“You don’t need to know where I am or anyone I deal with.” He lifts his chin and his eyes close to slits, making him look ten times more sinister than he did a moment ago. “She’s a cagey one. I’m not even sure I know her name. Met her that night at the hospital. She came running out just as I finished a smoke, and the rest, as they say, is history.” He starts to take off.
“Manny,” I call out and he turns around.
“What if I told you I needed protection from her, too?”
His expression sours on a dime. “I might be able to hold back the Canellis, but I can’t control a single woman. And believe me, I’ve tried. You’re on your own with that. Watch out. She’s a wildfire, that one.” He disappears like an apparition.
A wildfire.
I close my eyes a moment. Lemon and I have already been ravaged by a fire once, we don’t need to get burned again. I need to figure out where the heck Manny Moretti is stashing this mystery woman.
But how the heck do I track a mobster who I’m paying to keep track of me?
Noah. He volunteered to get recruited into my troubles.
It looks like he’s about to get his wish.
Lottie
Head hurts.
Boobs hurt.
Need sleep.
My head drifts backward onto the sofa as I begin to blissfully nod off.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Cluck Norris shrills, and every raw nerve in my body jolts for a moment, and then as if it were all a bad dream, I can feel myself drifting again. I’m not proud to say I’m having homicidal intentions toward a ghost for the very first time.
Whack, thump, BANG, BANG, BANG!
“Huh?” My body straightens involuntarily as my muscles stiffen and I do my best to pry my eyes open, only to see the construction taking place out the living room window over on the land next door.
Pancake and Waffles, my sweet cats, a couple of Himalayan brothers with creamy white fur and rust-tipped tails, give a lazy glance my way.
Toby, Noah’s golden retriever, lies at the base of the fireplace looking up at me with heavy eyes.
“Why can’t I be more like you boys?” I ask, kicking my feet up on the coffee table. “You can sleep through anything. And whose bright idea was it to move next door to a construction site? Oh, that’s right. Mine.” Never mind the fact the construction is for my dream house with Everett. At this point it’s more of a house of horrors.
“You’re doing it all wrong, Lot,” Carlotta is generous enough to point out as I sit strung out on the couch with Lyla Nell nursing contently in my arms. The television is on in the background, playing season after season of Catching up with the Kellermans on a loop. My hair has morphed into a tumbleweed, I haven’t had the luxury to shower yet, I’ve been shoveling chocolate chip cookies into my mouth nonstop for the better half of the day, and it’s only four in the morning—or is it four in the afternoon? Oh heck, I don’t think time matters anymore. And to make things more interesting than they have to be, Cluck Norris is sitting on the coffee table stealing cookies for himself, judging me with those beady little eyes of his.
“I’m doing what wrong?” I ask and suddenly regret that I took the bait.
Cluck Norris chirps, “I think the answer is everything, Lottie. Back on the farm they weren’t allowed to lounge around the house all day. There were cows to be milked, horses to be fed, and eggs to be laid. Mrs. Cottonwood had ten children, my favorite being Candace, of course. She let me run wild in her bedroom.”
I bet she did.
Hey? Maybe running wild in a bedroom is what got her killed?
“Honestly?” Evie sits on the other sofa and folds her legs underneath her while stirring the yogurt in her hand. Both Pancake and Waffles hop up on either side of her, eyeing that dairy treat in her hand. I’ve noticed they’ve been steering clear of me lately. Most likely because I smell and I have a baby bomb strapped to my chest who goes off at all hours of the day and night. “You shouldn’t have bothered to ask, Mom. At this point, I’m pretty sure the answer is everything.”
“Yuppers.” Carlotta nods as she walks into the room, cookies in hand. “And Cluck Norris agrees with you, too.”
I avert my eyes. Evie doesn’t know about the fact Carlotta and I are supersensual, but that hasn’t stopped Carlotta from introducing Evie to her “make-believe” emotional support animals.
“Are you all caught up with the Kellermans yet, Lot?” Carlotta beams a smile as if she was in on some great secret.
“Twice over,” I say. “Not that I’ve been paying attention.”
Evie scoffs. “Just the way you weren’t yesterday when you didn’t think to invite me to the studio. I can’t believe you guys got to meet the Kellermans without me. And the fact they tried to beat Carlotta with a baseball bat would have been gold for my social media accounts. A video like that could have garnered me millions of dollars.” She shakes her head at Carlotta. “It’s so cool the way people always seem to want to beat you up, Carlotta.”
“It takes talent.” Carlotta doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ve worked long and hard my whole life to get to where I am today—as evidence by this!” She plucks a piece of paper from her pocket and waves it around. “See this, Lot?” Carlotta wiggles the sheet my way. “It’s proof the Kellermans love me.”
“I don’t think love is the nexus of a restraining order, Carlotta.” And that’s exactly what that is. Everett briefed her on it, but the concept seems to elude her. It’s probably for the better.
“At least they know I’m alive,” she quips.
“Point taken,” I say. “How was school, Evie?”
“Pointless.” She shrugs. “But it’s Friday, so who cares?”
“It’s Friday?” I perk up a notch as if days of the week meant anything anymore.
“Friday!” Cluck Norris hops and expands his wings while shooting off one of his famed cock-a-doodle-don’ts. The small handful of times I happened to fall asleep, he’s let one of those airy scary screams rip. “Sorry,” he chirps. “It’s more of a biological response than anything else.”
I bite down on a smile. The fact he just used biological response in a sentence confirms to me that roosters are whip-smart birds. But as smitten as I am with him, that biological response of his has taken the sheen off just a bit. And to think I spent half my childhood begging my mother for a rooster. Thank goodness she said no. Who knew I should have been soaking in glorious sleep while I had the chance? My mother, that’s who.
“That’s right, it’s Friday, Lot.” Carlotta lands on the opposite end of the sofa with a platter of my chocolate chip cookies in hand that Keelie brought over for me this morning. I keep threatening to bake a batch myself, but I can’t seem to get one inch near the kitchen without Lyla Nell screaming at me to get back here. She prefers curling up by the fire with a nice snack, that would be me, and taking a solid nap on her favorite bed, also me.
Carlotta snorts. “Pretty soon Evie and I have to get ready to go out. We’ve still got lives, you know. We don’t have a little yippy baby weighing us down. We’re free to sleep in until noon, stay out until midnight, and wear our skinny jeans.”