I’ll admit, I still get moony-eyed when Shep introduces me as his official plus one.
Shep and I exchanged the L word for Christmas, which was our latest big step. Then, I felt obligated to fill him in on my ability to play voyeur into the future. And seeing that he didn’t run for the hills, turn me in to the feds or the mob, or have me committed, I’d say Shep and I are on our way to being the real deal—as in the real married deal. I’m hoping that the M word will follow suit for the two of us, much like the L word did, and seeing that M comes right after L in the alphabet, it seems like the next logical step. Don’t get me wrong. My fingers aren’t ring-hungry, but if it happens, I think I’ll be more than ready for it. Not that Bowie Binx can legally marry anyone. I’d have to get around that pesky little detail of the fact she doesn’t exist.
“Bowie Binx?” Frisk booms my name out with a laugh. “And here I thought I had the most talented female wrestlers working under me. It seems there’s one far craftier than those, and I’m looking right at her.” He glances back at Regina. “We never thought we’d see the day Shepherd Wexler would settle down and get himself a bona fide girlfriend. Isn’t that right, Regina?”
Regina mumbles something, mostly to herself, and I’m pretty sure I heard the words regret and tequila in there somewhere.
Regina Valentine is a looker with full-bodied chestnut hair that cascades down her back, olive skin that glows with a perennial tan, eyes as sharp as the devil’s, and well, the personality to match—most of the time. Like I said, Regina and I drew a truce just a few weeks ago. It’ll be fun to see how long it lasts. She enjoys throwing potshots at me, and I enjoy pretending not to hear them.
Before Regina can lob a single word my way, all four oiled-up and sweaty women who were in that cage duking it out with wayward furniture barrel this way—a blonde, a redhead, and two brunettes. All of which look fit to kill. And even though they’re wearing what amounts to Halloween costumes, I’ve decided to take them seriously.
“Girls, girls!” Frisk opens his arms wide, and two flock on either side of him as if taking refuge under the shelter of his wings. “Ladies and gentlemen”—he winks at Shep—“let me introduce you all to the best and the brightest that the Vegas wrestling circuit has to offer. The gal on the end is Mal the Mallet,” he says, pointing to the blonde with the green latex short shorts and some sort of tube top made of pretty blue scales that looks as if it’s magically adhered to her body. He nods to the brunette next to her. “And this is Madge the Badge.” He turns his head to the other surly beauties. “And on this side we’ve got Wendy City Destruction, and Leave ’em Moaning Simone.”
Wendy City Destruction is dressed like a construction worker who’s had a bad day. Her construction boots are thick and chunky, and I can’t help but notice they’re a pair of tan Timberlands. I used to have a pair back in Jersey, and boy, did I ever love those.
And Leave ‘em Moaning Simone is wearing a shiny silver bathing suit with a sequin scarf around her neck.
“Cool!” Tilly says as she and Stephanie bop over. “I want a fun wrestling name.”
“You’ve got one,” Stephanie doesn’t hesitate in letting her know it. “It’s Tease ‘em and Leave ‘em Teasdale. And I’m Love ‘em and Leave ‘em Lola.” She gives a hard wink to the strapping man before us. “I’m hocking cookies until this shindig is over, but see me later and maybe I’ll let you see my cookies.”
Good grief. At least she’s subtle.
“I’m Bowie Binx,” I say to the girls before us. “And this is my boyfriend, Shepherd Wexler.”
Boyfriend. As much as I love to say it—with this ornery yet beautiful crowd, I felt it was best to delineate the boy boundaries right out the gate.
Leave ‘em Moaning Simone gasps over at Shep. “Say, you’re not related to S.J. Wexler, are you? He’s my favorite author, and I hear he hails from these parts.”
“That would be me.” Shep sheds a dark smile that could melt the clothes right off every woman in the room.
It’s true. Shep is sort of a big deal author who happens to pen books about the mob.
Fun fact: Before we met, he used my family as a model for his books. Another far less fun fact: Both of our fathers are serving time at the same men’s correctional facility for entirely different crimes. My dad squealed on the “family”, and his dad slaughtered his second wife. Some people have a favorite movie in common, we have crime.
“So crazy cool!” the woman roars over at him, and for the briefest of seconds, I could have sworn Shep was reaching for his gun. Shep happens to be a part-time detective down at the homicide division in Woodley, too.
Yeah, he’s that hot.
Although I’m still not sure if he’s smart or foolish to be with me. I could cost him everything, including that fun little activity he partakes in hundreds of times a day called breathing.
Frisk shakes his head. “I knew you’d make your mark in this world.”
Shep’s chest bounces. “And I knew you’d leave yours.”
The four women ensconcing him exchange a brief glance.
I lean in. “So what brings you all out to Starry Falls?”
Frisk ticks his head back. “I had a little legal tussle that needed to be straightened out, and I thought why not bring a few of the girls on the road with me? Simone and Wendy are both from Scooter Springs. Mallory is from Leeds, and Meg lives about an hour away.”
The brunette to his right with the black hair and pale blue eyes nods. “I’m not a part of the circuit anymore. I’ve pretty much settled in Vermont.”
“That’s right,” Frisk says. “Meg here is working two jobs these days. She’s slinging hash at a place called the Honey Pot Diner and teaching the girls down at Red Satin Gentlemen’s Club their spicy moves—all of which I taught her.” He bellows out a hearty laugh.
Meg shrugs. “Let’s just say, now that I’m there, the girls are getting twice as much in tips as they did before.”
“You deserve a cookie,” Stephanie says, quickly producing a platter of anisette yummy goodness. “Bowie swiped the recipe from our Nana Rose. She used to tell us the more we ate, the bigger our boobs would be.” She makes a face at Shep. “As it turns out, results may vary, but on the up side—or should I say the back side—people are ponying up good money to get implants to make their bottoms look like Bowie’s.”
“You’re not funny,” I tell her.
“I’m a little bit funny,” she says as everyone in our midst takes a bite of those cookies and moans.
“Wow.” Meg looks fit to beat us both up until we hand over the recipe. “My sister owns and runs the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery down in Honey Hollow. She would love these.”
Why does Honey Hollow sound more than vaguely familiar?
And then it hits me as Stephanie as I exchange a glance.
Hazel Newton’s ghost just told us a few weeks back that there was another transmundane woman who could spy a poltergeist or two who hailed from those parts. In fact, it was the ghosts from Honey Hollow that told her just that. I believe she said the woman’s name was Lottie Lemon.
Meg moans, “She really needs to taste these cookies. There’s not a lot that can knock her socks off as far as baked goods go, but this might actually knock her right into tomorrow.”
No sooner does Meg say the word tomorrow than that familiar tunnel vision sets in, and a warm, fuzzy sensation takes over as a picture begins to form in my mind’s eye.
A scene begins to appear before me. It’s dark out, snow on the ground and evergreens in the background.
“You’ll never hurt anyone again,” a somewhat androgynous voice shouts the words loud and clear in my mind. Then, without warning, a gunshot goes off and my entire body bucks in response.
“Bowie?” Shep secures his arms around me, his light eyes pressing into mine. “It’s happened again, hasn’t it?”
I glance past him and note Frisk and his frisky harem have migrated over to devour the rest of Nana Rose’s anise
tte cookies, and Regina is right there with them.
Only a handful of people know my prognosticating secret, and that of Stephanie’s, and most of them just so happen to be surrounding me at the moment.
Opal clasps her hands. “Well, don’t just stand there like the walking dead. Tell us what you saw.”
Tilly gives a frenetic nod. “Do I get to take Frisk home and frisk him?”
“Do I?” Stephanie is quick to push Tilly out of the way.
I shake my head at them all. “I don’t know who, what, where, or when, but I do know there’s going to be a murder.”
Chapter 2
“Ladies and gentlemen!”
Frisk calls from the center of the ring. “Let’s give it up for Mal the Mallet! She’s not only beautiful, she’s downright lethal.” The blonde vixen with a bra made of iridescent scales flexes her biceps and the crowd goes wild. “And by her side is Wendy City Destruction. Don’t get too close or she’ll cut you to the quick. She’s a winner in the ring with one hundred and seventy-six matches under her belt and only four losses. Can anyone beat that?” The crowd goes wild again.
“Wow, only four losses,” I muse.
Stephanie shrugs. “Don’t let it get to you, Bowie. You’ll lose more than that in this life.”
I shoot her a look before Frisk points to a woman in a shiny bathing suit with a svelte silver scarf. “And then there’s Leave ’em Moaning Simone, and next to her, the fabulous Madge the Badge—both looking to wreak some havoc both in and out of the ring. Let’s give our girls a warm round of applause.”
The audience roars with approval at the four women who have seemingly weaponized their limbs.
All four bathing beauties, or vixens of destruction as it were, are smack dab in the middle of the ring once again, and I’m guessing we’re about to be treated to another round of hair pulling, eye poking, and chair throwing madness.
I’m so glad Stephanie had me bake these cookies yesterday. Nothing goes with the stress of watching a bunch of women risk breaking a nail than Nana Rose’s anisette cookies.
The anise is strong with this one, so I get that some people are turned off to the fragrant treats, but thankfully, I’m not one of them. And thankfully, I’m not parading around in a bikini while waiting to thwart a combative bunch of women either.
Frisk holds up a hand. “I’ve got an official announcement I’d like to make, right here in my hometown. I’m doing two more months in the Vegas wrestling circuit, and then I’m heading home right here to Starry Falls where I belong!”
The crowd gives an approving whoop.
“And in light of that”—he holds up a hand—“taking my place in the master of ceremonies is…”
The blonde, Mal the Mallet, steps up next to him and raises her hands, but Frisk’s jaw goes slack a moment.
He smacks his lips at her before holding the mic to his mouth again. “The new mistress of ceremonies is Wendy City Destruction!”
Wendy, the wiry brunette with the sharp-shooter look in her eyes, belts out a roar as she runs from one end of the ring to the other screaming at the top of her lungs before taking the microphone from Frisk.
“That’s right!” another roar rips from Wendy, stealing what little hearing we have left. “Come heck or high water, I’ll be calling the shots around here from here on out.” She turns to her cohorts in corny crime. “And right now, I say let’s get ready to rumble!” She charges at the other three, seemingly simultaneously, and the crowd goes wild.
Frisk ducks out of the ring and is met with a man in a dark suit, serious eyes, and dark stubble strewn across his modestly handsome face.
“Hey, hey”—Stephanie swats me on the stomach—“I see you checking out that slice of banana pie, and I say hands off. You’ve already got yourself a stud muffin. It’s high time I get mine.”
“Ignore her,” I say to Shep.
Shep leans her way. “Just checking. Am I a banana pie?”
She averts her eyes. “Hon, you’ve got the most sought after banana pie in all of Vermont.”
“Lola,” I hiss. “Leave my boyfriend’s banana out of this.”
She rolls her eyes. “Who said I was talking about his banana?” She winks his way. “Hey, Wex, is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?”
“Stop.” I pull Stephanie in close by the elbow. “And I highly advise you to stay away from strange men who come bearing their bananas. Look what happened the last time you went girls-gone-wild on us? You picked up not one but two different crime bosses, and now they’re looking to sink our ship.”
She makes a face. “Correction: they’re looking to sink your ship. Nobody cares that my name isn’t really Lola.” She tries to take off in the hot suit’s direction, and I yank her back once again.
“Lola.” I give her the stink eye. “I thought you and Mud had a thing? Can’t you just be happy with one man and let all the others be?”
Mud happens to be the handyman around the manor with a head full of dirty blond hair and a greasy smile that my sister has approved of on more than one greasy occasion.
“What Mud and I have is special.” She plucks her hand as she yanks herself loose from my grasp. “He likes me and I like him, and we like other people, too.” Her eyes bug out when she says the odd proclamation.
I take a moment to glower at her before shifting my attention back to the chaos in the ring. But something to the side of it snags my attention.
“Check that out, the man in the hot suit is roughing him up,” I say to Stephanie and Shep as I nod to Frisk and his buddy. The man my sister has set her sights on has grabbed ahold of Frisk by the shirt. He looks as if he’s saying something up close and personal, and all around mean, before he shoves Frisk back toward the ring and stalks off.
“Not a fan, I take it.” I shrug up at Shep. “Do you recognize the goon?”
Shep lifts a brow. “A second ago he was a hot suit.”
“Easy come, easy go,” I say. “Besides, you know how I feel about men with tempers.”
My ex, Johnny Rizzo, comes to mind. He wasn’t just a louse who coerced me into bilking money from the Morettis, he was a louse who liked to raise his voice and cheat whenever he had the chance to.
Sometimes I wonder why I let a nutcase like that have so much power over me. Not that he has any now. If anything, I turned the tables when I turned him in.
Rumor has it, he’s out again and on the hunt for me. But he’s the least of my worries. In fact, I’ve invoked a shoot on sight policy should he dare cross paths with me again. Of course, Shep will have to be nearby, seeing that he’s the only one packing heat around here.
“Speaking of men with tempers…” Stephanie grabs ahold of my arm and seizes.
I follow her gaze and a sickly moan escapes me.
Standing across the room with their eyes pinned in this direction are the exact wannabe mob bosses we were hoping to avoid.
“Perhaps this is a good time to expand the parameters of that shoot on sight policy I just invoked.” Honestly, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but that’s what happens when I feel out of control. My mouth just so happens to be the first thing I lose control over.
Shep grunts, “Do I want to know about this policy?”
“You probably should.” I sigh. “Seeing that it involves your gun.”
“Dom and Enzo,” Shep growls as he spots the menacing duo from across the room. “I’m going to head over and let them know how I feel about them threatening you.”
“What?” Both Stephanie and I swat him on the arm.
“Are you nuts?” Stephanie shoots him a look. “You can’t go telling a couple of Italian Stallions what goes where. They’re liable to rearrange your drawers, and I’m not talking about your underwear.” She tips her ear his way. “But while we’re on the topic, what is it, sailor? Boxers or briefs?”
“Briefs,” I snip over at her. “The kind that look like boxers, not tighty-whities. And would you stop with the inappr
opriate interrogation already? We have a couple of gangster fish to fry.”
Shep’s chest expands. “Lola, I have no idea what you said, but I think I get the gist of it. Don’t worry. I know how to handle these guys. I’m just heading over to say hello.” He takes off before either my sister or I can stop him.
The crowd goes wild once again, and soon every person in the ring crawls out and a local band takes over, crooning about rainy days, a broken-down truck, and a half-empty bottle of bourbon—all of which sound surprisingly good right about now.
“Come on,” I say, threading my arm through my sister’s. “We should go see what they want.”
“I’m not going anywhere. This is my favorite song.” Stephanie snaps her fingers over her head just as Tilly bops this way with a cookie sticking out of her mouth, and soon the two of them are bumping hips to the beat. I glance over and spot Opal manning the impromptu cookie stand, collecting five-dollar bills and not giving a single soul a dime’s worth of change. Gotta love her. She’s determined to rebuild her fortune, one cookie at a time.
I take off into the crowd, and it seems as if the bodies are multiplying as I struggle to get through the sea of humanity. The music is so loud my head is threatening to explode, and the smell of sweat has taken over any sweet scent my nana’s cookies may have initiated.
I spot Frisk by the door, having a heated conversation with both Mallory and Wendy before the blonde, Mallory, all but spits in his face as she barrels past him.
Wendy shakes her head at him, her face still a brilliant shade of red from her time in the ring, and I can’t tell if they’re arguing or not.
I do my best to suck in my stomach as I struggle to squeeze past an entire enclave of seniors, and I think I just inadvertently engaged in a little dirty dancing without meaning to. Who knows? I may have inadvertently started a brand new dance craze that involves not breathing and walking like a duck. Stranger things have happened.
Leave ’em Moaning Simone bumps into me. Her jaw is distended, she’s mouth breathing as if she were in a rage, and without saying a word she stalks off toward the exit. I pause a moment to watch her walk right up to Frisk and slap her hand hard over his chest and I gasp.
A Purr-fect Storm Page 2