“Pizza.” I shrug. I spent the last five minutes sharing my idea of jazzing up the menu to both Thea and Opal.
Thea squints over at me as if she’s never heard of the round cheesy sensation before. Her red hair is up in pigtails, and that dusting of freckles is highlighting across the bridge of her nose with a slight sunburn. It’s so hot out she could have garnered that burn simply walking to the manor from her car.
“I don’t know.” Thea shakes her head. “Don’t you need a brick oven to make those?”
“Now we’re talking,” I say. “We should renovate the kitchen and put one in.”
Flo walks by with a tray full of dirty dishes, her hair sitting on top of her head in a jumble like a black mop. She’s clad in black with a collar made of spikes, and that black lipstick she’s wearing screams future doomsday cult member—or better yet, it screams present day coven leader.
“You don’t need a brick oven,” she says. “Just pop a frozen disk into the toaster oven and be done with it. That’s what I do.” She pauses a moment. “You might want to have a fire extinguisher handy.”
“Now there you go.” Opal snaps her fingers after her as Flo disappears into the kitchen. “Flo has always been the reasonable one. When Regina wanted to invest in a waffle iron, it was Flo who suggested we buy out the frozen section at the market. And look where our breakfast menu is today.” In general, Opal over annunciates every other word when she speaks, so in a strange way she’s made that entire waffle-based speech sound like something right out of Broadway.
I cock my head at her. “Do you really want me to tell you where the breakfast menu is today?” I go to pet the tiny kitten in her arms and Opal twists her body away abruptly.
“No,” she flatlines.
“No what?” My voice hikes a notch. “No pizza?” That right there might be the deal breaker regarding whether or not I spend the rest of my life on the run.
“No cat-napping Princess. She’s a part of my private reserve.”
“Pfft.” Thea swallows down a laugh. “You’ve said that about all forty-six cats roaming the grounds.”
Opal rolls her eyes. “I do not have forty-six cats roaming the grounds.”
“You’re right.” Thea slings a dishcloth over her shoulder. “That just happens to be the number I was at when I stopped counting.” She smiles my way. “Good luck with the pizza,” she says as she helps seat a small crowd that just wandered in through the door.
Opal sighs over at me. “Okay, fine. Have your pizza. Just no brick oven until you come up with a way to make us a little more cash.”
“I’m on it.” I’m about to extrapolate my latest scheme involving a walk-up window that serves cold drinks and donuts when a far too handsome writer strides up holding an empty mug in his hands.
He blinks a dry smile my way, and no sooner does it crest his stubborn lips than it dissipates to nothing.
“What’s a guy got to do around here to get a refill?”
I scowl over at him. “Who filled your cup to begin with? I’ll have her fired on the spot.”
“What’s this?” Opal chortles as she pulls Princess close to her cheek. “A lover’s spat so soon?” She shimmies her shoulders at us.
“Bowie?” Shep’s face brightens with a touch of amusement. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, don’t you play coy with me,” I hiss. “You’re parading that woman around as if you couldn’t wait to get her back to that Lincoln Log love shack of yours. And to think I agreed to a faux engagement. You’re making a fool out of me and you don’t even care. It’s as if you’ve forgotten all about us.” I just threw in that last sentence in hopes to make him feel bad.
Opal sucks in a breath so hard and fast, I wouldn’t be surprised to see a kitten’s tail dangling from one of her nostrils.
“Shepherd,” she says his name like an admonishment. “How dare you play the role of a cad.” She cranes her neck to the table where he was sitting and frowns once she spots Hilary primping into her compact mirror. “I expected more out of you. And Hilary Campbell?” Opal groans when she says her name. “If you’re going to stray, there’s a better caliber of women to do it with.”
“Opal”—I lean in—“do you know Hilary?”
“I used to lunch with her mother. New money.” She averts her eyes. “Rumor has it, they burned right through it and they’re right back to living million to million.”
I make a face. “So she’s still on easy street.” I despise people on easy street. Always have, always will. Okay, so despise is harsh, but I seem to have a natural aversion.
“Heavens no.” Opal waves it off and nearly sends poor Princess flying across the café. “Her mother made it clear the children were cut off as soon as they turned twenty-five. I’m afraid she’s had a rough go of it these last few years.” She wrinkles her nose. “If she asks for free coffee, have Mud evict her. We can’t start with panhandlers. Once you feed them, you never get rid of them.” She drops a kiss to the sweet cat’s forehead before taking off to spread her socialite glory to the rest of the establishment.
“What do you want?” I take a moment to glare at my philandering fiancé.
“Coffee,” he says with an indignant air about him.
I’m about to deny him his caffeinated rights when Tilly staggers in looking as if she just
