“Aggressive?” I offer.
“I was going to say traumatic.”
“The blonde touched my tie,” Noah says, sounding personally offended.
I wrinkle my nose. “The redhead asked Everett if he wanted to explore boundaries.”
“And a human wall of cologne tried to negotiate spectator rights,” Everett finishes.
We all go quiet for a second.
“I had three offers,” Carlotta grouses. “I could’ve had four if you people hadn’t ruined my night. Just so we’re all clear on who the real victim is here.”
“Noted,” I mutter. “I’m just glad we escaped.”
“I didn’t escape,” Carlotta is quick to inform me. “I was forcibly removed. There’s a difference, and I’m filing a complaint.”
Percy materializes between us, feathers ruffled. “I’ve seen many things in my spectral existence, Lottie Lemon. That was in the top five most disturbing things.”
“Only top five?” I ask.
“Death provides perspective.”
“A Jell-O mold with eyeballs was number one,” he says, shuddering as silver stars dart from his wings. “That party just claimed the number two spot.”
I so get that whole eyeballs thing.
The elevator dings. We spill out into the parking lot, and I’ve never been so happy to see sketchy pavement, flickering streetlights, and the comforting smell of car exhaust.
We pile into Everett’s sedan in silence. Nobody speaks for a full minute.
“Pizza?” Noah says.
“Yes, please,” I all but beg.
“Mangias it is,” Everett agrees, starting the engine.
As we pull out of the parking lot, leaving Leeds behind, one thing is clear, someone in the Daughters of Honey Hollow hadmotive, opportunity, and a secret worth killing for. Somewhere behind those perfect smiles, those poodle skirts and pearls, there’s a killer who thinks she got away with murder.
She’s dead wrong.
Now we just have to figure out who.
Right after pizza.
LOTTIE
Suffice it to say, pizza was the only thing that could possibly make this night better after the key party nightmare that thankfully never fully unfolded, or undressed. We’re sitting in Mangias Italian Restaurant at eight-thirty at night, and I’ve never been more grateful for cheesy carbs in my entire life.
Carlotta would have joined us, but she got so worked up at the key party, so thoroughly revved up by the attention of three men and the general atmosphere of debauchery, that she texted Mayor Nash and told him she wasin a stateand needed him tohandle it immediately.She left Mangias ten minutes ago in a cloud of perfume and innuendo, cackling about how that key party was the best foreplay she’d had in years.
Mangias happens to be Honey Hollow’s premier Italian restaurant and one of our favorite haunts. The tables, floors, and exposed beams across the ceiling are all stained the color of chocolate, and every table is strewn with red-and-white checkered tablecloths that look as if they’ve been here since the restaurant opened forty years ago.
Sinatra croons “Fly Me to the Moon” through corner speakers,competing with the din of families, couples, and a birthday party in the back. The scent of garlic and tomato sauce hypnotically permeates the place, and that would explain why it’s packed to the hilt.
And the pizza.
The best pizza on the planet is currently getting shoved directly into my pie hole, and I’m not even sorry about it.
