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“So much for keeping things civil.” I tug at my lapels as I shake off the encounter.
Noah’s phone buzzes, and he fishes it out, groaning as he looks at the screen.
“Looks like that bust is about to go down—and just my luck, it’s all hands on deck.” He thumps the weapon at his hip before frowning at his phone. “It looks as if it’s pretty close to Rizzo’s. Why don’t you head over and keep an eye on Lot for me?”
“I’ll do it for me,” I say as we speed for the door. “Be careful, Noah. Don’t go playing the part of the hero and getting your head blown off. The family needs you.” I give him a quick pat on the back.
“Thanks, man,” he says, patting me right back. “Don’t get excited. I don’t plan on making an early exit.”
We split ways and, sure enough, we seem to be heading in the same direction, right toward Rizzo’s.
I knew the minute Carlotta procured that place it would be nothing but trouble—not because of the four walls holding it up, the food, or even the clientele. It’s the sheer fact it sits in the middle of this crotch known as Leeds.
And on a night like tonight, when bullets are about to fly, I want to shield myself around both Lemon and Carlotta to keep them safe.
Heck, I’d do it for Noah, too.
I smell danger in the air and something tells me it’s aiming for all of us and there’s not a thing I can do about it.
Here’s hoping I’m wrong.
Yet I seldom am.
LOTTIE
“This heat is murder on my hair,” I say to both Charlie and Carlotta as I dash into Rizzo’s Trattoria, and the heavenly scent of garlic and slow-roasted tomatoes hits my senses. “I look like a poodle in desperate need of a trip to the groomers.”
Carlotta chuffs as she rakes her fingers through her own fuzzy mane. And Charlie has one to match.
“It would figure you’d compare yourself to a snooty pooch like that.” Carlotta makes a face at Charlie. “Didn’t I tell you, she’s forever putting on airs?”
Charlie catches her reflection in one of the oversized mirrors on the wall and frowns. “We look like a trio of alpacas.”
Believe me, I’m frowning, too.
Not only do our faces and furry manes look alike, but we’re essentially dressed like triplets in our matching dark pencil skirts, white peasant blouses, shiny gold nametags, and green frilly aprons—the uniform we’ve deemed worthy of this place.
Newsflash: white blouses and marinara sauce are not friends in any capacity.
Carlotta lifts her chin. “Are alpacas trampy animals? Asking for a friend.”
“Only the one that looks like you,” Charlie tells her. “Speaking of trampy, I’m missing out on some serious f-u-n with my new boyfriend. Max doesn’t understand why I have to provide the cooking staff for both the Honey Pot and Rizzo’s. And I don’t understand either. How much longer is this torment going to last, Lottie? Not only is my staff stretched to capacity, but so is my sanity.”
“Believe me, you’re not the only one who wants this torment to end,” I say as I look around at the bustling establishment filled once again with both the living and the dead. It turns out, Charlie’s cooking is every bit as good, if not better, than that elite chef the last manager of this place hired. “Evie has had about enough of watching Lyla Nell for me. I can’t blame her. These are the dregs of her senior year.”
“I’ve had about enough of Little Yippy myself,” Carlotta snips. “That’s two people in the house who want her gone. Is that enough to vote her off the island?”
“I’m going to vote you and that crazy wreath of mourning off the island in a minute,” I snip right back. “You should be appreciative of all the sacrifices Charlie and I are making for you. She’s missing out on time with her shiny new boyfriend, and I’m missing out on time with my daughters. As soon as I can, I’ll get Redwood Realty to list the disaster.”
“Redwood Realty?” Carlotta balks. “Isn’t that place run by Meg’s old boyfriend, Hook? Don’t you know anything, Lot? The guy has a vendetta against your sister. He’ll probably rob us blind.”
“Are you kidding?” I shake my head. “Hook is still madly in love with Meg. In fact, he’s been sniffing around asking questions about her personal life.”
“Sounds like a stalker,” Charlie says. “And I’m not interested in giving the stalker a second of my time. What’s the holdup in selling this place, Lot? Even Carlotta wants to get out of it.”
“That’s right,” Carlotta says. “Cha Cha filled me in on the fact once I collect a big fat check from the sale, I’ll be able to retire to the Caribbean and drink mojitos all day long on the beach.”
“You promise?” I ask, brimming with hope just as a spray of tiny blue stars appears between the three of us and out of the blue an adorable foot-long dachshund materializes in all of its amber glory.
