by Peggy Webb
But I wasn’t half as worried about the cops as I was about Nick Coselli, toughest bad boy in the northeast and favorite son of the Coselli family, the Coselli mob family. Until two hours ago, I was also Nick’s fiancée.
When I first decided to give his ring back, I had a hunch it would end badly. I just didn’t know how bad it would get.
Earlier this evening I wasn’t even thinking about taking a trip, let alone throwing my clothes and my weapons into the car and hightailing it south. I’d been in the midst of my cheap single bedroom apartment among my garage sale furniture, handing my engagement ring back to Nick Coselli. Reluctantly, I might add. It was a ten-carat, emerald cut diamond solitaire. For one greedy moment, I hoped he’d throw the ring back at me.
He doesn’t rejection well. Tonight was no exception.
“What the devil is this, Maggie?” He stared at the ring as if it had landed in his palm from Mars. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No, I’ve found it. I’m quitting my job and you, too.” He just kept staring at the ring like it was going to rise up and bite him. “I’m not ready for marriage.”
He pocketed the ring very carefully, a man barely hanging onto control by his freshly buffed fingernails. I should have known better than to fall for a man who has his nails and hair done more often than I do.
“I don’t ever let go of what’s mine. And Maggie, make no mistake about it. You’re mine.”
“I don’t belong to anybody. That’s part of the problem, Nick. You never could seem to get it through your thick skull that you don’t own me.”
“You can’t ditch me.”
“I already did.”
“Do you think it’s that easy?” His smile was more chilling than the sight of the garbage going out of Coselli’s restaurant.
I waitress there, or used to. And yes, I know I’ve blown all kinds of job opportunities--me, Magnolia Wild, winner of Olympic gold, the best sharpshooter on Team USA. But that’s an old story for another day. Or not.
Anyhow, a week ago I was working the late shift and decided I was too tired to drive myself home. I would call Nick to pick me up at the restaurant. I went into the bathroom, splashed water on my face and did major repairs to my hair. There was nothing I could do about the smell. My clothes and hair reeked of garlic and Italian meatballs. Fortunately, that happened to be Nick’s favorite bouquet of scents.
I guess I took longer in the bathroom than I’d meant to. When I emerged, all the lights were off except a small glow coming from the kitchen. I hurried back there, thinking I’d see the chef and tell him I was still in the restaurant. He likes to set up for the next day’s business and is often the last to leave.
Instead I saw Nick’s brother, Rocco, toting out a garbage bag wearing pink toenail polish. Actually, what I saw was a women’s foot sticking out of the garbage bag, the toes sporting a color I’d call Pepto Bismol pink. A wimpy color. If you’re going to paint your toenails, go for something bold. Red or chrome green or even black. Still, I guess whoever was in that bag didn’t count on the color of her toenail polish being the last impression she’d ever make.
I eased back from the doorway and sprinted down the hall, my heart pounding like an out-of-shape runner. Ducking back into the bathroom, I locked the door then leaned against it and rammed my fist into my mouth to stifle a scream. If Rocco had seen me, I’d have plenty to scream about. I’d be dead. The hard way.
Pressing my forehead against the cold bathroom wall tiles while Rocco dragged off a body, I had a come-to-Jesus meeting with myself. It was time to take a second look at rumors I’d brushed aside as ridiculous. Concrete shoes and bodies never found. Rival restaurants shut down before opening night, the owners vanished and never heard of again. Cooked books and off-shore accounts. Secretive phone calls to somebody called Snake Eyes.
Suddenly the rumors all made sense. I was going to marry the Mafia—if I didn’t end up in a garbage bag first. The scream I was trying to hold back leaked around my fist, and I raced to the sink to turn the water on full blast.
“Magnolia, you’d better get it together, and fast.” If anybody else called me Magnolia, I’d shoot him. But calling myself the name I hated was just enough to shock me out of my stupid trance and make me think like an Olympic champion. Lay out the problem then find a solution.
My immediate problem was Rocco. If he’d seen me, I was a dead woman. But I’d rather it be later than sooner. I tiptoed back to the door and cracked it open. Nothing out there. At least, not yet. Rocco could be gone for the night, which was highly unlikely since he was the only one left to lock up.
I ducked back inside and made a big to-do of stomping over to the sink, whistling. Then I pulled out my iPhone and called Nick.
It went straight to voice mail. “Hi honey.” I put enough pizzazz in my voice to perk coffee. “Pick me up at the restaurant. I’m too tired to drive home.”
There was a loud banging on the bathroom door, and my phone shot out of my hand. I caught it before it crashed into the porcelain sink.
“Anybody in there?” It was Rocco. I’d know that bellow anywhere.
“Just a minute.” I tired to sound sassy but sweet instead of scared speechless.
“Maggie? That you?”
“Hmmm.” I grabbed a tube of lip gloss out of my purse and painted my top lip, then pasted on the smile the press called dazzling during my last summer Olympics. As I sashayed to the door, taking my own sweet time, I hoped I still had enough dazzle left to fool Rocco.
I was getting ready to swing the door open when he slammed his fists against it again. It sounded like thunder clapping. Rocco’s a big man, six four with arm muscles the size of Virginia hams and legs as thick as California redwoods. His brother is nothing like him. Nick’s the Hollywood version, suave and handsome and witty.
“Goodness, Rocco.” When I unlocked the bathroom door, I made my eyes go wide and innocent. “A girl can’t even think with all that racket.”
“What’re you doing here, Maggie?”
“For Pete’s sake! What does it look like? I’m primping!” I drew the red lip gloss along my bottom lip then smacked them together for good measure. “I called Nick to meet me here.”
“Is he coming?”
“I don’t know.” I gave Rocco another razzle-dazzle smile. “I got voice mail. I hope he got the message. I’m so tired I nearly went to sleep trying to fix my hair.”
Thank goodness I’d taken down the pony tail I usually wore and rammed a comb through my thick tangle of dark curls before I spotted Rocco’s extra-curricular activities. Hopefully, he didn’t know I’d spent two minutes on my hair and the rest spying on him.
“Nick’s got other business tonight, Maggie. I’ll drive you home.”
By way of the garbage dump? Or the Delaware River? I didn’t fancy the idea of wearing concrete shoes, but if I said no, he’d get suspicious.
“That’s so sweet of you, Rocco.”
I grabbed my purse, which contained every useless, frivolous thing I thought I needed until I found myself staring straight into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. I made myself trot along beside him like an obedient sister-in-law-to-be, but I wished I was packing a nine millimeter. I can shoot a hundred out of hundred moving clay targets, dead center. With a specially outfitted long-range rifle, I can hit any stationary target from a distance of two and a half kilometers. My teammates didn’t call me “Bull’s Eye” Maggie for nothing.
Still, I’d never shot at anything alive. Even if push came to shove, I didn’t know if I have what it takes to shoot to kill. Which was all beside the point, considering that I was packing nothing more lethal than Five Alarm Fire lip gloss.
“I’d better let Nick know where I am. I was just sure he said he’d see me tonight.” His number was on my speed dial, and as I listened to his ring tone I girded myself for an Oscar worthy performance. Thank goodness, I went straight back to voice mail. “Honey, it’s me again. Rocco’s taking me home. Later, love. Kiss, kiss.
”
Obviously I didn’t end up in the garbage dump beside Pink Toenails. But Nick didn’t come over that night, either, a sure sign I’d better get out of Dodge. Or to be more precise, Trenton, New Jersey. Still, I couldn’t pack up my bags and leave immediately without drawing Rocco’s suspicions, not to mention Nick’s.
So I spent all last week looking over my shoulder for an ambush from Rocco, and pushing Nick so he’d break the engagement. Without so much as blinking, I turned from an easy-going woman into a whining fiancée. To add to his discomfort, I seized every opportunity to make his life miserable.
How could he stand me up without any notice? Why was he wearing that color blue when he knew good and well it made me depressed and now I was going to cry and ruin my mascara? Why did he have to drive his silver Corvette with the top down and now my hair was mussed and I didn’t feel like being nice, and why should I? We never did what I wanted, anyway. And why, oh why, couldn’t we live in California instead of New Jersey? I was sick and tired of cold weather and if he loved me he’d move so I’d be happy.
I became such a witch, I even grew weary of myself. But I didn’t figure on Nick’s tolerance for an impossible-to-please woman.
And I certainly didn’t figure on his refusal to let me call it quits.
As I barreled down the New Jersey Turnpike, it was his evil smile that haunted me most. That and his chilling last words.
Do you think it’s that easy!
And then he’d said, “What makes you think you can leave me, Maggie? I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth.”
“If you come within half a mile of me, Nick Cosellli, I’ll put another part in your slicked back, greasy hair.”
He knew I could do it, too. He’d walked out then, but I knew he’d be back. That’s why I’d packed on the fly, taking only my clothes, the family photographs and my guns. I’d worry about the rent later. I could mail it from somewhere outside the city but close enough so nobody could figure out which direction I was headed.
I peered in the rearview mirror to see if I could spot police cars. All clear of blue lights, but what I did see took six years off my life. A dark car, unmarked, was weaving through traffic. It settled in behind me close enough that I could see the thug behind the wheel. Not Rocco. He never did his own driving. And not Nick. This man’s neck was too thick, and he was too short. He was sitting low behind the wheel, his eyes hidden by the visor of a baseball cap.
Was it Snake Eyes?
“Don’t panic,” I told myself, but that didn’t keep me from nearly wetting my pants. Here I was, not even out of Trenton, and already I’d been made. My cell phone started ringing just as I spotted the off ramp, but I was too busy trying to save my life to see who was calling. I was in the wrong lane to turn and the three cars between me and safety closed ranks and wouldn’t let me through.
There was another exit coming up on the right, and I swerved that way. Unfortunately, the car behind me also swerved. What was more, another look in the rearview mirror told me the driver had just lifted some kind of weapon and aimed it in my direction.
I ducked just as the flash exploded.
Continue reading the first book in Peggy’s new cozy series: A Charmed Cat Mystery In Which Magnolia Wild Vanishes (Book 1).
About the Author
Visit www.peggywebb.com for a complete list of Peggy’s novels. Sign up for the author’s free newsletter on her website and follow her on Facebook and Twitter. Peggy is a former adjunct instruction of writing at Mississippi State University and her website includes video mini-classes in writing.
Peggy Webb is a USA Today best-selling author from Mississippi with almost 100 books to her credit. She writes romantic comedy, women’s fiction and comedic cozies under her own name. Her peers call her a “comic genius.” She also writes historical fiction as Anna Michaels and literary fiction as Elaine Hussey. The late, great Pat Conroy called her literary work “astonishing.” This critically acclaimed author has won many awards, including a Romantic Times Pioneer Award for creating the sub-genre of romantic comedy. Several of her novels, including Driving Me Crazy and the Southern Cousins Mysteries, have been optioned for film.
Peggy is a member of Novelists, Inc., International Thriller Writers, and Romance Writers of America. Her award-winning books, Touched by Angels, A Prince for Jenny, the Donovans of the Delta series and her boxed sets have all been Kindle Top 10 bestsellers.
Though she lives in the Deep South, her two children and four grandchildren live in Florida and New Hampshire. She plays piano, composes blues lyrics, sings in her church choir and loves gardening. Go to her Facebook page to find videos of Peggy at her baby grand playing practice sessions of gospel music. She’s passionate about theater, has written two screenplays based on her work and has starred in several community theater productions, including Steel Magnolias, Crimes of the Heart and The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. She was assistant musical director for The King and I.
Follow the author on her websites: www.peggywebb.com and www.elainehussey.com and on Facebook and Twitter.
Love mysteries? Don’t miss Bluebird Flying Backward by Peggy Webb writing as Anna Michaels. In the novel reviewer’s call “stunning historical suspense” a strong, independent woman far ahead of her time searches for her long-lost sister.
Thank you for reading! Your feedback is very important to me. If you enjoyed Elvis and the Devil in Disguise and the new mystery series prequel, A Charmed Cat Mystery In Which The Sea Keeps Secrets, please do leave a review.
