Chapter 6

"Ignore her," Cooper says, landing back in his seat right here at the Tavern of Terror as the devil herself regales us with her presence. "Effie, this is my sister, Loretta Solemina Lazzari. Loretta, this is Effie. We're new," he tells her sternly. "Be nice."

We're new?

I practically mouth the words.

How has Cooper Knox, aka Cupertino Lazzari, suddenly come around to the dark side and want to claim me as his own?

Is he onto me? Does he know I have a hit out against him?

Hey!Maybe that makes him like me more? Men are funny like that.

"So you're the new squeeze." Loretta's eyes slit to nothing. "Just know I don't take too kindly to anyone messing with my big bro. I'll be watching you." She points to her eyes then mine with the threat before perking up again. "Coop, I want you to meet my friend Sal the Sausage Marino. He's my bestie's hubby." She steps aside and reveals the dark-haired man in a zoot suit with the fedora as she winks his way. "Sal and his brother Johnny just opened up this place. Yo, Johnny." She shoves her fingers in her mouth and whistles loud enough to wake the dead and, sure enough, everyone seated in this makeshift cemetery is suddenly at attention.

Another zoot suit-wearing Italian looker struts this way, same dark hair, same eyes, and I'm betting same sooted soul as Sal the Sausage.

"This is my main squeeze, Johnny the Meatball Marino," Loretta proudly states. "And he's the only Marino that counts." She does her impression of a honking seal once again while giving both brothers a pinch on the cheek. "If your food isn't to your liking, blame this one." She hitches her head toward the Sausage. "On the other hand, Johnny can do no wrong. Now if you'll excuse us, we've got guests to greet." She swings her pointy tail like a pendulum as the three of them drift off to haunt the next table.

"So you've got a sister," I say.

Who happens to be about as charming as my own. Or at least the sister I showed up with.

"I've got three," he says with a depleted smile. "And two brothers to boot."

"There's six of you? And I thought we were a big family with five," I say and Watson barks and jumps. "And you showed up with an entire litter." I laugh as I give him a scratch.

"Speaking of litters." Cooper leans on his elbows. "How big of a family are you looking to build?"

Is he talking children?

"You have a lot of positive attributes," he says without so much as a smile. "You're smart. You have a talent with baked goods. And you seem to have a talent with people, too. To know you is to love you. I bet you're going to be a great mom someday."

I nearly fall over just as a headless waitress arrives with a trio of hard cheeses and a trio of salami to kick our night off in the right direction. If only Cooper wasn't walking around with a target on his back, he would have already kicked it off in the right direction.

I'm not sure what's gotten into him tonight, but he's hitting all the notes that a girl like me wants to hear. Too bad the only song I'll be singing has all but one note—to the tune of my Glock.

I frown at the thought. Although admittedly, it's not enough to make me lose my appetite.

Set before us is a tray of Parmigiano Reggiano, Pecorino Romano, and Grana Padano cheeses, and each one is flaky, chunkier, saltier, and tastier than the last. Each sits behind a tiny little label as does the meat trio with their delicate slices curled into perfect little meaty roses—Genoa, spicy soppressata, and Italian dry salami.

We dive into the platter—the only headless platter around, mind you—and we both moan with approval.

"All right, Effie." He nods my way, his lips curled a touch, and I think he's actually bedroom eyeing me. "What's your favorite?"

A small sigh escapes me. Is there a more perfect man on the planet than the one who longs to hear my thoughts on hard cheeses? And salted meats, too, of course.

"It's a three-way tie for the cheese," I say. "But as far as the deli snacks, this is basically your Sofie's Choice of salami. You're not going to lose any which way, but if I had to rank them, I'd say my number one pick is the Italian dry. It has the exact tang I'm looking for when I think about a good salami. Soppressata and Genoa are tied for second. Genoa is great for those white bread and mayo sandwiches, the sandwiches of my youth. As for the soppressata, I'd like to put that on my next pizza, along with pepperoni. And once in a while, I've been known to make a sandwich out of soppressata and pepperoni when I'm feeling extra cheeky."

Cooper gives a slight applause. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

Watson gives a chirp of a bark and dances on his hind legs, just begging to get in on the action so I toss him a salty rose.

The sounds of ear-piercing screams come from the haunted house behind us and everyone on the patio turns to look that way.

"Sounds as if Naomi is losing her head again," I say.

"Maybe so." He frowns as his left elbow pats his waist to ensure his weapon is in place. "But I'd better go check it out. Don't eat my meatball." He winks my way. "Come on, Watson." He picks up the leash. "Let's check this out."

Don't eat his meatball?

And that wink?

Dies.

How is this turning out to be the perfect night?

The sound of voices quarreling garners my attention and I look up to see Sal the Sausage having it out over by the side gate with a man about his age, same dark hair, extra bushy brows. He looks familiar to me, but with those purple lights washing him out, I couldn't tell my father from an alien at this point.

The bushy-browed man shoves Sal in the chest before darting out the gate. And soon, Loretta takes his place, swatting Sal's chest and shouting the word cheater for all to hear. Or at least all that are eavesdropping, which would be me.

Cheater?

Hey, didn't she mention he was married to her bestie? I'd run if I were him.

On second thought, I hope he stands still. I'd like to throw my meatball at him. That is, if I had it to throw.

Another few minutes drift by and soon our main entrées arrive.

The food is going to get cold.

Maybe I should text Cooper.

I'm about to do just that when a tiny butter-colored furball whizzes right past me and right out the side gate.

"Watson," I cry, glancing back, but there's no sign of Cooper. "Oh, for Frankenstein's sake," I growl. If I don't get him, he might end up a permanent fixture of this haunted house—as a ghost.

Doesn't the perky pooch know the mean streets of Honey Hollow are no place for a cutie pie like him?

I abandon my meal—not an easy thing to do—and ditch out the side gate and promptly fall over a soft lump of—a man?

"Gah!" I jump to my feet and scoop up Watson in one herculean move.

Lying sprawled out beneath me is a man in a dark zoot suit with a fedora partially covering his face.

"Effie," Cooper calls out as he runs out the gate right after me, and in his arms is—Watson?

"What the—?" I gag without finishing my thought.

"Who's this?" Cooper asks as he looks down at the body, undeterred by the fact that our cute pooch just multiplied before our very eyes. Honestly, I much prefer it to losing his furry little head.

"It's probably just a prop for this house of horrors," I say, giving the makeshift corpse a kick in the nuts.

Cooper kneels down and rolls the guy onto his back and I gasp at the fact there's not one but two bullet holes putzing up his nice white dress shirt—and perhaps his life. His hat falls off and I clearly recognize his face.

Coop checks for a pulse before shaking his head at me.

Sal the Sausage is dead.