by Gina LaManna
“Why? How?...What?” A thought dawned on me. “Is someone committing a crime right now? Do you know about it? Call the police, don’t just hide from it!”
“It’s more complicated than that.” Beckett blew a kiss at Baby Arnold before turning to leave. He paused in the doorframe. “Also, I like you, and I didn’t have other plans tonight. You didn’t either, so I figured I’d stop by to check on you while Anthony’s away.”
“Get out.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded his head. “Just remember, I’m here to help, not to harm. I’ll see you around, Lacey.”
“But—”
“Read the paper in the morning,” he called over his shoulder. “It’ll explain a few things.”
I fumed in silence, waiting for the door to close or a window to slam shut.
Nothing.
The apartment remained in silence for minutes on end. Finally, I worked up the guts to go scour the other rooms. I took Arnold with me, telling myself it was because I wanted to use him as a weapon, and not because I wanted his company.
After I skirted every room, I exhaled a long sigh. The apartment was empty, all doors and windows locked. Eventually I had no choice but to climb back in bed and try again for sleep. It was difficult, but when my eyes finally closed, I dreamed of magic.
Chapter 19
“Where is our coffee?” I tapped my fingers against the countertop of the same bar we’d left last night. “I need coffee.”
Overnight, the place had morphed from a candlelit bar into a bright, cheery coffee shop with light blue walls. A loft one floor up overlooked the rest of the restaurant.
Meg and I stood at the bar like the rest of the Italians bustling in and out during the rush hour commute. We’d ordered an espresso, trying not to look like tourists. However, Italian time was more of a “suggestion,” not a requirement, which meant that people moved at a leisurely pace. Apparently, so did the coffee machines.
I’d normally love the relaxed style of life, however, this morning was an exception. I had places to be. Taking a decade to order a coffee hadn’t been on the agenda.
“You got up on the wrong side of the bed,” Meg said. “But don’t worry, I suppose that’s normal. Anthony’s a pretty big guy, and he wasn’t around yesterday.”
“I’m afraid to ask what you mean by that.”
“When you are both there, he takes up most of the bed. That leaves you with no choice as to which side you get up on. Now when he’s away, you suddenly have all this space to roll around, and flop—you flop when you sleep, Lacey. You probably flopped to the wrong side of the bed.”
“I don’t flop in my sleep.”
“You’re totally a flopper. Anyway, it’s okay. All you need is coffee, and you’ll be right as rain.”
I waved at the barista, just in case he’d forgotten about me. He saw me, nodded, and then went right back to his conversation with a pretty businesswoman who looked like she belonged at Fashion Week.
“Let’s go,” I grumbled. “There’s another place three doors down.”
“Uh, oh.” Meg followed. “Something in particular got your undies in a bunch?”
I sighed. “Someone broke into my room last night.”
“Okay,” she said patiently. “Something new? Because that happens to you all the time.”
“It was the guy from the magic show yesterday. He told me to read the newspaper this morning.”
“How are you supposed to read the newspaper if you don’t speak the language?”
“I’ll look at the pictures,” I said, keeping an eye out for papers. No luck yet. “I think it’s something about this string of burglaries. He told me he needed an alibi, and that’s why he broke into my place.”
“Look at that,” Meg said. “You’re going and doing good deeds in the middle of the night. Handing out alibis left and right! It’s like you’re a real Mother Theresa.”
“No, Meg, that analogy still doesn’t work.”
“You’re a real…” Meg shook her head. “Nope, I’ve got nothing. What was the alibi for?”
I almost said I didn’t know, but the gelateria up ahead caught my attention instead. For once, the desserts were second priority.
But they weren’t a second priority for long. I swiped a newspaper from the table as we walked inside, and then went to order a chocolate almond brioche because otherwise, my cappuccino would feel lonely.
I pulled Meg to one of the little tables in the corner and plunked down on the seat, setting the newspaper before us. Meg decided she couldn’t have her coffee be lonely either, so she’d ordered one of about everything else in the pastry cases.
While I pointed to the article on the front page, I stole a bite of her cannoli. “This has got to be what he was talking about.”
Meg was too busy growling at her cannoli, which was now halfway eaten, to look at the paper.
“I can’t read the headline, but I think this says…” I paused, scanning the photos. It looked sort of like a professor with a bow tie speaking to a reporter. “Kitty Kat Burglar is back.”
Meg picked up the paper, flapped it once, and began reading. “The Kitty Kat Burglar is back,” she announced. “This time stealing a million dollar necklace from designer Largo Polka Dot. It happened in the middle of the night, and we have no suspects.”
I squinted at her. “When did you learn to read Italian?”
“I didn’t.”
“So you made all that up?”
“Imagination is a beautiful thing, Lacey.” She finished off her pastries. “Next time, don’t eat my cannoli, and I won’t make up stories.”
I sighed, pulling out my phone and Googling the newspaper where the article appeared.
“Say, you sound like you want a translator,” Meg said, dropping her voice low. “Here’s my plan. Let’s find a handsome man who speaks English and Italian. We borrow him and tie him up to be our in-house translator. He only gets to eat twice per day, unless he’s really nice. We can keep him in your apartment so you’re not so lonely without Anthony. What say you, Lacey Luzzi?”
“No.”
“You are so harsh!”
“We don’t need a translator, and plus, that whole plan is probably illegal.”
“Well, how are you going to read the article without a translation man?”
I held up my phone, wiggling it once. “Google Translate.”
“Oh,” she said, crestfallen. “Fine.”
“You weren’t all that wrong about the article.” I skimmed the translated copy, murmuring the important bits out loud. “Karl Spader, designer extraordinaire, had a piece stolen from his secure room somewhere between three and three-thirty a.m. this morning. It was to be shown in his featured collection during Fashion Week tonight. Without it, he’ll be forced to cancel one of the most anticipated reveals of the week.”
“That stinks!” Meg said. “But maybe if I can hunt it down, I can reveal it to the crowd. You know, maybe they’ll ask me to be the model once we find it. I’ll be America’s Next Top Model.”
“We’re in Italy,” I said. “So you’d be Italy’s top model.”
“This right here?” Meg shimmied. “This girl is made in America.”
I winced, focusing on dunking my brioche into the fluffy cappuccino. “If we find the piece early, we give it back to Karl. He already has a model lined up, I’m sure.”
“But does she have this much attitude?” Meg posed like Zoolander. It was the same as her imitation of a fish.
“No, she probably doesn’t,” I said, thinking that was probably a very good thing. The world could only handle one Meg. “Let’s get to Karl’s showroom. It’s just down the street from Lizabeth’s.”
“Sounds good,” Meg said. “But please let me change first. Nobody’s gonna recruit me to be a top model in this old thing.”
I watched as she gestured to another iteration of her vests, this one flannel instead of camo. I hadn’t realized that anyone made flannel vests.
&nbs
p; “Keep it on,” I said encouragingly. “We should get going. That flannel is so revolutionary.”
“Dang straight,” Meg said, standing up and turning in a circle. “I changed my mind. I’m gonna start a revolution. Come on, Lacey, I’ve got some heads to turn. And by the way, if you could’ve just Googled the whole story, why did we have to hunt down a newspaper?”
Chapter 20
Earlier that morning, I’d tried to pawn Baby Arnold off on my family. However, they had wised up overnight and turned me down flat. When I had knocked on Door C, Carlos had refused me entry.
When I tried Door A, Clay had answered with a warning frown and a bomb in his hand. I floated the idea of leaving Arnold on Clay’s front steps, but my cousin had promised to throw the doll out the window. So we took Arnold with us.
It turned out to be a blessing in disguise. If I kept Arnold’s weird face hidden against my chest, people assumed that I was holding a real baby in the swaddled blankets. This made people act extra nice to me. One young woman even forced me to take her seat on the Metro. I tried to say no, but eventually I gave in and sat.
This gave me an idea, and as we arrived at the scene of the crime, I played up Arnold’s pretend cuteness. Bystanders cooed in Arnold’s direction, and they looked at me with this little half smile that told me they thought my baby was adorable. Little did they know, he was plastic.
However, plastic didn’t seem to matter all that much when I talked about breastfeeding. Because when I told the police officer at the crime scene that my baby was hungry, he let me walk right past.
Meg had a harder time of things, fighting her way through the crowd a few steps behind me. “Give me that baby,” she called, swamped by strangers. “Share the baby, Lacey!”
By the time we elbowed past the crowd gathering on the streets, I was smiling. “Maybe kids aren’t so bad,” I said, patting Arnold’s empty head. The hollow sphere thunked against my hand until a lady gave me a weird stare, so I stopped. “There are some perks.”
“But then they grow up,” Meg said. “And the perks go away for a little bit when they’re a teenager.”
“I suppose,” I said with a sigh. “But they’re so cute when they’re little. And I think the perks are supposed to come back around when they’re adults.”
“Cute?” Meg shook her head. “Arnold looks like Cookie Monster and ET-the-alien had a baby.”
“I like to pretend.”
My phone rang then, so I stepped inside Karl’s showroom and answered it, making a big show of holding the baby as the officers looked my way. “Hello?” I whispered. “Who is it?”
“I found something,” Clay said, his breathing suspiciously heavy. “Wanna hear?”
“Why are you breathing so heavy?”
“What? I’m not breathing heavy.”
“Yes, you are,” I said.
He paused. “I’m excited. I found something.”
“Okay, spill.”
As Clay began a long diatribe of how computers worked, I took a moment to study the showroom. There was no speeding him up, so I just had to wait him out.
The colors in Karl’s shop were bright, but the mannequins in the window were black and edgy. The posters on the wall displayed models with angry eyebrows and pouts that gave me the impression I was under intense scrutiny.
I’d heard of Karl Spader before. He served the high end, more risqué celebrities with loads of money to burn. Lots of people saved their pennies to purchase one of his flashy purses, black leather pieces designed with diamonds and spikes. I didn’t own anything by Karl. My most famous designer went by the fancy name of Target.
“Her name is Alessandra Miller.” Clay finally got to the good stuff. “She’s from California. Her records only reach back to her seventh birthday. Before that, I can’t find anything. She’s listed as an assistant on her resume, but I can’t find out for who or for what.”
“Why would she only have records going back to age seven?”
“I don’t know, maybe they’re there, but I’ve had limited time to dig. Botched adoption, bad home situation…” Clay sighed. “Does it really matter what happened when she was five?”
“She’s from California?”
“Yes, her occupation there is listed as a mechanic, but I doubt that’s accurate. I have a home address and phone for her, but the phone isn’t a working number. The more I read about her, the more I imagine she’s the type who goes through a phone a week.”
“Why would a mechanic—or an assistant—need a different phone every week?”
“I imagine her body shop is a front for something else,” he said. “If you run into her again, don’t underestimate her. Even the small amounts of information I’ve found have been difficult to come by.” He coughed. “Any normal person couldn’t have done it.”
“You’re fishing, Clay.”
“Fishing?” He tried to sound oblivious, but it didn’t work.
“For compliments,” I whispered, as a policeman walked close to my shoulder. “Anyway, I’m kidding. You did good.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “I have a system running now that’ll try to guess where she’ll pop up next. I’m guessing you’ll want to find her again. Unfortunately, I don’t have an address for her, but I do have a forecasting tool that utilizes the places she’s been, and analyzes them to give me suggestions for where she might turn up next—”
“Clay,” I interrupted abruptly, “I forecast that she’ll be in Karl Spader’s showroom.”
He fell silent, clicked a few keys in the background. “Nope, not even close, sorry. The computer says she’ll be near the D’uomo. Head that way.”
“Clay, I hate to say it, but your software needs more tinkering.” I pulled Arnold closer to my chest and looked up. “I’m in Karl Spader’s showroom now, and so is she.”
“Are you sure?” he asked after a beat.
“Positive.”
Clay began to yell obscenities at his computer, pausing only long enough to say goodbye to me and hang up.
** **
Meg was busy examining the newest display case of earrings when I put down the phone and joined her. Clearly neither of us fit in here—either as fashion folks or police people—but nobody said a word. I blamed it on Arnold.
“Thanks, baby,” I whispered, giving his forehead a little smooch.
“Did you just kiss that alien head?” Meg asked. “Gross.”
“You’re imagining things,” I said. “Let’s go talk to our girl.”
We sauntered across the room, aiming for nonchalance but accomplishing something more like suspicion. Only two people asked if we needed something, and I just shook my head and kissed Arnold’s noggin. It worked like a charm.
“You’re using Arnold for everything,” Meg said. “I can’t tell if I should be impressed or horrified.”
“I had no idea kids could be so useful!” I hesitated. “That came out all wrong.”
“Kids are super useful!” Meg poked Arnold in the belly. “To dress up and stuff.”
“True,” I agreed. “And to use as an excuse to re-watch all the Disney movies.”
“And to re-read bedtime stories,” Meg added. “And plus, we’d have to eat snacks with them all day.”
“Definitely. And I suppose they’re cute.”
“Some of them even grow up to be nice humans,” Meg said. “Or so I hear. I haven’t seen it firsthand.”
“I feel like we’re missing the point of kids,” I said to Meg. “What do you think?”
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s one of those things where you’ve gotta learn from experience.”
I didn’t respond, realizing that we’d migrated across the room and were now standing inches away from Alessandra Miller. She browsed the purse collection, her high heels clicking as she walked. Her chic attire—black skinny jeans and a floppy sweater that hung stylishly off one shoulder—made me look all frumpy and grandmotherly.
“Hey, girlfriend, fancy seeing you here,�
� Meg said to Alessandra. “Do you have kids? Lacey and I have a few questions about them little suckers.”
Alessandra turned, with a bright smile. “Nope! No kids for me. Not yet, at least.”
“So you want them?” Meg stepped closer, too close.
I reached out a hand and pulled her back. “You can ignore her if she’s getting too personal,” I told Alessandra. “She has a habit of saying whatever comes to her mind.”
Alessandra laughed. “Oh, I do too.” She leaned forward girlishly. “I don’t have kids. It’s not that I’m opposed, but I hear you need two people to have a kid, and I’m missing one of the pieces.”
“Is that right?” Meg put a hand on her hip. “Which piece are you missing?”
I closed my eyes and pretended not to exist.
Thankfully, Alessandra laughed again, reaching out and giving Meg a light tap on the shoulder. “You are too funny!”
“It was a serious question,” Meg muttered to me.
“Let it go,” I whispered back. To Alessandra, I asked brightly, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m an assistant to—” she looked over our shoulders, waved to someone standing there.
I turned to look, but I couldn’t see who she’d waved at. By the time I turned back, she’d fallen into a conversation in Italian with someone else.
“How does she do that?” Meg whispered. “It’s impressive.”
“Sorry, girls, I have to run.” Alessandra winked at us, almost teasingly. As if she knew something we didn’t. “I’m sure I’ll see you around again. Are you coming to the fashion show tonight?”
“Maybe,” Meg said, just as I blurted out, “Who are you assisting?”
I cleared my throat and tried again. “Do you work for one of the designers?”
“Something like that.” A hint of a smile fluttered across her lips, though it didn’t match her eyes. She clicked two steps away, and then stopped. “I didn’t steal anything, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
