Donata, the redhead, tips her chin up. “Don’t bother. The family is going to wipe out every single Moretti in existence. We already know who did it.”
Cat gasps. “Nicky Knuckles?”
Lorena nods, her long black hair glowing like a navy river running down her shoulders—a crunchy blue river what with all the gel and hairspray, but still.
“Word is, he’s already in hiding,” she says. “I saw his car skidding out of the lot as soon as the shooting happened.”
“That’s right,” Donata says. “Every single Moretti will be dead by sundown tomorrow.”
Lorena butts her shoulder to Donata’s. “All of New Jersey will be dead by sundown tomorrow.”
Carlotta shudders. “Sounds as if things are about to get bloody.”
“But what if he didn’t do it?” I protest. “You can’t massacre an entire state—or an entire mob family for that matter just because you suspect them of doing something wrong.”
Donata looks at Lorena and shrugs. “It could’ve been Rocky Romero.” She looks my way. “He’s her ex. Works for the Canellis.”
“Does he have dirty blond hair? And was he here tonight?” I ask, and they both nod in unison. “I saw him arguing with her earlier.” In fact, I saw both Lorena and Donata arguing with the deceased tonight as well, but I decide to leave that incriminating tidbit out for now. As far as I’m concerned, I have four suspects, not two.
“Wow, two suspects.” Lorena looks to Cat and Connie. “Who wants to bet both Nicky and Rocky will be dead in a week?”
Both Cat and Connie produce a hundred dollar bill from their purses, and Carlotta pulls out a wad of wrinkled cash herself.
“I’ve only got ten.” Carlotta nudges my arm. “Spot me a fifty, Lot.”
“What? No! We are not taking bets.” I glance back at the building and note a flash of hot pink stars glittering among the crowd and gasp. “Carlotta, we have to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying put. I’ve gotta be here for Cadillac and her witches now that the Morettis have thrown down the gauntlet. Oh, there’s gonna be blood. A trail of bodies. A web of deceit so thick and wide all of their Italian ancestors are about to get caught up in it and fight from the other side.”
Cat rewards Carlotta with a high-five for her bizarre diatribe about the dead.
“Didn’t I tell you to stick with me?” Cat gives a dark chuckle.
Carlotta gives a wistful shake of the head. “Nobody knows how to have a good time like the Canelli girls.”
“Carlotta,” I whisper. “They just lost a family member.”
Connie shrugs over at me. “And we’re gonna do what we always do—make the best of it. Nobody knew how to have a good time like Angel Face. And we’re gonna throw her one hell of a goodbye party.”
The spray of hot pink stars shimmies on over and adds a dash of supernatural pizzazz between us before trailing off near the woods adjacent to the building.
“Sounds good,” I say, never taking my eyes off that celestial wonder, and boy, am I ever relieved to see it. Better late than never. “Carlotta”—my hand warms my belly—“I need to get to the restroom,” I say. It’s not entirely a lie. My bladder has sort of gained a supernatural power itself—the need to urinate continually. “Would you help me out so I don’t slip on the ice?”
We’re about to take off when Lorena pulls me back by the wrist.
“I’m your point person, Lottie. Florenza was my best girl and nobody gets away with this without answering to me. We’ll track down Nicky Knuckles together.”
Donata nods my way. “Rocky, too.”
“I appreciate that. We’ll do it soon, too!” I give a little wave as I pull Carlotta toward the snowy woods.
“Where are we going, Lot? You don’t need to squat in the woods. They’ll let you back inside to use the restroom. Just tell ’em you’ve got a baby Fox kicking in your belly. Once Noah hears his baby mama has potty duty, he’ll roll out the red carpet—right over the body if he has to.”
She’s not wrong.
“I don’t have to go to the bathroom,” I hiss. “I saw something spooktacular heading in this direction.”
“Lemon.” I turn to find Everett trotting this way as he runs up winded. “Evie’s safe. Your mother offered to give her a ride home.” His brows furrow as he looks from Carlotta to me then the dark woods that lie ahead. “Where are you going?”
“I think I saw something,” I say. “I have a feeling the ghost is just a little late on its arrival, but I saw an entire constellation of shimmering hot pink stars right over there.” I point that way, and sure enough, there’s a tornado of stardust touching down over the earth. I take up both Everett’s hand and Carlotta’s as we rush that way.
“What’s happening, Lot?” Carlotta shouts as that tornado of stars picks up speed and creates a supernatural gust that sends Everett’s tie flying over his shoulder.
“Lemon?” His voice hikes with concern just as a loud, thunderous clap evicts from the hot pink flurry.
A few years back we found out that I act as a conduit for anyone who’s holding my hand, and not only can I hear the dead among us, they can, too.
The noise ramps up, and the wind feels as if it’s about to blow us all right back to Honey Hollow and then with a loud snap the stars fall to the ground.
Standing where that funnel of chaos was a moment ago is a dark-haired beauty sporting long waves, not an eyelash out of place, snapping her gum and laughing while wearing that glittery pink dress with a fresh bullet wound through her chest.
“Angel Face Flo,” I say in disbelief. “You’re back?”
“That’s right,” she snips. “And I’m gonna get the bastard that did this myself.”
With that she up and disappears in a ball of hot pink smoke.
Chapter 4
“Waffles. We want lots of waffles.” Evie gives me a wink as she takes off to a corner table right here in the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery. It’s the very next day after last night’s murderous fiasco at the Chanterelle Hotel. It’s snowy and dark, and all around morose. So much for getting the year off to a great start. And have I mentioned the ghost?
But there’s no ghost in my bakery at the moment. I give a quick look around my quaint little bakeshop. The walls are painted a butter yellow, the furniture is mix and match in every shade of pastel, and there’s an opening to the left that leads right into the Honey Pot Diner—my diner if you want to get technical.
When my Grandma Nell died, she felt so bad for keeping my true identity as her granddaughter a secret, she left me all of her land and most of her holdings. Of course, she made sure her children and other grandchildren were well taken care of, but I seemed to get the lion’s share of the real estate, which included the land under my bakery as well. But it was the Honey Pot that was Nell’s baby.
She loved the place so much she had a life-size resin oak tree installed in the middle of the restaurant with its branches crawling over the ceiling, and now they bleed across the ceiling of my bakery as well. And each of those branches just so happens to be wrapped in twinkle lights.