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

by Gina LaManna

  “Will you settle for a picture of the log cabin in his backyard as proof?” I asked.

  “What’s in the shack?” Anastasia leaned against the stove, but she was so small her elbow was nearly level with the burners.

  “We saw him take what we think were guns in there,” I said. “Can’t be sure, but I’m not breaking in. Doesn’t feel right.”

  “Fine,” she said, waving the spatula like a wand. “That’ll do.”

  “It will?” I asked. Though I personally believed it was a completely logical request, I hadn’t expected her to cave in so easily. “So, will you tell us what you’re planning on doing with the picture?”

  “Do you want the deal or not?” Anastasia asked. It was apparently a rhetorical question, since she plowed right ahead. “Be back here in one hour with a photo of the shack and this will be yours.”

  She gestured towards the vats of sauce with a grand sweeping motion, as if the tubs held the Elixir of Life, and not a few squashed-up tomatoes and basil.

  “Deal,” I said.

  “Hey, can I take Ying with me?” Meg asked as she walked into the kitchen with a cat perched on her shoulder.

  “That’s Yang,” Anastasia said with a frown. “And no, you cannot. They’re house cats.”

  “But he likes me,” Meg said. “And, was that a no to Ying or Yang?”

  “That one is Yang,” Anastasia said once more. “And I said no.”

  “Great,” Meg said. “Well, see you later.”

  I gave a brief nod to Anastasia – wondering at the last moment if Her Witchiness preferred a nod, a handshake, or a curtsy. For some reason, all of the above felt incredibly awkward, so I waited for her to dismiss us with a flick of her spoon.

  Meg led the way with a quick pace. By the time I reached the car, she was already yanking on the passenger’s side door handle.

  “Hold your shorts on,” I said, fumbling for the clicker. Starting the Lumina, I looked over my left shoulder and pulled onto the road. It wasn’t until we were a mile and a half away that I looked over at Meg and suddenly noticed that her vest was lumpier than usual.

  She shifted awkwardly in her seat under my burning gaze.

  Er – wait a minute. It wasn’t Meg that was moving; it was her vest.

  “Meg,” I asked sweetly. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”

  “Nope,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “You know me,” Meg said. “I always speak my mind.”

  “Nothing about your vest that you’d like me to know?” I asked.

  “Not particularly,” she said, her gaze migrating away from mine and out the window.

  “Anything I should know?” I asked. I’d realized the game she was playing. Of course she didn’t want me to know, but whether I should know was a different story…

  “Should is a word I use very loosely,” Meg said doggedly. “Should I eat this candy? Eh, maybe not, but do I anyway? Yeah, usually. That’s the answer.”

  Meg’s scatterbrained stream of consciousness confirmed my suspicions. My friend was nervous, and Meg was not a person who was shaken easily. It was the last part that really frightened me.

  “What’s in your vest?” I asked, point blank.

  “Ying,” she said with a small sigh. “He wanted to come.”

  “Meg! Anastasia explicitly told you no.”

  “I tricked her,” Meg said with a sly smile. Upon my deep frown, she changed her tune quickly. “I mean, I didn’t trick her. I knew I was holding Yang in there. But I really wanted to take Ying. It worked because Anastasia said I couldn’t take Yang, but she didn’t say that about Ying.”

  “Either way, you’re stealing a cat,” I said.

  “Well dang, when you put it that way…” Meg trailed off, letting the kitten out of the vest. She’d zipped a very peaceful-looking Ying into her vest as if she were a mama kangaroo holding her baby in her pouch.

  I rolled my eyes. If I didn’t know Meg so well, I wouldn’t believe her logic one bit. But knowing her as well as I did, I was fairly confident she viewed the cat-napping not as a crime, but simply as offering to take a friend for a voluntary ride. It was hard to be angry at her, but still. “I’m turning around,” I said. “We have to return the cat.”

  “Let me keep her for one hour,” Meg said, looking so longingly at Ying that it nearly broke my heart. “She loves me.”

  “I thought you just said it was a he?”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure actually. I’m giving it equal opportunity to be both. We’ll see what it chooses,” Meg said.

  “It can’t – oh, never mind,” I said. The cat seemed to be purring happily, and there was a decent chance Anastasia wouldn’t notice her cat had gone on a joyride for an hour. If anything, Meg was like the favorite aunt – taking the kitty for an hour, spoiling it rotten, then dumping it back on her (or his) parents’ steps.

  “You’re giving him – her – whatever, back,” I said.

  “Of course,” Meg said before nuzzling the cat’s cheek. “Yay! Ying, we get to be friends for an hour. No thanks to mean Auntie Lacey who wanted to return you.”

  “The first rule of parenting is not to talk bad about each other in front of the baby,” I said. “Don’t say mean things about me.”

  “Since when did you want to become part of Ying’s life?” Meg pouted. “You can’t just decide you want in when it’s convenient. And what about cat support?”

  “I’m not having this conversation now,” I said. “Just remember – don’t get attached. We’re returning Ying when we get back.”

  Meg covered the cat’s ears. “Don’t listen to Auntie Lacey,” Meg hissed. “Meggie loves you very much.”

  Chapter 11

  “Cat stays in the car,” I instructed as we pulled up to the house on Sixty-sixth Street. I made the executive decision to park on the street and walk up the driveway this time. It would be good to switch things up, since the first time we’d arrived raring to go, motorcycle revved and all, and that hadn’t turned out well. It was time for the subtle approach.

  “You should’ve brought Tupac’s leash,” Meg said. “Ying could’ve stretched his legs while I gathered my helmet.”

  “Tupac doesn’t have a leash,” I said. “He doesn’t let me get close enough to pet him, let alone walk him.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s that kitty cat juju,” Meg said. “Work on it.”

  “After we get back in one piece,” I said through gritted teeth. “Okay. Ying stays in the car and we keep our voices low. We’re walking the trail until we see your helmet – then, we’ll judge if it’s safe enough to go further and snap a picture of the shack.”

  “The place looks deserted,” Meg said, pointing up the long driveway.

  Despite the winding curl up the driveway, it was clear that no car was parked anywhere between the street and the house. The garage door was closed tightly and the front door was shut as well. Grease Ball appeared to be out for the moment.

  “That could help or hurt us,” I said. “We have to hurry. Maybe he’s just picking up eggs from the store.”

  “Yeah, or maybe he’s picking out a new loofah. Or getting some shampoo. You know, he should really try that dry shampoo,” she said. “Maybe I should leave a note. Baby powder supposedly works the same, for half the price. Or maybe he’s doing all of that and stopping off for a Big Mac. I could use a Big—”

  “Let’s get a move on,” I said, breaking through her tirade. “Whatever he’s doing, it won’t last forever and we don’t want to get caught.”

  “Yeah, unless—”

  “—enough with the exceptions,” I said. “We also need to hurry in order to get back to the car. We can’t leave Ying in there all day. Anastasia will notice that her cat is gone eventually.”

  “Roger that,” Meg said. “Project Helmet Head in effect.”

  I grimaced at the name, but didn’t argue. Instead, after determining the front lawn, house, and all other visible areas were as
clear as I could guarantee, I led Meg down the small, narrow dirt path that wasn’t really a path.

  The line of trees surrounding the house provided some cover for our sneaking, but it wasn’t perfect. Neither was the path; made mostly of broken cattails and long grasses smashed down by repeated use, we were poked and prodded with all sorts of sharp branches as we stumbled past the front yard and into the woods.

  “Who would’ve thought that nature would be so uncomfortable?” Meg asked, swiping a stubborn leaf from her forehead.

  “Shh,” I said, pulling up my stride and listening.

  “Ain’t nothing but bullfrogs and mosquitos and cicada,” Meg said, barely giving time for a breath, let alone a listen.

  “No, the crack,” I said. “There was definitely a crack.”

  “There was no crack,” Meg said. “I said I’d warn you about crack if I ever—”

  “Shhh,” I said. “Listen.”

  We were both still for a moment, Meg tilting her nose to the wind as if she’d gained the wolf-like ability to catch a person’s scent from the breeze.

  “I’m catching whiffs of sauce,” Meg said. “A tiny hint of tequila…oh, shit. Catching whiffs of someone who hasn’t washed their hair in a day or two.”

  “Meg,” I put a hand on one hip. “That’s me. It’s not my fault I had a late night and didn’t have time to shower yet. I was going to the second we got back.”

  “No judgment, girl,” Meg said, her eyes peering down at the ground and not meeting mine. “I’m just saying – if I can smell what’s coming out of your pores, it’s already too late for your hygiene.”

  “I’m not a lost cause,” I argued. “Wait—” I held a finger up, cutting myself off. “I heard it again. A crack.”

  Meg stepped closer to me. “I think you’re just paranoid.”

  “Let’s go back,” I said. “I don’t feel comfortable here.”

  “Not without my helmet.” Meg’s voice was firm. “I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled, but I haven’t seen a single orange helmet yet.”

  “I’ll buy you a new helmet,” I said. “I’m not taking a few bullets in my body just to retrieve it.”

  “So much for being my best friend,” Meg said with a pout. “I’d jump in front of a bullet for you. Or at least I’d consider it.”

  “We’re not talking about you; we’re talking about your helmet.” I turned and started back down the path. “It’s not too late to turn back. I’m not even sure we’re breaking rules yet; I think we’re technically still on public property.”

  “You won’t have money to buy me a new helmet if we don’t get the sauce or the bomb,” Meg said. “Carlos doesn’t seem the type to give participation medals for trying.”

  “I’ll get the money somehow, and I’ll get you a new helmet,” I said, continuing my trek back towards the car. “Let’s take Ying back and go home. I want to talk to Anthony.”

  “Lovers’ quarrel?” Meg piped, taking a few steps behind me in the same direction.

  “I have to make sure that he has solved the case of the fireworks bomb. If not, there could still be a threat to everyone. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July.”

  “He solved it, I’m telling you,” Meg said. She continued to clarify, just in case there was any doubt. “I’m not happy about this. But I’ll go along with you only because you’re the birthday girl. I don’t want you to get hurt on your birthday for my helmet.”

  “But every other day you’d be fine with it?”

  “Oh absolutely,” Meg said. “I firmly believe in sacrificing the body for a greater good.”

  “And a helmet is the greater good?” We were almost to the car now. I wanted to keep Meg talking if for no other reason than to keep up the pace. I didn’t want her to have second thoughts about going back for the helmet; my Sugary Senses were telling me that was a completely bad idea.

  “‘Course it is,” Meg chirped. “Protects my head on the road.”

  “But nothing is protecting your head now from bullet holes,” I said.

  Meg took a moment to respond, but when she did, it was with a shrug. “Wow, I suppose you’re right.”

  “Incredibly right,” said a voice. “And if you’d like to keep your heads bullet-free for the time being, please ladies – follow me.”

  Both Meg and I raised our hands above our heads and turned to find Grease Ball holding some sort of gun as long as his arm pointed in our direction.

  “We’re leaving,” I said. “We didn’t mean to be here. It was an accident.”

  “Oh. So you weren’t looking for anything?” he asked. He looked mostly the same as the other day – longish hair in serious need of dry shampoo, a thin, bordering-on-skinny frame, and light blue eyes. But there were a few differences in his appearance, and it was those that scared me.

  His eyes, instead of peering with surprised curiosity, watched us with a gaze full of disdain. Dark shadows ringed his eyes so deeply he belonged in the raccoon family, and his clothing was clearly chosen so he’d blend into the weeds – dark brown hoodie, camouflage pants, and a hat squished on top of his head, the ends of his hair poking out like straw.

  Meg began a stuttering response, but I jumped in first. “No. We’re not. Just a birthday cake. It’s my birthday.”

  “Not even this?” he held up a bright orange helmet.

  I did a double take, thinking he didn’t have the right helmet. But then I realized he’d just mutilated it, shaving the mohawk off so the thing was now bald as a bowling ball.

  The squeak emitted from Meg’s mouth was so heartbroken it caused the smallest flutter of sadness in my heart. I almost forgot that the stupid helmet was the reason – well, one of the reasons – we were here now with a gun pointed at our heads.

  “Yeah? You don’t like when people mess with your property, do you?” he asked.

  “We didn’t mess with your property,” Meg said, her voice cracking. “I didn’t shave off your greasy hair. You ruined my helmet.”

  “I think it looks better this way,” he said, holding up the orange ball.

  I wouldn’t agree or disagree, thinking it more important to side with my friend for the time being.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. “We just want to leave. It was a mistake coming here.”

  “Yes, it was,” he said. “But I don’t forgive mistakes so easily. Not to mention, I hear you’re the birthday girl. I’m always down for a party.”

  “Yeah, well you’re not invited,” Meg said. “I’m Lacey’s party planner and you are off the list – forever.”

  “Actually, you can be on the list if you let us go,” I amended. “We’re doing a nice little barbecue tomorrow.”

  “Right,” he said. “Not my kind of party. Let’s go – start marching. I believe you know where the cabin is ‘round back.”

  “It’s not a cabin,” Meg said, her voice still heavy with bitterness about the helmet. “It’s a child’s shack. You balanced a few sticks together. Good job.”

  “Meg,” I said strongly. “Shush.”

  “No, it’s quite all right,” the man said. “I like ladies like her – chatterboxes. She’ll tell me everything I need to know.”

  “No, I won’t,” Meg spat.

  “No, she won’t,” I seconded. “Will you, Meg?”

  Meg harrumphed. “Of course not. This tool shaved my helmet. He’s on my perma-shit list.”

  The man wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t sound pleasant.”

  “It’s not,” I agreed. “But I bet she’ll let you off if you let us go.” I wasn’t above trying each and every tactic to get us out of here, whether or not they were likely to ever work. If it were me, I’d do what I could to keep my name off Meg’s perma-shit list.

  “Nah,” the man dismissed. “I can handle myself.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “First order of business. I ask the questions. What are your names?” he asked. “I think she called you Lacey—” he pointed at me.

  “O
h, shoot,” Meg said. “He’s right. I did. Sorry, Lace.”

  “Meggg,” I said, shaking my head. Then, realizing my very own mistake, I hung my head. “Oh crap. Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Meg said. “I was gonna tell him anyway. He ought to know whose perma-shit list he’s on. And it’s Meg’s List. You know what a shit list means to me?” Meg asked.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think—”

  “It means I will personally stuff your head in a toilet where I’ve taken a primo—”

  “Gross!” the man covered his ears. “I don’t want to hear that. It’s disgusting.”

  “Then don’t be disgusting to us ladies,” she said. “Let us go.”

  “I can’t,” he said. “I need information. Then we can talk about letting you live.”

  “What information?” I asked. “Can’t we just settle this here? We do have a cat waiting for us in the car, so if we don’t get back in time, the cat’s life is on your head.”

  “Noooo!” Meg wailed. “Ying!”

  She turned and began to blindly run back down the path towards the car, but Grease Ball was having none of it. He shot a bullet, semi-in-her-direction, close enough to scare her but not close enough to graze the skin. Either way, it was too close for comfort.

  “Meg, get back here,” I said, though she hadn’t actually gotten more than two steps in the opposite direction. “It’s not worth it. Maybe if we follow his instructions, he’ll let us live.”

  I wasn’t above trying the suck-up strategy to get us out of here. Heck, I wasn’t above any strategy.

  “Listen to your friend,” he said to Meg. “It’s not likely, but it’s possible. If you run away again, I’ll be aiming at you and not around you.”

  The man’s eyebrows were relaxed, his face calm, and eyes bright. I didn’t doubt he’d do it. He didn’t seem like the murdering type at first glance, but I sensed a desperation about him that made me nervous. Desperate people were not rational; I knew this from experience.

  Grumbling, Meg fell in line behind me.

  “We’ll save the questions for later,” he said. “We can sit down and have a nice little chat. How does that sound?”