Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 28-30: Cozy Mystery Addison Moore (the reading strategies book .txt) 📖

shots are accounted for and present. The Canellis, the Lazzaris—they’re all here tonight. And there are even some bigwigs here from the top New Jersey family, the Morettis.”

And all three of them just so happen to be crime families, as in the mob.

Noah and Everett exchange a dark glance. The Canellis and the Lazzaris have been feuding for years. Just last spring, Noah, Carlotta, and I got caught up in a shootout between the two of them. A bullet grazed Noah, but it wasn’t lost on me he could have been killed. These people are dangerous with a capital everything.

“And great news!” Carlotta swallows down another bite in haste. “Cat Canelli isn’t on the lam anymore.”

“Wonderful.”

Was Cat Canelli on the lam? Or was that her aunt Connie? On second thought, it was most likely both.

Carlotta swats me on the arm. “Cat got her brothers to do a big shakedown of the po-po and she’s free and clear. The doctor’s her uncle.” She gives a cheesy wink. “Come on, I’ve gotta introduce you.”

She grabs me by the hand before I can protest, and we’re off into the thick of the dance floor until we hit a pocket of mostly dark-haired women of Italian descent dressed in a variety of black and silver sequin gowns, with a pink one thrown in for good measure.

The women all have on the same matching red lipstick, same heavy rouge, and long false eyelashes as if they belonged to some cosmetics cult, but then again, everyone in here would qualify for that cult tonight, myself included.

I couldn’t help it. You can’t wear a dress like this and show up with your face as plain as a pancake, or at least I couldn’t. I’m not exactly sleeping all that well at night and my face is taking on a pasty appeal to go along with my zombie-like vegetative state. Between my bladder and my newfound belly bulge, it’s touch-and-go for the entire eight-hour stretch. I’ve got dry lips and I have dark circles and bags under my eyes big enough to fit a sofa.

I offer an amicable smile to the women before me—who oddly enough, all seem to be chewing on gum frenetically as if they were in a bubble-blowing contest. I’m not sure if they’re all Canellis. But I get the feeling they are, and that’s exactly why this whole meet and greet makes me more than a little nervous. I’d much rather be munching on one of my waffles with a little hot sauce on the side to make it sing, of course. It’s one of my new cravings. I need to have a drizzle of hot sauce on just about everything lately, and I do mean everything. It’s gotten to the point where I have a bottle with me in my purse at all times. You never know when you’re going to have to jazz up a waffle, or in this case, splash a mobster in the eye to make a quick getaway. Not that I feel as if I’m in imminent danger. Yet.

“Everyone.” Carlotta’s voice hikes up over the music as the women slow their shuffle. Carlotta holds me close. “This is the loot from my patoot!”

Good Lord.

I force a smile at the women before me. I’ve never been referenced as the loot from anyone’s patoot before, at least not to my face. I have a feeling that’s a tried-and-true description of me as far as Carlotta’s concerned. Come to think of it, she may have used the graphic intro before, but with the lack of sleep and the baby munching on my brain cells I wouldn’t know it.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Lottie Lemon,” I say to the women who all seem to be encroaching in on me, and it’s then I recognize both Caterina and Connie Canelli. They both share the same shoulder-length black hair and dark chocolate eyes. Connie has a few years on me, and Caterina—Cat—is Carlotta’s age. Actually, Cat and Carlotta were best friends in high school. I believe Cat’s nickname for Carlotta was Spider, which makes perfect sense.

Connie pats me on the back. “Last we met, I was on the run!” She beams a proud smile, and the women gathered give a congratulatory whoop. “But all’s clear. And my aunt is on the up and up again, too.” She slings her arm around the older Canelli.

Cat leans in my way. “And look at you, Lottie! You’re all knocked up. I knew there was no way that judge was shooting blanks.” She looks over her shoulder. “And in case any of you witches spot that handsome devil, it’s hands off. That’s Lottie’s milkman.”

Milkman?

She nods to the women as if she heard my inner musing. “So no slipping him your number when you think she’s not looking. Any kid of my bestie’s is a kid of mine. Consider her family.”

Family is a dicey word when it comes to the mob.

Carlotta honks out a laugh. “That’s all good and great, Cadillac. But Lot Lot doesn’t know who the daddy is. She’s got a runner-up in that category. Foxy just might be the milkman.”

Milkman in the traditional sense, I’m assuming. Please God.

The women all make an odd yodeling sound as they look at me with wonder. I’m guessing Cadillac is a new nickname for Cat.

Connie nods. “That’s right. Lottie here has got a side-piece. If I remember correctly, he’s a cop.”

A round of oohs circles our small group.

I shrug. “Technically, he’s a homicide detective.”

“So hot!” one of them cries out.

“You go get ’em, Lottie!” another shouts. “Grab ’em by the weapon and show ’em who’s boss.”

Carlotta gives a wistful tick of the head. “Don’t go encouraging her. This girl ain’t afraid of a loaded pistol, if you know what I mean.” She winks at my belly. “And watch your men around her, too. She’s irresistible to the opposite sex. I’m not sure how or why, but I suspect Lot Lot has got a double helping of them hermones. It’s a scent