Lacey Luzzi: Sauced: A humorous, cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 4)

by Gina LaManna

  “Double whammy,” Meg said. “Jeesh. I guess he doesn’t want to enjoy your birthday after all.”

  “Nobody except you remembers that it even is my birthday,” I said. “So please, please don’t say anything.”

  “Why shouldn’t I say anything?” Meg asked. “I wanna throw you a party.”

  “No party,” I said. “Please, just don’t say anything.”

  “You’ve convinced me for the moment. But it might cost ya.” She rested a hand on her chin as if contemplating what she could get in exchange for not planning a birthday party. “Start talking about the assignment. My curiosity is tickled.”

  “Piqued?” I suggested.

  “Nah. Tickled.” She grimaced. “I’m giggling inside. You just can’t see it on my face.”

  “All right, then,” I said. “There’s one issue regarding an influx of fireworks in the city. Someone around town is apparently importing a bunch of them.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” Meg said. “Sounds more like a party, as a matter of fact.”

  “He’s disassembling the fireworks.” I glanced up and down the alley again, but all was quiet except for the rustle of a paper bag blowing through a few muddy puddles. “He’s taking them apart to build a bomb.”

  “I’m guessing it’s not a bomb for fun,” Meg said with a knowing smile.

  “What sort of bomb is fun?” I asked. “According to Carlos’s sources, he’s planning to set off a fireworks display that will not be fun at all for a large number of people.”

  “Hmm, I see your problem. I don’t exactly see why it’s Carlos’s problem to solve. Isn’t that something the police could handle?”

  I paused. That was a very valid question. Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t entirely sure why I hadn’t asked that myself.

  “Do you want to give Carlos a call before we trek most of the way to Wisconsin looking for fireworks?” Meg held out her phone for me.

  “I have my own phone,” I said, slipping it out of my pocket. “But that’s not the reason we’re going to Stillwater.”

  Meg scrunched up her face. “Is this regarding assignment numero dos?”

  “Yes,” I said. “We’re looking for a special sauce.”

  Meg’s eyes crinkled into a gleeful smile. “You’re telling me that Carlos sent you on a mission to find a special sauce?” She gave a bark of laughter. “You know what they say about special sauces around—”

  “Stop with the jokes,” I said, raising a hand, hiding my own smile. It was kind of funny, now that I thought about it. “Apparently it’s a common task; an initiation of sorts. Everyone in the family has to find the special sauce for the barbecue at one point or another.”

  “Congratulations then, chickadee.” Meg gave me a slap on the back strong enough to fell a giant. I lurched forward, and she hauled me back up before continuing. “But I have to say, that’s the strangest form of hazing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Do you wanna help?” I asked.

  “Special sauce?” Meg cracked her knuckles. “Fireworks? Babe, count me in.”

  Chapter 4

  After a quick argument about whether or not we’d take the bike, one which Meg won by a long shot, I gave Anthony a quick call.

  “Hey,” I said once he’d picked up. “I have a question for you.”

  The silence on the other end wasn’t at all reassuring.

  “Okay, then I’ll get right to it,” I said. “Do you have any more information on why it’s our job to find the fireworks?”

  Anthony cleared his throat. “I believe you received the instructions from Carlos.”

  “Yes, but the instructions were concluded with the words Anthony will explain more.” I crossed my arms, even though he couldn’t see me. “Your explanations have been subpar.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite see where to fit it all in between rescuing you from a lazy desk and chauffeuring you across town.” Anthony’s voice dripped with amusement.

  Slightly flustered, I decided not to argue. Pick your battles, they say. “Fine. But now I’m asking. Carlos said it was a threat to Family security. How?”

  “You know about the bombs. You know about the Fourth of July, yes?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “But that doesn’t explain why this is a Family matter, and not something for the cops.”

  After a long beat, Anthony spoke in a slightly less amused tone, but still with a teasing edge. “Have you ever known Carlos to leave the safety of his Family to a third party?”

  Smiling at an image of Carlos calling the police for help, I spoke without thinking. “Technically, aren’t you a third party?”

  I knew I’d said something wrong the moment the words left my lips. What I’d meant as a simple joke, a line of banter in an endless string of lighthearted cracks between the two of us, had fallen flat. I wished with all my heart I could take the words back.

  Anthony cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that at all,” I said, a knot already formed in my stomach, the helpless feeling of wishing I had thought for a minute – just a half a second before dropping a stupid, insensitive joke. “Carlos thinks you’re Family. We all do. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Of course not,” Anthony said, the tone of his voice similarly flat. “The answer to your question is that Carlos has a fondness in his heart for the Twin Cities area. He has spent most of his adult life here, and it has treated him well. If the bomb is allowed to be built and set in place, it will be too late to find on the Fourth of July.”

  I was barely listening to Anthony as he spoke, wishing instead he was standing before me so I could hug him and hold his hand, tell him how sorry I was for making an insensitive joke that wasn’t even true. What had I been thinking? He’d been part of this Family long before I had, both with a capital and a lower case f. Just because I had Luzzi blood didn’t mean I should joke. I didn’t know Anthony’s past.

  He was still talking when I tuned back in. “—so, he finds it his duty to dismantle the bomb and catch the culprit before it’s planted. Otherwise, there’s the potential for civilian casualties, and Carlos doesn’t accept that in his city. He doesn’t let people mess with his own. That’s how families work.”

  Just when I thought I couldn’t have felt worse, my chest clutched.

  “In addition, Carlos doesn’t have a solid file of firm evidence. He has his sources – which, of course, we cannot and will not turn over to the police. Should the police believe Carlos’s claims, when all he has is a faceless whisper from the alleys of St. Paul?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “I understand. And Anthony – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “I understand,” Anthony said. “I have to go.”

  “Anthony, wait—” I called, the desperation so heavy in my voice that Meg turned towards me with a look of alarm. I shook my head in her direction, but the dial tone in my ear made my insides churn.

  “What’s wrong?” As always, my friend knew when to joke and when I was hurting.

  “I said the wrong thing,” I said.

  “Chickadee, you can’t be going on about bombs and special sauces and then look so worried. I thought half the city had blown up,” Meg gave a small smile and threw a hand around my shoulder. “Let’s go look for the sauce and you can tell me all about it. I’m positive we can fix it.”

  I looked at her, hope in my eyes. “You think so?”

  Meg nodded. “Chocolate always works.”

  “It’s Anthony,” I said. “I kind of called him not part of the family.”

  Meg sucked in a breath. “I can think of one way he might forgive you.”

  I gave her a playful slap on the shoulder as she winked at me. “It’s not funny.”

  “Girl, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You’d have to say a lot worse to make him forget about you.”

  “I feel really bad,” I said. “I don’t know anything about him or his history. Family is…it’s tricky. I fee
l like I hurt him.”

  Meg leaned in, her hand squeezing my shoulder. “Find out, then.”

  “About what?”

  “His family,” Meg said. “You can fix it. Tell him you’re sorry and that you didn’t mean it. And then find out about Anthony.”

  “You’re pretty smart sometimes,” I said, throwing my hand over her shoulder. “Maybe we should go to Stillwater later. I’ll talk to him now.”

  “He’s still a dude,” Meg said. “A buff, sexy-ass, powerful dude; give him a minute to cool off.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Meg smiled. “That’s the Lacey I love. Now, let’s distract you and find some sauce.”

  ** **

  Thirty minutes later, Meg and I cruised into Stillwater on her motorcycle. She wore a helmet that was neon orange and rocked a mohawk. Mine wasn’t much better. It looked like I had half a watermelon on my head, which was unfortunate because green was not my color.

  “Where to now?” Meg asked as she pulled into a gas station on the outskirts of the city.

  Stillwater was a quaint town that looked like it had never left the 1800’s. Famously, it hosted the St. Croix River crossing, a bridge spanning the distance between Wisconsin and Minnesota over the murky river splitting the two states. It hosted a variety of small town shops, including my favorite candy store with the free samples, and a variety of bed and breakfasts, coffee shops, and signs declaring “Minnesota’s Best Fudge Sold Here!”

  I didn’t make it to Stillwater often, but when I did it was usually for the yearly Lumberjack Day celebration, which is exactly what it sounds like. Cheese curds so squeaky it sounds like you’re chewing on a live mouse, all sorts of farm folk wandering about bars in cowboy boots and worn jeans, and even the traditional log jam, where lumberjack men run on logs spinning in the water. It was a crazy good time, but then it dawned on me that Stillwater had a fireworks display. They hosted a show that was actually quite beautiful, with whirly twirlies and golden chandeliers lighting up the sky over the St. Croix River. It was a sobering thought, a bomb going off in this historic town.

  I looked to Meg. “Let’s get this sauce and get out of here. We have to get back to check on the fireworks issue.”

  “Tell me the way, chickadee.” She tried to look back, but our helmets clanked together loudly, and she decided to keep her head facing forward.

  “Straight on this road, according to Horatio’s map,” I said. “Should be about ten miles out of the city up in nowheresville.”

  “What does this Horatio look like?” Meg asked. “I’m interested.”

  “How can you be interested? You don’t know anything but his name,” I said, tucking the map back into the leather vest she’d given me. One didn’t take chances by not wearing motorcycle gear, especially when Meg was your driver.

  “I’m more interested to see Clay’s friends,” Meg said. “I didn’t know he had any.”

  “You and me both,” I said. “But that takes third priority. First sauce, then bomb.”

  She gurgled in agreement, and pushed off without warning. Surprised, I clasped her stomach as we puttered back onto the highway. She revved the engine and cranked us up into high gear. A drive that should have taken us ten to fifteen minutes took us six. I was out of breath when we arrived.

  “That’s how you ride,” Meg said with a whoop. She stepped off the motorcycle, forgetting I was still on it.

  I barely managed to steady the bike before it toppled over with me still on it. “Not…necessary,” I gasped. “What’s wrong with driving the speed limit?”

  “I prefer to call it a speed guideline,” she said. “It’s for amateurs.”

  “It is not for amateurs. It’s the law.” I removed my helmet and glanced around, not seeing a soul in sight. “Where are we?”

  “According to the map, we’re at Dave’s stand.”

  “Well, Dave’s stand isn’t here.” I crossed my arms and spun in a circle. The only things moving around me were tall, lanky cornstalks tipping this way and that in a breezy summer’s dance. There was a narrow, winding pathway that looked as if it’d once been wide enough for a driveway, but was now overgrown with crispy weeds.

  “That’s not my problem, really,” Meg said. “I got you here in one piece.”

  “Are you sure we’re in the right spot?” I pulled the map from my vest and spread it out.

  “I followed the directions,” Meg huffed, looking over my shoulder. “See, there’s the bend in the road. Here’s the sorry excuse for the driveway. I bet if you go another half mile, this will be the scenic overlook he marked.”

  She was unmistakably correct. Even I, a girl who suffered from severe map reading difficulties, could tell that this should be the spot. “Maybe Clay had no idea what he was talking about,” I muttered. “I should’ve known better.”

  “Didn’t you show this to Anthony, too?” she asked. “And that Horatio dude?”

  “Yeah, I did. They both thought it looked accurate.” I glanced up at the tan, listless fields extending in all directions, trees scattered haphazardly between the high grasses. “Maybe it’s just not here anymore.”

  “That would seriously be a bummer,” Meg said. “You’d be the only Luzzi to fail initiation.”

  My look must have conveyed a painful expression, because she gave me a reassuring smile.

  “Don’t worry. The Luzzis already think you’re a strange duck,” she said, patting my shoulder.

  “Great. Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I grumbled.

  “Strange is good,” she said. “Take it from me.” Meg gave a proud pose.

  Strange was a good word for her. She held her stance, orange mohawk helmet under her arm, the look rounded out with her sleeveless camouflage vest that had enough pockets on it to hold every key to every door in the Pentagon. She wore green and red Zubaz pants that made her look like a billowing Christmas decoration, and her hair was windblown to Einstein proportions.

  “You’re right,” I sighed. “Neither of us is normal, I suppose.”

  “Oh, I’m normal,” she clarified. “I just said that to make you feel better.”

  Meg didn’t notice my disbelieving expression because she was already climbing back on her bike. “C’mon, chickadee. Let’s cruise up and down a bit and see if we can’t spot that mysterious lil’ Dave.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “But we better go slowly or else we might miss it. Or, you know, die.”

  “I don’t do slow,” Meg said. “Hang on.”

  Luckily, Meg did reduce her speed. But after thirty minutes of cruising up and down the one road going in and out of Stillwater, all I’d achieved was an aching bum.

  “Let’s take a break,” I yelled, tapping her on the shoulder as we passed the place where Dave’s stand should be for the zillionth time. “I hurt all over.”

  “Noob,” Meg called back, but she pulled over into a small turnoff and planted her feet.

  “Ow,” I groaned. “This is painful.”

  “Imagine if you were a dude,” Meg said. “Actually, I can’t imagine. Those precious gems squishin’ up against the frame for hours on end—”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “No need to draw a picture.”

  Speaking of pictures, I almost pulled the map out for the thirtieth time, but the penciled lines were burned into my memory. This was the spot. I knew it. I felt it. But where was Dave? “Maybe we should try walking up this driveway for a bit. Maybe he moved his stand back from the road because it was getting too much traffic.”

  “Right, it’s a real zoo over here,” Meg said sarcastically. “Not nearly enough parking space.”

  I glanced around at the endless openness of the place. The driveway was hardly that. It was more like a dirt bike trail that hadn’t been used for years. “I admit it’s a long shot. But let’s check it out now. I won’t be un-sore enough to come back here on that bike in the next two days, so I just want to get it over with now. There’s no second chance.”
>
  “Sounds good to me,” Meg said. “Except for one thing. Walking is a noob’s idea. We’re riding.”

  Without waiting for me to flip down the visor of my helmet, she took off at a hazardous pace down the path.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted. “We can’t just drive through here.”

  “I thought that’s what we took the bike for,” Meg said, speaking as if I were slow. “Off-roading and stuff.”

  “No! No off-roading. This isn’t an off-roading bike.”

  “It is if you make it one,” she said. Then, she whooped for good measure. “Feel the air on your face, chickadee. This will help take your mind off of Anthony.”

  “My mind wasn’t on him, but thanks for reminding me,” I said with a grimace as a little bluestem – one that wasn’t as little as its name – whacked me in the face. Who knew grass could be so sharp? “Slow down!”

  “I don’t think anyone lives here,” Meg said. “Kinda looks like a dump.”

  I hated to agree, but the shack at the end of the long driveway was little more than a few sticks slapped together and held up by twine. Even a raccoon would have been hard-pressed to call this place “home.”

  “Maybe he moved?” I wrinkled my nose.

  “Yeah, about fifteen hundred years ago,” Meg said. “This place looks more like some kids ran away from home and built a fort. Then a tornado came and knocked everything down. Then a fire came and burned the leftovers up. Then rain came and made everything look like mud. Then the grass came and made—”

  “All right, all right,” I said. “Every natural disaster has hit this place. But I don’t get it. This is the address I got from Clay, and it checked out with Horatio and Anthony. What could’ve happened here?”

  “Maybe it’s the wrong address,” Meg said.

  I shook my head. “Clay doesn’t make mistakes like that. If it’s a phone number or an address he’s after, he can find it.”

  “Well, do you think he lied?” Meg asked.

  “No,” I said with hesitation. “I don’t see why he would.”