By Michele Lynn Seigfried
Bonnie Fattori is Chelsey Alton’s best friend, hilarious side kick, and partner in crime in the cozy mystery novels Red Tape and Tax Cut. Bonnie is going to be starring as the lead in the third book in the series, Community Affairs, coming soon! We thought we’d give you a sneak peek into her life. Here is a recent day in the life of Bonnie Fattori…
I was excited to have a gorgeous day all to myself. My daughters were at school. Jayce, my husband, was working at the hospital, as usual. I had the place all to myself. I decided to start the day off with a brisk walk on the beach. I pulled my hair back in a ponytail, slid into on my capri-length blue leggings, and a yanked a form-fitting white tank top over my head. I zippered up my heather gray hoodie and left barefoot out my side door. Living beachfront had its advantages. Being so close to the beach that you could go shoeless to get there is one of them.
Several strides later, I was at the oceanfront. Walking north through the damp and slightly cold sand, I watched the sandpipers chasing the waves as they withdrew back into the ocean, only to run from them again when the next wave crashed onto the beach, sending a gush of water softly inland. The salt air made my hair frizz, but the scent relaxed my soul. I glanced around at the houses situated behind the dunes. A couple of years ago they had all been significantly damaged in a terrible hurricane. It was nice to see the repairs coming along beautifully, giving that feel of a new, modern, locale.
The fishing pier had also been rebuilt since the storm. It served as my one-mile marker, so when I reached it, I turned to retrace my steps home. Besides a handful of locals, the beach was quiet and peaceful this time of year. A far cry from summer’s vast crowds, which would begin appearing in just a few short weeks. I turned my attention to the seashell-streaked shoreline. Several seagulls competed for the remains of a horseshoe crab, while the sand crabs burrowed their way to safety from the scavengers.
I took a deep breath. My heels had dug into the sand with each step and I felt the burn in my calves. A beach walk always cleared my head, relaxed me, and provided me with a great workout. I was lucky to be blessed with good genetics regarding my looks and my figure, but my love of fatty foods and fruity alcoholic beverages required me to indulge in daily exercise to maintain a healthy weight.
I unzipped my hoodie then tied it around my waist. The temperatures had soared into the low eighties by the time I arrived back home. By then, I was in a state that I refer to as “highway hypnosis,” so I didn’t care much that my neighbor, Lemon Face (a little nickname I have for her), was out on her deck watching my every move. I waved hello in an attempt to be a friendly neighbor or a stick-it-in-your-face-that-you-aren’t-going-to-get-me-down one. She looked madder than a mad hatter missing a hat. She didn’t wave back. I ignored her. She wasn’t going to ruin my good mood.
I went into the house and change into my new swimsuit. I was going to start working on my tan. I grabbed my Kindle, sunglasses, a towel and a hat. I placed them outside on the table next to my beach chair on our second-story deck. I returned into the house, fixed myself a small pitcher of lemonade with lots of ice. Spiked, of course. I set up a glass with a straw on my table, and poured myself a drink before I sank into my chair and made myself comfortable.
By the time I got to chapter five in my book, I had the best buzz with the ideal amount of happiness swirling through my veins, but not enough for me to want to listen to another one of Lemon Face’s rants.
“Put some clothes on! You look like a prostitute!”
I glanced over at Lyla, arms folded, head prepared to detonate. I returned my eyes to my Kindle.
“I’m talking to you, concubine.”
“Big words for such a small brain,” I mumbled without looking at her.
“I heard that and at least I don’t sleep with other women’s husbands.”
I had already told her I wasn’t sleeping with her husband. I didn’t justify her comment with another defense of myself.
“Hey you,” she persisted, “why don’t you have some decency and self-respect?”
I took a sip of my drink without looking at her again. I needed more alcohol to tune her out.
“Maybe your husband isn’t doing a good enough job, but that doesn’t mean you should go after mine.”
I still ignored her.
“What do your kids think of the fact that their mother is a cheating bimbo?”
That one hit a nerve. I wasn’t going to allow that witch to bring my kids into her fantasy world, but I also wasn’t going to let her see that she got to me.
“Hmm, what’s that sound?” I asked her. “Oh yeah, it’s the sound of no one caring about what you say.”
“Stay away from my husband and put some clothes on!”
“I have to talk like an idiot for you to understand me. It seems to be your native tongue.”
“I swear, if you get near him again…”
“The idiocy in your veins runs deeper than I ever imagined,” I said, continuing not to look up from my book.
She stormed off her deck and back into her house.
“Have a nice day,” I added before she slammed the door. Somewhere else.