From Fleeced at Yappy Hour

Chapter Three Part Two…

“It’s just a feeling,” I finally shrugged. “Gut instinct. But my gut instinct was to find you all perpetually annoying when we first met, and I was wrong there, so I’m probably just as wrong here.”

“Oh, sweetheart, the Roundup Crew lives to be perpetually annoying,” Brenda grinned. “Come on, Max. I want to get a good look at this stranger before he hightails it out of here when he finds out how crazy we are.”

Brenda grabbed Max’s hand and yanked him out of the Wine and Bark. I half expected to glance out the window and see her grabbing a pair of binoculars from the fish and tackle/dance studio next door before they went down to pay a “casual” visit to their friend Yolanda.

“A gut feeling, huh?” Rachel adjusted the strap of her black tank top and leaned over the smooth counter to peer into my eyes. I pushed my feet on the wall of the bar below me, sending my stool into a counter-clockwise spin.

“He was too handsome.” I wrinkled my nose, thinking of the strange glinting I’d seen in his window the night before. “And he shut his blinds on me.”

“Oh, gee, someone shut their blinds so you couldn’t stare into their brand new place. How terrifying.” Rachel was joking, but the biting sarcasm underneath her tone was like a punch in my gut.

“Fine,” I snapped. “Crazy Maggie, always overreacting. You know, when I found Dan lying dead on the floor over there, with blood seeping out of him from every angle, and a note with your name on it, I didn’t think I was so crazy trying to prove your innocence.”

I hadn’t even realized how heated I was until I finished yelling at her and blew a piece of frizzy hair out of my sweaty face. Rachel’s eyes were wide, showing off the tiny wrinkles on her forehead.

“Okay, okay,” she said, coming to put her hands on my shoulders. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to comfort me or make sure my pupils weren’t pinpoints from any drugs she probably thought I took. “Maybe the guy reminds you too much of New York. Handsome guy who doesn’t want to talk your ear off for five hours straight. That’s got Big Apple written all over it.”

I frowned. Her words didn’t ring true, but at the same time, I didn’t have anything else to pin this gut feeling on. The nameless stranger just made me nervous.

Maybe I was overreacting. Max and Brenda didn’t seem the slightest bit worried about the newcomer, either. They were just interested in getting a second look at him, so they could write up a description worthy of Nora Ephron and send it around town before the stranger could even wake up.

“You’re right.” I stepped back from Rachel, giving her hands a light squeeze. “He’s harmless. People move to new towns all the time. Why’s this any different?”

“Exactly.” Rachel’s grin told me she thought she’d solved this entire situation with a few calm words.

And I decided to let her have it.

“I’m going to go check on Grunkly,” I announced as she got back to her bar chores. “Make sure he hasn’t slipped on an old television remote and broken a hip.”

“Tell the old man he needs to start responding to my good morning texts,” Rachel called as I slipped out the door. “I fear he’s suffered a heart attack at least twice every morning.”

When I stepped out onto the street, I shielded my eyes against the sun and glanced down the road. Brenda and Max were striding along, clutching their hands together and doing their best to look casual.

They were failing miserably. Any moron could see they were up to something.

I turned to glance in the other direction and saw a tall shadow coming out of Kitty Corner.

It was the stranger. He had his hands buried in his pockets and his eyes cast downward. Something about him just seemed dark, like an aura I couldn’t quite see.

And he was striding out of the one place in Pacific Cove dedicated to cats.

Ha! A cat person.

I snickered. Maybe that would be enough to get everyone else to be just as leery of him as I was.

”I couldn’t stop reading!”

”Fast-paced and fun. I love these mysteires!”

”Diana Orgain is my new favorite author!”

Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com

From Fleeced at Yappy Hour

Chapter Three Part One…

“Did you hear there’s a new face in town?” Rachel asked the next morning, grunting as she lifted a case of tequila onto the counter.

“I didn’t hear,” I replied, absently wiping down a clean glass. “I saw him last night before the Pacific Cove gossip mill had its chance to get to me.”

Rachel’s eyes widened. She slipped her scissors across the top of the plastic covering, creating a slip to pull out the tequila bottles. “What’s he like?”

I thought about the question for a moment. What was this newcomer like? Truthfully, I didn’t have a good answer for my little sister. We’d hardly exchanged two words.

“Mysterious,” I finally said. I plopped the white cloth down and handed Rachel the glass so she could put it under the counter. “He didn’t seem interested in having much of a conversation with us. Of course, it didn’t help that Yolanda was so stressed out about Ocean she hardly gave me a minute to chat with the guy.”

“Oh, right, Ocean comes into town today,” Rachel grimaced.

“What?” I demanded. “Everyone seems to be wary of this kid except for me. Why is that?”

“Yolanda told you about her past, right?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah, so?” I shrugged. “How many of us got through our teenage years without a little rebellion?”

“You never stole a bridal crown,” Rachel said.

I ran my tongue over my front teeth, unable to come up with a good comeback. “Touché. Still, I don’t think we should focus so much negativity on Ocean. Let’s talk about Yolanda’s new neighbor instead.”

“Yolanda has a new neighbor?” Brenda asked, her tone spiking with interest.

I hadn’t even heard Brenda come in, but when I turned around, she was standing there with Max. They made up two-fourths of the beloved Roundup Crew and had semi-quietly become an adorable, if somewhat eccentric, couple in the last few months. Max had infiltrated the Roundup Crew with Mrs. Murphy’s Beagle, Bowser, a secret I’d been in on. He’d been using the slobbery dog to get in Brenda’s good graces, and the ruse had worked out after all. Brenda’s Chihuahua, PeeWee, was snuggled up in his arms.

The two of them had excited expressions on their faces, similar to kids on Halloween. This was Halloween for the two of them, after all. A new face in town equivalent to an expensive, handcrafted chocolate from France.

“Yep,” I replied. “I saw him last night. He was moving in at ten o’clock.”

Brenda pulled a face. “What a weird time to move in.”

“That’s what I thought!” I exclaimed. “And he wasn’t the least bit talkative, either.”

“Oh, because you wanted to speak to everyone you came across when you first got to town?” Rachel pointed out, cocking an eyebrow. She picked up the white cloth I’d been using to dry glasses and folded it neatly before placing it under the bar. “Maybe he was just tired after a long day of moving. Not everyone wants to be Chatty Cathy at ten at night.”

“Chatty Cathy is chatty at all times,” Brenda pointed out, turning away from Rachel and giving me a stare-down.

“You got that right,” Max said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Women and their gossip!”

Brenda shot him a look. “Men are no better! We could call you Chatty Chuckie!”

Max barked out a laugh and took a seat at the bar.

Brenda turned to me, gripping both of my hands in his with so much force I was surprised I didn’t hear my bones cracking and popping. “Tell us everything, from the moment he entered your sight to the moment he left. “Give us all the juicy details. Name, age, height, looks, muscle tone.”

She waggled her drawn-on eyebrows at me like some terrifying cartoon.

“Brenda!” Max gasped, glancing at his sort of girlfriend in shock.

“What?” She shrugged. “I’m not in the grave. I can look.”

With a sigh, Max grabbed a peanut from the bowl on the bar and popped it into his mouth.

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “He was a guy. He dropped a baseball, I handed it back, and he disappeared without much conversation. What more can I say?”

I tried to ignore the strange bubbling in the base of my stomach, and the way it burned up into my throat and mouth like acid reflux, leaving a bad taste. This no-name stranger had seemed off somehow, but I didn’t have the words to articulate it. Besides, the last thing I needed was for Rachel to tell me I was overreacting just because I’d sleuthed out two murder cases better than the cops.

“You don’t like him.” The observation came from Max who could, unfortunately, read most people like a book.

“I don’t know him,” I replied simply.

“Max is right. You don’t like him.” Brenda threw another peanut into her mouth and gave me a severe once over. “Why?”

I glanced over to Rachel, who was pretending to busy herself by filling the shelves with bottles of tequila. But I could tell by the quirk of her brow that she was listening to every single word I said.

”I couldn’t stop reading!”

”Fast-paced and fun. I love these mysteires!”

”Diana Orgain is my new favorite author!”

Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com

From Fleeced at Yappy Hour

Chapter Two Part Two…

“So who’s it for?” When my question went unanswered for a few seconds too long, I slammed the cupboard closed, effectively stopping her from her health food tirade, at least for a moment. “Did something happen with you and Gottlieb?”

Yolanda’s eyes widened, and then a silly, schoolgirl blush rose to her cheeks.

“Not at all,” she murmured. “Things with us are just fine.”

I narrowed my eyes, letting her know that I was waiting for an answer and that I didn’t plan to move until I got it.

“Fine,” she breathed, leaning back against the counter and running a hand through her hair, pulling up a thousand more fly-aways. “My sister’s coming.”

At her words, my brain tried to compute a hundred different things at once. First, Yolanda had a sister? Second, this was stressful?And, third, why the heck was she hiding her stuff?

“This probably seems odd, huh?” Yolanda asked, reading my expression.

“A little,” I nodded. “Is your sister averse to your nice things?”

“The opposite, actually.” Yolanda let out a loud guffaw that didn’t strike me as being filled with too much humor. “We’ve got a bit of a rocky relationship.”

I paused, not sure I should press her too much harder.

“Well, as someone who’s sister perpetually seems to keep things from her, I get it,” I chuckled, reaching into the grocery bags and pulling out a box of dried seaweed. It was nearly impossible to keep myself from wrinkling my nose at the stuff.

“This is different,” Yolanda grimaced.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I reassured her.

“No, I should,” she sighed, wiping a hand over her forehead. “You’re going to find out sooner or later, anyways. Ocean has sort of a… reputation around town.”

“Ocean?” I quirked a brow.

“Her real name’s Octavia, but she changed it when she was seventeen. She thought Ocean sounded cooler,” Yolonda explained, rolling her eyes.

“Can’t blame her there,” I shrugged.

“My mother would say otherwise,” Yolanda chuckled. “Anyway, the name’s not the point. The thing is, when Ocean was a teenager, she went through this rebellious phase. She spent most of her teen years getting busted for a myriad of rebellious actions, from running away to smoking weed to skinny dipping in the neighbor’s pool. When she was 17, she went on a shoplifting spree all over town. It started small, with trinkets and lip glosses, and got bigger and bigger until she was finally caught when she attempted to steal Peggy Turner’s bridal crown from the jewelry store. Mom and Dad sent her off to a military-style boarding school for her senior year of high school, and there she learned all about things like crystals and energy and became a real hippie.”

“Hmmm. Military school doesn’t exactly conjure images of crystals,” I said.

Yolanda waved her hand. “They were all rebels. Looking for an escape, the instructors were anti-woo-woo, so all the more reason for the kids to be for it. Anyway, Pacific Cove is the best place on earth, but the people here don’t have a reputation for being too forgiving when it comes to misdemeanors. I’m trying to be forgiving, though. Ocean said she wants to work on our relationship, repair things.”

Truthfully, I couldn’t blame the people in town for being a bit slow to forgive Ocean for her past discrepancies. They sounded pretty major, after all. Lip gloss and trinkets are one thing, but a bridal crown? That was the kind of stuff people stole on their way to the big leagues.

“Don’t judge her before you meet her.” Yolanda interrupted my thoughts, as she so often did, with a hand on my shoulder and an earnest smile. I could see a look in her eyes that was all too familiar to me- the look of a big sister who would do anything to protect her little sister. Hell, at one point, I’d contemplated covering up some murder evidence for Rachel, fearing she’d been Dan’s killer.

“I won’t,” I reassured Yolanda. “When does she come?”

“Tomorrow. Oh my gosh, this sink is a mess!” Yolanda cried.

Just like that, Yolanda turned around and started scrubbing at the spotless sink with her brand-new sponge.

I put her burger and fries on a plate to remind her to eat and took off, figuring it was best not to get in the way of her frantic cleaning. On the way out, I glanced into the neighbor’s window, too curious for my own good. It wasn’t every day a stranger showed up in Pacific Cove.

The newcomer was sitting on the floor, unpacking a box of something that caught the light and sparkled like stars. Just as I stepped closer, he looked up and caught my eye. Quickly, he stomped over to the window and flipped the blinds closed, making it clear that he didn’t want any Peeping Toms sneaking looks at him tonight.

“Weird time of day to move in,” I muttered. With a shrug, I took off down the beach, looking forward to a good night’s sleep after the craziness of the fundraiser.

”I couldn’t stop reading!”

”Fast-paced and fun. I love these mysteires!”

”Diana Orgain is my new favorite author!”

Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com

From Fleeced at Yappy Hour

Chapter Two Part One…

BANG!

The sound of something big and clunky slammed into Yolanda’s front door as I lifted my hand to knock.

I was almost certain she and Gottlieb had gotten into a fight, or maybe even broken up.

Why else would she be so angry?

“Yo!” I called out, banging my fist against the door. “What’s going on in there?”

A breathless, slightly sweaty Yolanda yanked open the front door. Her usually perfectly coiffed blonde hair was completely out of place, with fly-aways soaringwilly-nilly through the air.

“Hi,” she said, her blue eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

“Dinner,” I explained, lifting the takeaway bag filled with a delicious burger and fries. The steam wafted from the top, spiraling through the air and up into Yolanda’s nostrils. She sucked in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a brief moment of ecstasy before they snapped open once again.

“Well, don’t just stand there, come in!” She beckoned me into the apartment as if she’d already asked me to do it twice.

“Oh, goodness no!” A loud slam echoed behind us. Yolanda’s eyes popped open wide, and I could see her hesitate, almost ready to close the door on the poor schmuck behind us.

I, however, wasn’t able to do that since something solid and round tumbled into the back of my ankle. Looking down, I saw a signed baseball sitting there. I picked it up and turned to find a handsome, clean-shaven man with sparkling gray eyes and the kind of haircut that looks simple but probably costs a couple of hundred dollars. He stood in front of me with his hand out.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the ball, though I hadn’t offered it back yet. “I shouldn’t have told the movers they could leave the boxes in the truck. I’m a little too clumsy, it seems.”

I glanced over at Yolanda, who wasn’t the slightest bit taken with the handsome stranger. Instead, she busied herself sniffing at the burgers and feeding Beepo a couple of warm fries.

“Don’t worry about it,” I shrugged, noting the moving boxes piled at the bottom of the stairs of the neighboring bungalow. “Moving in?”

“Yeah.” He nodded toward the cottage next to Yolanda’s on the right. “And I’ve got a lot of unpacking to do. Thanks for grabbing my ball.”

And just like that, he swept past me, baseball and box in hand, without so much as another glance my way.

“Who was that?” Yolanda asked as I closed the door to her house.

“I’m not actually sure,” I replied, glancing curiously out the window as the stranger grabbed another box and made his way diligently up the stairs. It was late for someone to be moving in, even if it was still summer and there was a little bit of light left. “He wasn’t all that interested in a conversation.”

“Just as well. Hot guys like that never have much to say, anyways. This darn carpet!” Yolanda said.

I pulled myself away from spying at the window and turned to find Yolanda, on her hands and knees with a rag towel, scrubbing at a spot on the throw rug that looked just as clean as the rest of it. Beepo had already busied himself in the plastic bag, somehow managing to find the plain burger patty Gus had cooked up just for him.

It was then that I noticed Yolanda’s cottage was suspiciously empty. Normally, her shelves were lined with photographs of her and her friends, little trinkets she’d picked up at various local shops and markets, and expensive doggie items that Beepo never got any use out of, mostly because they spent all their time on display.

“Hey, Yo, what happened to all your stuff?” I asked curiously.

“What do you mean?” The spot held her attention better than I ever could.

“The golden Beepo statue,” I explained, pointing at her marble coffee table. “And the silver-framed photo of you and the Roundup Crew. Where’d it all go?”

Yolanda glanced up and shrugged as if the sudden disappearance of her most prized belongings was no big deal. “I put them away.”

“You… put them away?” I demanded in disbelief.

“Yeah,” she replied but didn’t add any explanation.

Seeing I wasn’t going to get anywhere while that darn spot was holding her attention like a stray cat would hold Beepo’s, I marched over and tore the rag from her hands.

“Hey!” she said in disbelief.

“You’ll get this back when you answer my questions,” I informed her.

“Maggie, I only have a day to get this place in tip-top shape, okay?” She explained in exasperation.

Yolanda got up and marched into the kitchen, not letting the disappearance of her rag faze her for a moment. She hauled a grocery bag filled with food onto the counter and started putting things away in the cupboard.

“Dried snap peas?” I muttered in disgust, holding out a bag for her. “Since when do you eat this stuff?”

“I don’t,” she replied.

”I couldn’t stop reading!”

”Fast-paced and fun. I love these mysteires!”

”Diana Orgain is my new favorite author!”

Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com

From Fleeced at Yappy Hour

Chapter One Part Two…

I wandered away from the bar and into the kitchen, where I was about to grab my phone from my back pocket when a warm hand stopped me.

“Hey there, stranger.” Gus grinned down at me, his hair flopping over his forehead, the tiniest bit damp with sweat. I found myself licking my lips and trying not to openly drool. Something happened to my insides when I watched Gus in the kitchen- something I definitely couldn’t talk about in proper company.

I’d really never found myself dating two guys at once, but that was the predicament I currently found myself in. Who could I possibly choosebetween a charming chef or my lovely law enforcement friend? Then again, at the moment neither was asking me to choose…so…I was temporarily putting aside my monogamist tendencies.

Gus was the new sole owner of DelVecchio’s, a restaurant right across from the Wine and Bark. It used to belong to him and his best friend, Dan, but Dan was murdered the same week I arrived in Pacific Cove. I didn’t know back then that Dan’s death would be the first in a string of terrible incidents around my little town- incidents that I somehow managed to keep getting involved with.

“Hey,” I replied with a soft smile. “So, how’s cooking in a normal kitchen?”

“The ones in New York were better, but the company here can’t be beat,” he chuckled, glancing around at the decidedly not million-dollar kitchen. Just a few weeks ago, Gus had been competing in a national cooking competition show filmed in New York. He didn’t say it out loud, but I could tell that he’d loved his time there, and would probably go back if he got the chance. “Who are you calling?”

“Yolanda. She’s suspiciously absent,” I said.

“Ah, I was wondering why there wasn’t any screaming laughter, aside from the children,” Gus mused, poking fun at our dear friend.

I chuckled, then watched as he shuffled awkwardly on his feet, glancing out toward the patio where Brad was still entertaining the kids- and a good deal of the moms, too. Then, abruptly, he squeezed my shoulder in a tight hug, wiped a bead of sweat off his brow, and went back to work on the ten orders he had lined up.

Quickly, I turned back to the phone, dialing Yolanda’s number and quelling the annoying flutter of nerves in my stomach.

She’s totally fine, Maggie, I reassured myself. Maybe she just got busy.

“Hello?” spoke a voice said from the other end.

Relief flooded through me when I heard her voice come through the phone. “Yolanda! You’re home!”

“Yeah,” she replied breathlessly. “Mags, what’s going on?”

I replied with a groan. “I can’t survive fundraiser night without you. Where are you?”

“Home,” she replied as if it was obvious. “I have so much to do! I couldn’t come to the Wine and Bark and be surrounded by children and barking dogs and, just, oh my Lord, it would have been an absolute mess.”

“And this is absolutely out of character,” I informed her. “Are you all right? Are you sick, or something? Do you need Gus to make some soup? I’ll bring it over to you.”

“God, no, I couldn’t eat a thing,” she sighed. “There is far too much to do. Beepo! Don’t scratch at that!”

Never in my life did I think I’d live to see the day that Yolanda yelled at her precious little terror of a dog. Something was really wrong.

Gus caught my eye across the kitchen, furrowing his brow in curiosity. All I could do was shrug, though. Even I had no idea what was going on with Yolanda right then.

“Uh, Yo, you’re yelling at Beepo,” I pointed out hesitantly.

“Yes, because he won’t stop scratching at the darn door! He only got three walks today and doesn’t understand that Mommy needs a break,” Yolonda said.

I could practically hear the stress breaking her vocal cords apart and made a split-second decision. Yolanda wasn’t dead, thankfully, but I was getting a little worried that she might end up killing someone in this state, maybe some innocent bystander who just so happened to look at her sideways.

“Listen, the fundraiser’s over at nine,” I told my friend. “I’ll stop by after and bring you a burger, okay?”

“Dog in the kitchen!” One of the servers came running past me, a tiny, furious little chihuahua on his tail, snapping at his jeans. “Dog in the kitchen!”

“Hector, get that dog out of there!” Rachel shouted as Hector, the server, raced past her, absolutely terrified of the little demon on his heels. “Who’s dog is that?”

A flurry of activity kicked up in the dining room as the little terror raced around, getting chased by at least two servers and all the kids.

“Well, that sounds like an absolute riot, I should let you go,” Yolanda said suddenly, hanging up before I could even protest.

That was quite unlike my darling blonde friend. She might have her head in the clouds half the time, but they were always pretty and fluffy. The clouds that had gotten her head tonight seemed like stormy, dark ones filled with rain.

Maybe she and her boyfriend, Sergeant Gottlieb, had gotten into a fight. That would explain her strange demeanor. Gottlieb was an odd man, one whom I’d run into more than once on my investigations, and even on a date with Brad. He was sort of rough around the edges and suspicious of everyone he met, which was why it had been nearly impossible for me to picture him and Yolanda together.

“Maggie! I could use a little help out here!” Rachel called.  I shoved Yolanda from my mind and hurried out to help, bracing myself for whatever childish disaster was imminent.

”I couldn’t stop reading!”

”Fast-paced and fun. I love these mysteires!”

”Diana Orgain is my new favorite author!”

STAY UP TO DATE AND JOIN IN THE FUN!

Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com

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From Fleeced at Yappy Hour

Chapter One Part One…

“Where on earth is Yolanda?” I balanced a tray of wine glasses with my right hand, pivoted on my left heel, and then… there was a flash of black fur and a tiny beast flew at my feet, barking and snarling like a demon.

“Now,” I scolded the dog. “Don’t trip me up.”

The dog, a tiny chihuahua, flared his teeth at me.

“Really?” I challenged, showing him my teeth. That seemed to do the trick. The dog growled and then shook. Retreating to his owner, he chanced a sideways glance at me. I giggled.

The dog scooted under his owner’s chair,trembling, and yapped at me. Strange little creatures always growling or shaking. 

My thoughts returned to my friend Yolanda. She was MIA, while I was here, playing server at the Wine and Bark. I was currently cursing her and my sister, Rachel, for thinking it would be a fantastic idea to host a fundraiser for Bogden Elementary School tonight, hoping it would drive some business while simultaneously helping the elementary school.

Rachel wouldn’t have confirmed it if I asked, but I had a feeling this was more about the bar than the school, at least on her end. Ever since Kitty Corner had opened a few weeks ago, her business had been suffering. The Kitty Corner was a nearby shop that catered to cats. Basically, it was Wine and Bark’s number-onecompetitionfor cool pet hangouts. I could see the stress on Rachel’s face whenever she looked over the cash drawer at the end of the night.

“Can I have another sticker, please?” I was torn from ruminating on Rachel and the circumstances of the Wine and Bark by a high-pitched, innocent-sounding voice.

“Of course,” Officer Brad Brooks replied to the kid with a grin, pulling another shiny silver sticker from his pocket and handing it to the little seven-year-old. “Now, you guys have to get out of this bar and onto the patio. Section 25665 of the California Alcoholic Beverage Control statute states that minors may not enter or remain within a bar.”

All the moms around the kids thought that line was an absolute hoot, and they chuckled delightedly as he turned, his pressed police uniform rustling with the movement, and herded a group of about ten kids out of the bar. A few feet away, I watched the Roundup Crew collectively sigh at him in gratitude, clearly annoyed with the sudden presence of children in a place made solely for their pooches.

Seeing Brad with kids warmed my heart and kicked butterflies up into my stomach. I wasn’t the sort of woman to swoon over a man being sweet to children, but somehow, seeing Brad with the little munchkins brought a smile to my face.

Brad and I had started dating a few weeks back, and although I knew we weren’t serious, there were definitely moments I wish we were.

To my left, my beloved Roundup Crew and all of their pups were gathered in the very center of the restaurant. The dogs were basking in the glow of the children’s affection, while their parents stood by, watching every single child like they thought their dogs were in mortal danger.

Frankly, I didn’t blame the parents. I hadn’t been much of a doggie person until this summer, and they were growing on mequickly. When I’d first arrived in Pacific Cove, I’d thought all of this (aka take your dog with you to the local tavern!) was absolute insanity. But, in the last few months, I’d slowly grown to love not only the craziness of my doggie friends but much of the quirky town too.

I wandered up to Rachel, sweating behind the bar as she poured yet another glass of red wine for a demanding elementary mom.

“This is a success, don’t you think?” Rachel asked, grinning at me, her cheeks nearly as red as the wine. I could still see the bags under her eyes, the product of a nasty bout with salmonella and a very long stay in the hospital a few weeks ago. But, thankfully, she was much better, and mostly back to being my loving, sometimes closed-off little sister.

“I agree.” I nodded, glancing around. “We are missing someone, though.”

Rachel looked up, concern crossing her face, then she glanced at the waiting mom, who barely registered me.

“I don’t mean anything nefarious,” I clarified quickly. Here in Pacific Cove, an ominous sentence like that normally meant that someone had been murdered, kidnapped, or a combination of both. I’d walked in on a few too many bodies thanks to that.

Rachel sighed gratefully, then offered the mom an awkward smile as she slid the glass across the bar. “What do you mean then?” she asked me.

“Yolanda!” I replied, shocked that Rachel hadn’t noticed. “Our perky blonde friend is suspiciously absent.”

“Oh, yeah,” Rachel shrugged, turning around to pour whiskey on the rocks. “She said she couldn’t make it tonight.”

“Yolanda told you she was missing a social function and you didn’t question it?”

“Uhhhh, well, when you put it like that,” Rachel grimaced, plopping her hands on her hips in typical Rachel fashion. “That’s, um, a little strange.”

“A lot strange,” I replied, trying to quell the sinking fear in my gut.

As I said, when unusual things happened in Pacific Cove, in my experience someone had usually found themself on the wrong end of a grudge and was lying on the floor with blood seeping out of them like juice from a fruit Gusher.

”I couldn’t stop reading!”

”Fast-paced and fun. I love these mysteires!”

”Diana Orgain is my new favorite author!”

Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com

From Double Trouble 

Chapter One

Chapter One

To-Do:

1. Throw Laurie’s birthday party.
2. Organize pantry.
3. Repack hospital bag more efficiently.
4. Clean bathroom.
5. Fix crooked poster in nursery.
6. Vacuum everything.
7. Vacuum everything again.
8. Find a case? No, not this month. No time.

“Girl’s day!” shrieked my best friend Paula, clinking an imaginary champagne glass as the automatic doors opened in front of us. “Time for a shopping spree!”

I tugged at a red shopping cart nested inside another cart. “Well, the budget is exactly two hundred dollars, so I’m not sure how much room that’s going to leave for spreeing.”

The shopping cart didn’t budge. I grimaced and pulled harder.

Paula threw out her arms, looking far too fashionable in her belted teal shirtdress and brown ankle boots. “Conveniently, my friend, you happen to know an event planner extraordinaire. I can throw the world’s best first birthday party on even the most shoestring of budgets.”

Shoestring budget? I jerked, startled. It’s Laurie’s first birthday party, not the Met Gala. Shouldn’t two hundred dollars be enough? Am I . . . shortchanging my baby girl?

Someone tapped my shoulder, and I waddle-pivoted to find an elderly Hispanic gentleman offering me a cart. “Here, señora,” he said in a thick accent, his gaze flicking to my heavily pregnant belly. “For you.”

I let out a little sigh of gratitude and accepted the cart. “Thank you.”

I was almost thirty-six weeks pregnant with the twins, and a lot of everyday tasks weren’t coming as easily as they used to. Gripping the handle, I leaned forward to let the cart bear the brunt of my extra weight and followed Paula into the store.

Our first stop: the crowded clearance aisle.

“We’ll just see what we have here,” said Paula, “before we wander over to the party section. Since we’re keeping the budget modest, we want to stretch every dollar.”

I bit my lip, a wave of guilt washing over me. Should we have set aside a bigger budget for the party? Maybe I should call Jim, and we can agree on an extra hundred dollars?

My husband was working from home with Laurie and Paula’s two kids, but surely he had time for a quick phone call . . .

I shook my head and chided myself. She’s not even going to remember this party. She’ll just be happy that she gets to smear chocolate cake all over her face. And our expenses are going to go way, way up when the twins are born.

I pawed through the nearest rack, looking through the haphazard collection of scented candles, mermaid-print bandanas, and fidget toys. I picked up a patriotic-looking snow globe and squinted at the figure of George Washington in the center.

What in the world?

I shook it, and red-white-and-blue sparkles blizzarded around George Washington.

Leftover Fourth of July merchandise.

I snorted and set the snow globe back down, moving on to inspect a bin full of umbrellas emblazoned with phrases like “dance in puddles” and “rain waters my soul.”

“There’s not a whole lot of party stuff here,” I called to Paula.

But my friend was bending over, digging deep into the bowels of a display rack.

Movement in the corner of the store caught my eye. I turned my head, glimpsing a collection of giant inflatables peering down at me from several aisles over—a witch with a cauldron, a stack of leering pumpkins, and a purple dragon.

My chest tightened. That’s right—Halloween’s next month, and I still need to get Laurie a costume! And what about the twins? They’re due in four short weeks!

Dry panic flooded my mouth.

I’m never going to get everything done!

“Got it!” called Paula triumphantly. She waved a roll of yellow crepe streamers in the air. “In duck-yellow, just like Laurie’s ducky-themed bedroom. And they’re buy-one-get-one-free!”

“Oh, those are very pretty!” I exclaimed, but my gaze flicked back to the Halloween inflatables.

I didn’t like the witch inflatable, I decided. She had a judgmental expression on her face—like she disapproved of my paltry party budget.

Or maybe she just knew that I’d never accomplish everything on my list.

“Should we go to the party section now?” I asked. “I’d like to get back home soon so I can vacuum.”

Paula dropped the streamers into the cart and put her hands on her hips. “You vacuumed yesterday, Kate.”

“So?” I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it casual. “We can’t have it dusty at Laurie’s party.”

“And Jim said he couldn’t stop you from organizing the pantry on Tuesday.”

I frowned. “It was in dire need of organization. I think it hadn’t been done in a whole year.”

“A year,” said Paula, overenunciating the words. “What happened a year ago?”

Oooooooh. I pushed the cart forward a few steps, feeling sheepish. “Okay, so maybe I go into nesting mode in the last month of a pregnancy. Is that a crime? Should we call a detective?”

Paula’s serious expression wavered, and she suppressed a giggle. “You are a detective. Wait—you don’t have any cases on your plate right now, do you?”

I shook my head. “No. No way. The next few months are going to be crazy busy, and I can’t take on any new cases. I told Galigani that already. He agrees.  I deserve a little maternity leave.”

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I pawed through the nearest rack, looking through the haphazard collection of scented candles, mermaid-print bandanas, and fidget toys. I picked up a patriotic-looking snow globe and squinted at the figure of George Washington in the center.

What in the world?

I shook it, and red-white-and-blue sparkles blizzarded around George Washington.

Leftover Fourth of July merchandise.

I snorted and set the snow globe back down, moving on to inspect a bin full of umbrellas emblazoned with phrases like “dance in puddles” and “rain waters my soul.”

“There’s not a whole lot of party stuff here,” I called to Paula.

But my friend was bending over, digging deep into the bowels of a display rack.

Movement in the corner of the store caught my eye. I turned my head, glimpsing a collection of giant inflatables peering down at me from several aisles over—a witch with a cauldron, a stack of leering pumpkins, and a purple dragon.

My chest tightened. That’s right—Halloween’s next month, and I still need to get Laurie a costume! And what about the twins? They’re due in four short weeks!

Dry panic flooded my mouth.

I’m never going to get everything done!

“Got it!” called Paula triumphantly. She waved a roll of yellow crepe streamers in the air. “In duck-yellow, just like Laurie’s ducky-themed bedroom. And they’re buy-one-get-one-free!”

“Oh, those are very pretty!” I exclaimed, but my gaze flicked back to the Halloween inflatables.

I didn’t like the witch inflatable, I decided. She had a judgmental expression on her face—like she disapproved of my paltry party budget.

Or maybe she just knew that I’d never accomplish everything on my list.

“Should we go to the party section now?” I asked. “I’d like to get back home soon so I can vacuum.”

Paula dropped the streamers into the cart and put her hands on her hips. “You vacuumed yesterday, Kate.”

“So?” I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it casual. “We can’t have it dusty at Laurie’s party.”

“And Jim said he couldn’t stop you from organizing the pantry on Tuesday.”

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Did you miss Chapter One?

Did you miss Chapter Two?

Did you miss Chapter Three part One?

From Double Trouble 

Chapter Three

“You good, Connolly?” McNearny asked.

Was that concern on his face? I cracked a grin. “Feeling great,” I replied. “Well, as great as anyone feels while this pregnant.”

“Can’t be that great, then,” deadpanned Deb, raising her can of beer in the air.

Nick’s wife Denise sat on the couch next to me. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

“You guys are so sweet,” I said. “But really, I’m fine. I promise.”

The door opened, and my mom hurried in, carrying two pink gift bags. “I’m baaaaack!” she sang. “I didn’t miss the cake-cutting, did I?”

“You did not!” I said. “Shall we sing happy birthday?”

She held up the bags. “I just ran out to Baby Emporium to pick up a couple little gifts for the twins!”

My mouth fell open, and I stared at her.

But Mom continued on, seeming not to notice my abrupt shift in mood. “It’s not every day you find out your daughter is having twin girls!”

“This is supposed to be Laurie’s party,” I said, “can we set the baby gifts aside to open later?”

Paula darted around the corner, waving a hand wildly. “Oh, good! Vera’s here! Everyone come into the kitchen! I have Laurie’s cake set up! We need to hurry!”

Denise helped me to my feet, and I followed everyone into the kitchen. My jaw dropped. Laurie’s high chair sat by the kitchen counter, next to the fanciest birthday cake I’d ever seen.

Paula had outdone herself with this cake.

Three tiers of perfectly sculpted cake rose from a platter, each layer different. The bottom layer was cloaked in pastel piping, the icing in soft shades of pink and green and duck yellow. Sprinkles covered the middle layer, in a comparable color palette. The top tier was plain white, with chocolate drizzles melting down the sides and topped by a beautiful pink bow.

It looked more like a wedding cake than a first-birthday cake, except for the pastel colors.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give it up for the birthday girl, Miss Laurie!” cried Paula.

Everyone clapped and cheered, and Galigani gave a whooping yell.

My mom held up the gift bags and said, “I picked up a couple gifts for the twins. Where should I put them?”

I opened my mouth to object, but Paula pointed at the far end of the kitchen table and said, “Why don’t you just set them there, with Laurie’s birthday gifts?”

Can’t this wait? I made eye contact with Jim, but he didn’t seem perturbed.

Paula set a small portable speaker next to the cake and tapped her phone screen. The tune of “Happy Birthday,” with a decidedly polka flair, poured out of the speaker.

Is that . . . accordion music?

“All together!” Paula cried.

On cue, the partygoers sang, “Happy birthday to you!”

Laurie raised her little hand high in the air and giggled, and I lifted my phone to snap a picture of her.

“Happy birthday to you!” everyone sang. “Happy biiiiirthday, dear Laurie! Happy birthday to you!”

We all clapped, and Laurie imitated us with a happy squeal. Paula cut the cake while I plopped Laurie in her high chair and gave her a high five.

“First piece for the birthday girl!” Paula cried, setting a small piece of chocolate cake, covered in sprinkles, on Laurie’s tray.

Laurie’s eyes widened as she stared at the delectable treat. She plunged her fist into the sprinkles and stuffed a handful in her mouth. Chocolate crumbs flew off the side of her tray.

Then it happened again.

My midsection convulsed and tightened. Another Braxton Hicks contraction.

I sucked in a sharp breath, then slowly exhaled, taking two steps back and sinking onto a dining chair.

As I leaned forward and breathed through the contraction, a simple refrain echoed in my head: This isn’t labor. This isn’t labor. This isn’t labor.

I sensed someone’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look up. I just waited for the pain and pressure to ease.

This contraction seemed to last longer than the others had. A warning bell rang in my head, but I quieted it.

This isn’t labor.

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When it finally ceased, I let out a shaky breath and looked up. Most of the attendees were focused on Laurie, who was shoveling cake into her mouth like her life depended on it. But three people had noticed my contraction: Jim, my dad, and Denise.

Denise weaved through the crowd and sat in the chair next to mine. “This isn’t normal, Kate,” she whispered urgently. “You’re in labor.”

“I can’t be in labor,” I hissed. “Laurie’s birthday is tomorrow. If the babies steal her birthday, she’ll grow up resenting them!”

She scowled at me, but sisterly concern shone in her eyes. “The twins will have to share their birthday with each other no matter what,” she said. “And they’ll grow up used to that. If Laurie happens to share that birthday, too, she’ll grow up used to it, too. You’ll find ways to make it special for all of them.”

Then another horrifying thought hit me. “My OBGYN is in Rome!” I exclaimed. “She doesn’t get back until Tuesday! I can’t have the babies without a doctor there.”

“I’m sure there’s more than one doctor at the hospital,” she replied placidly. “Giving birth isn’t usually something you can just reschedule to fit a doctor’s vacation plans.” With a crooked smile, she added, “Unless there have been some big advancements in modern medicine that I don’t know about.”

She was right. I groaned under my breath. Why does she have to be right?

But I was determined. Surely I could delay the inevitable by sheer force of will . . .

Just until Tuesday.

The doorbell rang, and Paula jolted.

“Did the duck not get my texts?” she hissed.

My forehead crinkled as I tried to make sense of that sentence. “The duck?” I asked. “What are you—”

But Paula had already whisked out of the kitchen. I tilted my head and tried to listen for her voice, but I couldn’t make it out over the animated conversations going on around me.

A moment later, she reappeared. “It’s time for Laurie’s big surprise!”

Though I could tell Paula was stressed—we’d been best friends since we were kids, so I could read her like a book—she covered it up well.

Paula stepped aside, making way for the big surprise.

I covered my mouth to suppress a tittering laugh.

It was a duck.

The duck—a full-grown person in a big yellow duck costume—waddled into the kitchen, dragging a small wheeled cart.

“I hear there’s a birthday duckling here!” the duck called in a baritone voice I recognized.

“Kenny?” I asked, locking eyes with the person in the costume. Sure enough it was my neighbor and Laurie’s all-time favorite babysitter.

A chorus of tiny chirps caught my attention, and I glanced at the cart.

And gasped.

Kenny had brought a small flock of real, live ducklings! Into my house!

A moment later, my shock gave way to delight. What a perfect theme for Laurie’s birthday party! “Awww, that’s really cute,” I exclaimed to Paula.

She beamed with pride. “I knew I had to make this party memorable.”

Laurie, still fully intent on her cake, hadn’t noticed the ducklings yet, so Jim reached over and patted her arm, then pointed at the cart of ducklings.

Then, movement eye caught my attention, and I gaped in horror.

Whiskers poked her head around the corner, her eyes hungry and curious, drawn in by the chirps.

Was Laurie’s first birthday party about to be ruined by a great duckling massacre?

What trauma would she carry forward with her from such an event? I couldn’t bear to contemplate it.

“Wait!” I yelled, waving my arms. “Take the ducklings outside! Whiskers!”

Kenny whirled in shock as Whiskers wiggled her little cat butt, preparing to pounce.

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Did you miss Chapter One?

Did you miss Chapter Two?

From Double Trouble 

Chapter Three

The hot water felt absolutely heavenly on my pounding head.

Jim had chosen the guest bathroom, leaving the larger shower in our master for me. I took my time scrubbing away the remnants of the sticky frosting, secure in the knowledge that Paula would pull out all the stops to play hostess to our guests.

Another pang ricocheted through my abdomen, the sickening, tightening sensation hitting me like a piano falling out of the sky. I slammed one hand against the wall and grabbed at the shower curtain with the other. The fabric jolted, a ripping sound telling me I’d pulled the curtain halfway off the hooks. I staggered to keep my balance, leaning forward with both my palms pressed against the fiberglass.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Just a Braxton Hicks.

The seconds dragged on and on and on. Finally, the tightening sensation eased. I stood up straight, took a slow breath, and turned the knob to send a stream of cool water washing over me.

I couldn’t be starting labor already, could I?

But I dismissed the treacherous thought by pure force of will. The twins might come early, but not this early. We just have to get through this party and Laurie’s birthday, and then the twins can make their debut anytime.

Squinting at the drooping curtain, I half-considered trying to reattach it to the hooks, but decided against it. I need to get back to Laurie’s party. Jim will fix it later.

I shoved aside folds of fabric, toweled off, and scrunched my hair mostly dry, then picked out a cute maternity dress that flattered my bump.

When I made my way back out to the party, my dad was sitting on the floor with Laurie, reading a board book to her. The other party guests milled around the living room and kitchen. When Jim saw me, he crossed the room and pulled me into an awkward over-the-bump hug.

“Feeling better?” he murmured in my ear.

“Much! Is Laurie having a good time?” I asked, standing on my tiptoes to peer over his shoulder at my baby girl on her grandpa’s lap.

“She’s having a great time,” he said. “Her grandparents were positively fighting over her.”

Galigani and Rhonda, my stepmom, walked out of the kitchen chatting and laughing. I smiled a little. I was glad everyone was starting to become friends. My dad had moved back to San Francisco a couple months earlier, eager to make up for lost time. While I’d been hesitant to accept his presence at first, it felt really nice to have a dad again.

But speaking of Laurie’s grandparents . . .

“Where is my mom?” I asked.

Jim shrugged. “She left a few minutes ago.”

“She left early?” I demanded, crossing my arms. “Her own granddaughter’s first birthday party? Why? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. She said she’d be right back.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You know how your mom gets. She was on a mission. She takes an idea into her head and runs after it like the bulls in Pamplona.”

“Olé!” Vicente cheered from across the room upon overhearing the word Pamplona.

Truer words were never spoken. I chuckled. “Did she say what her mission was this time?”

He shook his head. “Nope. We were mid-conversation when her face lit up and she declared she’d be back in fifteen minutes.” He glanced down at his watch. “Which means she should be back in ten or so?”

My dad set down the board book and stood up, swinging Laurie high into the air. She let out a shriek of high-pitched toddler giggles, and a warm feeling filled my chest.

I squeezed Jim’s hand. “I’m so glad we’re celebrating Laurie’s birthday before the twins arrive—that she gets to be the complete center of attention on her special day.”

Except that we had the twins’ gender reveal and made her cry. Guilt—or acid reflux—burned my esophagus. I swallowed it back.

“Me too,” said Jim. “Even if it is one day earlier than her actual birthday.”

“Kate’s back!” cried Paula from behind me.

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I turned around with a grin. “Refreshed and ready for the rest of the party,” I declared.

“Well, then,” said Paula, “if you haven’t already had too much cake, is it time to sing happy birthday to Laurie and let her eat her first piece of chocolate cake?”

Holding up a hand, I said, “Yes—almost. I guess my mom stepped out for a few minutes. We should wait for her.”

Paula glanced up at the clock in the living room and nodded, a frown on her face. “We’re behind schedule because of the disaster, but that’s my fault—I’ll make it work.”

Where did Mom run off to? Annoyance coiled in my stomach. “If she’s not back in fifteen minutes, we’ll do it without her,” I said. I walked over to the hooks by the door and grabbed my phone out of my purse. “I’ll text her to let her know.”

“Sounds good!” called Paula. “I’ll push the big surprise back a few minutes.”

Paula had been talking about the big surprise for a whole week.

“Is that too much trouble?” I asked, opening up my text messages with Mom.

She waved a hand. “It’s not ideal, but it is what it is. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” With a half-sigh, she swept out of the living room into the kitchen.

I bit my lip and tapped out a text to Mom: Can you come back now? We need to serve Laurie’s cake.

“I think this girl wants her mama!” called my dad.

I glanced up, and Dad handed Laurie to me. I tucked my phone in the dress pocket and took my baby girl. She cuddled up against me, and a wave of maternal feeling pulsed through my core.

And then I smelled it—the telltale stench of an especially gnarly poopy diaper.

I wrinkled my nose and locked eyes with my dad.

He shrugged, a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, and I think she’s got something in her diaper. You might want to take care of that.”

“You don’t say?” I replied with a laugh. “I’ll change her and be right back.”

Another contraction hit me, and I sucked in a gasp.

“Kate?” Dad asked, but it sounded like he was speaking through water. “Kate? Are you all right?”

I sank back a couple steps, and Dad took Laurie from me.

“Jim!” he called. “Jim, I think Kate might be in labor!”

“What?” gasped Deb, my policewoman friend. “Kate, do you need a ride to the hospital?”

“No. Fine,” I hissed. “Just Braxton Hicks.”

I sank back against the wall to steady myself, focusing on breathing in and out. When the contraction finally eased, I looked up to find the whole party staring at me. Jim stood at my side, resting a protective hand on my shoulder.

“Honey, are you in labor?” he asked.

“No,” I exclaimed breathlessly, though doubt nibbled at my insides. My eyes rested on Laurie.

If I started labor now, the twins would be born on her birthday. She’d have to go the whole rest of her life sharing her birthday with her little sisters. That couldn’t happen.

Which meant I couldn’t be in labor. Not yet.

“I’m so sorry to alarm everyone,” I said, trying to look as calm and unruffled as possible. “Braxton Hicks contractions get really strong. I need to change Laurie’s diaper now.”

I snatched Laurie from my dad and marched down the hall, determination flooding me with each step.

This isn’t labor. I absolutely, positively am not going into labor.

I made faces at Laurie to make her giggle as I changed her diaper. By the time we rejoined the party, I felt normal again. Except my feet were killing me.

False alarm, thank goodness.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I sank down to sit on the couch with Laurie, then fished the phone out.

The message was from my mom: Sorry, darling. Back in a jiffy!

Laurie squirmed. I set her down on the carpet so she could run after little Danny.

The police contingent—Sergeant McNearny, Officer Deb, and Nick the medical examiner—approached and sat on the floor across from me.

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Did you miss Chapter One?

Did you miss Chapter Two part One?

From Double Trouble 

Chapter Two Continued…

By instinct, I leaned forward, covering Laurie, protecting her from the oncoming frosting missiles.

“Nooooooo!” my sweet husband called, lunging toward us, arms outstretched. He made contact with one of the cakes face-first, knocking it off course.

A light shower of pink crumbs rained down around me. A girl . . .

Then the second cake hit my head, rattling my skull.

Laurie’s whimpering sobs heightened to a shriek. I blinked, shaking off the cake, inspecting Laurie for injuries.

“Are you okay?” I asked in a soothing voice.

Much to my relief, Laurie was fine—a few flecks of frosting dotted her party dress, and one of her shoes was covered in pink crumbs, but she’d mostly avoided the disaster. My head pounded, and I reached up to touch my hair.

I was covered in cake.

I pulled my hand away, staring blankly at the white frosting and pink crumbs on my fingers.

Pink. Again.

Two pink cakes.

I blinked a few times, trying to process what had just happened.

“Two girls!” cried Jim.

I glanced from person to person. Jim was fist-pumping the air, a mask of cake coating his face and the front of his button-up shirt. Everyone else in the room was deathly silent and wide-eyed, every mouth covered by a hand.

I shifted Laurie onto my hip and reached up toward Jim. He leaned over and helped me to my feet. Laurie’s shrieks returned to soft whimpers, and she reached for her daddy with a choked sob.

“Are you all right, honey?” Jim asked in concern.

“I’m just fine,” I said, my hand drifting to my hair again. “A little bit of a headache, maybe. Are you all right?”

“I’m great!” he exclaimed. “We’re having baby girls!”

I looked around the living room at the explosion of pink. “You’re not disappointed that you’re not having a son?”

“Not in the least. This is going to save us so much money.” He fist-pumped the air and started chanting, “Hand-me-downs! Hand-me-downs!”

From the couch, my mom tittered, then burst into a fit of giggles. After a moment, Galigani followed suit, leaning forward with his face in his hands and chortling.

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Then the whole party dissolved into laughter—everyone except Paula and her husband, whose faces had paled to the same shade as the vanilla frosting that now adorned my hair. David stood a few steps away from me, shaking. Paula was at his side, tears brimming in her eyes.

I grinned at them. “Well, this is certainly a gender reveal to remember!”

My mom crowed. “One we’ll never forget!”

I waddled a couple of steps toward Paula. “It’s a great party,” I said in a reassuring voice.

A tear streamed down Paula’s face. “I ruined it!” she cried. “I should have just gotten the cakes from the bakery at the grocery store, so we had them in place before the party started! We should never have tried to bring them in partway through, amid all the chaos.”

A pang seized my midsection, and I sucked in a gasp, lurched backward, and grabbed Jim’s arm.

“What is it?” Jim asked.

I let out a slow exhale, then carefully inhaled. Breathe through it.

Then the pang released me, and I let out a shaky laugh. “Just a Braxton Hicks contraction—I feel fine now.”

Jim studied me in concern, but I waved it away.

“They’re perfectly normal at this stage of pregnancy,” I assured him. “I’ve already had a few this week.”

I shuffled forward to grab Paula’s hand. “Don’t feel bad! You’re going to see how hysterical this was in a week!”

I gestured at the other partygoers. My brother-in-law had fallen to the floor laughing, and tears of mirth streamed down Rachelle’s face, smudging her mascara. She wiped the tears away, then broke into another fit of guffaws.

“See,” I added, “best party ever—the guests are having a great time.”

Paula managed a shaky smile. “I guess they are.”

“Now,” I said with a grin, “could you do us a favor and get Laurie changed into a new dress? Jim and I are both in dire need of a shower.”

Paula nodded mournfully. “Let me rake the worst of that cake off your head and into the trash. We don’t want to clog your drain.”

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