Good Lord.
I force a smile at the women before me. I’ve never been referenced as the loot from anyone’s patoot before, at least not to my face. I have a feeling that’s a tried-and-true description of me as far as Carlotta’s concerned. Come to think of it, she may have used the graphic intro before, but with the lack of sleep and the baby munching on my brain cells I wouldn’t know it.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Lottie Lemon,” I say to the women who all seem to be encroaching in on me, and it’s then I recognize both Caterina and Connie Canelli. They both share the same shoulder-length black hair and dark chocolate eyes. Connie has a few years on me, and Caterina—Cat—is Carlotta’s age. Actually, Cat and Carlotta were best friends in high school. I believe Cat’s nickname for Carlotta was Spider, which makes perfect sense.
Connie pats me on the back. “Last we met, I was on the run!” She beams a proud smile, and the women gathered give a congratulatory whoop. “But all’s clear. And my aunt is on the up and up again, too.” She slings her arm around the older Canelli.
Cat leans in my way. “And look at you, Lottie! You’re all knocked up. I knew there was no way that judge was shooting blanks.” She looks over her shoulder. “And in case any of you witches spot that handsome devil, it’s hands off. That’s Lottie’s milkman.”
Milkman?
She nods to the women as if she heard my inner musing. “So no slipping him your number when you think she’s not looking. Any kid of my bestie’s is a kid of mine. Consider her family.”
Family is a dicey word when it comes to the mob.
Carlotta honks out a laugh. “That’s all good and great, Cadillac. But Lot Lot doesn’t know who the daddy is. She’s got a runner-up in that category. Foxy just might be the milkman.”
Milkman in the traditional sense, I’m assuming. Please God.
The women all make an odd yodeling sound as they look at me with wonder. I’m guessing Cadillac is a new nickname for Cat.
Connie nods. “That’s right. Lottie here has got a side-piece. If I remember correctly, he’s a cop.”
A round of oohs circles our small group.
I shrug. “Technically, he’s a homicide detective.”
“So hot!” one of them cries out.
“You go get ’em, Lottie!” another shouts. “Grab ’em by the weapon and show ’em who’s boss.”
Carlotta gives a wistful tick of the head. “Don’t go encouraging her. This girl ain’t afraid of a loaded pistol, if you know what I mean.” She winks at my belly. “And watch your men around her, too. She’s irresistible to the opposite sex. I’m not sure how or why, but I suspect Lot Lot has got a double helping of them hermones. It’s a scent men pick up on, and come ’round sniffing. I think it shoots out from her armpits.”
Here we go.
And hermones? She either meant hormones or pheromones, but I’m not about to correct her.
One of the women nods my way. “We’ll take a sniff later.”
My arms clamp shut as I offer a loose smile.
Connie nods to the girls in the middle. “You three.” She waves them over and the rest get right back to dancing as if they’ve been officially dismissed.
All three women look to be about my age, somewhere in their late twenties. The tiny group is comprised of two brunettes and a redhead, each of them with wavy long hair.
One of the brunettes is a lone horse given her choice of attire. She’s sporting a short pink number in a sea of dark sparkling frocks. The other two ensconce her like a couple of Gothic harbingers with their requisite little black dresses.
The one in pink quickly pulls out her compact and gives herself a once-over in the mirror before winking and blowing herself a kiss. Connie pulls the woman in the pink flirty dress her way.
“Lottie, I’d like for you to meet my cousin, Angel Face Flo.” Connie punctuates the intro with a toothy smile.
I can’t help but note Angel Face Flo has a rather aggressive beauty about her, with her high-cut cheekbones and dark almond-shaped eyes. She’s wearing a scowl on her face, and I’m betting it’s a rather permanent situation. Her brows are heavily penciled in to look like a couple of thin arches, and she definitely has an edge about her that makes me wonder if her nickname is more or less ironic.
“Florenza,” the woman in pink over enunciates as she looks from me to Carlotta. “But now that we’re family, you can call me Angel Face Flo.” She leans in a notch. “I was second runner-up for Ms. Vermont and Ms. Maple Queen two years in a row.” Her expression grows stern, and before I have a chance to congratulate her, she holds her hands out to the girls at her sides. “And these are my witches.”
I’m guessing that’s a nicer term than the word that rhymes with witches. And both me and the little sugar cookie I’m baking in my belly appreciate the discretion on her part.
Flo pulls the redhead over first. The girl is pretty, stunningly so, with glowing hazel eyes and long wild and wavy hair. That glossy black dress she’s got on looks as if latex has melted onto her flesh. And with no zipper in sight, I’m mildly curious how she got it on. I suppose she can always peel it off. Lord knows I’ve cut my way out of a few shirts and pants these past few months that I’ve tried to squeeze into. My old clothes are nothing but a memory to me now—mostly because they burned in a house fire. But those jeans I wore all last year—the ones Noah happened to dig out from under his bed—look as if they were made for a six-year-old. And that whole scenario begs the question, what was I wearing when I left Noah’s house that night? But I digress.
“Donata Diamante is like a sister to me.” Flo gives the redhead a playful tug of her locks. “She’s great at mixing drinks and lousy at picking boyfriends. We’re tight,” Flo spits it out like a threat, and I’m quick to say hello to the woman.
“And this is Lorena Lazzari.” She wraps an arm around the one with the full bouffant sitting a foot off her head and bright pink lipstick that’s slightly staining her teeth. Speaking of which, she has a big toothy smile and a slightly scary look in her pale gray eyes. But then, she is a Lazzari and that might explain the scare factor. The aforementioned Lazzaris are the other notorious crime family from Leeds. I’d say the huge mob presence was Vermont’s dirty little secret, but I don’t know how big of a secret it is these days.
The Canellis and the Lazzaris have been feuding for years, so it’s interesting to see that these two are good friends. Just goes to show, we women can rise above the noise of rowdy boys given even the deadliest of circumstances.
Flo taps her head to the girl’s fluffy bouffant. “Lorena was a runner-up in Ms. Vermont and Ms. Maple Queen two years in a row.” She all but puts the woman in a playful chokehold. “Nothing like being second best, huh, Lo?”
The woman honks out a laugh. “Honey, you oughta know. You were second. I was third. But that was la-la land. When it comes to real life, I don’t play second fiddle to anyone. Not even you.” She gives a quick wink. “And when it comes to the Ruthless Witches, you can bet I’ll be numba one.” She pretends to shoot Angel Face with her finger.
Flo nods my way while chewing her gum furtively. “Ruthless Witches is the all-girl family my witches and I are putting together. I’m the lead. Lo is my right-hand gal, and Donata makes sure our hair looks good.” The three of them bray out a laugh.