Lacey Luzzi: Spiced: a humorous, cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 8)

by Gina LaManna

“Believe me,” I said, “if I knew how to handle a gun, I wouldn’t be keeping it in my bra.”

  “Shame,” Meg said. “I do.”

  “I didn’t want to know that.”

  “But now you do.”

  “Nora?” Striding into the living room with purpose, I gestured for her to stand up. “It’s time to go. We’ve got class.”

  “Class?” she perked her head up from the pillow, tears staining her cheeks. The crying took a hiatus for a moment, thank goodness. “Oh, that class. We can’t go now. Can we?”

  I reached a hand out. “It’s non-refundable. Plus, we’ve got to check out a lead on the way. One that’ll help the girls.”

  Nora grabbed my hand and stood up. “Maybe I can do that. An adventurous mission and cooking class? That sounds more helpful than crying and moping around like a useless sack of potatoes.”

  “Let’s go, Sherlock,” I said. “But let’s try and hold it together, all right?”

  “Let me get my hat.” Nora walked over to Carlos and removed some sort of fedora that’d been hanging off the back of the chair. “How do I look?”

  “Can I be your Watson?” Meg walked over. “I think I’d make a great Watson.”

  CHAPTER 34

  “Are you sure you’ll be alright in here by yourself for a couple of minutes?” I poked my head through the driver’s side door of my car at Nora, who’d situated the fedora low over her eyes and hunched down in the back seat. “We’ll just be inside a second.”

  “I told you, my makeup is a mess, and this hat is giving me terrible hair,” Nora said. “I can’t possibly be seen in public. I’ll wait here while you two get the information. I’m gonna be your lookout.”

  “How you gonna go to cooking class if you’re afraid of going outside?” Meg asked. “The cooking class is pubic, I’ll have you know.”

  “No, it’s not,” I said, slamming the door shut. “It’s public, Meg.”

  She waved a hand, climbed out of the passenger’s seat, then leaned her head back in and scrutinized my grandmother’s head. “Are you sure I can’t borrow that hat?”

  Nora reached up and clamped the fedora down with both hands. “No, I need it, Watson.”

  “Aye, aye, Sherlock.” Meg saluted my grandmother. “Can’t argue with that logic. But hold on, if we’re Sherlock and Watson, what does that make you, Lacey?”

  I gestured towards the building. “Your boss.”

  “No, she’s Mrs. Hudson,” Nora called from inside the vehicle. “Hello, Mrs. Hudson.”

  I jerked my finger towards the building. “Meg, let’s go.”

  “That’s Watson to you,” she said, doing a twirl straight through the parking lot and up to the front entrance. She flung the doors open with gusto. “After you, Mrs. Hudson.”

  I clenched my jaw shut and followed her inside, scanning the entrance of the school where I’d recently been to visit the girls’ classroom. Around Halloween, I had agreed to do show and tell for Marissa and Clarissa’s class project in a masked effort to obtain some clues about my father’s identity. Thanks to Anthony’s charms, the receptionist had opened up and given us a name. A name that turned out to be correct. I could only hope that we’d have as much success the second time around.

  Speaking of the devil, as Meg and I made our way through the lobby, that very same receptionist sat at the front desk. Her eyes focused on Meg, who was busy peering through a pretend spyglass at every inch of one wall.

  “Hi,” I said, stepping forward and offering a small wave. “How are you?”

  “You look surprised to find me here.” The receptionist, a woman who was approaching a hundred and ten years old, grinned. “Which is funny, because I haven’t moved a whole lot in the last fifty years.”

  I laughed. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “How’s that man of yours doing?” She leaned back in her seat and peered behind me. “Help a girl out. If you were planning to stop by, you could’ve at least brought the eye candy.”

  “Right?” Meg gushed as she hustled towards the desk, forgetting all about her invisible magnifying glass. “You’re talking about Anthony, huh?”

  The receptionist nodded and pointed towards me. “The one that belongs to her?” She let out a low whistle. “He’s nice.”

  “He smushed my hair today.” Meg flounced a hand on her hip, then flicked her other hand in front of her face, peering at her nails with a haughty expression. “That’s right. Smushed my hair.”

  The receptionist frowned. “Is that some new expression the kids are using these days?”

  Meg shook her head. “I put my head in his lap and he leaned forward. That man has a brick of a chest, and when he leaned over me, he squished me right into his lap.”

  The receptionist inhaled a sharp breath. “Where can I get my hair squished around here?”

  “Anthony’s pretty busy these days,” Meg said, still preening under the attention. “But maybe we can work something out.”

  I motioned back and forth in a cut it out gesture with my hands. “Anthony is not available to smush hairs left and right. He was comforting my grandmother,” I said. “That’s all.”

  The receptionist raised her eyebrows and nodded towards Meg. “She’s your grandmother?”

  “No, this one’s my best friend. Her name’s Meg, and she enjoys sticking her nose – well, her whole head, really – where it doesn’t belong,” I said. “But that’s beside the point. We’re here with a question about my cousins.”

  “Marissa and Clarissa.” The receptionist’s eyes widened, and an almost guilty expression took over her face. “I almost forgot they’re the ones you’re related to. I’m sorry to hear what’s happened with them. How can I help?”

  I reached into my pocket for my phone, wiggling the device back and forth. I’d snapped a photo of the letter with my phone, leaving the real thing with Anthony. He’d look into it from his end, and share the information with the police to keep everyone on the same page. “We found a note from them, and I need to ask their teacher about the handwriting. Do you think we could get a hall pass upstairs for a quick visit?”

  “They left you a note inside the phone?” Her nose wrinkled with concentration. “How did they do that?”

  “No, I took a picture of the note with my phone,” I said. “I left the real thing with…um…someone who can run tests on it.”

  “I knew there was something special about your boyfriend,” she said. “That’s who you’re talking about, right? Is he FBI?”

  “Not really. I mean, I can’t say. So, about upstairs?” I pointed to the floor above us with my finger. “Would it be okay if we swing by? It shouldn’t take more than a minute or two.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Good luck.” She hunched over her desk and scratched some words on a slip of paper. She popped her head up at the last minute, nodding towards Meg. “And who should I say is accompanying you in the halls today?”

  Meg cleared her throat and propped her voluptuous chest on the counter. “Watson. They call me Watson. Watson Webster.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Carrying a note that gave one Miss Luzzi and one Miss Watson permission to wander the school halls, we headed upstairs. After a few wrong turns, we stumbled across the correct classroom in the maze of lockers, school announcements, and tardy students. I raised a hand at Miss Lovegood’s door and knocked.

  I could see her through the window, striding back and forth at the front of the classroom while she taught young minds important things. For a moment, I wondered if I was in the wrong field.

  “Maybe I should’ve been a teacher,” I whispered to Meg, as Miss Lovegood waltzed over to the door. “I could’ve made a difference in the world and done something really important. Shaped young minds and stuff.”

  “No offense, but I don’t want to live in a world where you’re allowed to shape the minds of young folks.” Meg shrugged. “That sounds horrible. I can only handle one of you.”

  Miss Lovegood opened the door
just then, her eyes falling on me first. A glimmer of recognition passed through her eyes, before she turned her gaze on Meg and wrinkled her nose. “Yes?”

  Meg fanned in front of her face. “Reason number 352 you don’t want to be a teacher, Lace. Do you smell that? That classroom smells like feet. Or something worse.”

  I didn’t want to think about something worse. Thankfully, I had other things to think about. Such as how to win over Miss Lovegood without Anthony by my side.

  “Yes?” The teacher pressed. “I have a class to teach, did you need something?”

  Meg peered over the teacher’s shoulder, surveyed the room, and then unceremoniously wiggled her way past Miss Lovegood. She plopped down in an empty desk in the front row. “Who’s up for a game of 7-Up, kids? Y’all remember that one?”

  “What is she doing?” Miss Lovegood turned to me. “Why are you here? I thought I told you not to come back.”

  “I’m not sure you said it in those words,” I said. “Can I talk to you outside for a second?”

  “And leave that lunatic with my kids?” She glanced at Meg. “I don’t think so.”

  “Lunatic? She looks like a miracle worker to me.” I nodded towards the room. “They weren’t that quiet one minute ago. I could hear them halfway down the hall.”

  Miss Lovegood turned around. The classroom had fallen silent, and somehow Meg had organized a flawless game of 7-Up in no time. Each and every kid had their heads quietly placed on the desk while a few kids crept around the room and stealthily pressed down their classmate’s thumbs.

  Their teacher raised her eyebrows, then stepped outside. She turned a grudging expression towards me. And then, to my surprise, she smiled. “Is your friend for hire? I have a pounding headache, and they haven’t stopped talking once today.”

  I was almost in too much shock to respond. “Um…I uh, no? Well, you know, she just might be for hire. You’ll have to ask her.”

  “It was a joke.” Miss Lovegood shifted from one foot to another. “I’m sorry, it’s been a rough week.”

  Now that I looked closer, her formerly perfect hair held a few wild fly-aways, and her stylish camisole and sweater combination was a bit off-kilter. There was even a stain on her jeans that she hadn’t yet seemed to notice. I didn’t want to say I was happy about it, but I’d lie if I wasn’t relieved to see that she was human, too. Even Disney princesses had a bad day now and again, it seemed.

  “I’m here about my cousins,” I said, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry to bother you. I wouldn’t, except—”

  “I know, I figured.” Miss Lovegood peeked through the window at her classroom. When all appeared quiet and in order, she turned back to me. “What can I do for you? I’ve already talked to the police.”

  I blinked. I shouldn’t have been surprised – of course the police would’ve talked to the girls’ teacher. They’d also have talked to Nicky, some of their classmates…it was a good thing the police were involved, I tried to remember. It was just an odd feeling working with the cops instead of against them. Or hiding from them. Or worrying about them.

  “Uh…” Miss Lovegood waved. “Are you okay? I’m really sorry about Marissa and Clarissa. Is there anything I can do to help? I’m worried sick over them. I haven’t been sleeping.”

  I shook myself back to the present. “Yes, actually. I had a couple questions for you. We’re working with the cops to find them, and—”

  “Who is we?”

  I cleared my throat. “The Luzzi family,” I said, leaving it just cryptic enough so that Miss Lovegood could take that to mean whatever she liked.

  Miss Lovegood raised and lowered her head in a slow motion nod. “I see.”

  I matched her nod with one of my own. Clearly, she understood. “We found a note,” I said, unlocking the screen of my phone. “I was wondering if you’d be able to tell whether it was Marissa’s or Clarissa’s handwriting.”

  “I’m not an expert.” She furrowed her eyebrows, but stepped closer and peered at the photo I held out. “May I?”

  I nodded, handing the phone over to her. She pinched the screen and zoomed in, then bit her lip as she read the message a few times. “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you really think they ran away?” A hint of concern was etched in the teacher’s eyebrows. “Or do you think…”

  “I don’t know,” I said firmly. “But it’s really important we figure out whether this is their handwriting or not.”

  “I’m not an expert,” she said again. “And I find that the handwriting for girls of this age changes quite drastically. They’re experimenting and copying what their friends are doing. Some weeks they dot their i’s with hearts, the next week I can barely read their chicken scratch. So it’s very difficult to tell.”

  “I understand all that,” I said. “I’m just looking for a gut check. Could this be from one of them? The real note is being analyzed for more information, but we have to act quickly. The girls have already been gone a day – I can’t wait two more days to get results back.”

  I hoped against hope that Anthony had already started the tests on the note. Or at least given it to Clay, so he could run a few of his programs against it. I had no hopes he’d be able to find anything earth shattering, but we didn’t have a lot of options at this point. We had to move.

  “My gut tells me this is their writing,” Miss Lovegood said. “It looks closer to Marissa’s if I had to guess, but like I said, it’ll be difficult to tell.”

  I exhaled. “I suppose that’s cautiously good news. If it’s their writing, maybe they did run away with a friend.”

  “I’ll tell you what. If you text me the photo, I can compare some of the words to their last few spelling tests. That might give me a better idea. If nothing else, I’ll be able to say more confidently yes or no.”

  “Really? That would be wonderful. I’d really appreciate that. Can I have your number?”

  Miss Lovegood rattled off her digits, and I sent the picture to her phone.

  “Thanks again for your help,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “You must be pretty worried over at Casa Luzzi,” she said with a faint smile. “That’s what the girls call it, at least. I’ll admit I didn’t sleep well last night, either. I can’t help wondering if I should’ve seen the signs, or listened closer to something they might’ve said in the lunchroom, or …” she trailed off. “I don’t know. Something.”

  “Did they say anything out of the ordinary?” I asked. “Nicky said the girls became suspiciously happy this last week. Any school news that might’ve put some smiles on their faces?”

  She shook her head. “Girls that age can be difficult to read. Sometimes their emotions are right out in the open. But other days, they lock away their feelings so deep it’s hard to tell.”

  “What about a birthday party a month ago?” I asked. “Nicky said he didn’t let the girls go because they failed their spelling test.”

  “I don’t blame him. The girls had a rough week in the test department, but his ‘tough love’ seemed to help.” She frowned. “They did much better over the last week or so, and I assumed it was because they’d picked up the pace on their studying. Nobody likes missing a class birthday party, but that’s really all I can think of that’s happened lately. They’re normal for their age, as far as I can tell. They’re smart. Sometimes too smart. If I don’t keep them challenged, they slack off.”

  Miss Lovegood’s voice trailed off then, and I recognized the signs of guilt. I couldn’t believe it, but I felt sorry for the Disney princess. I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. “We’ve all been wondering if it’s our fault,” I said. “Me, Nicky, their grandmother…you can’t beat yourself up over it.”

  “Thanks.” She flashed a quick smile. “Anyway, I’ll look at the spelling tests and get back to you if I see anything—”

  Miss Lovegood was interrupted by a kerfuffle in her classroom.

  “Wh
at was that?” I glanced through the window.

  She tossed me an apologetic look, then opened the classroom door. “What’s going on in here?”

  Six kids all surrounded Meg’s desk. Miss Watson sat with her head down and her thumb up, humming a little Mission Impossible ditty to herself.

  “What’s going on here?” Miss Lovegood repeated.

  “She’s cheating!” six smaller voices chorused. “Miss Watson peeks at people’s feet.”

  I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Meg, no cheating.”

  “If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying hard enough.” Meg popped her head up, then pointed her finger around the room. “Got it? That’s the lesson for today.”

  “We should be going.” I grabbed my friend’s arm and tried my hardest to drag her out from behind the desk. Thankfully, she decided to utilize her own two feet just before I collapsed underneath her.

  “Oh, and Miss Nice Apples?” Meg whispered to the teacher. “Do you notice anything?”

  Miss Lovegood frowned. But whether she was frowning at the use of Meg’s nickname, or the fact that Meg was pointing very deliberately at her own chest, I couldn’t be sure.

  “Do you notice anything special?” Meg winked.

  Miss Lovegood cleared her throat. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Show and tell?” Meg waggled her eyebrows. “Yeah, I heard all about that. But that really awesome bra? That was made specifically for me. How do you like them apples? Nice, huh?”

  She cleared her throat again. “Sure. Very nice.”

  “My sort of boyfriend made it for me.” Meg grinned. “Really thoughtful of him, right?”

  “Definitely.” Miss Lovegood looked away from where Meg’s hands had frozen as she gestured to where her bulletproof bra should go. “Now, if you don’t mind, we should get back to our history lesson.”

  “History, shmistory,” Meg said. “I’m the 7-Up champion in this classroom, and that’s what’s going down in history!”

  I pulled Meg into the hallway, calling behind me. “Thanks again for all your help, Miss Lovegood.”