"Your sister was almost carjacked again," Grandma Rosa said quietly, "but the police saved her in time. Oh, and she saw a man shot to death." She shrugged and raised the kettle in the air. "It is just another ordinary day in Sally's life. Would you like tea?"
"Oh my God!" Gianna hurried over to sit in Grandma Rosa's discarded chair. "What happened?"
"I'm okay," I assured her as she put her arms around me. Then I drew back to study her face. "But you're not. What's wrong? Is it about the wedding?"
Gianna's chocolate brown eyes filled with tears, and my heart stopped for a moment. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
Gianna accepted a tissue and cup of tea from Grandma. "Dad. Need I say more? He's really done it this time."
Oh boy. I'd been expecting her to say Mrs. Gavelli instead. "Let me guess. He's having a book signing during the reception?"
"Not even close." Gianna wiped at her eyes.
Before she could continue, the front door opened, and I winced. "That must be Mike." I held on to Gianna's hand, as much for her support as mine.
My father and mother walked into the kitchen, their hands full of bags from the local Party Warehouse store.
Gianna swallowed a mouthful of the hot liquid placed before her and then sucked in a sharp breath as she stared apprehensively at the bags. "Dad, I need to talk to you."
"Look, honey." My mother giggled. "We picked up the wedding favors you ordered."
"But I didn't order any favors," Gianna protested, then clamped a hand over her mouth. "Oh God. Nicoletta did this, didn't she?"
My father proudly held up one of the favors. It was a small plastic bottle of oregano with Johnny's and Gianna's names and wedding date on the front, draped by a red bow the same color as my shapeless dress.
I squinted at the smaller writing underneath their names. "What does the rest of it say?"
My mother raised an eyebrow as she read the words aloud. "'May your marriage always have Italian flavor.' Hmm. Well, I guess it's kind of cute."
Gianna looked as if she wanted to shoot someone. "I can't believe she went ahead and ordered those tacky things behind my back. I told her we were going to have champagne bottles at everyone's plate, not bottles of oregano!" She pointed an accusatory finger at my father. "And I know what you did! About the so-called limo!"
"What?" My father looked confused. "Oh, that. Hey, weddings are expensive, sweetheart. Besides, it's at night. No one will ever tell the difference."
Uh-oh. I had an idea what might have happened and prayed to be wrong.
Gianna's lower lip trembled. "You had one job, Dad. One job! How could you do this to me?"
Grandma Rosa shook her head and sighed. "Your father, he is more pazza than I thought."
"Hey," my father protested. "I'm not crazy. Limos cost a fortune, and there's nothing wrong with using a black vehicle instead of a white one."
I brought a hand to my mouth. "Only it's not a limo, is it, Dad?" He didn't answer, and I continued. "You hired a hearse to bring them to the church, didn't you?"
He grinned. "Nope. That's the best part. I didn't have to hire it. I got it for free from Phibbins Mortuary. I even got two so that the rest of us can ride in comfort as well!"
"That is never going to happen," Grandma Rosa announced.
My father went on as if he hadn't heard her. "They were more than happy to supply the vehicles. Since they advertise on my blog, I'm giving them a free space next week in return. And don't worry, honey. They assured me there won't be any dead bodies in the back."
"That does it!" Gianna screamed. "I will not go to my wedding in a hearse!"
"Nicoletta thought it was a good idea too," my father said. "She thinks there might even be some old Italian tradition about it bringing the bride and groom luck."
Gianna stood and grabbed her coat. "Then you and Nicoletta ride in it. I'm done. This is my day, and I'm not going to be made a laughingstock. The wedding is off!"
She rushed from the room. I started to get up and go after her, but my mother beat me to it. "Gianna! Wait, honey!"
I could hear my sister sobbing as she slammed the front door.
Grandma Rosa glared at my father. "I knew this was going to happen. All because you and that pazza woman next door cannot mind your own business."
"When's dinner?" my father asked, as if nothing were wrong. "All that shopping has made me hungry."
"I don't believe this," I said. "Your daughter just called off her wedding! Aren't you going to run after her?"
My father helped himself to one of Grandma Rosa's candy cane brownies on the Christmas tree platter in the center of the table. "Nah. She didn't mean it. Besides, she would lose the deposit on the hall." He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "Needs more peppermint, Rosa. Maybe add some Schnapps next time too." He stood, gave me a pat on the head, and whistled cheerfully as he went into the living room.
"I would like to Schnapp you," Grandma Rosa called after him. She grabbed oven mitts to take the lasagna out of the oven. The delicious smell was warm, inviting, and soothing. Most of the time I couldn't eat when I was upset, but things had been different since my pregnancy.
The front door slammed again, and Mike flew into the kitchen like a blast of cold wind. He stooped to his knees and put his arms around me. "Sal! Are you all right, baby?"
"I'm okay." I leaned my head on his shoulder, comforted by the feel of him. "We're okay, I mean."
Mike put a hand on my belly, and I covered it with mine. He studied my face for a moment, and then his mouth curved into a slight frown. "Why did you lie to me, Sal?"
The hurt was obvious in his husky tone, and sorrow imminent in those midnight blue eyes that I adored so much, making me want to weep. I had expected screaming and would have preferred it to this. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes. "But I didn't."
"You promised me that you'd stay out of trouble. You said you'd call me if you needed help."
Grandma Rosa regarded us in silence. I knew she was waiting to see what I would say and if I would bring up Josie's name. Heck, I was waiting to see what I would say too. "Uh—"
Mike brought my hand to his lips. "You should have called me when Josie wouldn't leave."
"Huh?" I was confused.
"Josie phoned me after you did," Mike explained. "She was crying and said it was all her fault that you guys were at that complex in the first place. She said you wanted to go home, but she was curious to see what might happen. I'm sorry for yelling at you on the phone, princess, but I was so scared." His voice broke. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you or our baby. You two are my entire world."
Tears slid down my face as I wrapped my arms around his neck. We held each other for a couple of minutes in silence, and when we finally separated, I noticed that my grandmother had discreetly left the room.
"I'm fine," I told Mike again. "I called the doctor, and he said there was no reason to come in if the baby was still moving and I wasn't in any pain. Josie didn't mean to put me in any danger. One of the Santas is dead and the other in custody, so this nightmare is close to being over." At least I hoped so.
Mike cupped my face between his hands. "What else? Did one of them kill Damian?"
"I'm not sure. Brian promised to call me after he had talked to the Santa in custody, Leroy. His partner, Lyle, was taken to the morgue."
Grandma Rosa returned. "I have some pasta fagioli for you, Mike," she said. "That should help you feel better. Sally said you had the flu." She winked at me knowingly.
Mike's face reddened slightly. "Thanks, Rosa. That sounds great." He sat down in the chair next to mine and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Well, at least you're not a suspect anymore, right?"
"I don't think so." It seemed unlikely, but who knew for certain? In the past, I'd been a potential victim more times than a suspect. From being locked in a sauna, to tied up and left for dead in an apartment with the gas on, to shut up in a freezer with a killer, I thought I must have seen it all by now. As Mike often s
aid, I was like a cat with nine lives. The sad part was that sometimes I wondered how many I had left.
"I'm not convinced those guys killed Damian." My intuition was telling me that someone else had done the deed. "Remember the note I found in my car? There has to be another person involved or calling the shots, and maybe they killed him as well."
"Maybe." Mike sat back in his chair. "Look, I'm sorry the guy died, but all I care about is that my wife and baby aren't involved in this train wreck anymore. It was ridiculous that Brian even considered you a suspect."
"My cake server and cookies were at the crime scene," I reminded him. "Someone wanted me to take the blame, but why? And who?" That person was out there somewhere and still might have it in for me.
Mike frowned. "I know how that beautiful mind is working, princess. Let the police find Damian's killer. It's what they get paid for. My wife has more important things to accomplish—like bringing our child into this world." He winked.
I smiled but said nothing. Perhaps Mike didn't realize that until the killer was caught, it would still affect the bakery's profits at our busiest time of the year. It was only three days until Christmas, and we'd had many last-minute cancellations. We were usually swamped up until New Year's Day. Would people start to show up, or would the gossip mill concerning Sally's Shambles continue to turn? I was betting on the latter. People in Colwestern needed to find a different hobby to keep them entertained.
Mike gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Grandma Rosa. "What about Josie's van? Is it drivable?"
I spooned some whipped cream into my mouth. "The windows need to be replaced, and the van needs to be cleaned, but other than that, I think it's fine. The police won't release it to her yet though. Fortunately, she can use her mother-in-law's car in the meantime. If not, I would have lent her mine."
The front door slammed again. Grandma Rosa sighed as she carried the crystal salad bowl to the dining room table. "It is like Grand Central Station in here today."
Brian strode into the room, his expression grim as he nodded to us. "Your mother said it was okay to come in."
Mike slowly rose from his chair, and for a moment, I wasn't sure what to expect, thanks to Gianna's outburst the other day. I should have trusted my husband more. He extended his hand for Brian to shake, as he'd done in the hospital after my carjacking. "You saved Sal's life today. I can't thank you enough."
Brian's face reddened. "You're welcome, but I was only doing my job. There's no need for thanks." He cocked an eyebrow at me. "You're no longer a suspect of course. And I hope you realize that I never considered you one, not even for a moment. But that doesn't change the fact that you ladies shouldn't have been there today."
I didn't attempt to defend myself. Let him go ahead and blow off some steam at my expense. The baby, Josie, and I were okay, and that was all that mattered. Josie had admitted the entire situation was her fault, and Mike was no longer angry. Hopefully, things could get back to normal. I gestured for Brian to sit down. "What did Leroy tell you?"
Brian looked exhausted as he sank into a chair. "Not much. Leroy clearly couldn't think for himself and did whatever Lyle told him to. Leroy has the brawn, but no brains. Not that Lyle was a genius either. There was definitely someone else who orchestrated the robberies and gave them the order to kill Damian."
This wasn't news to me. "But who?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Brian said wearily. "Leroy didn't even know if it was a man or woman. Lyle always talked to the 'Head Elf,' which is the name they gave this person."
"Are you serious?" This was getting weirder by the moment. "Is it possible that Leroy is lying and does know who the killer is?"
"Doubtful." Brian shrugged. "He's not smart enough to concoct a story like that, trust me. And we don't know for sure that the Head Elf was the one to kill Damian. Someone else might be involved."
"Unbelievable." Who could this Head Elf person be, and did they have a personal connection to Damian? One of the Santas was in custody and the other dead, but we still knew nothing about the killer. It was impossible to rest easy until that person was also behind bars.
Someone had tried to frame me. I had no connections to Damian except for my brief infatuation with him 16 years ago. But he'd told everyone and their grandmother that I still had it "bad" for him. If the Head Elf had been looking to make someone else a patsy, I was the perfect applicant for the job. All that was needed to incriminate me was for the killer to break into my bakery, steal some personal items, and plant them next to the body. Easy peasy.
Mike squeezed my hand. "You can leave it alone now, baby. Those psycho Santas won't be bothering you anymore."
He was right. It was best to leave it alone. Brian had assured me I was no longer a suspect, and the police would find Damian's killer eventually. So, why did I worry that the killer still had me in their sights?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For the first time in days, I slept like a log. There were no more worries of being arrested in the delivery room or birthing my child behind iron bars. Damian's killer was still on the loose, but I had to let it go. My child had already been in enough danger to last him or her a lifetime. I looked forward to spending the holiday with my husband and child—whenever he or she decided to arrive, that was.
When I awoke, it was after eleven o'clock, and Mike was setting a breakfast tray on the bed. He'd made me pancakes, sausages, and a cup of coffee at full caffeine strength. "You need it," he said when I protested. "Your grandmother said that this late in the pregnancy isn't going to harm the baby."
Grandma Rosa's word had always been golden for me. I polished off the pancakes and sausages in record time while he lay on the bed next to me, running his hand over my belly and smiling up at me. "What? Haven't you ever seen a fat lady eat before?" I teased.
He kissed me on the forehead. "You're not fat. You're the most beautiful woman in the world."
I sighed. "You always say the right thing, Mr. Donovan. Say, how's that flu treating you today? All better now?"
Mike waved a hand in the air, as if brushing it off. "Oh, I kicked it out in no time. No big deal. And knowing that my wife is no longer a suspect in a drug addict's murder made a huge difference."
Oh yeah. Grandma Rosa had been right, but then again, she always was.
Mike winked. "It's only two days till Christmas. There's still plenty of time for our little person to arrive before the big day."
We both watched my belly moving and laughed. "He's finishing breakfast," I said.
Mike raised an eyebrow at me. "You mean she, not he."
"Nope, you're wrong. It's definitely a boy."
"Maybe you should ask the fortune cookies what the baby's sex is." Mike grinned and rolled off the bed before I could smack him. He picked up my empty tray and whistled cheerfully as he went down the hall with it.
My phone buzzed from the nightstand, and an unknown number popped up on the screen. "Hello?"
"Yeah. This is Magnolia. Farley said you wanted to see me."
I'd forgotten all about her. "Oh, hi. Thanks for getting in touch."
"Look, I heard about those guys getting caught—you know, the ones that wanted to kill Damian." Her voice was childlike, not shrill and loud as I remembered at the police station the other day. "I'm sorry for telling the cops you did it, but it was your knife next to his body."
"Cake server, not knife," I corrected. "And I told you that I was set up. Why in the world would I have wanted him dead—because he embarrassed me 16 years ago? That's crazy."
"All right, I get your point." She paused. "Can we still meet?"
Confused, I stared at the phone. "There's no need to anymore, is there?"
She was silent for several seconds. "I'm afraid the police think I might have done it."
Gee, why would they ever think that? Magnolia might have been the one to find Damian's body, but that didn't mean anything. She could have staged it all after she killed him. Maybe Magnolia had broken into my shop, sta
bbed her boyfriend with the server, placed the gingerbread at the crime scene, and then called the police. "I'm no longer involved. This has nothing to do with me anymore."
"That's where you're wrong," she said. "Whoever killed Damian framed you. They may still come after you."
Her words chilled me. Magnolia was smarter than I'd thought.
"Look, I don't trust those pigs," she went on. "They keep acting like I killed Damian. I could never hurt anyone. We didn't have a perfect relationship, but I still loved him. They think I know those two morons who carjacked you, but I don't, honest to God."
"Magnolia, like I told you—"
She cut me off. "There's some things about Damian that you don't know, which might help convince you that I didn't kill him."
"Magnolia, why do you care what I think? My words don't carry any clout with the police." If anything, they were sick of the sight of me.
"I've heard about your reputation—you know, solving murder cases before the cops did," Magnolia explained. "Also, that you've found a dead body or two."
Or ten. I sensed disaster waiting to happen but was curious about what Magnolia had to say. No, I wouldn't go to meet her anywhere she suggested, but I'd be safe at the bakery with Josie. "All right. Can you meet me at my bakery this afternoon? Maybe around two o'clock?"
Magnolia inhaled and then exhaled into the phone, which made me think she was puffing away on a cigarette. "Yeah. I'll be there. And no cops." She clicked off without another word.
I lumbered out of bed and went to take a shower. As I was getting dressed, Mike came back into the bedroom and stood there, hands on hips. "Time to go?"
The overanxious father. He looked so darned cute that I couldn't help but laugh. "No, silly. I'm going to the bakery for a little while. I'll only be gone for about an hour or so."
His dark blue eyes narrowed. "Sal, what's really going on? I thought you were done with work."
Ginger Snapped to Death Page 14
