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

by Gina LaManna

  “It’s not a real grenade,” Meg said.

  “Yes it is,” Anastasia said firmly.

  “She’s right,” Meg whispered to me. “It’s real. I think she really is psychic.”

  “Or she just heard us arguing outside her front door,” I suggested. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because it got two pairs of eyes staring at me in a disapproving fashion. I wasn’t sure who to be more frightened of – the one with the grenade or the supposed psychic.

  “Sorry, not a very funny joke,” I said, halfheartedly trying for a transition. “But do you know what is more funny? I’m looking for a special sauce. Do you happen to know a Dave that resides in or around Stillwater and makes some sort of special barbecue sauce?”

  Anastasia fluffed her puffy chair, her eyes not meeting mine. “Who wants to know?”

  “Me,” I said. “I heard, uh, great recommendations and wanted to try it.”

  “Lies,” Anastasia said. Meg started to look freaked out, but I was pretty sure that I was just a terrible liar, and Anastasia didn’t have a gift.

  “I’m getting the sauce for my grandfather,” I said. “Horatio is friends with my cousin, and your grandson overheard me asking about Dave’s place in Stillwater. I needed directions, so he drew me this map and gave me your number in case we had questions.”

  I handed the map over to Anastasia, who barely glanced at it. Her eyes quickly scanned the X where Dave’s stand should be, then slid her gaze down to the phone number before glancing back up in my direction.

  “There’s nothing there except for an old shack,” she said. “There are stories of that shack, but none of them involve Dave and his special sauce.”

  “Ooh, what are the stories?” Meg asked, her eyes round as silver dollars. “I love conspiracy theories.”

  “Not conspiracy,” Anastasia said solemnly. “Horror stories of a runaway boy who used to live there. A runaway. They say his parents—”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said. “But I was just wondering if this has anything to do with Dave? It’s just that we have an appointment in an hour in the Cities that we have to be back for.”

  “I don’t have to be back for three hours,” Meg said, looking down at her watch. “What are you talking about…Oohh.”

  She caught on much too late that I was trying to keep the conversation focused on Dave. As much as I loved hearing stories, we needed to use our time wisely. Chasing down a winding road full of twisted psychic ghost stories, no matter however enthralling they might be, wasn’t the best use of our time. I refrained from shaking my head.

  Trying to recover, I quickly added, “I know you don’t have to be back. But I do. I have to meet with Anthony.”

  “Tell me, child, what it is you do for a living,” Anastasia said with an abrupt change of subject. Ying and Yang played a game of follow the leader into the room, parading their way around the little old woman and giving her the witchiest vibe I’d ever encountered.

  “I, uh, work for the family business,” I said.

  “And you need a psychic for that?” Anastasia asked, purring to one of her kitties.

  I was confused until Meg jumped in. “She helps solve mysteries. I’m her psychic to help with that.”

  “Is she any good at solving them?” Anastasia asked Meg.

  “With me at her side, how can she go wrong?” Meg chuckled loudly, but Anastasia didn’t laugh. Meg cleared her throat. “Yeah, she’s good. Well, she wasn’t before, but she’s getting a little better.”

  “I have a proposal for you two,” Anastasia said. With one cat draped around her neck as if in another life it’d been a scarf, her blue eyes chilled me with their gaze.

  “A proposal?” I raised an eyebrow, but Meg gave a bewildered shrug. Some psychic Meg was…

  “I’ve lived here for sixty-eight years. I moved straight here when I came to this country, and I haven’t left for a day in my life. Except that one trip to Mexico.” A blush bloomed on Anastasia’s cheeks as she hurriedly continued. “My point is that I know the comings and goings of Stillwater like nobody before me. I know the name of every citizen in the phone book.”

  “Dang,” Meg said. “I wish I was as good of a psychic as you.”

  Anastasia bowed her head. “It takes years of practice.”

  “Your proposal?” I asked.

  “Knowing everyone who belongs here,” the witchy woman continued, “comes with the ability to quickly pick out those who don’t belong…”

  Her gaze raked over Meg and me with a calmness that didn’t feel welcoming.

  “We’re just passing through,” I said. “Not trying to interrupt anything.”

  “I’m not talking about you,” she said. “You’re simply unwelcome short-term visitors. I’m talking about the house down on Sixty-sixth Street.”

  I shook off the double pronged comment about my presence. “And what’s happening in that house?”

  “That’s the thing,” she said. “Something that shouldn’t be happening. Cars come and go under darkness of night. There’s never a rustle in the day or a car out front. But someone’s in that house and I don’t like it.”

  “What if they’re just new to town and want some time to get adjusted before meeting all the townfolk?” I asked. “I mean, I sympathize. It’s hard being a newcomer here.”

  “It’s not that,” Anastasia said, already shaking her head. “There’s something going on there, and I want to know what it is.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “But I’m sure it’s nothing, first of all. Second, I already have a full plate of mysteries I’m working on. And since it doesn’t seem like you know anything about Dave, we’ll be out of your hair.”

  I stood up and gestured for Meg to follow, but she was too busy petting one of the cats to notice.

  “Meg,” I hissed.

  “Your cat doesn’t let me pet him,” Meg said. “So I’m taking advantage. There, kitty, kitty.”

  “I can get you your sauce,” Anastasia said with gleaming eyes. “Just how your grandfather likes it.”

  “I thought you didn’t know anything about this sauce,” I said, my eyelids narrowing to slits. “I’m not sure I can trust you.”

  “Wait here,” she said. “And try a sample of it. Then you can decide.”

  At the mention of food, Meg jumped up from her perch on the floor, forcing the cat to leap away with a bit of a hiss. “Sorry, Charlie,” Meg said. “I’m getting in line for sauce.”

  Anastasia disappeared and reappeared a moment later with two little bowls of sauce and two small spoons. “Tell me if this will be sufficient. I believe your grandfather will be pleased.”

  I glanced at Meg, who shoveled the sauce down in one second and eyed mine with lust.

  I moved my bowl away protectively.

  “It’s not poisoned,” Meg said. “I’m a psychic now. I’d know if it was poisoned.”

  Taking a hesitant taste, my eyes brightened immediately as the sauce hit my mouth. “This is amazing.”

  A little bit spicy, extremely creamy and with enough flavor to beat the band, I nearly floated away as I savored the masterpiece. My taste buds screamed with delight, and in that moment, I was sure Carlos wouldn’t care whether the sauce came from Dave or Anastasia.

  “I’m sure your grandfather wouldn’t mind if it were my name on the bottle?” Anastasia asked.

  “This is delicious,” Meg said. “I bet it’s even better than Dave’s. Maybe Dave is a ghost.”

  “I can tell you, there is no one here by the name of Dave that makes sauce. There’s the pastor, of course, but it’s not him. He goes by David. There’s been nobody here by that name for over twenty-something years.” Anastasia jabbed her finger at the X on the map.

  “So the deal is that you’ll make this sauce for us if we find out who lives in the house on Sixty-sixth Street?” I asked. “How are we supposed to do that?”

  “You had no problem walking right up to my door,” Anastasia said. “That
would be a great place to start.”

  “Huh, she’s got a point,” Meg grunted. “Let’s do it.”

  “You just want the sauce,” I said to my friend.

  “Yeah, but don’t you?” she shot back.

  Yes, I do. But a part of me wondered what Carlos would say. If this really, truly was some sort of hazing or initiation, I wanted to pass it with flying colors. Maybe it wasn’t important, but I didn’t want to be the only member of the Family that couldn’t find Dave’s Special Grilling Sauce.

  “Someone is leading you astray,” Anastasia said, her hand still on the map. “Take the deal.”

  I shrugged at Meg. “We already sank so much time into this trip, I suppose it can’t hurt.”

  “You’ve got more important stuff to worry about, anyway,” Meg said, walking over to me and speaking in low tones. “I thought you wanted to focus on the other thing. If you go say hi to the new guy on Sixty-sixth and then take the sauce, you can throw all of your energy into the other issue.”

  “You’re right,” I said, thinking how little sauce mattered in the scheme of things. Find sauce or disable bombs that could kill hundreds of people? It was an easy choice as to where I needed to spend my time.

  “Carlos will forgive you if you can’t find the grilling sauce,” Meg said. “Especially if you show up with something as good as Anastasia’s mix as a replacement. Heck, maybe he’ll love you even more for broadening his horizons!”

  I shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. If we have extra time after, then we can keep looking for Dave. But you’re right. I can’t allocate more time to tracking down a mystery man for barbecue sauce.”

  “That’s the attitude,” Meg said. “Take the deal. We’ll give the food critic a call when we get back to the land of cellular reception, but in the meantime let’s stop by Sixty-sixth, see who the weirdo is that moved to town, and move right along.”

  Nodding, I turned to Anastasia. “You can have a few bottles of the sauce ready for the Fourth of July? You know that’s in two days, right?”

  She nodded. “It’ll be ready by July 3rd at eight p.m.”

  “Great. We’ll stop by the place on the way out of town today and see what’s happening there. I’ll be back in two days ready to trade information for sauce,” I said, thinking to myself that it never hurt to have a backup plan. “Oh, by the way. This is for you.” I handed over the note from Dougie.

  “You’ll wanna hold onto that,” Meg said. “I think it’s a booty call.”

  Anastasia blushed, and I grabbed Meg’s hand and yanked her back out to the bike.

  I ran over the options surrounding the sauce in my mind. Dave could be my primo plan, and Anastasia my backup. If the food critic had information for us, I could always tell Anastasia I didn’t need the sauce. Or I could bring both and become a real mobsterista overachiever. Like Meg said, maybe Carlos would love me even more.

  I put the watermelon bucket-of-a-helmet back on my head, and looked expectantly at Meg.

  My friend gave me a blank stare. “So,” she said, putting the orange mohawk back on her head, “candy store now or later?”

  ** **

  Our visit to the candy store was cut much shorter than normal. We were on a time crunch; it was already late afternoon and we still had to get to Sixty-sixth Street, scout out the poor foreigner who’d deigned to set foot in Anastasia’s territory, and somehow make it back so Julio could take his date out for drinks. Or take his date in, rather.

  I stocked up on a few sugary sweets – licorice ropes and salt water taffy, along with a side of homemade fudge and a stack of cookies as long as my arm. Meg rounded out the purchase with half of the Sour Patch Kids, and peanut brittle so hard it rivaled my grandmother’s cookies.

  Our purchases in hand, we encountered a problem as we trekked back outside to Meg’s bike.

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  “Why do you think I wear this bad boy?” Meg gestured toward her leather vest with more pockets than there were States in America. “Start shoving.”

  To my extreme surprise, it was a relatively simple task to find a home for each of our goodies. There was even a pocket near her waist that was deep enough to stick the row of cookies. At least most of the cookies; we only had to eat six of them to make the rack fit snugly.

  “Ta-da,” Meg said, doing a twirl.

  “Kudos to you,” I said. “I need to get me one of them.”

  “You could probably even expense it,” Meg said. “Since it’s work related costs.”

  “Is it, though? I feel like I already pushed the boundaries with my last expense report.” I cringed. “Carlos didn’t think it was necessary to get our rear ends scrubbed at the spa.”

  Meg gave me a horrified look. “Of course it was necessary.” She swung a leg over her bike. “Don’t listen to him.”

  I stepped on behind her. “He controls the money.”

  “Well, you have to be able to do your job,” Meg huffed. “Vests are lifesavers. Hang on. We’ll be at the house in a jiffy.”

  I don’t know the exact time equivalent of a jiffy, but according to Meg’s definition, a jiffy involved leaping over curbs and through driveways to make it there in four minutes.

  “This looks pretty normal to me,” Meg said, glancing at the very average American-looking house. “Less weird than that witch house we were just at.”

  I breathed a loud sigh of relief. “I agree. I bet Anastasia just doesn’t take kindly to newcomers. It’s probably just a nice young man moving to town, and she’s suspicious. Let’s go see.”

  Meg eyed the driveway. Though the house was small, it was set back quite a distance from the road. One didn’t stumble upon this person’s front door. Anyone showing up to the house on Sixty-sixth was there for a deliberate reason.

  “Should I drive up?” Meg asked.

  I glanced around the property. The nearest house was a good distance away: trees lined the edges of the property, thick and dense, creating a quaint, private yard. It was manicured and maintained, but nothing special besides grass and trees. A thick evergreen stood crooked to the left of the house, and a tall, sturdy maple cast a shadow over the roof. It looked like a two or three bedroom place if there was a basement attached. Almost everyone in Minnesota had a basement. Tornados happened, after all.

  “You can pull up on the driveway, but don’t go on the grass,” I warned.

  “Boring,” Meg said. “Such a buzz kill.”

  Despite her grumblings, she thankfully followed my instructions. We were standing at the door in no time, her bike parked a few feet from the front steps.

  “Can you, like…” I reached up and patted Meg’s hair down a bit. I loved that my friend had a wild side to her, but she was currently rocking a version of wild that could scare someone, and I worried the inhabitants of the place might not answer the door.

  “What’s wrong with my hair?” Meg shook it back and forth, undoing all of my work. “I like it like this. It says ‘party girl.’”

  “Mmm,” I tentatively agreed. A party girl who’d tussled with a bear, maybe. And won. The biker jacket didn’t help things. Even I was intimidated, and she was my best bud.

  “I think I forgot my lipstick in the motorcycle,” Meg said, abruptly turning and retreating down the front steps. “I gotta poof my hair and paint my lips, just in case he’s a hottie.”

  I took advantage of Meg’s sudden departure to ring the doorbell. When no one immediately opened it, I rang it twice more. After the third ring, Meg had figured out what I was up to and pounded her way to my side. However the door opened before Meg reached the top. The two of us, Meg panting quite heavily, stood face-to-face with a skinny, pale guy with greasy hair.

  “Yes?” he asked, first looking at me with curiosity, and then glancing at Meg with concern. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” I said as Meg wheezed out in agreement. “We’re sorry to bother you, but we just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

&
nbsp; “Welcome me to…” the man looked around, puzzled. “I grew up here. I mean, not in this house, but just across town.”

  I glanced at Meg. Something was off. Either this guy was lying, or Anastasia hadn’t told the truth. My money was on Anastasia. This guy hadn’t had time to prepare a lie, and his confusion appeared genuine.

  “Oh, uh,” I was caught off guard, and kicked myself for not thoroughly thinking through a backup plan. I had been so set on the scenario being a nice young man who’d just moved to town that I hadn’t expected this. “That’s very nice.”

  “She never said the person who lived here was new to town,” Meg muttered.

  “Who said what?” the man shook his medium-length, oily hair. “I’m sorry, do you ladies need something?”

  “Yeah, actually,” Meg said, stepping forward. “What do you use in your hair? My friend here was just complaining that my hair is too wild.”

  “I didn’t say—” I started.

  “You said it,” Meg said. “Deal with it.”

  While Meg jabbered on about hair products to the obviously uninterested man, I took a second to scan him over. I didn’t get a dangerous or scary vibe from him, or anything except a needing-a-shower vibe. Tall and thin, the man had a bit of stubble around his chin, a single gold chain around his neck, and one small diamond stud in his ear.

  I was under the impression he’d had some rougher days in life, but was now settling down into suburbia and trying to adapt. At least, that’s what his shabby-chic fashion statement told me. Maybe that was reason enough for Anastasia to be suspicious – a man with a past moving to her side of town?

  “Meg, get your hands off him,” I said as the she parted the man’s hair to supposedly look for dandruff.

  The man appeared a bit alarmed. Then again, I would too if someone started picking through my hair like a monkey looking for bugs.

  I grabbed her hand and we stepped back from the front steps. “We’ll be going now,” I said, quickly trying to think of a more thorough explanation of why we’d been there in the first place. When none came to me, I led Meg back to her bike and offered a wave as we climbed on.