Chapter 17 Lottie #2
As long as he’s not talking about bullets, I’m fine with it.
He signals to a waitress, who brings over a fresh platter of nachos that could feed a small army, quickly replacing the empty platter of nachos that the four of them already wolfed down.
Red Satin may be notorious for their girls, but they’re pretty famous for their nachos, too.
They’re loaded with enough orange goo, jalapenos, and various toppings to constitute a complete meal, and they smell surprisingly delicious for strip club food.
“I’m shocked you don’t serve Italian food,” Noah says, as he digs right in with me.
“I don’t run the kitchen,” Jimmy says. “But my grandmother did make the best baked ziti in town.”
“You should teach the kitchen staff her recipe,” Carlotta says through a mouthful of chips and cheese.
“Let me cook for you, Carlotta,” Jimmy coos her way, and it sounds an awful lot like a proposition. He wants to cook, all right, most likely in the bedroom. “What we create together will fuel memories that will follow you straight to Heaven.”
“I can get you reservations at the best restaurant in Tuscany,” Luke counters, not to be outdone. “Private dining room, seven-course tasting menu that will stay with you for eternity.”
These men sure are fixated on the afterlife. It does seem fitting, all things considered.
“Boys,” Carlotta chirps with glee. “You’re both trying so hard. It’s adorable. You know there’s more than enough of me to go around.”
Here’s hoping Mayor Nash still gets a piece of the Carlotta pie.
I shake my head at them. “So, Luke, what kind of legitimate business brought you to the family-friendly festival?”
“Import and export,” he says vaguely. “Let’s just say I have interests in various international trade operations.”
“Chocolate-related trade operations?” I ask innocently.
Luke’s expression doesn’t change, but Jimmy shifts slightly in his chair. “The Whitmores have always been good business partners,” Jimmy says carefully. “Very reliable. Always made their special deliveries right on schedule.”
Noah leans back and takes both men in. “So you’re both doing business with the Whitmores?”
Everett lifts a brow but wisely doesn’t say a word.
“What kind of special deliveries?” I ask.
Luke gives Jimmy a warning look that could stun a charging bull.
“Just regular business arrangements,” Luke says smoothly. “Nothing that would interest a baker.”
Everett groans because he knows darn well Luke just gave the wrong answer.
“You’d be surprised what can interest a baker,” I reply. “We’re very curious about supply chains and distribution networks. I’m not manufacturing flour in my bakery, you know.”
Okay, so I probably shouldn’t be doling out any sass, but I can’t help it. Luke was practically begging for it.
Both men shoot me a warning look as if I’ve gone too far.
Carlotta, meanwhile, has managed to position herself between both men and is basking in their competitive attention with the satisfaction of an ex-girlfriend who’s just discovered she’s the prize in a very dangerous game.
“Jimmy, remember that time you took me to that little Italian place in Burlington?” she coos. “The one with the private booths and the wine that costs more than the entire state of Vermont?”
“Of course,” Jimmy says with a wink, his chest puffing with pride. “I still have connections there. I could arrange something special.”
“That’s nothing,” Luke interjects. “I could fly you to Italy. First class, five-star hotels, the works. Sicily will be our playground.”
I can see this is going to spiral out of control quickly, and while it’s entertaining to watch two mobsters compete for a chocolate-covered Carlotta’s attention, I need to extract more information before someone ends up sleeping with the fishes.
“Jimmy,” I say. “You mentioned the Whitmores always made their deliveries on schedule. How often were these deliveries?”
He glances at Luke, who shakes his head almost imperceptibly.
“Regular business deliveries,” Jimmy says finally. “You know how it is with luxury chocolate operations. Timing is everything.”
Something about his tone suggests there’s more to these deliveries than premium cocoa shipments.
Before I can press further on what “business deliveries” actually means, the music shifts to a pulsing Latin beat that makes the entire club vibrate.
Carlotta gives a catcall that harmonizes with the beat. “I suddenly feel like shaking what my mama gave me!”
Before anyone can stop her, she grabs Jimmy and Luke by the hands and drags both mobsters onto the stage.
Within seconds, all three are moving to the raucous rhythm—Carlotta shimmying between them like a chocolate-covered disco ball, Jimmy spinning her with surprising grace, and Luke adding dignified swagger to the chaos.
“Should we stop this?” Noah asks, half-standing.
“Absolutely not,” Everett replies, his lips twitching. “This is the most entertainment I’ve had all week.”
The crowd erupts as the woman who birthed me dirty dances with Vermont’s most wanted.
Solving Duncan Whitmore’s murder is starting to look easy compared to preventing Carlotta from accidentally becoming Vermont’s most notorious chocolate-covered exotic dancer.
Some things are just inevitable.
Like Carlotta landing in a puddle of chocolate.
And me catching a killer.