Lacey Luzzi: Sparkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 2)

by Gina LaManna

  “Aka kidnapping her best friend of two months,” Meg added.

  “Not sure how that’s aka, but yes, that’s the idea,” I said. “Then, when Vivian was emotionally vulnerable, he was here to pick up the pieces and ask for her back.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not really sure about the last part. What if Vivian had said no? I mean, what would Joey have done with Kiki?”

  Meg broke in, “Kiki. We need to find her.”

  I looked around the room, nodding my head in agreement, trying to jumpstart a plan.

  “All right, everyone has five minutes to talk to anyone you need to, gather your crap and be waiting out on the front steps. We’re off on a bride and groom chase,” I said. “Out front in five.”

  Alfonso looked at me curiously, “Even me?”

  “No,” I said. “You here with your mom and dad?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled.

  “You go back to them quietly and behave forever, and I won’t tattle. You so much as get a C on a history paper and you’re grounded for life, got it?” I gave him my best serious stare.

  “Yeah, got it,” he said, standing up gingerly on bruised ankles.

  “I promise you I will set Anthony loose on you,” I called after him.

  Alfonso scurried from the room in his oversized boxers.

  “Anthony,” I said.

  “I am not going after him,” Anthony turned from his post in the doorway. “I’ve seen enough pre-pubescent teen boy today.”

  “Are you staying or coming with me?”

  “My job is to eliminate all threats to the Family.” Anthony looked at me. “Right now, this is the biggest threat.”

  “Got it,” I said. “See you out front. I just need to check something quickly.”

  I turned to Meg, who was poking at the large, unconscious man in inappropriate places.

  “Stop that,” I said as she gave his butt cheek a squeeze. “Where’s Clay?”

  “I don’t know.” Her cheeks were pink.

  “Wanna try that again?” I asked.

  “Floor two, Room two-oh-eight.”

  “Thanks,” I said, trying to hold back a grin. “Can I borrow your card key to… hmm, room two-oh-eight?”

  I rushed down the maintenance steps, recognizing a smear of brown on the handrail. Joey’s tanning lotion.

  I reached the second floor, was out of breath by the time I slipped the card reader into the door holder, and became absolutely furious when a cowbell starting banging in the distance.

  Clay peeked his head out from behind a laptop. “Oh, it’s you?”

  “Disappointed?” I shouted. “Shut that off. NO MORE COWBELL.”

  Clay punched a few keys on his cell phone. “Sorry, can never be too careful.”

  There was a pause as I pondered how to bring up the favor I needed from him.

  Luckily, Clay’s eyes lit up and he held out his phone like a toy, as if he were a toddler who’d just discovered a brand new train set.

  “Check this out, Lace,” he said, bubblier than I’d ever seen him all weekend. “I’m working on alarms that are cell phone controlled. I can set off loud noises, flashing lights, and I’m almost able to blow things up…”

  “Wow, that’s great,” I said. “Just be careful with that last one. I don’t appreciate getting blown up all that much. But on that note, could you please help me with something?”

  “What?” He looked suddenly skeptical.

  “I need to know if Vivian Luzzi has any plane tickets booked under her name, or under Joey’s name. For today, most likely.”

  “You thinking of creeping on their honeymoon?” His eyebrows were raised. “Lacey, I never expected—”

  “You don’t know half the story,” I said. “So help me. Joey’s in trouble with the Family, and Vivian’s running away from her wedding with a dead man. Leo.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  I rolled my eyes, but Clay was already typing furiously on the keyboard.

  “There’s two tickets under her name actually. For the same time. To the same destination. And on one flight she’s sitting next to Joey, and on the other, she’s sitting next to someone whose name is William R. Blinkenberg, the third or fourth whatever. It’s something with Roman Numerals.”

  “That must be the banker’s real name. I thought it was Donald, but I could be wrong,” I said. “Vivian probably hadn’t realized she’d been double-booked on her honeymoon. I bet Joey booked the first ones and never canceled, hoping against hope that he’d still be taking that honeymoon with Vivian. Meanwhile, the banker booked another set, not aware that the other ones weren’t canceled.”

  Clay nodded.

  “So that’s four tickets and four people,” I mused. “Leo, Kiki, Vivian and Joey are headed on a honeymoon.”

  I hung my head in my hands. “I’m not sure I want to know, even though I’m one hundred and fifty percent sure I already know.”

  “Well, do you want to know for certain? Just ask.” Clay shrugged.

  I looked up wearily, already knowing the answer. “Where are we going?”

  “Las Vegas.”

  ** **

  Flying down I-35E, I crossed my fingers that the roads would be slippery enough to run a car right off them. Or maybe broken into tiny pieces. Or even under construction for any reason at all, just so that there was a chance we could catch the crew that had gotten a head start on us. Unfortunately, it was a beautiful day and traffic was light and there were no signs of any highway patrolmen pulling people over on their way back to the cities.

  “Is this city even safe?” I griped. “What is this world coming to? No cops pulling people over, no roads being fixed. Come on!”

  “Crimeny,” Meg said. “I’ll start bustin’ up these roads if we need.”

  As it was a Saturday, most of the traffic was headed in the other direction: families headed north for relaxing weekends at the cabin, couples out for a day of romantic sightseeing, hand-holding and ice cream eating, and probably even a few stragglers en route to Vivian’s wedding.

  She hadn’t made a blanket announcement to the guests about the wedding getting postponed as far as I knew, though I hadn’t had any contact with her since we’d jumped on the road two hours before, hectically scrambling to beat Vivian and company to the airport.

  It was a race against time. Their plane took off, wheels up, in 30 minutes. We were approximately 22 minutes away.

  Joey, Leo and their victims had about 40 minutes on us.

  I fingered what was left of the five grand tucked away across various parts of my body. I’d shoved a few bills in my wallet, a few in my purse and a few in my pocket. Just in case I didn’t make it back to the hotel, I didn’t want to lose that money. Plus, we were headed to Vegas. A little extra cash never hurt anyone in that city.

  I hoped against hope that the flight would be delayed, or that Vivian would put up a stink about getting caught with hairspray in her carry on and get thrown off the flight. Or maybe Joey would be chosen for a ‘random’ search since the color of his skin looked alien. Something. Anything to delay them the extra 20 minutes we’d need to get to the plane.

  I had to give Joey credit: he couldn’t have timed things any more perfectly. 20 minutes earlier and we’d have caught them. It was a ballsy move, but it was beginning to look like it might pay off.

  “Can you try calling again?” I begged Anthony.

  We’d exhausted our entire inside police and TSA contacts at the airport. We had no luck digging up resources who could help us stall the plane; one of the police captains who frequently accepted cash for favors was in Hawaii on a vacation paid for by Carlos, the other at home with his pregnant wife, who was about to give birth any second. Neither agreed to my pleas to rush to the airport. It also wasn’t exactly viable for them to call their buddies and ask for a favor in the name of Carlos Luzzi. That might not go over so hot in terms of collaborating with known criminal masterminds.

  TSA as
a whole was hesitant to provide any interference or involvement on their part, mostly because all of the four travelers had made their ticket reservations months in advance and frequently traveled to and from MSP and LAS. There were no signs of foul play, none of their posse had any weapons on them, and when questioned individually, Kiki, Joey, Leo and Viv had all vehemently expressed their desire to travel to Vegas. With no signs of trouble and no warrants for any of them, we were out of luck.

  On the phone with one of the agents, I pleaded they ask again. I expressed the fact that Kiki was most likely being held against her will. TSA half-assedly complied, but after questioning Kiki once more, they told me that in fact, Kiki showed up on her own, 20 minutes after the other three passengers. Surely if she was being held against her will, she could have easily run away while on her own?

  I sighed and hung up. They had a point. What was Kiki doing? And why hadn’t she escaped when she had the chance?

  I rubbed my head while Meg applied a fresh coat of lipstick and Anthony drove with his arms straight and lips even straighter in line.

  “Yes?” Anthony barked into the phone. He had managed to dispatch a few of his men to the airport in order to intercept our traveling friends. “What happened, did you find them?”

  “We found them, sir.”

  “And?”

  I cringed. The man on the other end of the line sounded anything but confident in his report back to his boss.

  “We… couldn’t do anything.”

  “What do you mean… you couldn’t do anything?”

  “I, uh—we approached the targets, but as soon as we made contact with the one dressed as a priest, swarms of people surrounded him.” The man cleared his throat. “They thought I was harassing a religious figure, and short of fighting them all off…”

  Anthony didn’t speak for a moment. He notched the speed of the car up into triple digits.

  “They were an angry mob, sir. I can send men back, but they haven’t left the safety of the crowd. A nun is praying with him right now. What would you like us to do?”

  Anthony cleared his throat.

  The image of Leo on his knees, hands clasped in prayer, brushing shoulders with a nun was a strange one at best. Meg didn’t even bother to hide her snort at the image.

  I glanced out the window. It wasn’t like Anthony’s men at the airport had any sort of identification on them whatsoever, let alone a legitimate law enforcement badge they could flash in order to do business quietly.

  Feeling as if all of our other options had been exhausted, I closed my eyes for a moment to clear my mind. I was trying not to feel depressed. It’d been a tough weekend, let alone day, and all I wanted was to sleep. And to ask Anthony what the heck he meant by all of his little touches and looks when I was semi-clothed. Surely he knew nothing could happen between us, right? Or could it?

  When I got up the energy to peel my eyelids open, I took a peek into the backseat and made eye contact with a very pained-looking Alfonso. All I could see of the gangly kid’s frame was his shock of red hair. His body disappeared between Meg and Clay, who sandwiched him on either side. He was supposed to have stayed with his parents, but I didn’t have time to argue with him when he’d jumped in the car and begged to help.

  The combination of all three cuddling in the back reminded me of a s’more gone wrong, where the middle was made from carrots and the outsides from two fluffy marshmallows.

  “Cozy?” I asked.

  I could hear Alfonso’s teeth grinding from my place in the passenger seat beside Anthony.

  “Don’t worry.” I patted his knobby little knee. “We’ve only got six minutes left at the rate we’re going.”

  The rate we were going was incredibly quick. So fast, I wondered if Anthony hadn’t trained as a stunt driver in some previous career. He was currently racing down residential streets, barely easing his speed from that of his flight on the freeway, yapping instructions to his men on the phone, and casting suspicious glances in the rear-view mirror all at once.

  Wheeling around the curves of the airport, Anthony halted to a stop in front of the Delta sign. He leapt out, instructing everyone else to do the same. I got my feet on the ground and noticed a few men dressed in dark suits, probably Carlos’s men following Anthony’s instructions and waiting at the curb.

  The Boss Man himself tossed the keys to one particularly embarrassed-looking guard. Probably he was the same guy who’d tried to kidnap Leo the Priest. Anthony shot him a gaze and exchanged a few Italian words that were probably instructions.

  Then, Anthony took off towards the entrance. The rest of our motley crew hustled behind, some of us more gracefully than others.

  “What do we do with them?” I pointed to the stragglers trailing behind us: Meg, Clay and Alfonso.

  “I don’t much care,” Anthony growled.

  He whizzed through security without as much as a glance back. He said a few words to the TSA agent, pointed his fingers behind him in our group’s general direction, and we all followed without question. I very nearly tiptoed past, hoping I wouldn’t be the one to get stopped. I wanted to be in on this action after everything I’d been through.

  We sprinted down the newly re-constructed terminal. I very badly wanted to pause and examine all of the new restaurants and snack places, the coffee shops where iPads—free for patrons to use—lined each table, where margaritas and beers called my name loudly. Aside from these additions, I was fairly certain the only change they’d made was to lengthen the terminal by about six miles.

  But I didn’t stop moving my legs, and neither did Clay, Meg or Alfonso. We made for an odd looking group of five trundling to terminal G. Let’s just say people moved out of our way quickly, and we were able to jog the moving walkway without bumping into relaxed dads pushing strollers with whining babies during flight delays.

  By the time we passed the last group of Asian tourists, probably here to shop at the Mall of America with cameras tick-tocking in front of their necks, we’d probably run a half marathon at least. Well, combined between the five of us, maybe. I bent over, heaving, until I felt a hand on my ass.

  I looked up and saw Anthony, his hand still firmly cupping my butt cheek.

  “Excuse me?” I said. “Wheezing here.”

  “We need to move. Next gate.” He gave me a light shove, or a spank, and I skedaddled right on up to gate G32, the furthest gate from the entrance possible in the MSP airport.

  “Oh, shit.” I hung my head, wringing my hands together. We’d made it. Finally. Now, to get on that plane…

  “Score, we’re here!” said Meg with a fist pump.

  “Fuck yeah,” said Alfonso.

  “Watch your mouth,” said Clay.

  Anthony’s mouth was grim as he approached the front desk. “Is there any more room on the plane? I’ll pay big…”

  We all watched, like a movie was playing before us in slow motion, as the plane Anthony spoke of pulled away from the jet way and took off down the runway. It was in the air before Meg had finished her fist pumping dance.

  “We’re going to Vegas!” she shouted dancing in a circle.

  “All right, troops,” I said, taking a nice, slow inhale. I felt the loss of the plane like I’d feel a hole from a missing tooth. Something was there, and now it wasn’t. And I was sad. There was pain. I was confused.

  But when I looked around, I felt three sets of eyes on me, while Anthony stared silently out the window.

  I forced a smile. “Let’s eat! We’ve got time to take care of some business. We already booked flights for the next plane to Vegas, and we’re boarding in forty minutes. Don’t be late.”

  Anthony took out his phone and made a few calls, jabbering instructions in Italian to a few friends of the Family.

  “You got men in Vegas?” I asked as he snapped the phone shut.

  “They’re going to discreetly try and head Joey and crew off at the airport,” Anthony said. “If that doesn’t work, my people will let me know which
hotel they check into. Our Vegas ‘friends’ will gladly provide them a complimentary room at any casino of their choosing.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “Interesting. Why the free room? So we can get a duplicate key easier? I thought you had magical powers to get through locked doors.”

  Anthony’s cheeks twitched with a flicker of grim satisfaction. “Because it’s a room they’ll be able to get into, but not one they’ll be able to leave.”

  “Yikes,” I said. “Sounds kinky.”

  Anthony rolled his eyes and marched off—probably in search of his best buddy named silence.

  Chapter 11

  Exactly thirty-nine minutes later, we were first in line to board the aircraft. The stewardess had requested a thorough check of our handbags, though as far as she knew, they’d been subjected to all of the normal security measures necessary to get through the initial screening.

  Upon finding nothing more terrorizing than Meg’s nail clippers swinging from her belt and a ballpoint pen in Alfonso’s pocket, they let us wait in line in peace.

  For about five minutes.

  Then, a member of Homeland Security approached us, doubled checked our passports and driver’s licenses (except for Alfonso, who passed as a child), and swabbed our palms.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked as the uniformed man inserted the swab into a little machine and stared at it intently for a few moments.

  It beeped, and he looked disappointed. He whirled around to face me. “Do you think this is a game?”

  “Sorry, just curious,” I said.

  We all handed over our palms for a swabbing. I had a suspicion the ‘random’ check was incredibly personal, as all five of our group were tested, and not a single other person in the entire terminal.

  Our group could’ve triggered special attention. After all, we were an odd combination of people flying to Vegas together, particularly after all of the kidnapping phone calls the airline had received earlier in the day. Or it could have been the fact that Clay was hacking away at his laptop as if the world was about to implode. Another option could have been Meg, who looked like Hagrid on a wild hair day. Her camouflage jacket made her stick out like a sore thumb, her many pockets jangling with all sorts of treats, utensils and gadgets she couldn’t live without.