room table.
“Carlotta,” she hisses. “Are you telling lies about my boobs again?” She makes a face at me. “Noah, my nipples are not the size of dinner plates.”
I invert my lips to keep from laughing. “She didn’t say a thing about dinner plates.” My eyes drift south of her face for a moment, and suddenly I’m hungry for dinner.
Evie hands Pancake to Lottie. “She called them fun bags.”
“Carlotta!” Lottie’s eyes bug out before she forces a smile at Evie. “Boobs are not playthings for boys. They’re functional. They’re specifically designed to feed infants. In fact, speaking of which, I sprang a leak two days ago.”
“You sprang a leak?” I ask, not sure what level of terror I should feel over this.
She nods. “Dr. Barnette said not to worry. My milk has just come in early. It’s totally common, but it hasn’t happened since. There’s nothing to worry about, Noah.”
“Uh-huh,” Carlotta muses. “Nothing to worry about, Foxy, because she’s got Sexy to stop up that leak. She’s got a live-in plumber right there in her bedroom. See there? That’s where letting down your guard gets you. You never should have let the two of them cross paths. Word of advice: I’d block Sexy’s number before it’s too late.”
“Duly noted,” I say as I frown over at the self-appointed plumber among us. “Although, in all fairness, Lottie didn’t meet Everett because of me. If I really wanted to unravel the fact they crossed paths, I’d have to arrange for her to never have met her old landlord who dragged her into court to begin with.”
“Eh.” Carlotta’s shoulders jump. “This is Lot Lot we’re talking about. I’m sure she would have landed before a judge sooner or later.”
“Touché.” I nod.
“Touché indeed.” Everett nods along with me.
“Hey.” Lottie swats us both on the arm. “Never mind me or my leaky fun bags. Evie, what does the text say?”
Evie takes a hard breath before handing me her phone. “They’re, like, creepy.” She shudders. “You read them, Uncle Noah.”
A series of messages pop up, and I read the first one.
“The show is over,” I say. “Payment is due.” I exchange a quick glance with Everett and Lottie.
“What’s the next one say?” Lottie pants the words out, and I can tell this is already more than she needs to deal with.
This one is even more cryptic than the last, and I cringe at the thought of having to read it out loud.
“I know where you live,” I say it low. “I know who you care about. Hashtag hot baker, hot judge, hot cop.”
Lottie gasps and Everett’s jaw redefines itself in anger, but my eyes flit right back to the screen at that final message I have zero desire to verbally convey.
Evie nods. “Go on, Uncle Noah.”
“There’s more?” Lottie does her best to peer over, and I pull the phone close.
“There’s one more.” I shoot Everett an unsure look, and his eyes harden over the phone.
Everett is a smart guy. I bet he knows exactly where this is going.
“Don’t just stand there.” Carlotta practically jumps out of her skin. “Read on, Foxy.”
“Okay.” I take a breath. “Last one says, It’s time to stop riding on my coattails. Tell your followers you’re quitting, and encourage them to quit, too. Close this account. Close all of your social media accounts. You’ll have a new brother or sister coming into your life soon. If you care at all about keeping them safe, you’ll do a complete social media shut down tonight. Final warning. I am coming for you. Those who don’t listen, swim in a pool of blood.”
“They threatened the baby.” Lottie’s panting picks up as she grips me by the arm. “Noah, this is dangerous.”
“Duh.” Evie plucks the phone from my hand. “But Verity is dreaming if she thinks I’m quitting social media.” She stalks off to her bedroom with Waffles in tow.
“What do we do?” Lottie wraps her arms around her belly.
“I’ll handle it.” Everett takes a breath.
“Come on, Lot Lot.” Carlotta attempts to navigate Lottie toward the kitchen, but Lottie is proving immoveable. “There’s still a whole other bucket of Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken left. I’ll even let you have the leg.”
“I’ve lost my appetite,” Lot whispers.
Carlotta huffs, “That’s easy to say after you’ve gulped down two free range chickens all by your lonesome.”
I look to Everett. “How the heck are we going to figure out who’s sending these messages?”
“It’s not Verity,” he says. “I can guarantee you the so-called GPS in that phone isn’t going to coordinate to a grave. Whoever did this, either had access to Verity’s account to begin with or they knew enough about Verity to hack into it.”
“I know all of Lottie’s passwords,” I tell him.
“So do I.” His brows hike a notch.
“Hear that, Lot?” Carlotta elbows her on the arm.
