Meg chuckles. “Lottie is baking a little sugar cookie in her belly, so she’ll have the angel’s take.”
Shep’s chest bounces. “I see you know your whiskey.”
“English, please.” I bat my lashes up at him.
“The angel’s take is the aroma that leaves the barrel once it’s opened,” he says.
Carlotta leans her ear his way. “What about the guy downstairs? Don’t tell me he’s not getting his.”
“Oh, he gets it.” Shep’s brows hike a moment. “It’s the grunge at the bottom of the barrel, crude and laden with sediments.”
“Hear that, Lot?” Carlotta looks over at the younger, knocked-up version of herself. “You get to sniff it while I get the down and dirty reserve at the bottom of the barrel.”
We share a warm laugh, and soon Stephanie is back at her post making sure the whiskey is flowing and a few teabags are dropped into those teacups for good measure.
Wendy steps our way. “So how’s the case going? Any word on who did this to Frisk?”
Shep gives a long blink. “We have a few leads. But other than that, it’s starting to grow cold.”
Meg shakes her head emphatically. “We were just having lunch with Wendy, and we thought for sure you had a firm lead on who the killer might be.”
Lottie nods. “My money is on Leave ’em Moaning Simone. A woman scorned is never pretty.”
Meg shrugs. “I don’t know. Mallory was angry, too. She told me a few weeks back that if her tweaked knee didn’t heal on its own she’d have to have surgery. And apparently, she said it was going to end her career.”
Wendy moans, “It makes sense now why she was so rabid to get the announcing position. She’s the sole support for her mother and sisters.”
“That’s right.” Meg shakes her head. “And guess what?” She looks over at Shep. “I called yesterday inviting her to lunch, and she said she couldn’t make it. She said she was on her way to the doctor’s appointment that was going to seal her fate.”
“I hope she got some good news out of it,” I say. “No wonder Mal was so animated and upset that day at the community center. Her entire fiscal future was on the line.”
“I know what I have to do.” Wendy sighs. “I’m giving her the position. I’m sure Frisk would approve. I certainly don’t need the money.”
Meg shrugs. “Are you sure? It’s still a great honor. And it could boost your brand. Maybe you can enter into a co-announcer agreement with Mal?”
Wendy shakes her head. “Sharing the contract would only give her half the money. I’m still in good shape to wrestle. And hopefully, she is, too, but it sounds as if her days in the ring are numbered. Too bad there’s not another big event for months. I’d like to do something special and make a big announcement as I pull her into the gig.” She looks to Shep and me. “We have smaller matches all the time, but the next big conference isn’t until April.”
“We have one coming up in a just a few days,” I’m quick to tell her. “You’ll have to come. The Mortimer Manor is hosting a Wrestling with Love Valentine’s Day Dance.” Okay, so that’s not quite the name we settled on, but I don’t see the need to drag both innocent cats and seemingly desperate women into this conversation. Besides, if it weren’t for Shep, I’d appreciate cats over men myself. Cats over people. “And no pressure to bring a date.”
“That’s right,” Shep says. “No date? No problem. Opal is offering up her feline army to stand in for the night.”
The four of them laugh at the thought with Carlotta’s chortle being the loudest and the longest.
“Dibs on the spotted Bengal.” Carlotta knocks back the rest of her teacup. “I have a feeling he knows how to have a good time.”
Speaking of a good time, a spray of stars appears near the tea display as Hazel Newton forms in all her ghostly glory. Her fiery red hair glows and flows as if she were underwater, and her pale face shines like the moon.
Hazel wastes no time in sneaking a few of Nana Rose’s thumbprint cookies, but who could blame her? If I was undead and had the ability to nosh on whatever I wanted, calories be darned, you’d never hear a peep out of me again. I’d be too busy shoveling all the delicious treats I could into my pie hole to say a word.
And while I’m on the topic of being dead, Frisk and that tense argument he seemed to be having with Justin comes to mind.
“Hey”—I lean toward Meg and Wendy—“are either of you aware of any betting that was going on with the women’s wrestling circuit?”
The two women exchange a look before Meg shrugs our way.
“Sure. It’s Vegas.” Meg shakes her head as if it were no big deal. “People place bets on how hot it’s going to be outside. Betting is legal there, so it’s not a big deal.” She leans in. “But then, that depends if the bookie you’re using has a license. If not, you’ve crossed a legal line.”
“How about Frisk?” Shep’s lips knot up as he asks the question. “Did he bet?”
Wendy squints over at him. “I guess anything is possible. But he never talked about it.”
“Come to think of it”— Meg cocks her head to the ceiling—“I never heard him talking about that either.”
Shep glances my way before shifting his attention back to the women in front of him. “Do you know of any bookies we can talk to?”
Wendy laughs. “Not really. But you’re welcome to come to Vegas with us at the end of the month when we resume our schedule.” She looks my way. “You’d better come, too, Bowie. A hot piece like this is going to bring all the showgirls to the yard, if you know what I mean. And as for the dance, of course, we’ll be there. In fact, we can do our thing.” Both she and Meg nod. “I’ll get Simone and Mal to join us. It’s going to be a blast. Excuse me, I hear the whiskey calling.” She takes off in Stephanie’s direction without hesitation.
But Meg gives a quick glance around before leaning in. “Okay, everyone knows that two-bit attorney he was hauling around was a big-time bookie—of the illegal variety. It’s always those that are in the legal realm that somehow feel they’re above the law.” Her dark hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s got on so much dark kohl around her baby blues, rivaling Opal in the raccoon department. “Frisk once told me he bet on the girls. It wasn’t a big deal. We even laughed about it. He said he bet on me when he knew I was going to win.”
Lottie’s mouth falls open. “So he bet on you every time?”
“Lottie.” Meg does not look amused. “I wasn’t that good. But yeah, I was pretty good.” She gives a cheesy grin. “I’d better get to the good stuff before Carlotta sucks the room dry.” She gives Carlotta the side-eye before taking off.
“What can I say?” Carlotta shrugs. “The kid knows a pro when she sees one.”
Hazel swoops into our midst, and Carlotta straightens.
“Speaking of knowing things.” Carlotta ticks her head toward Shep. “What’s his take on the friendly ghost?”
“He knows all about them,” I say, taking up Shep’s hand. “Hazel Newton is here.”
“Hello, Shep,” Hazel says as she floats down into the middle of our circle.
“Hey, Hazel,” he says, trying his best to focus in on the space where her voice is emanating from. “What’s cookin’ on the other side?”
“I’m lonely,” she says as she looks to Lottie. “Can you talk to Greer for me and see about getting me a man? I’ve had a date every Valentine’s Day since I was sixteen.”
Lottie rubs her burgeoning belly. “I’m sorry, Hazel. I’ll see if there’s anyone she can set you up with. Who knows? You might just be staring down the barrel of a blind date.”
“Speaking of staring down the barrel.” Carlotta’s shoulders hike up a notch. “What’s going on with those handsome hoodlums?”
“Yeah. What’s happening?” Lottie closes the distance between us. “Please tell me they didn’t call your ex.”
Shep flinches as he looks my way. “Bowie, did they threaten to call your ex?”
&
nbsp; My mouth opens and closes as Lottie belts out a horrible groan.
“I wasn’t supposed to say that, was I?” She cringes a moment as she looks to the two of us.
“It’s fine.” I close my eyes a moment before looking up at Shep. “Yes, they threatened to talk to Johnny. But they did, in fact, talk to my Uncle Vinnie.”
“Bowie,” he says it softly, and yet it still comes out a reprimand. “I really wish you would have told me.” He glances out the door as if he was expecting someone. “I need to make a call.” He pats his hands over his pockets until he comes up with his phone. “Don’t worry. We’re going to figure this out.” He starts to stalk off, and I pull him back.
“Wait a minute. Who are you calling?”
Shep takes a breath as he examines me. “I’m setting up a meeting with Dom and Enzo. I think it’s time we get down to brass tacks.” He takes off before I can stop him. Not that I would have. I happen to agree with him on that brass tacks deal. If only I could figure out a way to nail those boys down.
“Bowie”—Lottie moves her head into my line of vision—“I have a plan that I think might work. Let me—”
That old, familiar, warm, and fuzzy feeling starts to take over as a serious case of tunnel vision hits me, and the sounds and sights of the room quickly fade away. A scene pops up in my mind’s eye. It’s Tilly and Stephanie standing in a club filled with flashing lights.
“This is all your fault, Lola!” Tilly yelps as she grabs ahold of my sister. “The Ride or Die Hustlin’ Honeys are about to get killed!”
Stephanie looks to her left, and her face goes white. “I think this is where that whole ride or die thing comes to a head. Say your prayers, Tilly. I think we’re about to die.”
“Bowie?” Lottie calls my name as I blink back to life. “You had another vision, didn’t you? What was it? Was it about those thugs that were threatening you?”
Carlotta grips me by the arm. “Is there a hot thug in my future?”
“No, I don’t know, actually.” I glance back at my sister. “But I’ve got a couple of hustlin’ honeys I need to keep an eye on.”
I take my guests deeper into the library and show them around, introducing them to every cat and person I see.
Hazel Newton even treats us to a few haunted spectacles that have the entire room a titter for more until the night wraps up and everyone goes home with a warm, fuzzy feeling of their own.
One thing is for sure, Steph and Tilly aren’t taking their girl gang on the road anytime soon. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them from themselves and most likely a killer, too.
Lottie texts me long after they leave.
Almost forgot to tell you. I think we should have Dom and Enzo’s fathers at that sit-down you’re about to have. Carlotta and I can be there, too. I promise, we’re going to fix this for you. And thanks for the cookies. They blew me away! Recipes, please!
I don’t mind giving Lottie Lemon a recipe or two. Here’s hoping Stephanie and Tilly’s recipe for disaster can be avoided.
And seeing that we still have a killer on the loose from Starry Falls’ latest homicide, I think I know exactly how to keep them out of the club scene.
Justin Delforio, I think it’s time I do a little more digging in your direction. And unlike Shep, I’m not waiting for the judge’s approval.
Chapter 14
“Nobody moves a muscle,” I say as four pairs of eyes glare over at me.
Opal, Tilly, Stephanie, and Regina are all dressed to kill, each in a red hued frock in different styles and configurations, but it’s the matching pink sashes strapped across their chests that read Hustlin’ Honeys that make it clear to the rest of functioning society they’ve all lost their collective minds.
“Out of the way, Bowie,” Opal snips as she holds a fluffy orange tabby named Katy Purry close to her chest. “It’s girls’ night out, and I won’t stand for you trying to ruin our fun just because you’re not allowed to partake in our shenanigans.”
“Too bad,” I say as I barricade the exit to Mortimer Manor with my body. The café just closed for the night, and the four of them announced they were headed clubbing without me. “I typically don’t mind ruining your fun one bit, but tonight I’m going above and beyond my killjoy duties. I’m saving your life.”
The four of them laugh as if it were the funniest thing.
“Come on, sis.” Stephanie hitches her thumb. “Out of the way before we’re forced to tie you up and leave you in the library.”
“Yeah.” Tilly bears her cleavage at me as if she was threatening to give me a black eye by way of her bosom. And judging by the size and girth of those things, she could pull off a bona fide skull fracture if she wanted to. “And you won’t like it, Bowie Binx. Rumor has it, this place is haunted.”
I roll my eyes. I just saw Hazel less than ten minutes ago. She’s the one that tipped me off to the strange fashion show taking place, and then she took off to take a nap in hopes of dreaming of the man of her afterlife.
“I’m not afraid of no ghost,” I say. “Besides, I had another vision. It was Tilly and Lola, and the two of you were scared spitless because you were both about to be hacked to pieces by some nutjob you met at a club.”
The four of them take in a quick breath.
Regina snaps her fingers my way. “I knew you were psycho!”
“Psychic,” I correct. “But I’m not that either. I’m just really good at guessing the future.” Shoot. I shouldn’t have outed myself to Regina, even if it was in a kinda-sorta roundabout way.
Stephanie snorts. “Actually, you’re really bad at it. Tilly and I were probably about to get lucky, not killed.” She scowls over at her comrade in getting lucky arms. “Now come on, Till. Are you going to believe her half-baked vision, or are we headed to the Bop Stop?”
“The Bop Stop?” I practically gag on the words. “That’s the name of the big club you’re off to?”
“Don’t knock it.” Regina gives me the stink eye. “Not all of us have Shepherd Wexler to play with this evening.”
“I’m not playing with anyone,” I say. “Shep went into the office and won’t be back for hours. I’m headed off to have a little fun of my own, and I think the four of you are going to be mighty interested in joining me.”
Tilly sucks in a sharp breath. “Does your brand of fun involve a side trip to Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken?”
Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken happens to specialize in the very deep-fried delights I tend to indulge in on nights I do a little breaking and entering.
“Yup.”
“I’m in.” Regina is the first to fold.
“Me too.” Opal bites her gloves off at the fingertips. “I call the drumstick.”
Tilly nods. “I’ll take a thigh.”
“What happened to the Ride or Die Hustlin’ Honeys?” Stephanie clucks like a chicken as she takes in the three of them.
Tilly threads her arm through my sister’s. “Come on, Lola. Tonight we ride all the way to Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken and beyond!”
Regina grunts as she heads for the door, “Let’s hope we don’t make a pit stop to prison.”
I’m hoping the very same thing.
Justin Delforio owns a quaint one-story clapboard house in a so-so neighborhood up in Scooter Springs.
It’s dark out, save for a lone streetlamp on the next block over, but the moon is high, illuminating the snow with a peaceful blue glow. There’s not a single sign of life inside his home, and I’m hoping that has nothing to do with the fact he likes to conk out before eight o’clock. My guess is he’s at the Bop Stop looking to slay his next victim.
Hey? Wouldn’t that be something if the killer I was saving Tilly and Stephanie from was Justin?
Small homicidal world.
Tilly offered to head out first and disable any security systems Justin might have, and once she’s through with her dirty work, she shoots me a text that lets me know the coast is clear.
“All right, ladies,”
I say, pulling on my dark knit cap. “It’s go time. Make sure you’ve got your gloves, your hats, and your phones, which we can use as flashlights once we get inside.”
“Check,” Opal calls out. “And double check,” she says tucking something under her arm.
“Triple check,” Stephanie says, sinking a hot pink beanie over her head.
“Quadruple check.” Regina holds up a bucket of Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken from the back seat. “Sorry, but I’m not leaving the food behind to freeze solid while we’re gone.”
“Good thinking,” I tell her as we make a run for it.
I tried to convince the Hustlin’ Honeys to do a quick change, but nary a sash was abandoned.
We hustle our way up the driveway, then slink around the side of the house, leaving a bevy of footprints in the snow that none of us will be able to do a single thing about.
“Slow down,” Opal hisses. “I’ve got Katy Purry with me, and the snow is particularly slippery tonight,” she says squeezing the orange fuzzball tight under her arm.
“What did you bring Katy Purry for?” I hiss back at her. “God forbid she gets lost in there. You’d better hold onto her extra tight.”
“Oh, I will. And never underestimate what an asset a cat can be. You never know. She just might be the key to cracking this case.”
“I should be so lucky.”
“Over here, Bowie.” Stephanie waves me over to the side of the house as she tries her best to poke the screen off of one of the windows. The house is elevated just enough to where the window sits just above our heads. “I think we can get in this way. The lock is facing the other direction compared to the two windows up front. Bad installation equals good luck for burglars like us.”
“Perfect,” Regina says, patting my sister’s back. “Get on your knees. Tilly, you climb on her back and pop the window open.”
Tilly scoffs. “Why do I have to do all the grunt work?”
A Purr-fect Storm Page 12
