to the cupcakes or the murder, I’m going for a nap. That’s a question I can answer, after all, and a quick nap never hurt anyone. Maybe, once my mind is a little clearer, I’ll be able to decide what to do next.
Follow Kat.
That’s my decision.
I woke from my nap two hours ago feeling surprisingly reinvigorated. Like a superhero ready to take on the forces of evil in the world. Just…you know. As long as I don’t have to fly and shit. Or actually be responsible for dealing with the forces of evil.
The first thing I do is swing by the Oleander and check if Kat’s around. The young girl at the reception desk tells me that she checked out this morning, but she has no idea where she went. This doesn’t help me much, obviously, because I need to know where she is in order to follow her.
I’m not going to give up though. I need to feel as though I’m doing something even semi-productive with this case. Otherwise, I’m going to do nothing but think about things over and over again until I drive myself completely crazy.
That’s the last thing anyone wants. I’d like to keep what remains of my sanity, because my family is sure to shred it at some freakin’ point in the rest of my life.
Short of driving aimlessly around town to see if I can find her, I’m not actually sure what I can do. We won’t even discuss that I have no idea what car she drives or even what color it is. I’m totally screwed in every instance today, because here I am, bouncing around without thinking about what I’m doing.
Dammit. Good intentions gone to shit once more.
Story of my life with this case. Just when I think I’m truly turning into a female Sherlock Holmes, I realize I’m actually Mrs. Potato Head.
I pull up outside the inn, take my phone from my purse, then text Drake. Do you know what car Kat drives?Think it’s a Chevrolet. Red? I remember her getting into a red car after the funeral. Why? He sends back.
Thanks.
I lock my phone, then his next message flashes on screen.
Noelle, are you following her?
Something bangs against my car window. “Noella!”
I drop my phone onto the floor as legit fear hurtles through my body. “Jesus Christ, Nonna!” I gasp, hitting the button to put my window down. “I thought I was being shot!”
“Ah, mi dispiace. What-a are-a you doing?” She leans forward, practically shoving her head through the window.
I edge to the side. “Texting Drake. What are you doing here? Isn’t the inn too far away from your kitchen?
“It is-a bingo night!” She claps her hands excitedly. “What-a you doing here?”
“I just told you: texting Drake. And, hey... Doesn’t bingo start at seven? It’s only four.”
“Oh, merda.” She tuts at herself. “You-a caught me.”
“Caught you...what?”
She straightens up. Then, with her hands clasped over the bottom of my window, she darts her eyes side to side. “I-a heard,” she whispers, “Trent-a talking to-a Antonio.” She pauses.
“Carry on,” I prompt her. “I don’t have all day for your theatrics.”
“Pssh, shh!” she scolds me. “They-a have-a no-a weapon!”
Wait... “They didn’t find the weapon at the scene? There was a knife there.”
“It was-a not-a it!”
Okay. She’s saying this with way too much glee. So much, in fact, that I’m a little worried about her real reason for being here.
The last time she was this excited was when she found out I was dating Drake. Dear God. I hope she isn’t going to dance again. I’m scarred for life from that already.
“I’m-a looking,” she whispers again, “for-a the weapon!”
I unclip my belt and turn to her. Did she honestly just say that?
“Nonna, that’s insane. You know that, don’t you? You can’t just go and look for a murder weapon. You don’t even know it’ll be here.”
“Yes-a, I can!”
“Don’t you think they would have already combed this area? They’d have tried to look for it everywhere around here. You’re wasting your time.”
“I-a woman! I bet-a they-a had-a only men-a look!”
Well... She has a point. It is universally accepted that a man can’t find the glasses he’s wearing while a woman could find a needle in a haystack—and quicker.
“I understand your point, Nonna, but you can’t just go barging into a crime scene to look for a murder weapon.”
“Is-a no crime scene,” she responds defiantly, lifting her nose with an affected air despite the mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes.
So that’s where we all get it.
“No-a yellow