Lottie leans in. “Lola just gave me the rundown on Dom. I can’t believe he contacted your Uncle Vinnie. And that vision about your ex? Bowie, you’ve got trouble brewing twelve ways to Sunday.”
After I left Dom, I shot my sister a text to fill her in, hoping she’d have a smidge of mercy on me and invite me in on the fun she was having but no dice.
“Aren’t you a ball of sunshine,” I mutter just as the bartender slides me a glass of glorified fruit punch.
Carlotta chuckles as she steps up. “Sounds like she’s got your number, Lot.”
“Don’t worry, Bowie. Trouble is my middle name,” Lottie grimaces as she says it. “And if anyone can get those thugs off your back it’s me. And I’m working on it, too. I’m setting up a meeting with both Luke Lazzari and Jimmy Canelli. Just wait until they find out what their sons are up to.”
I’m about to thank her for the effort when a handsome man in a tweed jacket with dark hair, piercing green eyes, and the deepest dimples you ever did see comes over and offers Lottie a kiss to the lips.
“Hey, Lot, what’s going on?” He nods my way.
“Noah, this is Bowie Binx, the woman I was telling you about. Bowie, Noah knows everything about me and my transmundane status. Your secret is safe with him, too.”
“So you’re Lottie’s husband.” I give an open-mouthed smile. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, holding my hand out his way.
“I’m not her husband.” He offers a quick shake. “I’m her side-piece.” He shrugs over at Lottie. “I like the way it sounds.”
Lottie offers him a playful frown. “Noah is the lead homicide detective with the Ashford Sheriff’s Department.”
Regina Valentine jumps in front of him with her long chestnut hair moving as if it had a life of its own, her boobs front and center, and that little red dress doing its best to make her body sing like a siren.
“Well, hello there,” she belts it out, low and husky. “Rumor has it, you’re single and ready to mingle.”
Lottie shoots her a look. “The odds this baby in my belly are his are fifty-fifty.”
Noah offers Regina an affable smile. “I’m sorry, but I don’t consider myself single.”
Both Tilly and Stephanie groan in unison.
Tilly nods to Lottie. “Got any more of these hotties hiding out in Honey Holley?”
“Honey Hollow,” Lottie corrects. But before she could say another word, her lookalike steps up.
“Funny you should ask.” Carlotta slaps Noah on the back. “Foxy here has a look-alike brother.”
Regina, Tilly, and Steph yelp with a twinge of hope.
Opal puts on her reading glasses and gives Noah the once-over with an approving nod. She’s donned some sort of a black lacy number that cinches her waist and fans out past her ankles in a dramatic display.
“How about a father?” she drawls the words out with that indistinguishable accent of hers. “Heck, I’ll take a grandfather if I have to. I can tell you come from good stock.”
“Thank you.” Noah’s brows pinch in the middle. “I think. And I do have a father up in Honey Hollow.”
“Yup,” Carlotta affirms. “Every man in the Fox family is a carbon copy of one another. But I’m afraid Foxy Senior is courting Lot Lot’s mama.”
Opal flicks her wrist. “Courting? Why, that means he’s practically still on the prowl. The old boy is still out there shopping.” She gives the girls, aka Mystery Babylon, a quick boost with her hands. “Be a love, Carlotta, and call him down this way. I’m anxious to meet his acquaintance.”
“You bet, Opie.” Carlotta gets on the horn, and Lottie doesn’t seem to mind one bit.
“So, Lottie”—I raise my glass her way as if I were toasting her—“will your husband be meeting us here as well?”
Regina grunts, “She gets a husband and a hottie?”
Stephanie shakes her head. “Nobody said life was fair. Hey? Bowie gets all the bad luck and you get all the good luck, Lottie. Got room for another sister?”
“Another best friend?” both Tilly and Regina sing in concert.
I make a face. “Feel free to ignore this group of traitors. I can’t wait to meet the mister.”
“He’s with his lawyer.” Her shoulders sag, and Carlotta gives her a pat on the back. “He’s actually a judge who found himself tangled up in a few legal issues of his own.” She shoots a look to Noah, and I have a sneaking suspicion he has something to do with those legal issues.
“Your husband is a judge and he’s got legal issues?” My jaw roots to the floor. “Boy, trouble really is your middle name. I knew I liked you.”
A pair of strong arms glides around my waist from behind, and a thick, familiar, spiced cologne penetrates my senses.
“And I like you,” a deep voice whispers into my ear, and I spin in his arms.
“Shep!” I pull him in for a quick embrace, but he’s not smiling like I am. I’m guessing he’d like me a whole lot more if I listened to those recommendations he keeps doling out my way that involved suspects and such. “Everyone, this is my plus one, Shepherd Wexler, best-selling author and homicide detective at the Woodley Sheriff’s Department.”
Regina leans in and tucks her nose close to his neck. “Hey, Shep.”
I take a moment to growl her way.
“What?” she asks, backing up just out of striking range. “Just because he’s off the menu doesn’t mean a girl can’t take a whiff of that heady cologne.” She turns to Noah and proceeds to lean in so close a part of me is convinced she’s about to do some drive by kissing. “Mmm. When you find out that baby isn’t yours, you just drive yourself up to Starry Falls and I’ll make sure to give you all the comfort you’ll be looking for.”
“Hey,” Steph barks. “I’m calling dibs on the hot homicide detective once Lottie cuts him loose.”
Tilly snorts. “Don’t listen to these hookers. You can find me at the Manor Café. I’ll be the cute one waiting to serve you a big fat slice of whatever you like—on the house, of course.”
Noah winces. “That’s very generous of you.”
Regina pushes Tilly away. “Girls, take a seat. Noah is a man’s man. He needs a real woman in his life.”
Lottie clears her throat, and Regina quickly scuttles off to buy a drink at the bar.
Noah holds out a hand toward Shep. “Noah Fox, detective at the Ashford Sheriff’s Department. I’ve been up to Woodley a time or two. I thought of filling the position there a few years back.”
Shep chuckles. “Then I would have most likely ended up in Honey Hollow.”
“Hear that, Lot?” Carlotta’s chest pumps with a silent laugh. “If Foxy went north, Bowie would be having the time of her life with Mr. Dimples. And Detective Wexler would be in the running to be your baby daddy.”
Lottie’s eyes bug out momentarily. “Ignore her.”
Opal steps over to Carlotta. “Come, Car Car, let’s test the house whiskey before helping those girls pick up that green mess on the dance floor.”
Carlotta jumps out of her seat. “Now we’re talking. Don’t worry, Lot. I’ll scoop some loot up for you and the baby, too. I told you I’d be able to contribute.”
Noah nods to Shep. “Meg told me about Frisk Foster, her old buddy, getting killed. How’s the case going?”
I spot a fiery redhead laughing with Meg up near the stage—the exact redhead I was hoping to find here.
“It’s progressing nicely,” I answer for him. “In fact”—I’m about to unleash that little tidbit about the suspect I’m here to grill when I think better of it—“Shep, why don’t you and Noah share a drink? I’m sure you have some war stories you could exchange. Lottie, I’ll help you to the little girls’ room.”
Lottie clucks her tongue. “How did you know I have to go? Did you have another one of those visions?”
“Yes,” I say as I escort her away from detective ground zero. “I had a vision of your sister talking to Simone Labelle,” I whisper as we make our way over. “Wo
uld you mind making an intro?”
“You bet.” Lottie leads the way, and soon we’re within touching distance.
Lottie’s sister, Meg, has her black hair sitting in a blob on top of her head. She’s clad in black, save for the shock of red lipstick, and her eyes siren out like twin glaciers.
Simone looks a bit more ready to rumble with the testosterone laden among us in her short pink dress that glows against her perennially tan body. That long red hair of hers shimmers like flames as she looks our way with curiosity.
“Hey, Meg.” Lottie pulls me in. “Look who stopped by to help drink my troubles away. Virgin drinks.” She nods to Simone. “Although, if I had stayed a virgin myself, I wouldn’t be in half the predicaments I’m in today.” She pats her hand over her enormous belly, and we all share a laugh on her behalf.
I shoot her an approving nod that says way to break the ice.
“Ooh.” Her shoulders hike to her ears. “I gotta run to the potty. Meg? You want to help your big sis out by clearing a path?”
“You bet.” She navigates Lottie to the right. “Hip hip hooray for my hippo of a sister. She’s about to drop a kid in five minutes. Step back or she’s liable to pin you as the daddy.”
A pathway clears before them as men hurdle over tables and chairs lest they find themselves a candidate in the latest baby scandal.
Simone giggles. “Isn’t it amazing that the sole responsibility of propagating the human race falls on the shoulders of women?”
“Eh.” I shrug as I watch Lottie waddle away. “The men folk have a little something to do with it.”
“Little is right.” She scoffs. “But then, I guess that depends on who the baby daddy is. I hear some men can be very attentive.”
“I hear your friend Frisk was an outstanding person. I bet he would have made a great father.”
Okay, so there were probably ten different ways I could have slipped him into the conversation, but this was the only highway open at the time so I went with it.
“Frisk? A dad?” A forlorn look takes over her face. “You know what? I bet you’re right. I mean, he was sort of a cad, a womanizer of the highest order, but there was definitely something nurturing about him. He really cared for his girls—and by girls, I mean the squad.”
“It sounds like you were close.”
She shudders. “Not as close as I would have liked to be. Some people just don’t know what’s good for them.”
I inch back a notch.
What’s that supposed to mean?
A nervous laugh bumps from her. “Frisk and I dated for a while.” She cuts a cool glance to the stage. “I wanted it to go on, and he wanted it to go on with other women.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Believe me, so was I.” She folds her arms across her chest as she gazes to some unknown horizon to my right. “You know, I gave him all the chances in the world, and he just threw each one away. One day I asked him why it couldn’t be me. Unrequited love is never any fun.” Her fingers fumble with a pendant in the shape of a starfish as she swishes it back and forth across the chain around her neck. “He said I got too close to his heart.” She sniffs back as tears glitter in her eyes. “I guess I should have taken that as a compliment, but to be truthful, it only infuriated me.”
Infuriated? Unrequited love? Sounds like a couple of good motives for murder if you ask me.
“I can see why you’d be upset. But you know what? It might have been for the better. I have an ex that at one time I wanted like nobody’s business. And now I wish he turned away my advances. Believe me when I say, that man was nothing more than a ball of trouble who set my whole life on a rotten trajectory.”
I snarl as I glance past her and accidentally catch a glimpse of Shep Wexler staring me down as if he has a bone to pick with me. A delicious sexy bone, and suddenly I’m feeling a whole lot luckier.
Maybe Johnny Rizzo was a necessary evil to get me to where I really belong?
Simone wiggles her shoulders as she follows my gaze.
“Maybe it was for the better. Hey? I think those men are checking me out.” She leans their way and squints. “Not sure why, but the one on the right looks familiar to me.”
“Probably a groupie,” I say, stepping in front of her and blocking her view of the groupie in question—i.e., my groupie. “Can I ask if you ever got a chance to, you know, share some unexpected last words with Frisk before he met his untimely demise?”
Her upper lip ticks up a notch. “I did.” Her eyes squeeze tightly. “He said there was something I needed to know and asked if we could talk. I followed him to the entry.”
“Did you go outside with him?”
Her eyes widen a notch. “Yes.” Her chest depresses. “But it was short-lived. I took him in my arms, hoping he’d go with the moment, and let’s just say things got heated.”
I nod. “And that must be when he snatched the scarf off your neck. I mean, I remember you wearing it in the ring and then seeing it clutched in his hand.”
She sighs. “That’s exactly what happened. Anyway, we never got to finish our conversation. Justin came up and said they needed to speak. He was ten times as angry with Frisk as I was. I went in, and a little while later, the next thing I knew Frisk was dead.”
“Who’s Justin?”
“His attorney. Justin Delforio. He’s local—from Scooter Springs, but shows up now and again in Vegas. No one was surprised to see him at the event that day.”
“Wait a minute. Does he have dark hair, light eyes, five o’clock shadow, and an overall brooding appeal?”
“We don’t call him Tall, Dark, and Sexy for no reason.” Her expression sours. “Anyway, he was with Frisk last, as far as I know.”
“What’s his story?”
“I don’t know much about him. He likes to keep an air of mystery about him. But each time he was around, they seemed to get along.”
I guess that’s that. Simone says she saw Justin speaking to Frisk last. He very well might be the killer.
“Hey?” I lean in. “What about Mal the Mallet? Or Wendy? Did you see either of them henpecking him?”
“Pfft. When weren’t they henpecking him? Frisk was retiring. Everyone’s emotions were at a fever pitch. But something was definitely amiss with Justin that day. Leave it to Frisk to infuriate people right to the bitter end, especially Justin.”
“Do you really think this Justin person could have pulled the trigger?”
“Oh hon.” Her lips flex with a smile. “Any one of us could have pulled that trigger.” She ticks her head to the side. “All kidding aside, I think Justin Delforio is definitely a person of interest.”
The music changes, and the room lights up with riotous screams of approval.
Simone and I look to the stage, and to my horror Opal, Carlotta, Tilly, Regina, and Stephanie are shaking their goods to the beat as a sea of green washes over them.
“Come on.” Simone grabs me by the hand and scoops up Meg on the way over. “We gotta get up there while the getting is good.”
“No, no,” I say, but my voice is drowned out as Simone’s death grip on me launches me onto that stage before she can hike up there herself.
Stephanie bops over and begins unbuttoning my blouse.
“What the heck are you doing?” I do my best to shove her off of me.
“We’re in a strip joint, in the event you haven’t noticed, and they want strippers. I’m not taking off my clothes, so that means you’ve got to lose a few stitches.”
Tilly yanks me free from my sister’s demented clutches and begins to bump her hip to mine.
Opal lifts the hem of her skirt above her ankle, and the room explodes with deafening screams—all appreciative of the effort.
Regina and Carlotta jockey for the number one position as the cash keeps flowing, and without warning, Stephanie hikes her way up to the top of that pole at the front of the stage as if she’s done it a time or twelve. And suddenly, I’m convinced she has.
And just like that, a good time is had by all.
When all is said and done, Lottie and Noah offer to take Shep and me out for pizza up in Honey Hollow at a place called Mangias.
Of course, we take them up on it.
The pizza is pretty decent, and I don’t say that lightly, and the company is even better.
We wrap it up, and Noah and Lottie take off as Shep and I pause outside of the Italian eatery soaking in the snow-covered Honey Hollow street.
“I think we just found our first couple friends.”
Shep’s brows twitch. “You do realize they’re essentially a part of a throuple. She’s one man up on you.”
“So you’re saying I need to even the score?”
“Watch it, Binx.”
“Kiss me, Wexler. Convince me you’re the only man for me.”
His lips twitch with the hint of a smile before he plants one on me and convinces me of just that.
And once we get back to Starry Falls, Shep convinces me he’s all the man I’ll ever need.
Let’s hope Dom and Enzo don’t ruin anything for us.
Something tells me there’s not enough hope in the world to keep that from happening.
Chapter 11
The Manor Café is bustling this snowy afternoon as Shep sits at the counter working on his latest novel while I flirt shamelessly with him. He wasn’t going to jot down a single letter in his new novel until Frisk’s killer was caught, but he said he needed to clear his head a bit and he opted for a literary escape to help him do it.
Shep points down to the calzone he’s working on. “Masterpiece.”
Regina scoffs as she shoulders up to me. “It’s a pizza that’s been folded in half. We’re not talking culinary rocket science. Let’s not lose our minds.”
A Purr-fect Storm Page 9