A Dreadful Meow-ment (MEOW FOR MURDER Book 2), стр. 27

Chapter 11

“One word”—I say as I look into Opal Mortimer’s heavily outlined eyes—“lasagna.”

“Lasagna?” Opal drags the word out as if she were singing a lullaby. She bows her head and lands a kiss to the ornery pink Scottish Fold in her arms. Pixie is an adorable, typically white with pale gray stripes, kitten who had the misfortune to be seated near a rambunctious four-year-old out in the foyer when the toddler dumped fruit punch over the unsuspecting feline. Fortunately for Pixie, pink is a good look on her, and the other cats have been eyeing her as if they, too, were interested in this new edgy look.

Mud gives the back of his head a scratch. “I give. What is it?”

My mouth falls open as I look to the friendly, albeit a tad bit scruffy, man.

“Mud, you mean your taste buds haven’t had the pleasure of indulging in one of Italy’s greatest gifts to the world?”

Flo grunts, “I thought pizza was Italy’s greatest gift to the world.”

Thea shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure it’s the pope.”

Tilly squints as she lifts a finger. “I’m pretty sure it’s the Italian men’s soccer team.”

Thea and Flo are quick to agree.

It’s the middle of the afternoon and the Manor Café has slowed to a crawl, so I thought I’d throw an impromptu employee meeting.

“Well? What do you think?” I ask with a touch too much enthusiasm.

Flo yawns as she adjusts the giant safety pin holding her skirt together as though she’s not all that interested in the menu changes at hand—and I’m betting she isn’t. But she should be. The inevitable boost in tips alone that my Nana Rose’s lasagna recipe is capable of sponsoring will be nothing short of Italian gold. Not that I have Nana Rose’s recipe on paper—a minor detail. But I’ve helped her make it a hundred times. If I can just dust off my memory, we’ll be in like sin.

“It’s delicious,” I say. “And I know you’ll love it. I just need to hone the recipe. Everyone knows at the heart of just about every Italian dish is a great sauce, so I’ll start there. I’m planning on heading to the restaurant supply store, and I’ll pick up all the ingredients I’ll need.”

Tilly wrinkles her nose. “Count me out of the food run, but if you’re headed anywhere where I might be able to pick up a date, I’ve got a pair of heels and a little black dress in my trunk. I call it my Bowie bug out kit.”

“I like the sound of that.” I hold a hand up her way and she slaps me five.

“If you like that, you’re going to love the name I’ve thought up for our little faux detective agency. Ready for it? The Sexy Snoops. I’ve got a tagline all worked out for it, too. If you’ve got the crime, we’ve got the time.”

“Love it,” I say. Too bad I’ve already done the crime and have no intention on doing the time.

A small crowd moves in and Thea, Flo, and Mud take off in three different directions.

“So what do you think, Opal? If it works out, we can add it to the lunch and dinner menu.” I ask, secretly hoping for her seal of approval. I’m not sure why I need it. She’s all but given me the reins to this place, but a part of me wants the grand dame of Mortimer Manor to be more than pleased with the new menu items I’ll be adding. Heck, I want her to love them.

She tosses a hand in the air and her silver-hued fingernails glimmer like stars.

“Oh, what the heck. But if you’re going to jazz up the lunch and dinner menus, you might as well wake up the breakfast menu, as well. No reason to make it feel unloved. Try something with truffles.” She strokes the pink kitty in her arms. “Oh, and champagne. Lots and lots of champagne.”

I’d hate to break it to Opal, but the people looking to start the day off with truffles and champagne aren’t headed to the Manor Café for an early morning pick-me-up.

The door swings open and I can’t help but scowl at the malfeasance making her way over.

Regina Valentine strides on in as if she owns the place, and immediately I’m filled with regret about my decision to hire her. Surely there was a void she could have filled somewhere else in Starry Falls. The library? A scientific research lab on the outskirts of town that tests the effects of toxins injected straight into the heart? The morgue? Seeing that Regina has glaring control issues, a facility where a majority of the people she’s working with are in a state of eternal silence might bode well for her.

Okay, so that all sounded a bit harsh, but I don’t need to consult the psychic in me to realize this woman is up to no good, and she’s aiming all of her no good efforts my way.

I’m just about to hand her an apron when a handsome thriller writer steps in behind her.

Shepherd Wexler is dressed rather unassumingly today in a T-shirt and jeans—two things I didn’t think existed in his wardrobe. But it’s the adorable black cat with a cinnamon-colored tail tucked in his arms that makes me coo.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in.” I reach over and give the frisky feline a quick scratch on the head. Her left eye is sealed shut, but her right eye glows as yellow as the sun. “Why is she winking at me?”

“He’s not.” Shep gives the sweet thing a gentle pat over the back. “This is Lucky. He’s missing an eye.”

Regina grunts over at the sweet beast, “I was there the day he lost it.” She purrs up at Shep, “If memory serves correct, it was the day I lost something to you.” She bites down seductively on her lower lip.

“Ew.” I shove an apron her way. “Table six needs a refill on everything,” I