“I guess it could be a person. Did you see anyone suspicious?”
“I saw a weird guy wearing nothing but a trench coat who asked me if I wanted to see his watch collection in the men’s bathroom stall.”
“What? Please tell me you didn’t take him up on his offer.”
“Of course, I did.” She looks affronted that I even had to ask. “It was just Harry. I didn’t recognize him what with the dim lighting and that fedora covering half his face. So I took a quick ride on the mayor express and hightailed it out of there. What a freak.”
I pluck my arm free from hers and grunt.
As it turns out, Mayor Harry Nash is my biological father. I found this little genetic tidbit out a few years back. We’re as close as we can be. He’s been hot and heavy with Carlotta for a couple of years now. But all those years ago, when I was conceived, he was still married to Chrissy Nash. It was Chrissy and Mayor Nash’s union that produced my two half-sisters, Kelleth and Aspen, and a half-brother, Finn. We’re all about the same age.
And ever since Mayor Nash and Chrissy divorced, he and Carlotta have enjoyed a bizarre relationship in which escapades such as this one are the norm. I know this firsthand because Mayor Nash is always at my house plotting and implementing his freaky moves.
I do a quick visual sweep of the vicinity in search of a supernatural phenomenon of any kind but come up empty.
“I can’t believe we’re missing a ghost,” I say, incensed. “What exactly is going on here?” A breath gets caught in my throat. “You don’t think I’m losing my powers, do you?”
“What about me?” Carlotta bleats. “You’re not the only transmundane around here. I’ve got dead-ray vision myself, you know.”
She’s right. Both Carlotta and I are transmundane, further classified as supersensual, which means we can see through to the other side. But we don’t typically see ghosts willy-nilly—with the exception of the fab four who haunt my mother’s B&B. Usually the ghosts that come back are here to help solve the homicides of their loved ones.
“Hey”—Carlotta’s eyes bug out—“maybe that sugar booger in your belly has something to do with this supernatural mishap? Maybe it sucked all the ghost seeing ability right out of both of us?”
“That’s not what happened.” I brush off the ridiculous idea. “It can’t even see me yet. How’s it going to see a ghost? And I’d hate for my sweet sugar cookie to get involved with something so grisly right out the gate. Believe me, I’ve already made peace with the fact this sweet child is going to have a supernatural ability or two to deal with. Grandma Nell gave it to you, and you passed it down to me. I don’t see how this baby will be exempt from it.” A thought comes to me. “Maybe it won’t be supersensual like us. There are other powers that fall under the transmundane umbrella. Just last month I discovered Serena Taylor is a beguiler.” Serena Taylor is a woman Cormack and Cressida hired to put a pox on me a while back. Something to do with the fact I was hogging their men and they wanted to make sure I was hexed from ever succeeding in love with both of them, and oddly, the very opposite happened. I guess Serena isn’t too good at beguiling me or anyone else to do her bidding.
But I’m only familiar with a few powers that fall under the transmundane umbrella, and those are visionaries, or sibylline, people who have a glimpse into the future, telesensual like my friend in Maine, Bizzy Baker, who can pry into other people’s minds—and read the minds of animals, too. How I wish I had that. And it was just last October I learned about the beguilers. One of this country’s most notoriously cursed families had an actual pox placed on them by one of these beguilers, a woman by the name of Iona Canterbury. And even though Iona is long deceased, she wasn’t all that pleased that I was meddling in the homicide investigation of one of the Hearst family members. And, well, because of that, the curse sort of fell on me, too. That night, not only did my home burn to the ground, but so did Everett’s—right along with the Hearst mansion.
“Hey?” I say with a note of surprise. “Maybe the Hearst curse has something to do with the fact there isn’t a ghost to help us?”
Carlotta shrugs. “Or maybe the big guy upstairs thinks you and your watermelon belly should take a break from snoopin’ and sleuthin’. Take it as a sign and sit this one out, Lot. Let the featherhead have at it. You heard her. She’s got her own crime-busting op in the works. Besides, the mob is involved. Odds are good they’ll rub her out once she gets caught up in the crosshairs of a turf war.”
“Good heavens, you’re right. Cormack could get herself killed.”
“See there? I knew I’d cheer you up.”
“I’m not cheered up, Carlotta. I don’t want the woman dead. We both know she’s practically lethal on any given average day, let alone in a homicide investigation that involves two prominent mob families. And with my luck, she’ll drag Noah into a hail of gunfire right along with her. I have to stop her from pursuing this case.”
Carlotta squints my way. “I know that look in your eye, Lot Lot. You’re taking this one on yourself, aren’t you?”
I glance back at the glamorous hotel, now forever marred with this horrific incident.
“You bet I am,” I whisper. “But don’t you dare say a word to Noah or Everett.”
She makes a zipping motion over her mouth and then pretends to swallow the invisible key before clutching at her throat as if she were choking on it.
“Good,” I say. “Because I’m going to need your help. Now, take me to your girls. It’s probably not too late to drum up some clues as to who may have done the deadly deed.”
No sooner does Carlotta land us in front of an entire gaggle of wailing Canelli women than Cat and Connie head our way.
“You!” Cat Canelli, the older of the two, points a hard finger at me. “You’re gonna find the donkey’s hind end that had the nerve to strike down my beautiful niece. I have no faith in the Ashford County Sheriff’s Department, but I have faith you can do this for me. And then I’m gonna kill the rat myself.”
My mouth falls open, but before I can respond, Connie makes a motion with her hands as if she were wringing someone’s neck.
“And I’m gonna kill their entire family,” Connie adds the threat for good measure.
Lorena and Donata run up with their heels clicking over the icy pavement.
“What’s this?” Lorena looks my way as tears gloss her face. Thick, muddy trails of mascara run down her cheeks, and her chest is pulsating as if she can’t catch her breath. “You’re gonna find the killer?” she says with more than a twinge of disbelief in her voice.
“That’s right.” Carlotta beams with pride. “My Lot Lot is good at two things—catching men and catching killers.”
Donata, the redhead, tips her chin up. “Don’t bother. The family is going to wipe out every single Moretti in existence. We already know who did it.”
Cat gasps. “Nicky Knuckles?”
Lorena nods, her long black hair glowing like a navy river running down her shoulders—a crunchy blue river what with all the gel and hairspray, but still.
“Word is, he’s already in hiding,” she says. “I saw his car skidding out of the lot as soon as the shooting happened.”
“That’s right,” Donata says. “Every single Moretti will be dead by sundown tomorrow.”
Lorena butts her shoulder to Donata’s. “All of New Jersey will be dead by sundown tomorrow.”
Carlotta shudders. “Sounds as if things are about to get bloody.”
“But what if he didn’t do it?” I protest. “You can’t massacre an entire state—or an entire mob family for that matter just because you suspect them of doing something wrong.”
Donata looks at Lorena and shrugs. “It could’ve been Rocky Romero.” She looks my way. “He’s her ex. Works for the Canellis.”
“Does he have dirty blond hair? And was he here tonight?” I ask, and they both nod in unison. “I saw him arguing with her earlier.” In fact, I saw both Lorena and Donata arguing with the decea
sed tonight as well, but I decide to leave that incriminating tidbit out for now. As far as I’m concerned, I have four suspects, not two.
“Wow, two suspects.” Lorena looks to Cat and Connie. “Who wants to bet both Nicky and Rocky will be dead in a week?”
Both Cat and Connie produce a hundred dollar bill from their purses, and Carlotta pulls out a wad of wrinkled cash herself.
“I’ve only got ten.” Carlotta nudges my arm. “Spot me a fifty, Lot.”
“What? No! We are not taking bets.” I glance back at the building and note a flash of hot pink stars glittering among the crowd and gasp. “Carlotta, we have to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying put. I’ve gotta be here for Cadillac and her witches now that the Morettis have thrown down the gauntlet. Oh, there’s gonna be blood. A trail of bodies. A web of deceit so thick and wide all of their Italian ancestors are about to get caught up in it and fight from the other side.”
Cat rewards Carlotta with a high-five for her bizarre diatribe about the dead.
“Didn’t I tell you to stick with me?” Cat gives a dark chuckle.
Carlotta gives a wistful shake of the head. “Nobody knows how to have a good time like the Canelli girls.”
“Carlotta,” I whisper. “They just lost a family member.”
Connie shrugs over at me. “And we’re gonna do what we always do—make the best of it. Nobody knew how to have a good time like Angel Face. And we’re gonna throw her one hell of a goodbye party.”
The spray of hot pink stars shimmies on over and adds a dash of supernatural pizzazz between us before trailing off near the woods adjacent to the building.
“Sounds good,” I say, never taking my eyes off that celestial wonder, and boy, am I ever relieved to see it. Better late than never. “Carlotta”—my hand warms my belly—“I need to get to the restroom,” I say. It’s not entirely a lie. My bladder has sort of gained a supernatural power itself—the need to urinate continually. “Would you help me out so I don’t slip on the ice?”
We’re about to take off when Lorena pulls me back by the wrist.
“I’m your point person, Lottie. Florenza was my best girl and nobody gets away with this without answering to me. We’ll track down Nicky Knuckles together.”
Donata nods my way. “Rocky, too.”
“I appreciate that. We’ll do it soon, too!” I give a little wave as I pull Carlotta toward the snowy woods.
“Where are we going, Lot? You don’t need to squat in the woods. They’ll let you back inside to use the restroom. Just tell ’em you’ve got a baby Fox kicking in your belly. Once Noah hears his baby mama has potty duty, he’ll roll out the red carpet—right over the body if he has to.”
She’s not wrong.
“I don’t have to go to the bathroom,” I hiss. “I saw something spooktacular heading in this direction.”
“Lemon.” I turn to find Everett trotting this way as he runs up winded. “Evie’s safe. Your mother offered to give her a ride home.” His brows furrow as he looks from Carlotta to me then the dark woods that lie ahead. “Where are you going?”
“I think I saw something,” I say. “I have a feeling the ghost is just a little late on its arrival, but I saw an entire constellation of shimmering hot pink stars right over there.” I point that way, and sure enough, there’s a tornado of stardust touching down over the earth. I take up both Everett’s hand and Carlotta’s as we rush that way.
“What’s happening, Lot?” Carlotta shouts as that tornado of stars picks up speed and creates a supernatural gust that sends Everett’s tie flying over his shoulder.
“Lemon?” His voice hikes with concern just as a loud, thunderous clap evicts from the hot pink flurry.
A few years back we found out that I act as a conduit for anyone who’s holding my hand, and not only can I hear the dead among us, they can, too.
The noise ramps up, and the wind feels as if it’s about to blow us all right back to Honey Hollow and then with a loud snap the stars fall to the ground.
Standing where that funnel of chaos was a moment ago is a dark-haired beauty sporting long waves, not an eyelash out of place, snapping her gum and laughing while wearing that glittery pink dress with a fresh bullet wound through her chest.
“Angel Face Flo,” I say in disbelief. “You’re back?”
“That’s right,” she snips. “And I’m gonna get the bastard that did this myself.”
With that she up and disappears in a ball of hot pink smoke.
Chapter 4
“Waffles. We want lots of waffles.” Evie gives me a wink as she takes off to a corner table right here in the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery. It’s the very next day after last night’s murderous fiasco at the Chanterelle Hotel. It’s snowy and dark, and all around morose. So much for getting the year off to a great start. And have I mentioned the ghost?
But there’s no ghost in my bakery at the moment. I give a quick look around my quaint little bakeshop. The walls are painted a butter yellow, the furniture is mix and match in every shade of pastel, and there’s an opening to the left that leads right into the Honey Pot Diner—my diner if you want to get technical.
When my Grandma Nell died, she felt so bad for keeping my true identity as her granddaughter a secret, she left me all of her land and most of her holdings. Of course, she made sure her children and other grandchildren were well taken care of, but I seemed to get the lion’s share of the real estate, which included the land under my bakery as well. But it was the Honey Pot that was Nell’s baby.
She loved the place so much she had a life-size resin oak tree installed in the middle of the restaurant with its branches crawling over the ceiling, and now they bleed across the ceiling of my bakery as well. And each of those branches just so happens to be wrapped in twinkle lights.
It looks just as magical as Grandma Nell was—and still is. She’s given me more than a few posthumous visits, and I have cherished each and every one.
And at the moment, I’m cherishing the fact my entire bakery holds the heavenly fresh scent of those lemon Bundt cakes I’ve got baking in the oven, not to mention the fact my shelves are filled with every sweet treat I could cram them with.
I’ve got brownies and blondies, croissants, and Danishes, éclairs, and crullers, raspberry tarts, and enough pies and cakes to furnish just about every celebratory occasion this town has to offer.
Carlotta has been here at the counter with me for the last few hours working on her book in which she tackles both love and romance. Evie is here, too, along with her blonde bestie, Dash, and Evie’s two—yes, two—self-proclaimed boyfriends, Kyle and Conner.
Lily comes out of the kitchen with four plates brimming with waffles.
“I’ll take care of Evie and her friends,” she says, snapping up a couple of bottles of syrup with her fingers. “Believe me, I know how embarrassing it can be to have your mother hovering over the table while you’re on a date with a couple of hot guys. And Evie’s boyfriends really are super cute.”
“Cougar,” I tease as she takes off with a giggle.
Carlotta chuckles as well. “Would you look at that, Lot Lot? Mr. Sexy’s apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She’s just sixteen and she’s already roping them in two at a time. And they’re both on the basketball team. Or is it the football team?”
I groan just thinking about it. “Kyle is the dark-haired, lanky kid who plays on the basketball team. Conner is the blond built like a brick wall. He’s on varsity football.”
Carlotta gives a wistful shake of the head. “It’s no wonder our little Evie Stevie went out for the cheer squad. She wanted to cheer for both of her men.”
“Would you stop? She went out for cheer for herself.”
“I’m just calling a spade a spade—or in this case an apple an apple. Hey? I bet I could interview Evie for my new book on how to snag a man. I’ve already got an entire chapter saved for you and your suggestive shenanigans—and let’s be honest, you’ll
need two chapters. But Evie can give me the lowdown on the teen scene. You’re cleaning up in the big leagues, and she’s cleaning up in the minors. A real mother-daughter double dating duo. Once my book goes viral, they’ll be clamoring to snag the three of us for the talk show circuit. And think of the speaking events. I hear those pay the big bucks.”
“Who in their right mind is going to book the three of us for speaking events?”
“The big boys, Lot Lot. I’m talking the ivies. Harvard, Yale, Ashford University. They’ll all come calling and crawling. Just you wait and see.”
“Ashford University isn’t an ivy. And no, you may not interview Evie. She’s a minor.” I glance to the table where Kyle and Conner sit on either side of her as if they were her personal bodyguards. Her best friend Dash looks perfectly content on the other end of the table, all by her lonesome as the four of them share a laugh. “Besides, Evie isn’t really going out with them. I mean, they’re more or less her boyfriends in name only.” I hope. “You know, as in no one else can lay claim to them. She’s assured me more than once that she’s not kissing either of them.”
“What?” Carlotta slaps her hand down on the counter. “What the heck is she thinking denying those boys the right to land a wet one over her kisser? If she keeps that up, she’s gonna amass quite the reputation.”
“As what? A nun?”
“Worse! A tease! Trust me, Lot. There ain’t no worse four-letter word you can call a girl.”
“There is, Carlotta. There are plenty of them. And tease is a five-letter word. Trust me, I wish I would have teased Bear all those years ago and saved myself for Noah or Everett.” Or both—but I don’t dare say that out loud.
“You’re thinking both, I can see it in your eyes.” Carlotta sheds a greasy grin. “They’ve got a four-letter word for girls like you, too, Lottie. Wanna know what it is?”
Waffles at the Wake Page 4
