Lacey Luzzi: Seasoned: A humorous, cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 7)

by Gina LaManna

“No, but I’d assume his apartment,” Horatio said. “He didn’t tell me. He just asked how I’ve been. That’s it, I promise.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said I was good. Fine. We didn’t really talk long. Now that I think about it, the whole thing was kind of random. But he sounded in control, so I guess I didn’t focus on it. He didn’t ask for money or a favor like he usually does, so I took that as a good sign.” Horatio gave a weak smile. “I thought he might finally be making progress. Maybe Carlos helped turn him around.”

  I paused. “Well, if he calls again, ask him where he is, all right?”

  Horatio swallowed. “Has he been bothering your family again?”

  My eyes flicked to Clay and Anthony. “That’s the thing. I’m not sure.”

  Horatio leaned towards the screen. “How are you not sure?”

  “I went to talk to him about my last case, right around Halloween. He disappeared from his job the day I showed up there. And then later that night, Meg caught someone following me to her bar, late at night.”

  “Is Meg okay?” Clay’s eyes widened.

  I stared at Clay. “Of course she is.” I shook my head in disbelief. Sometimes Clay was a genius. Other times, I swear he was a few Fruit Loops short of a box. “You rode on the plane out here with her, and she’s sleeping in the room next door. This was a month ago.”

  Horatio bit his lip so hard he winced in pain. “Do you know Oleg was for sure involved? Why would he do any of that?”

  “I don’t know.” I hugged my chest. “And I’ll be completely honest, it could be a coincidence. I’m just becoming more and more skeptical of coincidences in my jaded old age.”

  “You’re not that old,” Clay said. “Just medium old.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot.” I rolled my eyes. “Horatio, listen, I’m not trying to pin things on your brother, I’m just trying to understand and connect the dots in the simplest way possible. It seems too neat and tidy to not be correlated, is all I’m saying. But I’m open to other theories, if anyone has ’em.”

  “Horatio, did Oleg say why he left the auto shop?” Clay piped up, his face slowly turning to a normal shade of skin. “He was doing so well, from what I could tell – steady job, steady apartment – what made him give that all up?”

  “I already told you, I thought he was still at his job.” Horatio looked down at something in front of him. “I tracked the number he called me from, so I can give him a call back and poke around a bit more. But not now, it’s late. Tomorrow, okay?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t want you to push him to do something stupid. Technically, the only thing he’s done is left his job and vanished, which isn’t illegal.”

  “I’ll just call him and ask where he’s living, say I want to send him a package.” Horatio shrugged. “I keep tabs on the guy, he won’t think it’s anything except me being a nosy brother. I’m always a nosy brother.”

  I looked to Anthony. “What do you think?”

  Anthony looked to Clay. “You don’t know where Oleg is on any of your little tracker things?”

  Clay looked down. “No, I lost him the day Lacey visited the mechanic shop.”

  Anthony turned back to me. “Go ahead, then. Won’t hurt to put feelers out.”

  “Just let us know exactly what he says. If you can, tape the phone call,” I said to Horatio. “Can you do that?”

  “Of course I can record the phone call,” Horatio said. “What do you think I am, a five-year-old? Oh wait, even kindergarteners know how to record phone calls in this day and age.”

  I didn’t bother to add that, based on his logic, my technological abilities were somewhere around those of an infant. Instead, I crossed my arms and went instead with my tough guy stare.

  “Gotta go.” Horatio hung up without giving any of us a chance to say goodbye.

  “That was abrupt.” I turned back to Anthony and Clay. “Any thoughts?”

  “Yeah.” Clay held up a middle finger at the blank screen. “It’s Horatio’s fault that picture came up, Anthony. He clicked the wrong button. I swear on Lacey’s life, I’m not interested in men.”

  “I don’t care what or who you’re interested in, as long as it’s not me.” Anthony’s large form rose from the bed, looming over Clay. “So just make sure my picture doesn’t pop up on that damn screen again, are we clear?”

  “Crystal, sir,” Clay squeaked. “You know it.”

  “Wait a second, what if I run the test?” I sidled up next to Anthony, rubbing my shoulder playfully against his. “Then would you be okay with your picture popping up?”

  Anthony didn’t respond. He grabbed my hand and led me from the room, leaving Clay to mutter curse words at the keyboard, all by his lonesome.

  “Hey,” I said, my feet dragging as Anthony walked quickly down the hallway to my bedroom. “You’re going so fast. What’s wrong with your picture showing up for my search? Is that bad?”

  Anthony pulled me into our now-shared room, slammed the door shut, and clicked the lock button with a vigorous sounding clink.

  I swallowed, pinned between him and the door. He didn’t seem very playful anymore. “Or, that’s just fine and dandy, you don’t have to answer.”

  “Lacey,” he said, reaching a hand out and running it along the side of my face, his eyes scanning every inch between my forehead and my lips. “I don’t need a computer program to tell me I want to be with you.”

  My shoulders softened, and I let my body droop in his arms, balanced against the door.

  “Nothing good will come of that stupid thing. If it pops up your photo for my search, then it confirms something we already know,” Anthony said, his voice low and coarse. “And if it pops up a different picture, then it only confirms something else we already know.”

  “What’s that other thing we know?” I frowned, not liking the idea of a computer program spitting back anyone’s image but my own for Anthony.

  “That Clay doesn’t know a thing about falling in love,” Anthony said, a smile slipping onto his face. “Do you really think a computer can pick out someone’s perfect soul mate?”

  “Fine. Fair point. Though I have to say, Clay’s a lucky guy.” I shook my head, sidestepping Anthony and tossing a playful grin over my shoulder. “You know, he really did get a good guy, based on that program.”

  Anthony’s eyes darkened, a mix between dangerous and amused. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  I shrieked, leaping away as he chased me towards the bed. But he was faster than I’d ever be, and snatched me before I could escape. Anthony tossed me on the bed, following close behind, placing one leg on either side of my body as he clasped my waist between his hands.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I squealed, wiggling away underneath him. But he was too solid, too skilled, and too strong for me to do any damage.

  However, unlucky for him, I’d picked up on his weak spot.

  Extending my leg as far as it could go, I stuck my big toe out. And then, I tickled the bottom of his foot. Just a little, but it was enough.

  Anthony yelped, leaping off the bed and letting me free. “We had an agreement, Lacey! None of that!”

  “All’s fair in love and war,” I said, gulping as anticipation and giddiness grabbed hold in my chest. I cowered under the blankets, wrapping myself like a cocoon, the giggles coming so fast and so hard I started hiccupping. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I take it all back! Please don’t retaliate.”

  “You promised to leave my feet alone,” Anthony said, wrapping the blanket tighter around my body. “You know what that means.”

  “No, no!” I was laughing and hiccupping so hard, my chest hurt by now. “Stop the torture, please.”

  “Lucky for you, I had something else in mind besides torture.” Anthony said. “I’ll let you off the hook easy this time, if you promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I chanced a peek over the top of my self-made burrito blanket.

  “Stay with me on C
hristmas Eve,” Anthony said, his breath teasing my neck, sending a shot of warmth down my cocoon. “At my place.”

  My eyes shot open, my head popping out from the blanket like a turtle from its shell. “Yes, of course I will, Anthony! Do you mean it?”

  “Yes, I mean it.”

  “This is awesome torture, I can’t lie.” I blinked my eyes a few times to make sure it was all real. “I’ve wanted to see your house for months.”

  “It’s not perfect, I’m warning you.” Anthony’s eyes clouded with uncertainty.

  “Have you seen my apartment?” I gave him a look. “I know all about not perfect.”

  A smile quirked Anthony’s lips upward. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Me too.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “But in the meantime, I’ll share my blanket burrito if you want to come in here with me.”

  “Hey.” Anthony paused in thought. “We are past the thirty-minute mark by a long shot.”

  “I guess we are,” I grinned. “Long past.”

  If I hadn’t already been excited about staying the night at Anthony’s place, he made sure I had ten good reasons to be over the moon about it, right then and there.

  CHAPTER 26

  “He came, he came!” Meg burst into the bedroom, somehow bypassing the locked door. “A day early, too. Yippee!” She came to a crashing stop at the foot of the bed, her eyes widening in surprise at the second form in my bed. “Oh, hell no. What are you doing here?”

  I peeked one eye open, feeling Anthony stir behind me under the comforter. But instead of coming up for air, he burrowed his head as deep as it’d go in the pillow, and slunk as far down the mattress as he had space.

  “Meg?” I asked, rubbing my eyes and sitting up. “What are you doing in here? And how did you get through the locked door?”

  “Bobby pin, duh.” She pointed to her head, where no less than six bobby pins held her hair in place. “This ol’ house isn’t equipped with high tech bedroom locks.” Meg crossed her arms. “But more importantly, why does Anthony appear in your bed during every one of our vacations?”

  I looked at the lump next to me. “It’s not a vacation. It’s a business trip.”

  “Not very professional, eh?” Meg raised an eyebrow. “Sleeping with the boss.”

  “I’m the boss on this one,” I said. “Not Anthony.”

  “I know.” Meg pouted. “He’s sucking up to you. Trying to take that promotion you promised me. Good thing I won’t let him.”

  “I promised you a promotion?”

  “Real big one.”

  I peeled open my other eye, feigning surprise to find one of Meg’s arms full. “What do you have there?” I gestured to the long, plastic garment bag draped over her forearm. “And who came a day early?”

  “Santa Claus!” Meg grinned. “He showed up!”

  “Let me see.” I waved her closer, peering at the nametag on display. “Look at that. From Santa Claus. Anthony, do you see this?”

  He groaned and pulled the blankets over his head.

  “It’s a dress,” Meg gushed. “How on earth did he find me here? I’m not even sure if this place has a chimney. Let alone one wide enough for St. Nick. And how did he get this bag out of the fireplace without a single ash on it?”

  “Magic.” I offered a sleepy smile. “Go on, let’s see the dress.”

  “Oh, it’s gorgeous.” Meg lifted the garment bag, offering me a sneak peek of the bottom of the fabric. “I think it’s for the red carpet tonight. I know I offered to stay in the car with Clay, but I think I’ll have to make an appearance in public to show this baby off.”

  “Perfect. You can take Tupac the Sailor with you,” I said. “We decided Poopsie needed a date, and the only available feline happens to be one who hates me and adores you. You can get Lizabeth’s cat handler up to speed, show off your dress, and then go back to the van.”

  “Wonderful.” Meg grinned. Then her face fell. “But what about my date?”

  “Clay?” I offered my cousin up without hesitation. “He doesn’t have a date. Maybe you two can be a team.”

  “What about you?” Meg kicked Anthony’s foot. Hard. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, buster.”

  “No,” Anthony grumbled. “You’ll never be my date.”

  “What’s up his butt?” Meg asked, turning to me. “You’ve already got yourself a date, Lacey, so looks like Anthony’s flying solo.”

  “You’ve got a date?” Anthony’s head popped out from under the blanket. “What?”

  “It’s not a date,” I said. “It’s business. The stunt driver that I told you about is the one who got us tickets. He put my name on the invitation, so technically I’m going with him. I didn’t know you’d be here. But don’t worry, it’s only on paper. We don’t have to stand next to each other. Much.”

  Anthony didn’t look happy.

  “We planned it this way to try and blend in,” I said. “Lizabeth could’ve gotten us tickets, but we were trying to be more discreet with our security service. Of course, it turns out our cover was blown anyway, what with yesterday’s surprise, so I’m not sure it’d matter anymore. But it’s better not to change up the plan this late in the game.”

  “So Anthony, what do you say?” Meg waggled her eyebrows. “Be my date.”

  “I’m waiting in the car,” he said. “I’d rather be Clay’s date.”

  “Well, that can be arranged.” I waggled my eyebrows at Anthony. “Maybe Clay’s computer program isn’t as faulty as he thought.”

  Anthony let out a guttural groan, and disappeared back under the covers.

  “Computer program?” Meg asked.

  Before I could clarify, another guest waltzed into our bedroom.

  “Good morning, Lizabeth,” I said, trying to stifle a groan. It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy company, but let’s be honest, it was early morning, and I was not lookin’ good right now. And without coffee, my words tended to get jumbled up into sentences that didn’t make sense. And Anthony was no help, burrowing like a groundhog under the covers.

  Lizabeth smiled politely. “Anthony, you’ll come with me, dear. I heard the discussion about dates, and I agree with Lacey. We can’t change the red carpet list at this late hour, not for her and Mack. However…I’m sure Harold won’t mind if you come with me. For the purposes of the job, of course. The more handsome men on my arms the better. Meg, you can take that lovely boy Clay if you’d like, or not. You can introduce Tupac the Sailor to the cat handler before returning to the van.”

  “Clay won’t go with me,” Meg pouted. “I already know this. I’m psychic.”

  “He just might.” I shrugged. “Go ask.”

  “Maybe I’ll ask after I put the dress on.” Meg brightened at her own suggestion. “That way, he won’t be able to say no. Not when I’m lookin’ all hot and spicy in this little number. Or maybe I won’t ask. Maybe he wants to stay in the van so he can admire me from afar. Speaking of, there’s some guy here named Bart. He said he’s gonna help us get ready, Lacey.”

  Anthony looked concerned at the mention of another man.

  “Go on, Bartholomew’s waiting to put your makeup on downstairs.” Lizabeth waved us out of the room, and Anthony looked significantly less concerned. Until Lizabeth turned back to him, and smiled. “I’d just like a quick word with Anthony.”

  “About what?” I asked, watching my boyfriend’s face turn uncomfortable once more.

  “Let them talk, Lace. Come on.” Meg grabbed my arm, yanking me through the door. I gave a feeble wave back to Anthony as Meg hauled me into the hallway.

  I didn’t like the idea of Lizabeth and Anthony talking without me. Something in the way she’d given me that coy little smile, that teasing little finger wave...something was fishy. I just hoped she didn’t go putting any ideas into Anthony’s head. About anything.

  As Meg hauled me into a huge bathroom downstairs, one complete with a sauna, Jacuzzi, and makeup counter larger than most kitchens, I suddenly realized
what bothered me about Lizabeth’s little smile. It was the same one Nora used before she meddled.

  “Stop furrowing your brow, Lacey,” Bartholomew said, prancing into the bathroom. “You’ll make my job so much more difficult if you keep thinking so hard. Just let your mind go blank.”

  “You’re a makeup artist and a stylist?” I looked in the mirror, trying to make my wrinkles go away. I failed.

  “I’m anything you want me to be.” He winked. “You name it.”

  Meg clapped her hands. “This is ah-mazing. I’ve always dreamed of a Hollywood red carpet. Can you imagine? I’m going to be a star. I’ve been saying I could’ve been the next Britney Spears for ages. Maybe we’ll see Hanson. Do you think James Bond will fall over at the sight of me and I’ll have to give him CPR? By the way, Barty-boy, did I show you the dress Santa Claus delivered last night? It’s beauteous. It’s better than anything you would’ve picked out, and you’re a fancy pantsy Hollywood stylist. Isn’t that unbelievable?”

  “Take a breath.” I grinned at Meg. Her excitement, however, was contagious. I turned to Bartholomew. “Really amazing story, huh? How did Santa Claus find her here?”

  Bart beamed over her shoulder, winking in my direction. “GPS, I suppose.”

  I gave him a brief bow of my head, a thank you to the talented, flamboyant, over-excited stylist who’d helped make Meg’s day. For at least one more year, Santa Claus remained alive and well in Meg’s mind. My mom would’ve been proud.

  “For you, I’m thinking loose, Hollywood curls.” Bart picked up the ends of my limp-ish hair. “Volume. A sparkling clip off to the side. Blood red lips. Dangling, simple earrings that’ll show off your long neck. And a bit of a smoky eye. Yes?”

  “You sure as heck can try, but I’m not making any promises that my hair, or any other part of my body for that matter, will cooperate with your vision.”

  “I like it,” Meg said with a nod. “Plus, it’s cool that you have visions, too. I’m psychic. Just not for myself. So what are your visions saying about me?”

  Bart bit his lip, eying my best friend up and down. “For you, my dear…with your confidence, we take things down a notch. Sleek hair pulled back. Stud earrings. Your dress, darling, will speak for itself. You have the makings of a star, that’s for sure.”