My finger hovers over his name. I want to call him, to see how he's doing. It's almost 11:00. If he's not working, he may be asleep. I don't want to disturb him. I sigh heavily and place the phone on the coffee table.
The show comes back on and Scarlett, the quiet blonde who gave up a singing career because she couldn't handle the attention and being on tour, is sulking about something. I know the feeling, girl.
Julian's job is the reason we're taking things slow. Not only did he recently learn I communicate with the dead, but I learned that he's a fixer. He works for a lawyer whose clients are bigwigs. Whenever a client is in trouble of some sort, Julian intervenes and makes things right. Sounds noble, but it's not. That murder Izzie was framed for…if Julian hadn't moved the dead body and fixed it, Izzie probably wouldn't have been accused. He made things better, but I was the one who saved my sister in the end.
Hence, this is why we're taking things slow. I'm not sure I can be with a person who doesn't firmly stand on the white side of the law.
The show soon ends, and I immediately look for anything to watch that isn't the news. I can't stomach all the negativity. I get to AMC, and the guide says The Terminator is coming up. This'll do.
The commercial break is of Hellmann's Mayonnaise, and while I'm now hungry for a BLT, I don't feel like cooking. So I reach for the bag of Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeño Cheetos and pull it open. What can I say? I'm easily influenced.
I may regret this tomorrow, but what the heck. I pop several long, orange-red, crunchy nuggets into my mouth. Being mature is overrated.
CHAPTER TWO
A loud banging seeps itself into the corners of my dream, where I'm on a Ferris wheel, and Freezer Dude is in control of the ride. It's choppy and not smooth, and he's laughing the entire time. I'm not afraid of reaching the top, but I'm terrified of landing at the bottom where he floats an inch above the concrete. Right before I reach his wide, toothy grin, I open my eyes and stare at the coffee table.
My mouth is partly open, and I'm drooling on the couch cushion. Gross. I pull myself up into a sitting position and must look like a zombie rising. My head is groggy, and my stomach is rumbling. I fell asleep on the couch. There's a kink in my neck, and I need a nice long, scalding soak. But I don't have a tub. Unless I want to lay a washcloth over the drain in the shower stall and sit with my knees up to my chin, it ain't happening. I'll settle for scalding coffee though.
I push my cover-like jacket off me. I must've reached for it while sleeping. I swing my feet to the floor, and that banging noise sounds again. It wasn't a part of my dream. Something is clanking, and it's coming from the deli downstairs.
I grab my phone. It's barely 6:30, and the deli doesn't open until seven. What's going on?
I jump up and run down, imagining a really loud burglar, and here I am with only my phone as a weapon. Or The Terminator movie has become a reality and machines have taken over. I really should put my vivid imagination to good use and write a book someday.
The back staircase to my apartment leads to the small, gravel-infused parking lot behind the deli. It's for employees only, and beside my car is Pop's, Ma's, and a van with a side panel that says, You Clog it, We Drain it, Frontier Plumbing. It's kinda catchy mixed with a lot of eww.
I pull open the back door to the deli and step into the kitchen. The three vehicle owners are huddled around the freezer, like they're discussing a football strategy. I step forward and catch a glimpse of my bed hair in the reflection of the fridge and remember I must have jalapeño breath.
Ma turns and glares at me. Surely she can't smell it from all the way over there. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she looks like she wants to chew glass and spit it out at someone's jugular.
"What?" I suddenly feel like I'm in the doghouse. I already have sleeping on the couch down pat, so maybe it won't be so bad.
"The freezer's leaking again," she spits out.
Oh, so this isn't about me. Whew! I hate getting on Ma's bad side. It doesn't last too long with her kids. She's a big softie with us, but her old threats of Santa knowing when we're naughty or nice still rattle me.
"It just started last week," Pop says as if the three of us don't know. This is the second time I've seen the plumber who knows how to wear his pants correctly here. And I'm all too aware that the leak started after Freezer Dude crossed over. But I don't want to tell Ma and Pop—partly because I feel like it's my fault, and partly because I don't want to creep them out. I could try to put a positive spin on it, but after last night, I'm not sure if even I can lie that well.
"I don't think there's anything else I can do," says the plumber.
Pop gets that look in his eye that says maybe duct tape will work, but Ma starts tapping her foot, and his inspiration vanishes. He knows Ma won't put up with taping it. He did that to their last washing machine, and Ma moaned and grumbled every time she did a load, fearful it would burst and leave her with a basement full of water. I doubt one load would fill the basement like the Titanic, but all of Ma's collectibles are on shelves down there, so she understandably won't take any chances.
"Maybe if we…" Pop starts.
But Ma cuts him off. "No, Lorenzo. No crazy schemes, no duct tape. We'll have to order a new one." She huffs and takes several steps back.
Pop glances at her but doesn't respond.
I love watching how they interact. Sometimes, like now, they know each other's limits and don't push. I know Pop wants to argue. He did the first time they found it leaking. He didn't want to spend money on a plumber, so he tightened some bolts, and it stopped. For a day or two. Then Ma called the plumber. Pop must've known it was more than he could handle, or he didn't want to argue with Ma, so he conceded. But there are times those two bump heads and seem to deliberately push one another's buttons.
The mechanic picks up his box of tools. "Sorry I couldn't help." He gives me a curt nod as he walks out.
"What does this mean?" I ask.
"It means we have to spend money we don't have on a new freezer," Ma says.
My stomach churns, and it's not because of the Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeño Cheetos. I didn't ask Freezer Dude to come through. Far from it. But I still feel partly responsible. If I had the money to give them, or even the credit, I would.
"We have the anonymous money," Pop says.
Ma looks momentarily relieved. "I thought we weren't going to spend that in case the owner wanted it back."
After my sister, Izzie, was arrested for murder last month, Ma and Pop had to put up a significant portion of their savings to the bail bondsman. Since that was Julian's doing, what with moving the body, he made an anonymous donation to the deli to compensate my parents. It was really sweet of him, and he scored major points in my book. But no one other than me knows where the money really came from. I can't tell because his job is confidential. Even I'm not supposed to know what he actually does for a living. Everyone thinks he's a simple private investigator.
Pop bugs out his eyes. "I think this situation warrants us using it. Besides, people don't usually give a gift anonymously and then ask for it back."
"Yeah, he doesn't want it back." I don't realize what I said until they're both staring at me with frowns. Shoot, Gianna, shut up.
I fumble over my words. "I-I just mean, uh, if it was me, I wouldn't expect it back."
Ma nods, accepting my lie. "Fine. We don't have much of a choice. But we need to get everything out of there, so nothing defrosts. Gianna, we'll pack your freezer and bring the rest home." She points her finger at me. "Don't eat any of it."
I scoff. "Like I need to be told not to dive into the family profit. Am I a glutton? Don't answer that."
Pop smirks. "We should close up until the new one arrives. I'll put a rush order on it."
Ma rolls her eyes and steps into the freezer.
"I know a guy," Pop says.
Ma emerges with several frozen lasagnas in her arms. She shoves them at me. "As long as it doesn't arrive duct taped, fine."
* * *
After a million trips up and down the stairs, with achy thigh muscles to prove it, I get under the hot spray of the shower and wish I could stay there all day. But I promised my sister I'd go with her to the obstetrician. Her husband, Paulie, has been pulling doubles as a paramedic to make a little extra money for the baby. It's sweet. And I'm pretty sure Izzie is fine with him not being home more often, since their marriage isn't exactly solid.
The murder she was accused of was a woman Paulie had an oral thing with. If Izzie hadn't found out she was pregnant shortly after, I'm not sure if they'd be in counseling trying to salvage their relationship now.
When I honk in front of Izzie's two-story, Colonial-style home, the front door immediately opens. She's not one for being late. She steps out wearing jeans, a red sweater, a denim jacket, and three-inch heels. She has this thing about her height. She's five-four, two inches taller than me, and refuses to ever be under five-five. Even her slippers have a wedge. I don't know why she's so obsessed with it. She can't even put the reason into coherent words.
She sits in my passenger seat and fastens the seat belt around her. Her short, brown hair frames her face. "Morning." It doesn't come out as perky as it used to. Not that Izzie's ever been a perky person, but she usually loves mornings. That is, until she got pregnant. Morning, afternoon, and night sickness has hit her hard. She was the same way when she was pregnant with my niece, Alice, too.
"Morning," I say and emphasize some perk. "How much longer are you going to keep wearing heels? Won't you have to stop when you start showing?"
I assume that having gravity against you twice isn't a good move, but what do I know? I've never been pregnant, and I hate heels. I prefer feeling the solid ground beneath my feet. Izzie wasn't always like this though. When she was having Alice, she was a senior in high school. Ma and the school didn't allow her to wear heels every day then.
She scoffs. "I will be in heels in the delivery room. Now let's go. I don't want to be late."
I pull into the tiny strip mall parking lot and park close by the Subway. I'm starved, but I won't eat their sandwiches. Not when I make the best ones in the whole wide world. I'm not conceited. I just truly make awesomeness between bread. Everyone says so.
"You're not supposed to park here for the medical building," Izzie says while climbing out of my car.
The beige stone structure is right next door. On a busy weekday morning, who's going to know?
"Then maybe they shouldn't charge for parking. Besides, on the way out I'll stop and get…" I glance at the surrounding stores—a manicure place, CVS, a psychic, and a used bookstore. "A book."
Izzie gives a half-smile. "Yeah, sure. Come on."
The OB/GYN's office is ultra modern with sleek, curved blue and green, armless chairs and love seats. The walls are painted in a pastel blue, several shades lighter than the furniture, and several framed photos of pretty purple, white, and orange flowers are hung up. One wall is all glass, where the receptionists sit. I need to come here for my next exam. Not that I'm rushing to get into stirrups.
Izzie walks over to the glass, and I sit in one of the chairs, facing a woman with a belly so big it looks like she'll give birth any second. We do that polite smile thing, and she goes back to reading a People magazine. Izzie speaks softly to a receptionist with a very high ponytail. Then my sister sits beside me.
She lets out a shaky breath and stares straight ahead. There's nothing directly in front of her, so she must be in deep thought.
"You okay?" I whisper.
She nods.
My stomach moans. Loud. I glance up at the woman, who offers a sly smile. Sometimes my body loves to embarrass me.
Izzie looks at me from the corner of her eye. "Are you okay?"
"I haven't eaten yet today. The freezer in the deli is kaput, and I've been carrying around casseroles all morning. On the plus side, I'm building tone." I flex the muscle in my arm.
Izzie snickers. "I ate, but it didn't stay down."
I grimace and start to call her Pukey Izzie, but if I do, she'll slug me. She has the weakest gag reflex in the universe, and after an incident of her vomiting all over a classmate on the bus during a school trip many, many moons ago, she inherited that nickname. It stayed with her for years.
A side door opens, and a nurse calls in the other woman. She struggles out of her seat, and instead of standing and offering a hand, like a good Samaritan, I just stare at her. I don't mean to. It's just so mesmerizing.
"That's going to be me some day," Izzie says with a tone full of regret or fear.
"I thought you liked being pregnant," I say in my normal voice.
"I was seventeen. What did I know?" She pats her mostly flat belly. "I'll be fine once I get past the first trimester. Just another month."
I glance at the magazines, but they all look old. "How is my niece?"
"Surly." That time there was no mistaking the disgust in her tone.
I chuckle. "So she's still the same?"
Izzie laughs. "Yes, thirteen and believing she's smarter than me."
Sounds about right. "Don't we still think we're smarter than Ma and Pop? I don't think that'll ever change."
She sighs. "Not true. When I was pregnant with Alice I went to Ma with all my questions."
The left side of my mouth creeps up. "So you'll be good when you're a grandma?"
This time she groans, and I snort. Hopefully it'll be a long time before that happens. Last I knew, Alice wasn't sexually active, and she better keep it that way. Or at least never leave the house without a suitcase full of condoms.
The telephone on the other side of the glass rings.
"Have you and she had the talk yet? Not the birds and bees one but the protection one," I asked.
Izzie turns her head and stares at me. Her top lip is curled into a snarl and her eyes are huge. Too bad I don't have the camera on my phone ready. That would an awesome photo to post to my Facebook wall. "She's thirteen."
It's my time to be shocked. "Seriously, sis? You were seventeen when you got pregnant. That's only four years. What are you waiting for?"
She turns back to her very rigid position, staring straight ahead. "When hell freezes over."
My thoughts immediately spring to Freezer Dude and last night's version of hell. I want to share it with someone, especially Izzie. I tell her everything. But I don't want to worry her. Enzo and I even swore to her that we won't do any Mancini scares while she's in her delicate condition.
One of my family's favorite pastimes is jumping out and scaring the crap out of each other. It's fun, a hoot, and really gets the adrenaline going. We all do it, but it's mostly just us kids nowadays. Mostly. I'll still get Ma or Pop if the timing is right. But the big scares, like sneaking into each other's homes and waiting in the dark, we keep between us three. I do not want to be responsible for heart attacks or the sudden death of the people who raised me. Nope. I couldn't live with that.
But now that Izzie's off limits and I've been hanging with Enzo more, it's gotten pretty boring. He and I are always suspecting the other of being up to no good, so we're super vigilant about not taking our eyes off each other. It makes it hard for sneak attacks. I'm not sure if I can wait another seven months before I scare someone though. I need to meet some new people.
My stomach grumbles louder than before.
"How are you and Paulie doing?" I bite the bullet and ask. If she doesn't want to talk about it, the worst she can do is growl or tell me to shut up.
Surprisingly, she doesn't do either. She shrugs. "Better but not great. We have our moments."
That's good. Right? As much as I think Paulie is scum for cheating on my sister, he's also a good guy and really loves her and Alice. He screwed up, and I believe he'll never do anything like that again. He's not that stupid.
I'm about to ask how therapy is going when the door opens, and the nurse reappears. "Isabel Donato."
We both stand, but Izzie puts a hand on my arm. "
Why don't you go get something to eat? I can do the next part alone."
My stomach cheers, but I don't want to leave her since she asked me to come to begin with. "Are you sure?"
She nods. "Absolutely. Besides, your noises keep making me think of my breakfast, which makes me queasy."
I hold back a laugh. "Okay. I'll be right back, and if you want me to come in have the nurse get me."
She nods and kisses my cheek.
I stand in that spot until she's through the door, turns down the corridor, and I can't see her anymore. Then I hightail it out of there and over to the strip mall. I pass Subway and hold my breath. There's something about the smell of their bread that makes me queasy. There aren't many choices left though, so I go into CVS and purchase a pack of trail mix. Not exactly breakfast, but it'll do until I drop Izzie off. Maybe I'll head to Ma's and raid her fridge. Mine, minus the deli inventory, is getting a bit bare.
I lean against the brick part of the building and tear open the slender packet. I hold it up to my mouth and tilt it back. A peanut slides into my throat, and I choke. I cough and end up spitting a mouthful of nuts, raisins, and mini chocolate pieces onto the sidewalk. Oh no, not the chocolate pieces.
"You should be more careful," says a deep, feminine voice close by.
I cough and gag a couple more times and turn to the woman. She walks over and hands me an unopened bottle of water.
"Thank you," I say and cough some more, just in case the nut thinks it's going to win and kill me. Not today. I twist the cap, take a slug of water, and swallow hard.
The woman wears a blue-and-white floral maxi skirt, flats, a denim jacket, and has a royal blue top on beneath. She returns to her spot in front of the psychic's shop, whips out a lighter, and lights a cigarette.
"You should be careful too." I jut my chin to the cigarette in her hand.
She smiles and nods. "Yes, but I can foresee my future."
Two Ghosts & a Love Song (Dead by the Numbers Mysteries Book 2) Page 2
