Oddly enough, it was Luke Lazzari who helped bring her home to us, though we don’t discuss the details of that particular family rescue mission. It involved a strip club, the mob, and lots of pizza to cope with the aftermath.
“Oh, speaking of Luke,” I say, blinking as I make an unexpected connection. “Sorry, I sort of fell down a rabbit hole in my brain for a minute there.”
“Happens to the best of us, Lot,” Carlotta chirps. “Though some of us live in those rabbit holes permanently. They’re quite cozy once you get used to the décor. I’ve decorated mine with whips and chains.”
She would.
“As I was saying,” I continue, “I saw Luke on Sunday at the Hop ’Til You Drop Easter Festival.”
Noah inches back, and I can tell he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next. “Luke Lazzari? You mean he turned out for what should have been a wholesome family event?”
Everett shakes his head. “A day that ended in murder, no less. Holiday festivals aren’t necessarily his style, but murder definitely is.”
“Don’t even think about it, Lot.” Noah holds up a warning hand. “As pleasant as some of our interactions with Luke have been, he’s still a mobster. I’ll handle this one.”
I frown over at him because I hate being told what I can and cannot investigate. “The guy was stabbed, though. That’s not exactly Luke’s style. He’s more of an I’ve-got-a-bullet-with-your-name-on-it kind of guy.”
Everett looks at Noah, and for a second, they both seem to beconsidering all the angles. “She’s right. Was there more than one cause of death?”
Noah frowns with the exasperation of a man who’s trying to keep his family out of mob-related trouble. “Everett, the guy had a blade running through his heart. Isn’t that enough?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” I say, “it does seem like overkill to stab someone AND shoot them. That’s just showing off.”
“Well, I’ll be darned if I’m missing out on the Lazzari rodeo,” Carlotta sniffs just as Lenny traipses in front of her with Lyla Nell spurring him on with her heels. “And I’m not missing out on this rodeo either,” she declares, deciding that Lyla Nell is having too much fun without her. Carlotta has never met a party she couldn’t crash. “Room for one more, handsome?” she asks, somehow managing to land herself behind Lyla Nell.
And suddenly both Carlotta and Lyla Nell are riding an invisible lion around the living room, hooting and hollering with the enthusiasm of two people who’ve discovered the world’s most unconventional amusement park ride.
I watch them circle the coffee table for the third time and decide this is exactly why I don’t host book clubs.
But if my life keeps moving in the trajectory it is, I might start hosting a murder club.
NOAH
Tuesday morning at the Honey Hollow Police Department smells like stale coffee, old files, and the lingering sweetness of glazed donuts from Lottie’s bakery.
My desk looks like a paperwork explosion took place—case files spread across every available surface, witness statements stacked in precarious towers, and enough yellow legal pads to supply a small law firm.
I lean back in my chair and take a bite of one of Lottie’s Easter bunny cupcakes, the coconut and vanilla filling reminding me of exactly why I’ve been finding excuses to drop by the bakery every morning for the past few years. The woman can work magic with sugar and flour, not to mention what she does to my blood pressure just by smiling at me.
The smile fades when Everett’s coffee mug comes into view on my desk—a reminder that my once-removed stepbrother married the woman I’m still crazy about, and somehow, we’re all supposed to pretend this is a perfectly normal arrangement. Most days I can handle it. Most days I can be the supportive friend and uncle figure and pretend I don’t think about what might have been.
Today isn’t one of those days.
I shake my head and force myself to focus on the case files. And yet Everett’s comment about multiple causes of death keeps gnawing at me.
Why would he think that? I know he was teasing, but still. He said it. Truthfully, it hadn’t crossed my mind, but it probably should have. I’ve seen it all, twice already. Something like that isn’t all that far-fetched.
The guy had a knife through his heart—it seems pretty cut and dry to me. But Everett doesn’t say things like that without reason. His legal mind sees patterns and possibilities that most people miss. People like me.
I pick up the file and leaf through it. Duncan Whitmore. Chocolate empire heir. Stabbed with an antique pearl-handled knife that belonged to Lottie’s grandmother. Found at the Hop ’Til You Drop Easter Festival, surrounded by hundreds of potential witnesses, and yet nobody saw anything useful.
The door to my office swings open without a knock, which means it’s either someone fleeing from Carlotta or?—
“Fox.” Detective Ivy Fairbanks strides in with confidence as if she owns whatever room she enters. Her red hair is pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, and she’s got that look in her eyes that means she’s about to make my day more complicated.
“Ivy,” I acknowledge, not bothering to stand. “What can I do for you?”
She settles into the chair across from my desk and crosses her arms. “I want an update on the Whitmore investigation.”
