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

by Jennifer Fischetto

  Tessa peeks at us from the living room. "Mama," she says and waddles over. Right before she reaches Kelly, though, she stops, falls onto her butt, and lets out a deep wail.

  Aunt Stella, who just appeared, scrunches up her face. "Ugh, I'm outie." Then she's gone.

  An older woman walks over from the living room and picks up Tessa. She smiles at us. "She's been fussy. She wouldn't nap, and I think she's overtired now."

  Kelly takes my coat and hangs it beside hers on the coat tree. "Mom, this is Gianna Mancini. She and my cousin Michael are friends, and her mother is close with Aunt Wilma.

  "This is my mother-in-law, Judith Monroe."

  "It's nice to meet you," I say.

  "You too." The woman is around Ma's age, but she's quite coiffed. Her rich auburn hair is up in a bun, her eye makeup is precise, her long nails are a deep red, and she's wearing a camel-colored pantsuit with matching, shiny boots and a red scarf around her neck. She could pass for a flight attendant.

  We step into the living room, and it looks slightly different. I think back to how the room looked during the shower and then again the following night. The sofa and loveseat have been switched around, but they still face one another. A mahogany wood coffee table sits between the two, and a thick, beige area rug protects the hardwood floor. It's large and extends from the edge of the fireplace to almost the doorway. That's new. It definitely wasn't here the day of the shower or the night I found Raina.

  Judith sets Tessa on the rug far away from the coffee table, in the center of a ring of her toys.

  I can't help but glance at the fireplace while sitting on the mocha-colored loveseat.

  "Can I get you some tea, coffee, juice?" Judith asks.

  "No, thank you. I shouldn't be here. I don't mean to take up your time."

  Kelly stares at her daughter. "It's good to have distractions. The quiet makes me think too much."

  "I understand." I look to Tessa. "She must keep you busy though."

  Kelly smiles wide. "Yes, she does, and I'm grateful. I'm glad she's too young to remember all of this too."

  Judith and I nod.

  "It's a good thing she wasn't home that night also," I say.

  They both widen their eyes in agreement.

  "I'm glad she was sound asleep at my house," says Judith.

  Well, this is an interesting piece to the puzzle, and I didn't have to look for it. Sitting in this living room with my feet practically in the spot where poor Raina died has me distracted. "Oh, she was with you? I assumed she was out with Kelly and her husband."

  Judith smiles. "No, I get her every Saturday night so they can have date night. I consider it my play date night too." She softly chuckles while watching her granddaughter stuff the corner of a plastic block into her mouth.

  "Aww, that's sweet. What did you guys do on your date night?" I ask with a smile. Now I'm in sleuth-mode.

  Kelly blinks. "Unfortunately we weren't able to go out. My husband had some clients come into town unexpectedly. He had to take them to dinner."

  "What does he do?"

  "He's an attorney," Kelly says.

  My body stiffens. A lawyer? Please don't let it be at Carter, Hamilton & Levine, Esquire, where Julian works.

  "Oh, which law firm does he work at?" I try to sound casual, but I feel my heart rate accelerating.

  "Petersen & King over in Merrick."

  I softly let out a sigh. "Oh, that sounds interesting." That's a lie.

  Judith laughs. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'll never stop talking about torts."

  We chuckle, and Tessa looks up to us, but she's immediately drawn back to her block.

  "You decided to go out on your own," I say and hope that doesn't sound suspicious.

  Kelly nods. "Yeah, I figured since I was home alone I'd take a long bath and have some wine, so I went to the store. On the way there I saw that the latest Brad Pitt movie was playing. I decided to see that instead."

  "Was it good?"

  She stares at me with a slight frown. "Yes."

  Tessa stands on her chubby legs and waddles out of the room. Judith stands. "I should follow her and maybe try that nap again. It was nice meeting you."

  I smile. "Yes, you too."

  Kelly still watches me. I must've made her suspicious after all. Darn.

  "I got a call from Valentina. She's offered me a job. Well, it's temporary for now, but I'm hopeful it'll become permanent."

  She doesn't blink.

  "I'm going to be her assistant. She said I did a good job with the cupcakes for Wilma's bridal shower."

  "Oh, yes, they were lovely."

  An awkward silence fills the space between us. I sense that she's about to kick me out, and this may be my last chance to be alone with her, so I jump in.

  "I don't mean to pry, and I appreciate how gracious you've been. I'm a stranger to you, regardless of my friendship with Michael. Although we're practically related since he and I married in kindergarten." I chuckle softly.

  She remains stone-faced.

  Right. "Um, I've been unsettled since Raina's manager, Van Ford, said some odd things about her."

  Her entire demeanor changes at the mention of his name. She frowns deeply. "What did he say?"

  "That she was wild, possibly bipolar." I bite my lip with that half lie. What's the likelihood she'll ask him?

  "What? That's absurd. I hope he's not running his mouth. I'll have to sue him if he's slandering her. She should've fired him and taken him to court."

  This is interesting. "Oh?"

  "He was blackmailing Raina. He's a thief. Don't believe a word he says, and stay far away from him."

  * * *

  When I get back to my car, Aunt Stella appears. "That was boring."

  I quirk up a brow. "I thought you left."

  "I did, but I peeked back in a few times in case it got interesting. It never did."

  I smirk. I found out that Van Ford is more of a jackwad than I initially suspected. Not sure what I'll do with the information though.

  "Where to now?" Aunt Stella asks.

  I stare out my window at the rain, which is slowing down now. "I'm not sure. Let me think."

  "Boring," she whispers before disappearing again.

  That woman has the patience of a gnat.

  I want to confront Van again, but he's not likely to honestly answer my questions and admit to blackmailing. I need leverage, ammunition. How can I find out more about him?

  There's Enzo, but that may take longer than I want. Plus, I don't want to put his job at risk. That leaves Julian. I sigh. I'm not sure I'm ready to face him yet. Let alone ask him for a favor. Although I'm sure he'd be thrilled to dig up dirt on the man who has my boots.

  I drive to Carter, Hamilton & Levine's offices and cross my fingers that he's there and not out on a case.

  The interior is dim, despite the overhead lights, due to the wood paneling and charcoal gray and wood furnishings. A young woman with long, pin-straight brown hair is seated at the reception desk. She's dressed in a navy skirt and white blouse. She squints and points at me. "You're here to see Julian, right?"

  She remembers me? I've been here less than a handful of times. "Yes, is he around?"

  She nods and points to a section of charcoal gray chairs in the small waiting area. She picks up her phone and dials.

  The offices are cool in that each one is encased in glass. Unless someone has their blinds down, there's no privacy. I'm not sure how I'd feel about that if I was an employee, but it's very aesthetically pleasing.

  Footsteps sound on the gray tile, and soon Julian is in my view. He looks dapper in a steel gray suit. Is that word even used anymore? A mixture of confusion and pleasure flits across his features.

  I stand up, and he takes my hands in his. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

  "I'm fine. I…well, I wanted a favor." I inwardly cringe. It feels wrong to ask for a favor when we're not getting along well, but I don't want to be coy or subt
le. That's part of our problem. I need to be as direct as I can with him now.

  "Of course," he says before even hearing what I want. What if it was a million bucks? "Let's go to my office." He takes my elbow and guides me across the lobby.

  Julian's office is along a narrow hall, not too far from the restrooms. He's not a bigwig attorney. I'm surprised he has an office at all. Unlike the main area, he has two walls made of glass—one that leads to the hall and the other that overlooks the parking lot. The other two are made of, well, wall.

  "Have a seat," he says and sits beside me in one of two black leather chairs that face his desk. "What's going on?"

  I tell him about my visit with Kelly and what she said about Van.

  "Look, I know we're going through some weirdness, and you don't understand why I'm pursuing this. But I need your help. I want to find out all I can on this manager, and you're the only person who has the means to do a background check. Will you help me?"

  He stands and walks to the other side of his mahogany desk. He reaches into a bottom drawer and pulls out several sheets of printer paper. He returns to his seat and hands them over. "I already checked him out."

  I lightly chuckle. "You did? Of course you did."

  He smirks. "I wasn't sure how you'd feel about that."

  I skim the sheets, looking for any criminal behavior. "I didn't want you talking to him, but I love this."

  According to Julian's search, Van Allen Ford (there goes my middle name wonder) has a reason to be staying in the Oceanview Motel. He's broke. Despite him being a manger to two other actors. I don't know how Hollywood works, but I assumed anyone hired by an actor who's starred in three movies wouldn't be so close to the poverty line.

  "If you flip to the second page," Julian says, "you'll see that he was arrested for a bar fight when he was eighteen. He only got community service since it was his first offense, and the other guy had a weapon. He's been legally clean since, as far as we know."

  It's good to know he's not especially violent. Van has never been married, has no children, and currently lives in West Hollywood.

  "You need to stay away from him," Julian says.

  Why is everyone telling me this lately?

  I stand up and place the pages on his desk. "I can't promise that."

  He bolts upright. "Gianna!"

  I grit my teeth and speak from the heart. "Look, Julian. I'm not happy about our argument the other night or last night. It seems to be all we're doing lately. Granted, arguments happen, but I'm most upset that I no longer trust everything you say because I can't tell when you're lying."

  He opens his mouth to rebuttal, but I raise a hand to stop him.

  "Please don't tell me that omission isn't lying because, while that may technically be true, it doesn't feel that way. I won't lie to you. I won't bend the truth anymore either. I'm going to continue to investigate this until I either learn the truth—whatever that may be—or until I know there isn't anything to learn."

  He tilts his head back.

  "You can help or stay out of the way, but please don't try to stop me. Thank you for your help. I appreciate it." I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek before walking out.

  My next stop is Van Ford's.

  * * *

  I'm on my way to the motel when my cell rings. It's a call from Enzo.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey, I need to talk to you, but I don't want to do it over the phone. Meet me at the station?"

  My spidey senses are in overdrive. "I'm on my way."

  I can't say I followed every traffic law on the way to the police station, which is probably ironic in some way. When I arrive, Enzo is already outside waiting for me. I park in the same spot I did last time, and he walks over. He gets into the car and shuts the door behind him.

  "I'm starting to feel like we're spies," I say with a chuckle. Truth is, I'm nervous about what he has to share. Normally I'd be over the moon because he's giving me information, but Enzo doesn't usually volunteer intel. Usually I have to ask or beg or something less flattering.

  "I heard the buzz around the station. They're calling Raina's death an accident."

  "No, that can't be."

  "Gianna, there isn't murder everywhere. Sometimes a death is simply no one's fault."

  I shake my head and look out my side window. I knew all along that she probably tripped and fell and hit her head on the fireplace, and I was making a much bigger deal out of it than it needed to be. Maybe I simply didn't want to say good-bye, which sounds silly since I didn't even know her. Or maybe I liked solving the last couple of murders, and I wanted another. Yes, my life may have been at stake at various moments in time, but it gets the blood pumping. Oh my God, have I become an adrenaline junkie?

  I turn back to my brother. "Why the cloak and dagger routine? You could've told me this over the phone."

  Enzo sighs. "I was in Homicide when I overheard the conversation. They have a new captain, and all information seems to be on lockdown. He's got everyone spooked it seems."

  "Yikes. Glad I don't work for him."

  He rubs his forehead. "I'm starting to feel the same way."

  After a few minutes of us discussing how much he still wants to be promoted to detective, especially in the homicide division, despite what he just said, he heads back to work.

  I'm about to put my car into reverse and drive over to the motel when my phone rings again. What's going on today? I'm never this popular.

  This time it's Ma. "Hi, Ma, what's up?"

  "I can't find your Aunt Angela." She sounds frazzled.

  "What do you mean you can't find her? There are only so many places she can be."

  "I think she's missing."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I go straight to Ma's. She's pacing the kitchen when I get there. That's usually my way of releasing stress or thinking. Ma is more of a hummer.

  "I don't understand why you're upset. Can't she have gone for a walk?"

  Ma stares at me with a deep frown. "In the rain?"

  "Well, her car is still here. Maybe she went to a neighbor?"

  "She doesn't know any of them."

  "Okay, fine. What do you think we should do? Do you want to call Enzo?" I can't imagine putting out a missing person report on my fiftysomething-year-old aunt. And I certainly don't understand why Ma is upset. "Did you guys have an argument?"

  Ma shakes her head. "No. We had a pleasant breakfast, and then I went to work. When I got home, she was here for a few minutes, and then suddenly she was gone. No word. Nothing."

  I look at the counters and on the kitchen table and then move into the living room. "Maybe she left a note."

  "Do you think I haven't looked for one?" Ma shouts.

  I keep looking, but I don't find one. I don't know what else to think or suggest.

  From the corner of my eye, I see movement. I turn to see Aunt Stella. "Have you seen your sister?" I whisper.

  She raises her shoulders to her ears and drops them dramatically. "Nope."

  That's all she has to say?

  The front door opens, and Aunt Angela steps inside the house.

  Ma practically runs into the living room. She grabs her sister's shoulders and gently shakes her. "Where have you been? I've been worried to death."

  Aunt Angela looks baffled. "I went for a walk. I needed to clear my head."

  I smirk but don't say "told you so."

  Ma and Aunt Angela begin arguing over how she should have told her that she was leaving and how she is a grown woman and can come and go as she pleases.

  Aunt Stella snickers.

  I flop onto the couch and hope they move away from the door so I can exit quietly.

  * * *

  I finally go to the motel and knock on Van's door. I stand there a bit, waiting for him to open it, but he doesn't. I don't hear movement inside. I'm not sure what he drives. I knock again, but it's obvious no one's there. Damn. I really want my boots back. Not that I have a plan on how to get them. I'm ce
rtain he won't hand them over, and unless I want to tackle him, I'm not getting them back. I could wait for Julian to make a move. I'm almost sure he's planning on confronting Van. But I can't rely on that.

  I jiggle the doorknob, but it's locked. How much strength would a person need to bust through a locked door? I'm sure that if I try running and slamming into it someone will notice. Or I'll hurt myself. Both will be equally bad. Too bad I don't have a bobby pin or something sharp to jam into the hole. But even if I did, I wouldn't know how to make it work. It always looks easy on TV.

  I do, however, have bank cards. I might be able to slip one in and push the lock open. I could accomplish that. I dig in my purse for my wallet and pull out my Bank of America card. I stare at the shiny, red plastic. If I crack this, I'll have to go to the bank and wait for new one. Not worth it.

  I put it back in its slot and look for a different card. At the back of my wallet, buried behind a book of stamps, I find my old Connecticut library card. I won't need this anymore. I pull it out, push my wallet back into my purse, and get to work.

  After several minutes of anxious, sweaty failure, I stand straight and stomp my foot. Because that will get me inside.

  "You're doing that all wrong," says a male voice behind me.

  I gasp and turn around, terrified I'll be facing Van, the motel manager, or worse, a cop. But he's none of those three. It's the man from the other day. Van's neighbor.

  He's in the same gray sweat suit. Well, I think it's the same. I guess he could own more than one pair. He's not smoking this time, and his hair is pulled back into a low ponytail.

  "Excuse me, what?" I glance down at my hands and realize I'm showing him my card. I put my arms behind my back to hide it, even though he obviously already saw it.

  He steps forward, so close I can smell the cloud of stale cigarette smoke that hovers around him. "Your form was wrong. You're not going to be able to pop the lock with the card at that angle."

  "Okay, thanks." I start to step around him and go back to my car. The last thing I need is anyone calling the cops on me.