A Purr-fect Storm Cozy Mystery - Addison Moore Page 0,2

him.

Shep is six feet of deliciousness, has blue eyes rimmed in navy, a shock of wavy dark hair, and a dark smile to match.

Have I mentioned his rock-hard body? Ferrari couldn’t have built a better man or machine. And I’ve been around Shep long enough to know he’s a little of both.

His eyes drip with lust. “Kitten, the only woman I’m looking to oil up and wrestle with is you.”

Both Stephanie and Tilly break out into sighs.

“Hey, Bowie Binx.” Tilly thumps her hip to mine. Tilly is about my age, close to thirty, has dark hair with chunky blonde highlights, is a touch shorter than me, and a touch more man-hungry. And she just so happens to be a mom to a feisty sixteen-year-old girl named Jessie, her doppelgänger in every way, including the man-hungry department. “Find me a slice of beefcake who looks like Shep and says all the right oily things. I’m sick of being single.”

Case in point to that whole man-hungry thing. Although Shep is one man I won’t help her take a bite out of.

“Valentine’s Day is just around the corner,” I tell her. “I bet every dating app from here to Mars will have a snag-your-man two-for-one special coming up soon.”

Opal holds up a gloved finger adorned with enough baubles to outfit a jewelers. Opal Mortimer is somewhere in her eighties and not only owns the Mortimer Manor, but it just so happens to be the only real estate possession left in her cache. She’s as eccentric as she is bejeweled, as evidenced by that red damask gown she’s donned, black army boots—because Vermont is a magnet for snow, and slipping at her age could prove fatal—and her neck happens to be adorned with thick, chunky jewels comprised of rubies and diamonds and smaller colorful stones I can’t quite identify.

“I just had a thought,” she trills in that strange accent that only those of a certain tax bracket can attain. “Why don’t we host a Valentine’s Day singles mingle right there at the Manor?” Her bright red lips round out at the thought. Opal has the face of a Kewpie doll that might have seen better days but hasn’t given up on the dream of having more. She wears copious amounts of dark kohl around her eyes, and always looks as if she’s spiffy enough to head to senior prom. Take the word senior anyway you want. “We can call it the Scorching Soiree or something equally as tantalizing.” She wiggles her fingers and winks. “Lola, you and Tilly alert the masses and make sure everyone has a good time. Bowie, you’ll tidy up at the manor and make sure to put together a few pupu platters for the big day.”

“Hey?” I balk. “Why do Lola and Tilly get to have all the fun while I’m left cleaning the soot from the fireplace?”

“Ooh!” The whites of Opal’s eyes flash. “Add that to the list.”

Both she and Tilly help themselves to my Nana Rose’s anisette cookies without giving it a second thought. The cookies are each about five inches long and in the shape of the letter S.

For years Stephanie and I thought Nana Rose was paying homage to the first letter of our names, but as it turns out, that’s the standard shape of this addicting sweet treat.

Nana Rose just so happens to be who both Stephanie and I got this strange ability to peer into the future from. We’re something called transmundane, further classified as sibylline. Apparently, there are other supernatural talents under the transmundane umbrella, too, but we’ve got just the one, or at least Steph has. As fate and a wayward pumpkin would have it, I’m a little supersensual, too. Just a few months back, one of Sexy Wexy’s old girlfriends hurled a pumpkin at my head, and it’s opened my spiritual eyes to the one and only ghost roaming the halls of the Mortimer Manor. Suffice it to say, I’m not too thrilled with Shep’s ex.

“Speak of the devil,” I whisper under my breath as Regina Valentine struts over in sky-high heels and a little black dress that says I don’t care if we live in a meat locker, I’m trolling for oily men today. Clearly, she and Stephanie were on the same wavelength when it came to who they thought would be in that ring today.

Regina’s lips shed something closer to a snarl than a smile. She’s been a little snippy with me ever since I breezed into town and