A Purr-fect Storm

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A Purr-fect Storm Page 13

by Addison Moore


  Regina scoffs. “Because it’s my job to protect the chicken.”

  “Good grief. I’ll do it,” I say as I climb onto my sister’s back. “I knew we should have left the chicken in the car. It’s bad etiquette to eat Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken in a virtual stranger’s house, you know.”

  Stephanie looks up at me for a moment. “Is it rude to riffle through his nightstand? I’ve always wondered what hot men keep in theirs. I know what I’ve got in mine and I want to compare notes.”

  “I know what you’ve got in yours, too,” I say, struggling to keep my balance as I rise onto my feet. “Why do you think I gave you a set of batteries for Christmas?”

  “My birthday is coming up,” Tilly whispers. “I’d like an entire box of C batteries if you don’t mind. And Lola? I think we should make a pact. If either of us kicks the bucket, we break into one another’s homes and clear out the nightstands before anyone gets a chance to go through our personal effects.”

  “I don’t need batteries,” Regina chuffs. “I’ve got—” But before she can finish, Opal wails out one of her famous arias and the entire lot of us shushes her in unison.

  “I’m sorry, ladies.” She takes off toward the back of the house. “But I’ve lost Katy Purry!”

  “Great,” I mutter as I manage to pluck the screen from the house. “We might just have to spend the entire night combing the neighborhood for that orange furball.”

  “Not me,” Regina is quick to eschew Operation Save the Cat. “I came to eat chicken with my feet on the coffee table.”

  Tilly chuckles. “You could have stayed home and did that.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” Regina counters. “I have a strict no feet on the furniture policy. Why else do you think I join these illegal soirees?”

  “It’s nice to know you like to walk on the wild side,” I grunt as I struggle to raise the window. “It’s no use. It’s not budging.”

  No sooner do I say it than the window opens wide, and Opal and Katy Purry greet us from the other side.

  “What’s the secret code word?” Opal purrs.

  “Opal!” I nearly topple down from my sister’s shoulders. “How did you get in there?”

  “Katy was simply cold, so she led me straight to the back door, and thankfully, it was unlocked.”

  The rest of us scuttle over to the back of the house, and before we know it, we’re nestled in Justin Delforio’s toasty home that’s surprisingly neat as a pin and still holds strong the scent of his cologne.

  Stephanie jabs me in the ribs as we pass the master bedroom. “I think he’s planning on getting lucky tonight. No man puts on that much cologne to do a burger run.”

  “She’s right,” Tilly says. “That’s practically a calling card. And speaking of which, I sure wish I knew which bar he was headed to. What I wouldn’t do to end up in his bedroom.”

  Stephanie and Tilly exchange a look before taking off in the other direction.

  “Don’t worry,” Regina says. “I’m sticking with you, Bowie. If we’re ever hauled into the sheriff’s department, I want to be able to fill them in on exactly what you were up to. I figure it’ll cut some time off the back end of my sentence that way.”

  “Nobody likes a snitch.”

  “You’re just bitter because you have no one to snitch on.”

  Opal chuckles. “She’s got a point.”

  I flash my phone to the room on the left, and it’s wall-to-wall books and a thick wooden desk sits in front of the window.

  “Bingo,” I say, getting right down to work. I plow my way through files, riffle through drawers, and check an old set of Encyclopedia Britannica in the event there’s a secret passage that leads to a chamber of death, but I’ve got nothing.

  “Bowie?” Opal calls out from another area of the house. “I found his laptop.”

  Both Regina and I make a beeline in her direction, and sure as there are eggs in my bacon frittata, the holy grail sits on the very coffee table Regina just propped her feet on.

  I get right to work. “I brought a thumb drive big enough to fit all of the classified info the Pentagon has to offer,” I say as I do my best to suck the living, breathing brains out of this metal box.

  Opal takes a seat beside me. “Where on earth did you get such a contraption? And do they make one big enough to steal the account information of every person in Starry Falls? I vote for a bank heist next.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s bank robbery and not a heist,” Regina corrects with a mouthful of chicken.

  “Tomato, Tomah-to”—Opal holds a hand out her way—“give me a leg.”

  And while they nosh on chicken, I nosh on the ridiculous amount of files Justin has on his desktop while my thumb drive works its magic. I come across one marked the book of life.

  The book of life?

  I click it and am led to a menu that lists about seven different sports, and I continue to the women’s wrestling section without hesitation.

  Sure enough, there are rows and rows of people’s names, and next to them is a dollar amount that varies from person to person. There are dates and even names of the wrestlers they’re betting on. Madge the Badge, Mal the Mallet, Wendy City Destruction, and Leave ’em Moanin’ Simone, along with an entire slew of others I’ve never heard of.

  “Winner winner, Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken dinner,” I say as I quickly scan the column with the dollar amounts and quickly notice a pattern. A woman by the name of Natalie Joseph has an extremely high payout and so does a man by the name of Frisk Foster.

  Well, well.

  Just as I’m about to share my juicy findings, the whoop of a patrol car saws through the night as flashing red and blue lights stop right in front of the house.

  An electrocution of fear spasms through me.

  Whose big idea was this whole breaking and entering debacle, anyway?

  MINE, that’s whose.

  Tilly and Stephanie run into the living room howling like a couple of loons.

  I jump up and land between them.

  “Gah!” I squawk as I swat Tilly on the arm. “I thought you said you disabled the alarm?”

  “I said the coast was clear,” she hisses. “I didn’t see an alarm. It must be one of those new stealth doohickeys.”

  A groan evicts from me just as an aggressive knock drums on the door.

  “Woodley Sheriff’s Department,” a deep, yet vexingly sexy, voice booms from the other side. “Open up! We’ve got a search and seizure warrant, and we’re looking to inspect your property.”

  Every muscle in my body freezes solid.

  Stephanie pants, “You’re the unluckiest sister I’ve ever had.”

  “I’m the only sister you’ve ever had.”

  “Maybe I’m the unlucky one?”

  “We’re all unlucky,” Regina hisses. “Do something, Bowie. If we run out the back, we might end up with bullets to accessorize these prom dresses.”

  “She’s right,” Opal says, doing her best to stuff Katy Purry into her purse. “I say we walk out the front door with our heads held high.”

  Tilly nods. “Don’t forget the chicken.”

  The knocking commences once again, and I have a sneaking suspicion I know who that vexingly sexy voice belonged to so I do the only thing I can. I open the door.

  I’d like to say it’s a relief to see Shepherd Wexler’s handsome mug staring back at me, but let’s call a spade a spade. The man holds as much power to terrify me as he does to electrify me.

  “Welcome to the Binx Brothel!” I trill. “I’ve got four happy hookers ready to meet all your good cop, bad cop needs.” I hold a hand out behind me where Stephanie, Opal, Tilly, and Regina have lined up shoulder to shoulder, those glittering sashes only adding to the credibility of my newly minted whorehouse.

  Let’s just say, a rather long night was had by all.

  I did a little explaining.

  Shep did a lot of explaining, or reprimanding if you want to get technical.

  And w
e all got to sleep in our own beds that night—save for me.

  Turns out, I’m pretty lucky after all.

  But Justin Delforio isn’t so lucky.

  In fact, I’d bet good money that little book of life of his might just lead to a life behind bars.

  I just can’t seem to figure out how.

  Chapter 15

  Shep ended up seizing the laptop that night and spent the next two days poring over the files—of which there were a myriad. But, of course, it was the same file I was looking at that brought him the info he was in search of.

  As far as that thumb drive I risked life, limb, and Katy Purry to procure—well, Stephanie and I have been poring over that, too.

  Natalie Joseph and Frisk Foster were the big winners over all. They lost a little, too, and they won some minuscule payouts as well, but for the most part, their big payday seemed to come about once every four to six weeks just like magical moneymaking clockwork.

  We’re not talking buy a house big, but for sure they could buy a shiny new SUV with all the bells and whistles without having to take a loan out. This money was nothing to sneeze at. You’d think a bookie like Justin would be happy about it since he gets some of the take. Shep looked into the accounting software, and according to the numbers, Justin Delforio was making bank. And if I ever hoped to make that much, I’d have to rob one.

  But I’m not robbing a bank this evening. It’s Valentine’s Day, and a large red glittery banner is strewn across the ballroom reading Wrestling with Love, the happy moniker that we finally settled on for this heart-shaped event. I’ve donned my hottest and only little black dress, and I’m ready to party with the best of them.

  There’s a bona fide wrestling ring off to the right, and not some blowup you’d find in a frat house. Meg hooked us up with a vendor who rents out the real deal and even got him to lend it to us for free for the night.

  Meg will be performing tonight, as will Simone, Wendy, and Mallory. It looks as if she got the band back together after all, and I couldn’t be happier to have all of my prime suspects under one roof, Justin included, considering the fact he already mentioned he’d show.

  The ballroom is spacious, laden with parquet wooden floors, crystal chandeliers, and is scented with the fragrance of Nana Rose’s anisette cookies. A cheery eighties’ tune blasts through the speakers, and I catch Stephanie bopping along with Mud at the bar.

  The room is already flooded with bodies as the smash ’em grab ‘em show is getting ready to begin. Shep is working late on the case, but promised he’d be here in time to make me his Valentine. He said it with a determined look on his face that I’m positive had lascivious implications. Here’s hoping we can squeeze in a slow dance, too. A girl’s gotta have an appetizer before she dives into the meal. But if that doesn’t happen, I won’t cry over it. At least my boyfriend doesn’t require batteries. And I’m getting pretty hungry for dinner.

  My phone rings, and it’s Shep.

  “Hey, Kitten.” He sighs into the speaker. “Got a minute?”

  “For you? Maybe a minute and a half. What’s up?”

  “I’m still at the office, and I wanted to ask if you’d shoot me a picture of the footwear the ladies in the ring are wearing tonight.”

  “Did you track down the shoes that fit the pattern from that night?” The footprints were distinct, striped with dots in the middle. It looked as if they were from a heavy boot, but then, it was snowing out and just about everyone had on heavy boots.

  “I think I may have. Just shoot me a picture of the women when you can. I’ve got about another half hour then I’ll be hunting you down.”

  “Sounds like I’m about to be held captive.”

  “Save a dance for me. Captivity is optional.”

  No sooner do we hang up than Opal waltzes over in a stunning red chiffon number that gives off a devilish glow. She has a plethora of furry heads in her arms, and I quickly count six felines all fighting for her attention.

  “What a night, Bowie Binx!” She does a quick twirl, and the cats let out a sharp yowl. I can’t tell if it was in protest or delight, but at this point it doesn’t matter. Opal vowed she wouldn’t spend this heart-shaped day alone, save for the feline population, and she’s making good on her word. “Thea tells me we’ve made over six thousand dollars so far.”

  I have both Thea and Flo working the door, collecting cash and acting as bouncers if need be.

  “It’s six hundred.” I shrug over at her. “But if we open a club here on the weekends, we might get to that magic number yet.”

  She takes a moment to scowl. “At least we have the cats. Speaking of which, do you see all of these single women holding my kitties close? I think we’ve started a revolution. Cats are so much more practical than men.”

  “Unless you’ve got the right man, the right cat, and the right relationship with both. Then your life is pretty much a trifecta of purr-fection.”

  “Don’t brag, Bowie. It’s not becoming.” She cranes her neck as she looks to the door. “I don’t see Regina. It’s been tradition here at Mortimer Manor that someone dresses up as Cupid on this magical night, and she’s been avoiding me all day because she knows I’m going to insist she reprise her role. She’s been Cupid for the last three years running. And don’t think for a minute that Shep was able to resist her in those cute red tights. Oh, it doesn’t matter. Shep is with you now.” She gasps. “And that must mean you’re the next to dress up as Cupid. Oh thank goodness. I don’t believe in parting with tradition. The costume is in the mudroom just down the hall. Try to do something clever with your face. Draw a pair of hearts on your cheeks or something. This crowd is going to eat you right up. Go on, get to it.” She waves me off and disappears into the crowd before I can properly protest.

  A shimmer of hot pink stars appears to my right, and in an instant the ghost of Hazel Newton appears in all of her celestial glory.

  “Boo,” I say to the feisty redhead, but Hazel isn’t laughing at my joke.

  “Boo is right.” She blows out a breath as she takes in the blossoming crowd. Her hair looks windblown, and that tattered black dress she’s been wearing since the night she was slaughtered billows as if there was a breeze. “Will Lottie be here tonight?”

  “Nope. She’s got a shindig of her own down in Honey Hollow, but we’re getting together tomorrow. She invited me to her bakery. I think we’re going to have that sit-down with the Canellis and the Lazzaris.”

  “Oh, I’m coming. No offense, but Greer Giles can’t stop bragging about Lottie’s desserts. Let’s hope there’s a handsome dead guy roaming the grounds. You have no idea how lonely the afterlife can be. All I do each day is play with the cats and read all the books I want in the library.”

  “Play with cats and read books all day? I aspire to be you.” I sigh at the thought of reading while cuddled up with a happy harem of purring felines.

  “And I aspire to be you.” She sighs right back. “I’d better go comfort myself with Nana Rose’s thumbprint cookies. You really should think of going national with those. Thank goodness I’ve retained the ability to eat after that visit to Honey Hollow. Right now, it’s the only thing I’ve got going for me.” She floats off, and I can’t help but sag in her wake.

  There’s nothing sadder than a ghost in a funk.

  And the worst part is, I wouldn’t even begin to know how to help her. It’s not like I know a whole lot of dead guys who happen to be hotties. In fact, I don’t know any dead guys at all.

  Dom and Enzo run through my mind.

  Nah.

  Even if they were dead, Hazel would still be too good for them. But I wouldn’t be totally opposed to her having her way with them a time or two. It’s a shame to let a couple of Italian Stallions go to waste even if they are more jackass than they are stallion.

  Meg, Mallory, Wendy, and Simone show up in full wrestlemania regalia—grunting and roaring their way over to the ring as the crowd goes wild. I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the
ir footwear. The only one wearing tall glittering boots is Meg. The rest of them have some sort of heavier boot on. Both Mal and Wendy have on tan Timberlands, which I’m a huge fan of, and Simone has on a lesser-known brand in chocolate to go with her glossy bronze bathing suit. I send the pictures over to Shep as quickly as I can. Here’s hoping one of their footprints leads to the killer.

  Wendy takes over the microphone and introduces her cohorts one by one, and the crowd grows progressively rowdier with each introduction.

  Meg takes on Mallory first, and it’s a knock-down, drag-out, folding chair-wielding fight right to the bitter end. Madge the Badge takes the win on that one, and Mal the Mallet takes off for the bar to lick her wounds.

  Next up is Leave ’em Moaning Simone and Wendy City Destruction. And just as they’re about to get to the nitty-gritty, Tilly bops up looking dressed to kill—or more to the point, dressed to thrill with her hair teased every which way. She’s donned a tight little red dress that shimmers in the light, and her feet are stuffed into a pair of sky-high heels.

  “You really mean business, Till,” I say. “You’re looking good, sis.”

  “Thanks.” She shrugs. “I would have been here sooner, but I had to drag Jessie out of some silly high school dance. The girl is sixteen. A mom’s got to keep an eye on a pretty young thing on a night like this.”

  “You plucked her out of a high school dance? Tilly, she’s going to hate you for that.”

  “Nah, I let her bring her boy toy. They’re right over there enjoying the night.” She points to the back wall where I see the shadow of what looks to be a sixteen-year-old girl with her lips conjoined to a younger version of Domenico Canelli.

  “She’s still seeing Dom Junior, huh?” Last December Dom’s mini-me made an appearance and quickly latched lips with Jessie, much the way he’s doing now.

  “Like mama, like daughter.” She tugs down her dress until she’s offering the world more than a glimpse of her full décolleté. “I won that wrestling match fair and square the other night. And I’m expecting Dom and me to have a very magical night. Or was it Enzo who picked me as a door prize?”

 

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