A Purr-fect Storm Cozy Mystery - Addison Moore Page 0,1

that whole wanted dead or alive thing.

My name isn’t Bowie Binx—at least my given name at birth was nowhere near that playful moniker. My name is Stella Santini, or it was, until I ticked off both the feds and the mob. I’ve got long black hair, light brown eyes, stand at an average height of five-foot-five, and I can see the future. Ditto for my sister, sans the wanted by anyone who totes a gun for a living. But, seeing how she has a penchant for following in my footsteps, I’m sure a target will appear on her back soon enough.

And the part about peeking into the future is true for the both of us, too. I’ve seen more than my fair share of glimpses into tomorrow, and believe me when I say they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.

I once thought if I played my prognosticating cards right I would end up hitting it big at the track, or playing the part of hero at the helm of great catastrophe. Instead, I’ve prognosticated myself into a pickle that indeed involves both the feds and the mob. In short, I’ve become my own great catastrophe.

Stephanie and I are originally from New Jersey where my nitwit ex-boyfriend, Johnny Rizzo, coerced me into stealing from one of the biggest crime families this side of the old country, the Morettis. They had us laundering money at a donut place they owned. I ate as many carbs as I stole dirty dollars.

As fate would have it, the Morettis were stealing those exact same funds from the feds. And in an irony only my luck could fashion, it was my veracious purchasing power that tipped the feds off.

At the end of the day, the feds want me behind bars and the Morettis want me fitted with a pair of concrete stilettos.

I’ve been on the lam ever since. And since Steph has a knack for adventures—or more to the point misadventures, and perhaps less than the necessary amount of brain cells required for self-preservation, she followed me out to Vermont and that’s how we both came to live in the quaint little town of Starry Falls. I showed up last spring, and Stephanie came licking at my heels shortly thereafter.

“Speaking of wanted dead or alive.” I lift a brow her way. “Any sign of you know who?”

Last month, a couple of wannabe mobsters—the sons of real deal mobsters from down south in Leeds—injected themselves into our lives. And on Christmas Eve, they gave us the ultimate unwanted gift—they let us in on the fact they knew exactly who we were.

In a nutshell our covers are blown, and if those two morons start spreading the news, I might just spread myself over the top of a Greyhound bus and let it take me wherever it wants.

Domenico Canelli and Enzo Lazzari are a couple of best friends gone rogue. Their fathers hail from feuding families that rule the dicey roost down in Leeds, and the young guns—cute as they may be—are looking to make a name for themselves just north of us in Scooter Springs.

Suffice it to say, Stephanie and I have been walking on eggshells ever since they dropped the bomb on us. We’re not entirely sure what they’re going to want in exchange to keep our little secret, but I’m guessing it has to do with a pound of flesh. And while my sister might be willing to put out for the cause, I’m not feeling so generous. I’ll admit that thoughts of leaving Starry Falls have entered my mind. But I’ve got roots here and a hot boyfriend. I don’t want to leave.

Have I mentioned the hot boyfriend?

“Don’t worry, Bowie.” Stephanie snaps up a couple of cookies for herself. “I’ve already decided what we’ll do once we see those hunky jerks.”

“What’s that?”

“Never mind. We’ll discuss the dirty details later.” She wrinkles her nose as she looks to something behind me. “Tall, dark, and sexy beast coming in hot at six o’clock.”

I turn to find not only that tall, dark, and sexy beast, but flanked on either side of him are Opal, the woman who owns the manor which employs me, and Tilly Teasdale, my Starry Falls-issued BFF.

“Shepherd Wexler,” I purr like a kitten and watch as his lips curl just enough. “You’re looking like a lean, mean, fighting machine. I bet you’re itching to get in that ring and war it out with the entire Las Vegas women’s wrestling circuit.”

A dark chuckle strums from