Meg gives a bored blink. “Follow me, Judge Baxter.” She turns toward the crowd before her. “Dead man walking,” she shouts, and the crowd parts before her.
“Just a second,” I say, pulling Lemon into my arms. “Hang out here with Noah and Carlotta.”
“No,” she doesn’t hesitate to protest. “I can talk some sense into him.”
Carlotta steps in. “I’m the one you’re gonna need on your team, Sexy. Let’s face it. One look at what I got, and I’ll have Jimmy Canelli sending you home in a limo.”
“Try a hearse,” Noah doesn’t mix words. Not that he’s wrong. “I’m coming with you.”
“None of you are coming with me. Noah, buy Lemon something to drink. I’ll be fine.”
Meg leads the way, and we land at a table not too far from the stage where Jimmy himself is seated with a crowd of girls swarming him, wearing nothing but thongs and pasties.
No sooner do I take a seat than that harem of his takes note, and each one of them stops in their tracks as they sigh in my direction.
“Girls.” Jimmy snaps his fingers, and the women disperse like birds.
Jimmy Canelli has a thick head of silver hair, a well-fitted suit, and the smile you might give a dying man.
And to think, without the Canelli factor, tonight was shaping up to be darn right perfect. I will forever cherish Evie’s heartwarming words. And equally so, Lemon’s. We should be out together as a family, celebrating the wonderful jobs they did pouring their hearts out to a room full of strangers. Instead, I’m here about to have a new one ripped to me by a mob boss. I don’t remember my life being so filled with drama and trauma. I’d like to think it could only go up from here, but seeing the trajectory of the past few years, I’m not so sure.
“Judge Baxter.” He nods as he stares me down with those serious eyes. “Here we are, face-to-face. And you know who’s not here? My niece, Florenza Angel Face Canelli, God rest her soul. And if it weren’t for a ditch digging golden retriever, she wouldn’t be in a proper grave neither.” He sniffs hard. “How’s freedom suiting you?”
“I like the air out here.”
He chuckles, that intense stare of his never leaving mine.
“So why’d you do it?” His shoulders jerk. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a necromancer.”
“I’m not.”
“Again”—he rests his elbow on the table and leans in hard—“why’d you have to yank my niece out of the morgue? What did she ever do to you? Did the kid deserve to be tossed in a ditch? Where’s the justice in that?”
“There isn’t any.” I take a deep breath. “I’m afraid I don’t have any answers you want to hear.”
He continues with that dead stare. “So you did it.” He nods. “You realize now that you admitted it to my face, you’ve started a death train not even I can put a stop to.”
“He’s innocent!” Carlotta wails as she lands next to him in a heap. And within a hot second, both Lemon and Noah are ensconcing me on either side.
“I did it, Jimmy,” Carlotta confesses. “I had to do it. Flo’s ghost came back from the great beyond and made me. She wouldn’t let me get a wink of rest until I yanked her body from that filing cabinet they had her in, and then I buried her in Foxy’s backyard.”
“Good grief.” Lemon sinks in her seat a notch, and I’m tempted to do the same.
Jimmy pulls back to get a better look at the woman by his side, and judging by that look on his face, he’s convinced she’s nuts.
“First, you choose Luke over me and now this, Cadillac?”
Noah leans in a notch toward Lemon. “What’s with Cadillac?”
Lemon shakes her head. “It’s Carlotta’s mob nickname.” She gives a measured blink. “You don’t want to know.”
Carlotta gags and sputters. “Luke Lazzari took me to a back alley and plied me with cheap whiskey. What did you ever do for me other than tell me I had the face of an angel and eyes you could see our happily ever after in? You treated me like a kitten. That man treated me like a junkyard dog, rough and rowdy, tossing me a bottle of the good stuff when I sat up and begged. All you ever gave me were diamonds, fancy dinners, and the promise of a beachfront vacation home in Sicily.”
“Carlotta.” Lemon presses her hand to her chest. “It sounds as if Jimmy was treating you like a princess!”
Carlotta scoffs. “You say princess, I say prostitute. We all know what you wanted, Jimmy.”
The mobster straightens. “You were giving it to Lazzari for free.”
“Because he was honest,” Carlotta hisses, and I have feeling she’s not going to do a lot to help my case.
Noah groans as he thumps his fingers over the table. “Jimmy, between you, me, and the wind, Judge Baxter here wasn’t to blame.”
“It was me,” Lemon blurts the words out before Noah or I can protest. “It was all my idea. You see”—she winces—“I guess you could say I had a sneaking suspicion that Florenza wasn’t going to be so hot in the casket they were trying to push off on her, or the hairstyle, or the dress they were planning.”
“Who’s they?” Jimmy tips his head to the side, suddenly interested in the nuts and bolts of this nutty conversation—even if it is the truth.
Carlotta waves Lemon off. “Don’t listen to my Lot Lot. She’s got a baby munching on her brain. She’s getting all the facts mixed up. Angel Face’s ghost was talking to me about how she couldn’t stand the thought of being shoved into a cheap, gaudy casket. She wanted something
