Marriage can be Murder: Meow for Murder, #7

By Addison Moore

A highly inaccurate vision. A grumpy writer. And a corpse. Welcome to Starry Falls. Running from the mob can be murder.

A Cozy Mystery by New York Times, USA TODAY, & Wall Street Journal Bestseller Addison Moore.
Cosmopolitan Magazine calls Addison's books, "...easy, frothy fun!"

Confession. I'm no psychic. But I can sort of see the future—albeit not accurately. And you better believe, I've never let that little detail stop me from prognosticating my way into a pickle. So when I ticked off the mob, the feds, and my wily ex, I decided to take my Uncle Vinnie's advice and start over with a new name and new hair color while relying on my old shtick—getting my psychic wires crossed and putting myself in danger.

When an old ex springs back into my life, it feels more like a new hex. The mob is closing in on me from every angle, and now I've got a moron on my hands to deal with. To make things worse, a body arrives on the scene. As if that wasn't enough, Shep is feeling homicidal himself. He's looking to do a little target practice, and that ex of mine is proving to be a moving target. 

Living in Starry Falls is proving to be deadly. 

Previously titled: A Fur-miliar Fatality

• Language: English
• Publisher: Addison Moore
• Release date: Dec 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223893585

Addison Moore

Addison Moore is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and paranormal romance. Previously she worked as a therapist on a locked psychiatric unit for nearly a decade. She lives with her family on the West Coast. Learn more: addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

W hat’s the matter, Stella? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Johnny sheds a devil-may-care grin—which makes sense since he’s the devil incarnate.

Johnny Rizzo looks exactly how I remember, with dark shellacked hair, dark eyes, and an even darker soul. He’s handsome in a mobster gangster sort of way—something I once had a weakness for. He’s the exact reason my entire life upended a little less than a year ago before I landed a million miles from New Jersey, all the way over to where my feet are planted now in Starry Falls, Vermont.

Hazel Newton, a spook of the genuine variety, floats before me with her long red hair splayed out like tendrils. Hazel died months ago at a Halloween party right here in front of Mortimer Manor. She was dressed as a witch that night, even though she’s anything but. And she’s still wearing that black tattered dress and long velvet cape. She looks far more stunning than ever with her gorgeous tresses and evergreen eyes. Death really does become her.

Do you think he can see me? Hazel asks the question innocently as I give her a covert shake of the head.

Nope. But I’m all for sending the bozo before me to the other side so he can see all the ghosts he wants—because he’ll be one himself, I seethe at the beast before us. "In fact, I can arrange for a very fortunate accident to happen within the next few minutes. I twitch my head toward my sister without taking my eyes off the embodiment of evil. Stephanie, grab a cleaver for me, would you?" I wince a little because I just blew my sister’s cover, not that Shep and Johnny don’t already know who she is. But as far as the fine townspeople of Starry Falls are concerned, she’s not Stephanie, she’s Lola.

Stephanie and I share the same long black hair with a slight red patina we get from running a can of Cherry Coke through it every now and again. We stand at an average height of five feet, five inches, and one of us is about to commit a homicide.

I’m in the mood to dice and slice. My lips twitch as I take in the slime foolish enough to show his face. I’d say I’ll make it as painless as possible, but that would be a lie.

A lie? Johnny’s brows rise a notch. "That’s what you specialize in these days, isn’t it, Bowie?" He puts an extra emphasis on my own undercover moniker.

Stephanie pivots in an attempt to make all of my cleaver-based fantasies come true just as my boyfriend, Shep, holds up a hand and stops her in her tracks.

There won’t be any homicides today, Shep says as he flashes his badge, and I cringe as he does it. Detective Shepherd Wexler. Shep offers an ironic smile to my wily ex. I believe Bowie here isn’t interested in entertaining you. The exit is to the right, buddy. Use it. I’ve seen her angry—and wouldn’t wish that ire on anyone, not even you.

Johnny squints over at Shep as if he were suspicious of his intentions with me. As he should be. Shep and I have been dating, hot and heavy, for a while now. Not only is Shepherd Wexler a homicide detective with the Woodley Sheriff’s Department, but he also happens to be the New York Times best-selling author of the Manon Tate series.

Oddly enough, that series is based on my own mobster father, but I shake all thoughts of my incarcerated daddy out of my mind for now. The only person I want to envision behind bars is the lowlife standing before me.

Johnny chuckles as he looks at Shep. "Just how do you know Bowie, Detective?"

Here we go. Stephanie titters from behind, and this time it’s me holding my hand up to stop her.

It’s early evening, and we’re standing in the Manor Café, an eatery I manage that’s nestled inside the Mortimer Manor. The manor is mostly known for its glut of furry felines, but thanks to me, and a handful of my Nana Rose’s recipes, we’re known for great Italian food now, too.

Hazel, the resident ghost, is a supernatural bonus that only I’m privy to. And even though Steph can’t see the occasional specter, she and I share yet another supernatural quirk—we can see the future. Sort of.

Stephanie and I have what our Nana Rose called the shakes. It’s less of a shake and more of a catatonic state that gives us a bird’s-eye view of what’s about to take place. Steph and I are transmundane, further classified as sibylline—which means every now and again we can get a sneak peek of tomorrow. And that little seeing the dead quirk I mentioned? It means I’m part supersensual as well.

That latter gift was recently bequeathed to me by the powers that be—right after my nemesis, Regina Valentine, pegged me in the head with a pumpkin. I don’t mind that whole seeing-through-the-veil thing so much. Hazel isn’t all that scary, and I sort of like having a friend who can fly in and out of my life whenever she wants to. Pretty much, she’s the sum total contact I’ve had with the dead as to date, which is more or less a blessing.

However, those glimpses into tomorrow have been more of a curse than they have a blessing, and I still haven’t figured out how to use them to gain fame, fortune, or power—but they’ve sure as heck earned me infamy, misfortune, and the inability to show my face to the free world.

My otherworldly abilities may have played a tiny factor in that financial heist Johnny and I tried to pull off on the mob—and that’s exactly why I’ve been on the run ever since.

Nevertheless, it’s been a rough day all around. My hair looks as if I stepped on a live wire, I’ve got marinara sauce dotting my blouse and jeans, and now I’m staring in the face of my worst nightmare. And yes, I did see this coming, and yet it still managed to catch me off guard.

Don’t you worry about how I know anybody, I hiss at my smarmy ex. I’ve changed since we last saw one another. I don’t suffer fools. And right now, I’m looking at the biggest fool of them all.

Johnny tips his head back as if the thought affronts him.

Okay, so back in Jersey, I was pretty much a fool, too. Johnny and I were washing money for the mob, and the fool in front of me thought it was a good idea to siphon a little cash off the top for ourselves—only a little turned out to be a lot.

My handbag addiction, and Johnny’s addiction to expensive wheels, tipped off not only the mob to our thievery, but the United States government as well. And once the targets were secured over our backs, Johnny did a disappearing act without so much as offering me a ride.

If my Uncle Vinnie hadn’t set me up with a new identity and sent me packing for Canada, I would have been taking the heat for the both of us. But lucky for me, the jalopy he arranged for me to drive to the Great White North conked out in the quaint little town of Starry Falls, and that’s where I’ve been ever since. It’s been more than a decent place to hunker down while I’m on the lam.

Although, my sister was able to track me down a few months ago—and now my slimy ex has slithered into town. I’m not so sure of what to make of my cozy little hideout anymore. If an idiot like Johnny can find me, the feds can’t be all that far behind—or the Morettis, the mob family that Johnny and I were taking for a proverbial ride.

Steph traipses up from behind. He’s not leaving, she whispers.

Oh, he will, I assure her. Shep—I step in close to the man I love— "let’s take him out back and shoot him. I’ll have Stephanie dig a ditch, and we’ll plant a vegetable garden over the land. The entire town will benefit from it. The only thing he’s good for is fertilizer anyway. I’d hate to put a financial burden on some poor New Jersey correctional facility. It’ll be good for both the environment and me."

Shep’s lips twitch as he wraps an arm around my waist, and at least three different women sigh from afar.

Shepherd Wexler is the whole package. Not only does he wield a mean gun and pen, but he’s got the face and body of a deity that demands women in a five-state vicinity offer him proper worship.

Shep has dark hair, light blue eyes rimmed with navy—think hot Siberian husky—and a sculpted body that could make Michelangelo’s David green with envy. And believe me when I tell you, he knows how to wield that body, too.

He closes his eyes a moment. As much as I love your creativity and enthusiasm—

Don’t forget about my deep concern for our planet, I’m quick to point out in an effort to bolster my case.

He gives a slight nod. It’s a hard no when it comes to murder.

What’s this? Johnny takes a closer look at Shep’s arm and its proximity to my midsection. Stella, are you seeing this guy?

My lips part.

If I say yes, would that put Shep in undo danger?

On second thought, my sheer proximity to just about anyone puts them and their world in danger. I’m not exactly what you would call a rabbit’s foot.

Shep’s chest doubles in size. She’s not only seeing me, she’s marrying me.

The world stops spinning for a whopping five seconds.

Marrying him?

I cock a brow his way.

That’s right. Shep doubles down on his matrimonial lunacy. We’re due to tie the knot at the end of the month.

Steph gasps. "Congratulations! She takes off her apron and tosses it into the air like frilly confetti. You really hit the jackpot with this one, Stella."

I shoot her a scalding look.

"Ohh, sorry. She winces. I mean Bowie."

It’s taken months of training to get Stephanie to keep my new identity straight, and now I’ve got Johnny the Idiot here to undo all of my hard work.

Uncle Vinnie came up with my new moniker while listening to one of his favorite musicians. I’ll let you guess which one. And his three-year-old granddaughter thought up my new surname when asked what she would name her next kitten—thus Bowie Binx was born, and I’ve never been prouder. Well, okay, I’ve been prouder—but still. This is the new me.

I look into Shep Wexler’s stunning blue eyes. At the end of this month?

He gives a solemn nod. There’s an air about him that suggests he knows exactly what he’s doing, so I’m more than happy to go along with the farce. But how I wish it were anything but.

Did I just get the proposal of a lifetime with my hair in a rat’s nest, sauce on my best blouse, looking like something a cat puked up in an alley?

And the best part? My ex was here to witness the event.

You’re getting married? Johnny sounds angry as if I just confessed to stuffing his mother into the trunk of my car—and believe me, that thought had crossed my mind a time or two way back when.

The bell on the door chimes and in walks Regina Valentine herself, Shep’s psychotic ex. Regina is a looker with sharp features, a body that doesn’t quit, chestnut hair with a body that rivals her own, and cruel amber eyes that are always looking for trouble.

The day I rolled into town, I saw Regina getting the old heave-ho from the Manor Café, and I promptly took her place as the manager. She begged me for a position as a waitress, and seeing that my heart is a touch too big and my brain can be a touch too small, I gave it to her. She’s been trouble ever since, even though we’ve made a truce when it comes to our shared obsession with Shep. Or at least I think we have.

You will never guess what’s about to happen, Regina shrieks as she speeds our way. Then as soon as she spots the villain among us in the wild, she slows down and runs her eyes up and down his body. Well, hello, holy hot stuff. She steps in front of Johnny, thus blocking my view of him for one glorious moment. Regina Valentine here, I’ll be happy to take your order—or we could blow this place and head somewhere a little more private so we can get to know one another better. She says that last part while slithering her hands up and down his shirt.

Johnny’s lids slit to nothing as he gives her a quick once-over.

Oh, come on and take her up on her offer, I bleat. Just like you did with an entire litany of women while we were still together.

Before Johnny can make his move, the door opens, and again a couple, about my age, late twenties, stride in looking polished and ready for a night on the town. The woman has long dark hair coiled into ringlets that cascade over her shoulders. She’s wearing a little black dress with leather high-heeled boots that ride over her knees. Sculpted cheekbones dominate her face, and her lips are bloated with so much filler they look painfully swollen. She has a forest of two-inch lashes and a row of rhinestones set along her brow line.

The guy is wearing a gray suit with a red tie, has dark curly hair, a hooked nose, and commanding green eyes. He’s handsome in his own right, and judging by the way he’s carrying himself, you can tell he has a self-importance about him.

Can I help you? I ask, pausing momentarily from my own personal nightmare in an effort to take care of my customers. Although, I’m willing to bet this dapper duo took a wrong turn somewhere and are three hot seconds from bolting from the premises rather than bellying up at the bar. Believe me, I’m tempted to follow.

I’m Giana Iacono. The woman ticks her head back as if her name should mean something to me. It doesn’t, but at least six people have gasped in response and are straining to look in this direction.

That’s twice the attention Shep attracted, and now I’m curious as to what this might mean.

Table for two? I ask, prodding them along, in the event they’ve actually trekked this way for the food.

My meatballs are legendary.

We’re here for the private party. She smirks. "My party? I’m Giana Iacono. I reserved the back for my birthday blast?"

"Yes, Regina says. Everything is all set up and your guests are already in the process of flooding the ballroom. I’ll walk you over. Before she leaves, she hooks an arm through Johnny’s and navigates him through the door right along with her—a brilliant move that I more than approve of. She stops to turn my way. Bowie, our guests would like a variety of pizza. And they would like a birthday cake delivered and displayed as soon as possible. She nods to the woman. You spoke with me on the phone. Everything is good to go. Happy Birthday, Giana. I’ll make sure this is going to be a memorable night. She cuts a glance to Johnny. And I’m willing to bet it’s going to be a memorable night for you as well."

I’m about to protest Regina’s efforts to land that bum in bed when the room begins to spin, an all too familiar warm, fuzzy feeling takes over, and suddenly I’ve got a bad case of tunnel vision as a scene begins to play out in my mind.

I’m standing underneath a floral arch, clad in a white dress, holding onto Johnny Rizzo’s hands as if I would float right off the planet if I didn’t squeeze them tight.

I do, I say to him as if I mean it and he sheds that devilish grin he’s known for.

I come to with a gasp as the café swirls to life around me.

What did you see? Stephanie gives me a hearty shake.

I didn’t see nuthin’, I cry out as I look at Shep. It was nothing, I promise.

And I’ll do everything I can to make sure it never happens.

Hazel swoops in close, her long locks floating around her head like a crimson halo. I don’t believe you, Bowie Binx. But we’ll talk later when there are far fewer people around to hear the truth. For now, I think I’ll head to that big party in the ballroom. See you there! She floats right through the wall as she heads that way.