Chapter 17 Lottie
LOTTIE
As soon as we left Evergreen Manor, we hightailed it to Red Satin Gentlemen’s Club.
Red Satin is located in Leeds, the seedy town just below Honey Hollow, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’m more than familiar with just about every dirty nook and cranny.
The gentlemen’s club is pumping tonight.
The music is loud enough to bust every eardrum from here to Maine, it’s dimly lit inside, holds the scent of cheap cologne, stale beer, and the lingering aroma of whatever passes for gourmet food in establishments where clothing is considered optional.
The air is thick with cigarette smoke that clings to everything despite Vermont’s smoking laws, and the sound of pulsing music mixed with male laughter creates an atmosphere that screams regrets in the making.
The entire place is decorated in varying shades of red—red carpet, red velvet walls, red leather chairs, and enough red lighting to make everyone look like they’ve either been hitting the bottle hard or have developed some kind of exotic rash.
Flashing spotlights sweep across the room in patterns that are threatening to give me a migraine, and prancing about on that extended runway of a stage are about a dozen half-dressed beauties.
Those girls really do work hard for the money.
I scan the dimly lit room, our chocolate-covered appearance garnering stares from patrons who probably thought they’d seen everything.
And then I spot them—Noah and Everett sitting at a corner table, both looking far too bored and just a touch angry to be sitting in the middle of all these wiggling jiggling body parts.
That alone lets me know they’re here on business.
And just as I suspected, they’ve got company.
Luke Lazzari sits across from them, and next to him is Jimmy Canelli—two men I know well from previous murder investigations that somehow always seem to involve Vermont’s surprisingly active organized crime scene.
Luke and Jimmy are supposedly warring crime bosses, but they’re sharing nachos and yucking it up together, which suggests their rivalry might be more of a professional courtesy than an actual blood feud.
“Oh my word,” I mutter. “This night just keeps getting more and more ridiculous.”
Carlotta spots our targets and squeals with delight. “Jimmy! Luke! My two favorite exes!”
“You would have favorite exes.”
“Cheer up, Lot.” She snickers. “Give it enough time, and Foxy and Sexy just might dump you. Then we’ll both have a couple of hot exes after that.”
“In your dreams,” I say. “Those men aren’t going anywhere.” I hope.
Within seconds, Meg appears next to us with the efficiency of a sister who’s perfected the art of navigating crowded spaces in heels. She’s clad in black—her own unofficial uniform—and her expression suggests she’s trying very hard not to laugh at our chocolate-covered appearance.
“Lottie?” she says, blinking at my now very black eye. “What happened to you? And why do you look like you’ve been dipped in a chocolate shake?”
“Long story short, it involves chandeliers and social climbing,” I reply. “More importantly, why are my husbands here having dinner with mobsters?”
Husbands? I didn’t mean that. Mostly. But I’m tired, injured, and one second away from licking the chocolate right off of my skin.
Meg barks out a laugh. “Your husbands have been here for over an hour talking business with Jimmy and Luke,” she says. “And they both look like they’d rather be getting root canals without anesthesia.”
Carlotta ticks her head to the side. “Good thing they’re surrounded by boobs. Lot here knows how much that calms them down.”
“Do I ever,” I mutter.
We stride over to their table, and I’ve got a look on my face that suggests I’m about to demand explanations for a lot of questionable life choices.
Noah spots me first, and his face goes through a series of expressions that would make a mime jealous—surprise, horror, guilt, and what might be relief.
“Lemon,” Everett says, as both he and Noah stand up so fast they nearly knock over their chairs. “What happened to your eye? And why are you covered in chocolate?”
“I’m with Carlotta,” I say. “That should say it all. More importantly, what are you two doing here?”
“We needed to talk to Luke and tracked him down here,” Noah explains, gesturing toward the mobster in question.
Jimmy actually owns the place, but Luke is a frequent flyer.
Luke Lazzari looks exactly like what central casting would order for an intimidating but well-dressed criminal—expensive suit, perfectly groomed hair, and an almost supernatural awareness of his surroundings, which doesn’t bode so well for his enemies.
He’s bald, has gray eyes, and a pointed chin that could serve as a weapon and most likely has.
But he’s also someone who’s helped my family out of more than one dangerous situation, which makes him more friend than foe in my book.
Jimmy Canelli, on the other hand, looks like he stepped out of a movie about charming criminals who steal hearts along with everything else.
He’s got salt-and-pepper hair, laugh lines around his large, deep-set eyes, and the kind of smile that probably convinced dozens of women to make very poor dating decisions.
He’s also been surprisingly helpful during past investigations, even if his methods are somewhat unconventional.
“You all look comfortable,” I say, gesturing to their shared nachos and casual demeanor.
“We were just discussing business,” Noah explains while squinting in the dim light to get a better look at my eye. With the pulsating music and the swirling lights, it might look better than it feels.
“Lottie!” Jimmy calls out, standing to embrace me despite my chocolate-covered state. “Always a pleasure, even when you look like you’ve been wrestling with a dessert cart.”
“And losing,” Luke adds with a grin, also standing to greet me. “That’s quite the shiner you’ve got there. Occupational hazard of solving murders?”
“Something like that,” I reply, because these two know exactly what my life entails when it comes to finding dead bodies and asking inconvenient questions.
My sister reappears with a bag of ice, and both Noah and Everett help me into a chair as I settle the frozen goodness over half my face.
Carlotta belts out a laugh as she pulls both Jimmy and Luke into a quick hug. “Jimmy Canelli! You gorgeous devil! And Luke Lazzari! Still looking like trouble in an expensive suit!”
“Carlotta.” Jimmy laughs. “You look absolutely stunning. Chocolate becomes you.”
“She was always the most beautiful woman in Vermont,” Luke adds, not to be outdone in the charm department. “Still is.”
“Boys, boys,” Carlotta purrs, clearly enjoying every second of having two dangerous men competing for her attention. “There’s no need to pull out your weapons and duel to the death. I’ve got enough love for both of you.”
“She’s dating Mayor Nash,” I’m quick to rat her out. “So what’s going on here?”
“Actually,” Noah interjects, “we were just discussing the Whitmore case.”
“Jolene Johnson paid us a visit earlier today.” Everett frowns as he says it.
“Oh wow,” I say, pulling the bag of ice off my face momentarily. “How did that go?”
Noah shakes his head as if he witnessed something that challenged his understanding of human behavior. “She showed up at Everett’s office wearing what I can only describe as a pink sports bra and matching pants that appeared to be painted on. I was there when it happened.”
“Don’t forget the spreadsheet,” Everett adds dryly.
“Spreadsheet?” I ask.
Noah sighs. “She had a detailed rotation schedule worked out,” he explains. “Color-coded. With optimal timing calculations and what she called ‘efficiency metrics.’”
“She wanted to implement a point system,” Everett continues with obvious horror. “Based on performance evaluations.”
I stare at them both. “Performance evaluations? You mean—”
“Not that.” Noah shakes his head. “It’s for genetic contribution quality,” he replies with a flat tone as if he’s given up trying to make sense of the world.
“She also offered to provide costumes,” Everett adds. “Apparently, she has very specific fantasies involving judicial robes and handcuffs.”
A groan evicts from me. “I’m going to need therapy after this conversation.”
“You and me both,” Noah mutters. “She’s also persistent. Very persistent. Prior to that, she called my office six times today asking about scheduling availability.”
Jimmy clears his throat with a look of amusement on his face. “Excuse me, but are you discussing some kind of breeding program?”
“It’s complicated,” Everett replies, which seems to be our family’s standard response to everything these days.
“Most family planning is,” Luke points out with what might be genuine sympathy. “But if the woman insists, I’ve got a few nephews with a little too much time on their hands and not enough offspring.”
“Duly noted,” I tell him. “Anyway,” I say, shifting in my chair, “since we’re all here, maybe someone can explain why Luke was at the festival last Sunday, where Duncan Whitmore ended up dead.” I shoot Luke a look, and he averts his eyes.
The mood at the table immediately shifts to something more serious, though Carlotta continues shaking her boobs at both mobsters with the dedication of an ex-girlfriend who’s forgotten that these men could probably make people disappear without breaking a sweat.
“I was there on business,” Luke says with a wink. “Legitimate business.”
The music picks up around us, the lights turn pink, then blue, then a garish shade of red before a whole new crop of topless girls bounce onto the stage.
“What kind of business?” I press before I lose every man’s attention at this table.
“The kind that requires discretion,” he replies, which is basically mobster code for mind your own business.
“You ladies look hungry,” Jimmy says, and he seems more inclined to talk. “Let’s get something to fill your bellies.”