Cupcakes, Butterflies & Dead Guys (Gianna Mancini Mysteries Book 3)

by Jennifer Fischetto

  "Congratulations. The three of us have a lot of catching up to do."

  Izzie stares at me. "Yes. I'm gonna go see how Ma's doing and let you two finish talking. It's great to see you though. Are you in town for a while?"

  He casually shrugs. "For some time. I haven't made definitive plans yet."

  "Make sure we hang before you leave again."

  He nods. "Absolutely."

  I watch the entire conversation in silence and shock. I'm not sure why I feel ungrounded. It's not like Michael's my first big love, who, by the way, died years ago. Now he'd be a shock to see. But for some reason I feel floaty.

  When Izzie walks back into the living room, he turns to me, and that smile snaps me out of my haze.

  "It's great to see you. Izzie's right. We should catch up, but right now doesn't seem like the right time," I say.

  The woman behind me scoffs. I forgot she's there.

  Michael locates a small stack of clear, plastic piping bags under a pile of napkins on the counter and hands them to the woman. "Yeah, it's a little crazy right now."

  "I can't believe they walked out," the woman whispers and glances to me.

  "It'll be fine. I'll do whatever you need." Michael glances to me. "Valentina here is the party planner. The caterers dropped off the food, started to prep it, and then walked out without a word."

  "I have no idea why," she says. "Then, to make today the absolute worst, my assistant never showed up."

  "Wow, that's unprofessional."

  She widens her dark eyes. "Right?"

  "So party planners for a bridal shower? Is that common?" I ask.

  She shakes her head. Her large, silver loop earrings gently smack into the sides of her cheeks. "Not usually, but my father is friends with the groom, so I volunteered. They're all busy with the wedding. It's the least I could do."

  "That's generous of you."

  She holds out her hand. "I'm Valentina Vargas."

  I grip her hand and shake. "Gianna Mancini."

  "Gianna and I went to school together. We were married in kindergarten."

  I laugh. "You remember that?"

  "Of course I do. It's hard to forget your wife." He winks, and goose bumps break out onto my arms.

  My taking-it-slow boyfriend, Julian, springs to mind, and I immediately look away. Guilt washes over me. How can I be flirting with another man? But then I immediately chastise myself for chastising myself. It's only a few memories. I haven't done anything wrong. Just the same, I focus my attention on Valentina and the giant bowl of pale blue frosting before her.

  Beside it is a cooling tray of vanilla cupcakes in white wrappers and a container of white, pearl-looking sprinkles. She looks from the giant bowl to the bags in her hands and back. Clearly, she's never used a piping bag before.

  Without thinking, I step forward. "Do you need help? I know how to do it."

  She looks to me and then to Michael.

  He doesn't say a word.

  "You're a guest," she says.

  "I once decorated a cat-shaped cake for my niece's fifth birthday. I don't mind helping. You guys look like you could use a hand."

  She reaches out her arm, hands over the bags, and softly laughs. "Would you like a job?"

  Fifteen minutes later, I take a step back and admire my work. There are three-dozen cupcakes with peaks of fluffy frosting and pearls. They're beautiful and almost look too good to eat, but I have every intention of sinking my teeth into one.

  "Wow, you really are good," Valentina says. She's just returned from the living room with a tray that once held deviled eggs.

  I beam. Another compliment today. I like this place. Bridal showers make people super nice. "Thanks."

  Michael is still at the oven, pulling out a tray of caramelized onions and puff pastry. I already had a couple of eggs and some celery and carrot sticks, but I had to be careful around the cupcakes, so I haven't been able to stuff my face the way I like. Those onion puffs are definitely calling my name.

  "Thank you for this. I appreciate it," Valentina says.

  I bite the corner of my lip. "That whole job comment…was that a joke?"

  She cocks her head and looks off for a moment. "No, actually, it wasn't. My assistant is flaky. I've planned to find someone to fill her shoes. I haven't gotten around to it. Have you ever worked parties before?"

  "No, but my parents own a deli."

  Michael chuckles, obviously seeing humor in the relation of parties to the deli. I'd probably laugh too if I didn't want to make a good impression.

  "It's hardly the same thing, but I'm good with people, and I'm a fast learner." And I really want to get out of the deli. I appreciate all my parents have done to help me since I moved back to South Shore Beach a few months ago. The job at the deli, the apartment above it with a major rent discount, and their love and support. Well, I had the last one when I lived in Connecticut too, but the deli job is part-time, and I'd love to make more money. My boot and handbag obsession alone costs major dough. Plus, I'm tired of smelling like salami and mayonnaise every night.

  Valentina reaches into the cupboard above the fridge and pulls down her purse. She digs through it, finds a business card, and hands it to me. It's white card stock with black lettering and pink swirls by the corners of the name, Vargas Events.

  "Why don't you give me a call next week, and we'll set up an interview. But after that…" She points to the pale blue cupcakes with white, edible pearls. "I can't imagine I'll say no."

  Score.

  My smile feels as big as Ma's from earlier.

  After several more minutes of small talk, my work is done, and she heads back into the living room.

  I wash my hands at the sink and turn to Michael.

  He's staring at me with that big grin on his face. "I asked Mom to ask Mrs. Mancini to keep me a secret. I wanted to surprise you. Did it work?"

  I widen my eyes and chuckle. "Absolutely. I had no idea. I recognized Kelly… Well, I thought she was Raina. Wait. That means you're related to Raina Stone?"

  "Yes, we're cousins. You know her work?"

  I try hard not to squeal. "Yes. I'm a big fan."

  "You've had two surprises today. Should I ask which is better?" His eyes twinkle, and his grin is playful, but I get the feeling there's something deeper in his words. Maybe I'm reading into it because of my guilt flare-ups.

  Before I have a chance to answer—and thank goodness 'cause I'm not sure what I'll say—a round of cheers echoes from the living room. I'm missing the bridal shower.

  "I should get in there."

  Michael nods and steps out of my path. "I hope we'll be able to get together before I head back home."

  "Where is home these days?"

  "I've moved around a lot but currently Boston."

  "Yes, we'll definitely catch up." I head into the hallway without looking back, but I can feel his eyes watching me.

  I don't have time to analyze how I'm feeling because Kelly is at the front door talking to Raina.

  Oh my God, she's here. I want to giggle, to rush up to her and pump her arm like an old well. I want to take a million selfies and post them on my Facebook and Instagram pages. But there's something in their stances that tells me they're sharing a private sister moment, and I shouldn't disrupt that. I may be the Queen of Curiousness, but I'm also a great body watcher, and their frowns and clenched jaws suggest something's wrong.

  Instead of interrupting, I do the next best thing a curious person can do. I watch, hoping I can find a moment to greet Raina and maybe take one selfie.

  Despite them being identical, there's something slightly different about her. Maybe it's the way Raina holds herself. Her posture is perfect while Kelly slumps slightly. It's not too noticeable. She doesn't resemble the Hunchback of Notre Dame, but standing beside her sister, you can tell.

  "I don't want to argue about this," Raina says softly but sternly.

  Kelly points to the living room of family and friends. "And I don't want to d
iscuss this now."

  "Fine." Raina's word is sharp. They both stomp into the living room without seeing me.

  Well, this should be a fun, stress-free party.

  * * *

  After the gifts are unwrapped—how many garter belts does a fifty-something-year-old woman need?—the cupcakes devoured, and most of the guests have left, I realize Raina has gone as well. There goes my selfie. She has to be in town for more than a day, and even though I'm not invited to Wilma's wedding, I'm sure I can come up with a reason to finally meet her. It's just as well anyway. The person I really want to spend some time with is Michael.

  I find him in the kitchen wiping down a counter.

  "You do housework too? You must make someone a happy wife," I say and realize it sounds like I'm hinting for an answer to whether or not he's married, but it's obvious he isn't because A she'd be here too, and B he's not wearing a wedding ring.

  He places the sponge on a tray by the faucet and wipes his hands on a green kitchen towel. "I'm not married. Well, not to anyone other than you. And what about you? Are you a bigamist?"

  I chuckle loud, not expecting him to ask that. "Well, no, I'm not, but I am seeing someone."

  His nod is slow. "Of course you are. You're too beautiful to be single."

  If he doesn't stop soon, my head will be too big to fit in my car. "What are your plans tonight? Want to catch up?"

  "It's a date." His sexy grin is full of reasons I should back out of these plans, but I'm way too curious to find out who he's become.

  I let Ma know she doesn't need to take me home. She and Izzie give me looks that I'm sure I'm deciphering wrong. They're probably simply happy I'm making friends or reconnecting with an old buddy, and I'm seeing lecherous sneers.

  Michael and I end up going to Lindy's, a bar in the west end of town on Atlantic Avenue. It's not super busy, even for a Saturday night, but that means we don't have to scream to hear one another. We sit at a small table, and Michael goes to the bar to get us a couple of drinks.

  I stare at his back while he's gone. He's changed into dark jeans, brown boots, and a light blue sweater, looking casual and comfortable. He looks good. Maybe too good.

  Guilt begins to surface again, so I dig for my cell in my dark pink leather drawstring purse and dial Julian.

  It takes four rings before he answers. "Hi. Is the shower over?"

  "Yeah."

  I can't hear too much over the chatter and music in the bar, but it sounds like Julian isn't in a quiet place either. A truck rumbles in the background.

  "Are you working?" I ask.

  He hesitates and says, "Yeah."

  I bite the inside corner of my mouth. Part of me wants to ask if this is a legit job or not, but it's none of my business, and I'll only be putting him in a difficult spot. He can't confide his work in me.

  Julian Reed is a licensed private investigator who works for Jonathan Hamilton, a lawyer at Carter, Hamilton & Levine, Esquire. Julian is one of their investigators, but come to find out, not too long ago, he's also asked to do jobs that fall under the term "fixer." Which means he's cleaning up after clients. Moving dead bodies is pretty high on his list of duties. I know because that's what he did when I first moved back to town, resulting in Izzie being suspect in a murder.

  Luckily it all turned out fine. Charges were dropped, and the real killer was found, but it left a strain between us. We haven't been close-close since, but if I'm honest, it was more than the fixing that got in our way. I wasn't truthful about my ability to see ghosts either.

  "Where are you?" he asks.

  "I'm at Lindy's. Are you working? Maybe you can join us."

  "Wish I could but I'm on a case." He must be on a stakeout because of the background noises and because he seems distracted. He doesn't ask who "us" refers to, probably assuming it's Izzie. She can't drink, but she's a great designated driver.

  "Okay, well, I'll see you tomorrow."

  Julian may not be blood or married to Mancini blood, but Ma insists he comes to dinner every Sunday. Which is why today's surprise is surprising. Ma adores Julian, and she's been pushing for us to settle down and give her more grandbabies. So why the wink about Michael?

  "Wouldn't miss it. Bye."

  "Bye." I toss my cell into my bag as Michael returns.

  He sets an appletini before me and sits in his chair. He ordered himself a Budweiser, no glass.

  Before I can enjoy this evening, I need to be clear and upfront. "You know this is platonic and I have a boyfriend, right? I mean, we're not like engaged, but I love him, and we're trying to rebuild. And while you're still adorably hot, nothing can happen between us."

  Okay, so instead of being tactful, my mind races, my mouth moves a thousand miles a minute, and I blurt stuff out.

  His smile is sweet and not the least bit disappointed. Good. I guess. "I don't expect to jump into bed with you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm flirting for fun. Besides, it's been almost a decade since we last saw one another, and if I remember correctly, you were quite mad at me and rightfully so. I want to reconnect and apologize for my erratic teenage behavior."

  He's referring to kissing my ex-best friend, Hilary. Surprisingly, that memory wasn't the first to enter my mind when I saw him earlier today, but it was when I ran into Hilary a few months ago. Maybe because Hilary knew exactly how I felt about him, and she chose to kiss him. Michael didn't know I lusted after him in science class. Yeah, we had the kindergarten wedding, but he and I had drifted apart in the years between grade and high school. It wasn't until he hit puberty our sophomore year that I reaffirmed my passion—but not to his face—to my best friend.

  I still don't know why she kissed him. She didn't have a valid reason when I confronted her, after catching them in a lip-lock behind my shed at our Fourth of July cookout. I'd invited her, as I did every year. Her family didn't do the fireworks thing. Ma had invited Michael's mother, so it made sense for him to come too. I was beyond myself that he'd be there, and Hilary knew it.

  When I caught them, I ran off and hid in my room the rest of the night. Two days later, I stomped to her house and demanded answers. It irked me that I had to go to her instead of her rushing over to apologize to me, but the look of fear on her face at her door confirmed her cowardliness. She did a lot of shrugging and admitted she told him that I could see ghosts, but he laughed her off. I stopped speaking to her immediately. The betrayal was deep and sudden.

  He and I spoke twice after that, but it was awkward. The first time was several months later in the lunch line when he laughed about Hilary telling him I could see ghosts. He believed it was a joke and was trying to break the ice between us. It didn't work. The next time was during graduation when we wished one another well at college. He moved away shortly after. I haven't seen him in all of these years.

  "We should've talked that night after I saw you guys," I say and sip my drink.

  He gently shakes his head. "I was embarrassed. I didn't know you liked me until Hilary mentioned it."

  Wait, what? "She told you? Before the kiss?"

  His brows draw together. "No, after. I wouldn't have kissed her back if I knew you liked me."

  "Why did she tell you about my feelings?"

  "I think she felt bad."

  I scoff. "She should've thought about that before kissing you."

  One corner of his mouth lifts. "We all make mistakes, and we were young."

  He has a point, but I hate it. I don't want to sympathize and get over my anger toward her. I guess I'm not being mature.

  "Let's talk about something else. What have you been up to? Where are you working?" I ask.

  "I'm doing freelance photography. Mostly weddings and events, some family portraits."

  That's right. He carried a camera around in high school. It was one of those old-timey ones with the film you needed to load. "That must be fun. Especially the part of following your passion."

  "I love it, mostly. Some people make it difficult, like photographi
ng tiny children and pets, and the pay isn't steady, but I couldn't do anything else. What about you? Where are your passions?"

  I think hard for a moment. My problem is I'm not sure yet. Part of me hates admitting it. I feel like the world looks down on me because I don't have a plan in motion. I don't think Michael will judge, but I also don't know the man he's become.

  "I'm still waiting for inspiration to hit. In the meantime, I'm working at the deli and living above it."

  He takes a long sip of his beer and a longer swallow.

  I watch his Adam's apple rise and fall.

  "With your boyfriend."

  "We don't live together."

  He sets his bottle on the table and looks away, but before he does, I swear I see something telling, like a wiggle to his mouth, a light in his eyes. Something that makes me wonder if he told the truth earlier. Is his flirting simply for fun?

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next day, when I step inside the house I grew up in, Ma looks me up and down, checking out my outfit. At first, I fear she has problems with my choice of black skirt and light blue blouse (I finally did laundry), but when she reaches my new, mid-calf length, shiny, black boots with the square toes, she smirks and nods her approval. She takes these dinners seriously.

  I find my brother, Enzo, and brother-in-law, Paulie, in the living room on the couch. I plop down between them and nudge Enzo in the ribs with my elbow. "How's it hangin', bros?"

  They're watching a commercial about diaper rash. Enzo keeps his gaze on the screen and barely acknowledges my arrival. That must be an amazing rash. Paulie, the guy who actually needs to learn about this stuff, smiles at me and gives my cheek a sisterly peck.

  Paulie isn't my niece's father. Izzie got pregnant by her high school boyfriend. He split and has barely had contact with them in the past fourteen years. Izzie met Paulie six years ago. They've been married for three. He's the only father my niece, Alice, knows. But he missed out on all of the fun baby bits, like diaper rashes, midnight feedings, and projectile vomit. I giggle to myself. He has so much to learn.

  "How's Michael?" Enzo asks.

  I form an O with my mouth. "You know about him too? Did Ma blab when you got here, or did you know before me?"