A Purr-fect Storm

by Addison Moore

  “That’s right.” She nods. “Mallory is the one that killed Frisk, not me. Oh Bowie, she’s been threatening me. You wouldn’t believe the things she’s threatened to do—to say to my own parents.”

  Her parents?

  That day at the ice skating rink comes back to me.

  “Nat and Joe’s Skating Pond,” I say mostly to myself. “Nat and Joe?” Their names escape my lips just a touch louder as it all comes together.

  “That’s right,” Wendy says, pressing her hand to her chest with a look of contrived horror. “She wanted to tell them a bunch of lies. You remember me mentioning my parents, the ones that own the skating rink? Bowie, it wasn’t me who killed Frisk. Mal killed him. Pieces of her costume were right there next to him in the snow that night. She’s a killer, Bowie. Call your boyfriend. It’s time for him to make an arrest.”

  “You’re right.” The words come from me in a white plume. “It’s time to make an arrest, but it’s not Mallory he’ll be cuffing. It’s you. You killed Frisk Foster, didn’t you, Wendy? You were betting against yourself while posing as Natalie Joseph. You broke your winning streak every few weeks to give yourself an extra cash push—the exact cash push to get out from those dirty loans you took out. You were hurting financially from gambling debts. You told me so yourself inside just a few minutes ago.”

  “No.” She shakes her head as she backs up.

  “Yes. And Frisk found out about it, didn’t he? He wasn’t the one being blackmailed, was he? He was the one blackmailing you. He wanted in on the action. You were the easy money he found just in time for his retirement.”

  Her eyes squeeze shut, and in a moment she has me in her grasp. Her strong hands are pressing into my arms so hard I’m certain every finger will leave a bruise in its wake.

  “You’re right, Bowie. I killed him.” She gives me a little shake. “He caught on after my first two losses. Both he and Justin figured it out. Justin was willing to look the other way for me but not Frisk. He was greedy. He wanted in on the take. I didn’t need to lose anymore. Not after those first two losses, but he made me. He blackmailed me into doing it. But I had one request. You’re so smart, though, aren’t you? How about this? You guess the right answer, and I’ll snap your neck quickly so you won’t feel a thing. You guess wrong, and I’ll make it sting a little.” She gives a quick wink as she says it, and I can see pure evil glinting in her eyes.

  A spray of hot pink stars appears behind her, and in the blink of an eye, Hazel Newton glows like a bright red flame.

  “Great news, Bowie! I just spoke to Greer Giles. She says she’ll keep an eye out for any handsome specters that might cross the veil and send them my way. I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. I’ve never been lucky in love, but it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m feeling a smidge of hope. Oh, and by the way, your Uncle Vinnie is trying to reach you.”

  “What?” I gasp as I look to the perky poltergeist. “Where did you hear that?”

  Hazel cocks her ear to the sky. “I’ll be back, Bowie. I think Greer is trying to get ahold of me. This might be it. Wish me luck!” She up and disappears, and I groan in her wake.

  “Where did I hear what?” Wendy shakes her head. “Are you going to guess or not?” She gives me another rattle, and my left wing slaps me in the face. There is no lower moment than getting a feathered—one might even say angelic—smack to the face right before you’re about to die. It doesn’t sound as if it bodes well for my eternal standing either.

  “Come on, Bowie.” She catches my gaze. “What do you think I asked Frisk for in exchange for those losses I gifted him? Let’s get ready to rumble…” She gives me a third far more aggressive rattle as she asks the question and my mouth falls open.

  “Those words—the announcer gig!” I shout. “You wanted to steal the position from Mallory. Everyone knew how much she needed it. And you were setting her up. You had access to her uniform from the communal dressing room. You cut the scales off and placed them in the snow. You wore boots identical to hers in the ring that day and then you changed them, leaving her with the only boots that fit the pattern. But you got sloppy and you wore them tonight. You even got a little lucky when Frisk showed up still clutching Simone’s scarf.”

  A laugh rumbles through her, but I can see fury percolating just below the surface.

  “That scarf was fortuitous. I now had two people to blame. So I pointed the finger at Simone first. It was an easy thing to do. I figured the detectives would pick up on Mal on their own. But here we are. I’m sorry, Bowie, but I need you to keep quiet, and there’s only one way for me to do that.”

  I lift the bow in my hands between us and do my best to push her away, but she only brings me in that much closer. I press against her with all my might, but it’s like trying to topple a building, so I kick one of her feet out from under her and the snow causes her to slip onto her back.

  I’m about to take off, but she takes a page from my playbook, swipes my feet from under me, and soon her hands are wrapped around my neck.

  “Not today,” I grit as I poke my fingers into her eyes, causing her grip to loosen as she recoils with a howl. I flip her onto her back just as a set of footfalls stampede in this direction.

  “Freeze!” Shep riots out into the night, and I turn to find both him and his partner, Detective Nora Grimsley, holding out their guns.

  Shep quickly plucks me off of Wendy before he and Nora cuff the woman.

  “She did it,” I pant as I try to get my footing in the snow. “She killed Frisk. She confessed to everything.”

  Shep steps over and wraps his arms around me tightly. His lips waste no time in finding mine as he offers up an anxious, heated kiss.

  He pulls back and brushes the hair from my face. “You could have been killed.”

  “Yeah, but I’m pretty much proving to be indestructible.”

  “Never underestimate your mortality.”

  “Did Stephanie call you?” I glance back at the entry to the manor, but there’s no sign of my sister in sight. “How did you know to find me?”

  “I saw her dancing with Dom and I asked where you were.”

  “Nice to know she’s looking out for me. At least she got the date. I was able to hold my own.”

  “This time.” His brows hike, but Shep is not amused. “Do me a favor and never get in that position again.”

  “Oh? What position would you prefer me in?”

  A dangerous smile flickers on his lips. “When I get home, we’ll figure it out. Keep the wings on. I can work with those. Bowie Binx, will you be my Valentine?”

  “Now and forever. Kiss me, Wexler.”

  And he does just that.

  Chapter 17

  The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery sits in the heart of Honey Hollow, right in the middle of Main Street.

  The interior walls are a buttery yellow, the mix and match furniture is painted pastel, and there are twinkle lights wrapped around the branches of a tree hanging from the ceiling. But the crowning glory is all the sweet treats this place has to offer.

  This bakery is fully stocked with every cookie, brownie, cake, and pie you could ever wish for, and then some. The scent of both fresh brewed coffee and something sugary, laden with vanilla and cinnamon, baking in the oven sends me straight to carbohydrate heaven.

  Stephanie and I thought we should talk to the Canellis and the Lazzaris ourselves, but that didn’t stop Shep coming along for moral support—although he promised to stay away from the negotiations. He said he was feeling trigger-happy and didn’t want a massacre to take place in the bakery, so he’d leave me to handle myself while eating his fill of pie over at the counter. There is nothing hotter than a man who knows a woman is perfectly capable of fending off a group of mobsters.

  And once Opal, Tilly, and Regina heard there would be dessert, they hopped down here as well.

  Opal is the only one whose dessert intentions were pure. Both Tilly and Regina are equally hungry for Noah’s knockoff brother as they a
re Lottie’s chocolate chip cookies. I told them there was no guarantee he’d be here, but that didn’t stop them from getting glammed up as if they were going to senior prom.

  And, of course, Hazel Newton zapped herself over, and right now both she and the ghost of Greer Giles are seated at a table by the window yapping away like old friends, dishing on the ghostly dalliances that last night brought them.

  “Bowie, Lola!” Lottie pulls us in for a somewhat sideways embrace. Her belly looks twice the size it did at the beginning of the month, but she’s still glowing like a cherub. “They’re almost here. And once they arrive, I have a plan.”

  Carlotta steps up. “Yeah, and the plan involves me. No one has moderated more mob peace accords than I have.”

  Lottie scoffs. “And the mob is still feuding, so that’s not something I’d brag about.”

  “Oh yeah?” Carlotta narrows her eyes onto her daughter. “They might still be feuding, but they’re all still breathing, too, which is more than I can say about some of the people who eat your sweet treats.” Carlotta cocks a brow our way. “Has Lot Lot filled you in on the fact Honey Hollow averages a homicide per month, and so far each and every victim has been found nibbling on one of her delectable desserts?”

  The cookie falls right out of Stephanie’s mouth, and I nudge her with my elbow.

  “I can assure you, Lottie”—I nod her way—“we’re not afraid of your goodies.”

  The bell on the entry chimes, and Lottie’s eyes grow wide as we watch Dom, Enzo, and their older look-alikes waltzing right in.

  Before you can say sfogliatelle, we’re seated at a couple of conjoined tables with Carlotta happily sitting between Jimmy Canelli and Luke Lazzari, while Stephanie happily sits between Dom and Enzo. By the looks of it, you’d think Lottie and I don’t really have a horse in this race. And maybe Lottie doesn’t—although she did express to me she was having her own brand of trouble as of late—but I sure as heck do.

  All four mobsters in our presence have shown up in suits, making this place feel more like a boardroom than a bakery.

  “Ladies.” Jimmy Canelli nods to Stephanie and me. He’s got a crown of thick gray hair, dark eyes, and has an old-world charm about him. “Welcome to Vermont on behalf of my family.”

  Luke raises a finger. “From my family, too.” Luke Lazzari is bald, light eyes, and sharply handsome. And according to the way Carlotta keeps jumping and giggling his way, I’m guessing he’s got wandering hands, too. It’s sort of a ubiquitous trait to mobsters in general.

  Lottie clears her throat. “I think we all know the reason we’re here. Dom and Enzo have procured some information that’s potentially dangerous to Bowie. And in exchange for keeping that information under wraps, Dom and Enzo have threatened to blackmail Bowie into doing their bidding.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jimmy Canelli holds his hands up a moment. “Blackmail is not a word we toss around lightly.”

  “Most likely because the feds can slap you with a RICO for it.” A smile stretches across my face like a rubber band. “And that’s why, boys”—I glare over at Dom and Enzo, and Stephanie, too, but only because she’s in my direct line of vision—“you’re going to knock this off right now.”

  “Now, now.” Luke Lazzari shakes his head. “These are no mere boys. These here are men. And I ask you, as an Italian sister, to respect that fact. Let’s hear Dom and Enzo out, and we’ll take it from there.”

  I’ve never appreciated being reprimanded even if the one doing the reprimanding is basically right. But now that he’s made his point, I don’t expect to be called a girl or sweetheart either.

  Dom holds out his hands. “Girls.”

  “Sweetheart.” Enzo shrugs my way.

  Thought so.

  Dom wraps an arm around my sister’s shoulders. “We’ve thought long and hard about what we’ve got going on. Yeah, we know who you are, Stella.”

  “Would you shush.” The words come out as sharp as a butcher knife. “I’m working hard to start over. I don’t need you ruining it for me. My name is Bowie. Not Girl, not Sweetheart, and for the love of all things holy, never Stella.”

  Jimmy Canelli points hard at Dom and Enzo. “Get it straight. I’m on her side with this. Once one of us goes underground, we show them the respect they deserve before the family that’s hunting them down whacks ’em.”

  “Agree.” Luke folds his hands over the table as he inspects me. “Now, Bowie. It goes both ways. Our boys are looking for payment of some sort to keep your little secret safe. I’m asking you to give them the same show of respect. That’s all I’ve got to say on the matter.”

  Jimmy nods to his nemesis. “I’ve said my peace as well—and I expect peace because of it.”

  Lottie scoffs. “That’s it? You’re just going to let your boys—excuse me, men— make whatever demands they wish while they extort Bowie into oblivion?”

  “Whoa.” Luke tosses his hands. “Extortion isn’t a word we like to associate with. Dom, Enzo, move your lips and tell the woman what you want.”

  Dom and Enzo tip their chins and straighten their shoulders on cue like a couple of good little hoodlum soldiers.

  I’ll admit, with Enzo’s dark goatee and light eyes, I can see why girls would lose their minds over him.

  Dom’s not exactly chopped liver either, with those glowing amber peepers and rock solid body. I’m not entirely surprised to see Stephanie eager to get sandwiched between them.

  “I’ll go first.” Enzo shrugs. “Dom and I are like brothers. We grew up together. We did stuff. We’re still tight. But we’ve gotta go out on our own. It’s our time now. Our pops have Leeds, and now we’ve got Scooter Springs. It ain’t much, but it’s ours.”

  Dom nods, never taking his eyes off of me. “And now we got you, Bowie. You’re our crowning jewel—a Fazio castoff and a Moretti mark. You’re Jersey famous.”

  “Don’t forget me.” Stephanie is quick to give his chest a quick scratch. “I’m Jersey famous, too.”

  Dom’s lids hood as he looks her way. “I ain’t forgetting you, kid.”

  Kid? Pfft. They’re either the same age or I’d venture to say Dom is younger.

  “Cut to the chase,” I snip. “The coffee smells good, and I’ve got Lottie’s raspberry tarts calling my name.”

  Lottie nods. “I’ll make sure you get a whole lot more than that.”

  Enzo clears his throat. “All right, Bowie. We know you’re not a wealthy woman.”

  Dom nods. “But that manor is nice. We kind of dig it.”

  “The manor is off-limits,” I tell him. “It’s not mine. Not much is.”

  Stephanie shrugs. “Technically, I belong to her. I’m just putting it out there.”

  I avert my eyes. “Enough with the suspense. What do you want from me?”

  “Nana Rose’s recipes.” Dom doesn’t miss a beat.

  My mouth falls open. “You know darn well I’ve spent months recreating from memory every culinary treasure Nana Rose worked to perfect in her kitchen. Those recipes are mine and mine alone.”

  “Recipes? Really?” Lottie shakes her head. “You’re hitting below the belt.”

  Carlotta nods. “I hate to side with the medigan, but my Lot Lot is right. You can ask for blood, you can ask for money, but you can’t go taking old family recipes. There are just some things that are off-limits.”

  “I’m not off-limits.” Stephanie winks over at Dom.

  Jimmy and Luke give their sons a long hard look before offering up a sober nod.

  Enzo straightens. “You ladies are playing hardball. I like that.” He ticks his head toward Dom. “Let’s go with plan B.”

  “Plan B it is then.” Dom bears his serious eyes my way. “We want an open invite to Sunday dinner, two lasagnas a week, plus pizza, a platter of mostaccioli, a couple of sides of meatballs, and an entire tray of chicken cacciatore.” He shrugs at his father. “She makes a mean cacciatore.”

  I blink back. “Dom, you own an Italian eatery. I kno
w my food is better, but you’re basically insulting your own chefs.”

  “Which brings me to my next point.” He tucks his chin. “My chefs get to do a stint in your kitchen. I need someone to whip them into shape.”

  I consider this a moment. “No to the chefs. No to Sunday dinner. No mostaccioli, meatballs, or chicken. But yes to one lasagna and your fill of pizza. And no more calls to my Uncle Vinnie. He’s off-limits, just like Nana Rose’s recipes.”

  Dom and Enzo exchange a glance.

  Dom sniffs. “Sunday dinner, two lasagnas, pizza, and at least one meatball each. But they better be big.”

  My lips twitch back and forth. “One Sunday dinner a month, two weekly lasagnas, pizza, and meatballs the size of your egos.”

  “Done.” Enzo slams his hand over the table. “Your secret is safe with us.”

  Dom nods. “You keep up your end of the bargain. We keep ours.” He pulls Stephanie in close. “Now, me and my girl need to clean this place out. Let’s go get some good eats.”

  “I’m his girl.” A goofy grin blooms over my sister’s face.

  Our little group disbands. Carlotta has coffee with Jimmy and Luke while Lottie and I step to the side.

  Shep crops up, as do Noah and another dark-haired looker.

  “Bowie, this is Judge Essex Everett Baxter”— Lottie wraps an arm around him—“my official plus one.”

  “Nice to meet you, Judge Baxter,” I say.

  “Same here,” Shep says, shaking his hand. “And it’s nice seeing you again, too, Noah.” He looks my way. “How did it go?”

  “Yes.” Judge Baxter looks to Lottie. “Were you able to mediate?”

  She makes a face. “My presence was useless. But Bowie held her own.”

  I shrug. “I’m on the hook for some food and an occasional Sunday dinner. It could have been worse.”

  I glance to the right, and much to Carlotta’s chagrin, both Jimmy and Luke seem mesmerized with Opal.