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

by Jennifer Fischetto

  I sink into the black upholstery.

  "First, let me start with some information about myself. I expect professionalism from my employees, but I like to keep things friendly and personable. No one wants to work for a witch."

  I smirk. I've experienced a couple of jobs during my time in Connecticut with bosses like that.

  "Vargas Events is new to this South Shore Beach. I've been planning events for almost a decade now, but I worked in upstate New York."

  "You're new to town?" I ask.

  "Yes. Even though I have the experience, I'm having to rebuild my clientele."

  "That's brave of you. To pick up and start over in a business based on clients rather than product."

  Her grin is tight. "Yes. It was a bold choice. It involved family, and I like being close to the beach."

  Those were the things I missed most when I lived in Connecticut—my family and the water.

  "I can be anal when it comes to details. I like things done a certain way. I don't expect my employees to be as rigid." Her chuckle is light and airy.

  At least she realizes her faults.

  "But I do expect things to be done in a timely manner with efficiency. And I like punctuality. I also, however, want there to be a level of comfortableness. Our goal is to please our clients and give them the best event possible. They are number one."

  She glances down at a neon yellow sticky note on her desk. "We should get going. Are you ready?"

  "Sure." My voice hitches.

  She chuckles. "Are you nervous?"

  "Yes."

  "That's okay and to be expected. I still get nervous before each event. It's like stage fright. You'll do fine. Come on."

  We take our car—a shiny, black Ford Explorer—and drive over the bridge and out of South Shore Beach. The engagement party is being held at Chez Suzette, a white linen, jacket-and-tie banquet hall. They specialize in weddings and catering, and they host events like murder mystery dinners. I need to attend one of those. With my experience, I'm sure I'll figure out the killer pronto.

  The engagement party is a total blast. I spend the two and a half hours following Valentina around like her sidekick. Too bad I didn't need to wear my cape indoors. She spends most of her time overseeing everything. Since the event is held by a catering service, she only checks in on the food once. She seems relieved, and I'm grateful I'm not stuck in the kitchen icing cupcakes. Not that I minded at the shower, nor are cupcakes served at this swanky event. I'm glad I get a front-row seat to the celebration.

  She also keeps her eye on the live band, the initial flower arrangements, and table settings, as well as her clients—the groom-to-be's parents—and the main couple. The parents are an older Ken-and-Barbie-looking pair who hold hands, speak in soft tones, and eerily resemble one another. That happens when people have been together for a long time.

  The future bride and groom are a mid-twenties odd couple. She's super thin, tall, and blonde, and he's short, roundish, and dark-haired. They probably won't resemble one another in years to come. They laugh at each other's jokes, and he smiles at everything she says. You can tell he loves her every move and comment.

  The night is a total blast, and I'm thrilled to be a part of it. It's extra awesome that I'm getting paid.

  When we're done and settle into Valentina's car, she looks at me before starting the engine. "Well, what do you think?"

  "It was amazing. A lot of fun."

  "Yeah, it was. They aren't always like that. Some are kinda boring or stuffy and some, like weddings, are super hectic. But it's always worth it to see a happy and proud client at the end."

  She starts the engine, and we head back to South Shore Beach.

  When she pulls into Vargas Event's parking area, she says, "I have another event tomorrow afternoon. It came through at the last minute. It's a corporate retirement party. Yeah, it's on a Saturday, which is odd for these guys, but it's a favor. Remember how my father is friends with Fred, Wilma's fiancé?"

  I nod.

  "Well, this is for her niece's husband."

  I'm suddenly all ears. "Kelly Monroe, Raina's sister? Her husband?"

  "Yes. He's an attorney, and someone in his office is retiring. With all they're going through, I volunteered to help, like with the shower."

  "That's nice of you." I doubt I can learn anything about Raina or her death from a retirement party, but I'm eager to find out. "I'm assuming you're mentioning this 'cause you need help?"

  She smiles widely. "If you don't have plans? One more trial run to see if you still like the job when it's boring."

  "I'll be there. Just tell me when."

  * * *

  I head home. The apartment is quiet. That's not unusual, but it feels quieter than normal. As much as I wanted to hang out with my favorite dead aunt and party it up, I'm grateful for the solitude tonight.

  I sit on the couch and lay my head back against the cushion. I shut my eyes, and my limbs get heavy. I need to shower and climb into bed.

  My cell rings.

  I consider letting it go to voicemail. I don't want to move. But curiosity gets the best of me and I grab it. It's Michael.

  Oooh.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey. Hope I'm not disturbing you."

  "Not at all. What's up?"

  "My mother is throwing a small dinner party tomorrow night. It's only family, but we're allowed to bring guests, and I thought of you. I think she's ready to announce if they're moving forward with the wedding or not. Can you make it?"

  This suspiciously sounds like a date. I should say no. I don't want to give Michael or Julian any wrong ideas. But I would love some time with Kelly again. And I already pointed out to Michael that I was seeing someone. If he thinks he has a chance, that's his problem. I'm totally overanalyzing things again, aren't I?

  "Yeah, that sounds great. What time?"

  "Around six."

  That's plenty of time to finish the retirement party and come home to shower and change. I may even get time for a small nap in between. "That's perfect. I'll meet you there."

  "Great. See you then."

  "Wait," I shout and hope he hasn't hung up yet.

  "Yeah?"

  "How was the funeral?"

  He inhales sharply. "Sad."

  Yeah, that was a stupid question, Gianna.

  "Sorry. I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Night."

  We hang up, and I drag myself to bed.

  * * *

  Saturday morning my eyes are barely open and delicious brown liquid is trickling into its glass carafe when Aunt Stella pops in.

  "I need your help," she says.

  "After yesterday, whatever you want."

  Her face lights up. This version is definitely not the aunt I've known and loved. She's happy. Finding Freezer Dude seems to be the best thing that's happened to her. Which is weird, considering how scary he's been. And when I think about how Ma stood in their way years ago, I'm hit with a wave of sadness.

  "I need you to visit Deborah again."

  I knew I should've asked what the favor was before I agreed. "Oh no, anything but that. She's going to call the cops on me if she sees my face again."

  Aunt Stella's eyes widen. "Did she say that?"

  "No, but I wouldn't doubt it. She wants nothing to do with him."

  "You can try."

  "I did."

  "Again."

  I'm not going to win this argument.

  "Do I need to remind you that we got your boots back?"

  I narrow my eyes. "Guilt, huh?"

  She smiles again. "If it works."

  I chuckle and give in. What's the worst that can happen? She calls the cops because I want to talk to her about her dead father?

  "Okay, fine. I'll try, but if it doesn't work this time, please stop asking."

  She floats closer to me. "This is important to him. He knows he screwed up, and he wants to make things right while he can. This has to work."

  My chest feels heavier.
"Okay, I'll do my best. But I have a job to do late this morning and dinner plans tonight. We'll have to fit it in sometime in between."

  As much as I want to help, I don't want to do anything before the retirement party. I want to take extra care with my hair, clothes, and makeup. I want to impress Valentina by looking polished, and I bought a brand new lipstick I'm dying to try. It's a liquid, ultra matte that's supposed to stay put for at least eight hours. How perfect is that when at work?

  Aunt Stella floats to the door. "That's fine. Call him when you're ready. Thanks, Gianna."

  She disappears, and I smile at our conversation—the way she said my name, her grateful tone. It shouldn't feel weird, but she's usually barking or cackling. This change is nice. Comforting. But how am I going to get Deborah Young to listen to her father?

  I flop onto the couch and groan. How do I get myself into these things?

  * * *

  Valentina and I meet up at Vargas Events, and she drives us both into Merrick, a few towns over. The law office of Petersen & King is a small, one-story beige stucco building. The interior is small, also beige, but with big windows and lots of natural lighting. We spend thirty minutes setting up by decorating with a large banner that reads: Happy Retirement and a bouquet of black, white, and gold helium balloons. That only takes ten minutes because she left the tape in her car. The rest of the time is spent making sure the food is on the way and the retiring lawyer—Harold Benson—is scheduled to arrive shortly after the food. Turns out it's a surprise retirement party.

  Luckily the caterers arrive on time and set up an arrangement of sandwiches and salads. I make a mental note to not only mention Mancini Deli but to get Valentina to throw some business my parents' way.

  Five men in suits join us in the reception area and get ready to surprise their coworker. I check them out, trying to figure out which one is Warren Monroe. I think it's the dark-haired man in the navy suit simply because he's the youngest, and I assume Kelly married a man in his thirties and not older. He pays me no attention and doesn't catch me staring.

  Part of me wants to approach him, introduce myself, and tell him I'll see him tonight for dinner, but I'm sure he'll call security, so I keep quiet.

  Harold Benson pulls into the parking lot, and the lights are dimmed. Valentina and I stand off to the side, out of the way, and watch as Harold enters and his buddies jump out and shout.

  I hold my breath when the much older man gasps, hoping he doesn't keel over. He has to be well into his seventies. He missed retirement age by over a decade. He must love this place. He starts laughing, and the men walk over to offer their congratulations.

  When they all sit down to eat, I sneak off to find the bathroom and find Warren's office instead. I know it's his because the plate on the door says so. I'm observant like that.

  The door is open a smidgen, so a hard thrust of my hips and it swings open more. Enough that I only have to lightly nudge it with my foot to make the space wide enough for me to fit. I don't plan on my boobs smacking into it and widening the gap even further. Oh hell, at this point, I may as well use my hands.

  The interior is dim. The blinds are down, but they're parted enough that I can make out items. The oversized desk and high-back chair, the filing cabinet beside the bookshelf, and a potted fern that looks thirsty.

  There are framed photos beneath the windows and one on his desk. The single one by the lamp is of Tessa. She's smiling wide and toothless. She can't be more than a few months old. How adorable.

  The ones beneath the window are of Tessa, Kelly, his mom, and one of the entire family with Wilma and Raina. The man in the navy suit is definitely Warren Monroe. I doubt I'm going to find anything interesting in portraits.

  "Can I help you?"

  I spin around and am face-to-face with him. I swallow hard. I hate getting caught when I snoop. Not only do I do the whole flushed face thing, but I'm legitimately embarrassed.

  "I'm sorry. I was walking by, the door was ajar, and I…" What? Saw the photos from out in the hall. No one's eyesight is that powerful.

  I start again. "I, uh, saw your name on the door." But you just said it was ajar.

  Gosh, I'm confusing myself.

  "I recognized it. You're Kelly's husband. I met your mother the other day at your house."

  "Oh, are you friends with my wife?" His frown is slight, as if he's thinking back to all of the people Kelly has introduced him too. Then again, maybe her friends are few, and he's wondering how I know her.

  "More like her cousin, Michael. He and I grew up together."

  He smiles, but his body doesn't relax. Not that I blame him. A stranger with some childhood connection to your wife's cousin is in your office. My body would be tense too.

  "Can I help you with something?" he asks.

  "Oh, no, sorry. I saw the pictures and wanted a glance. Tessa is adorable." Hopefully he won't question my excuse more. How can a parent not love compliments about their kids?

  "Thank you." His smile is big and displays that love.

  "I'll get out of your way now." I hurry past him and back up front to Valentina.

  She gives me a thumbs up when she sees me, which means she didn't notice I was gone. Good. I don't want to jeopardize my future job with my current, ghostly, non-paying one.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When we get back to Vargas Events, Valentina says, "I've been thinking and watching you."

  Oh no. This is when she tells me to take a hike because she knows I snooped.

  "You pick things up quickly, and I don't need to micromanage you. You take the initiative. I like that."

  This isn't a reprimand. This is a…

  "Would you like a permanent job with Vargas Events?"

  I know I should act professional and show that I am a mature adult, but I'm not. The corners of my mouth aim toward my eyes, a giggle travels up my throat at warp speed, and I'm grateful I have enough insight to not lean forward and yank her into a hug.

  "I'd love to."

  She giggles. "Great. Come by on Monday, and we'll handle the paperwork then. I want to go home, order take-out, and have a night in. How about you? Big plans for a Saturday night?"

  "Just dinner with friends." She doesn't need to know who it's with.

  I say thanks a bazillion times more, and we part ways.

  As I pull into the parking lot behind the deli, I'm thankful there are no surprise guests today. My cell rings. It's Julian.

  "Hi," I say.

  "Hi." His tone is lazy, like he just rolled out of bed. He's not an afternoon sleeper no matter what time he gets into bed the night before. I'm hoping he's been having sexy thoughts of me before dialing.

  That notion puts butterflies in my belly. Despite us not yet coming to an understanding, sexy thoughts are always welcome.

  We share a moment of awkward silence though. Then he says, "I was calling about dinner. Figured we could meet and talk."

  Shoot.

  "I already have plans."

  "Oh?"

  "Michael invited me to his mother's. Wilma is announcing whether or not she and her fiancé are getting married as planned."

  "I see." But obviously he doesn't because his voice went from sexy to edgy and annoyed.

  "What's with the tone?" I ask, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

  "I don't understand why you're invited. You aren't family."

  "He's in town visiting for a short time. Normally we'd hang out a few times, but he doesn't want to leave his grieving mother and hang with friends. This is more convenient."

  I realize how much I'm trying to rationalize the dinner invite. I'm ninety-nine-point-nine percent confident it's innocent, but it dawns on me that my presence will make the guest list three couples and a baby. I don't mention that. I do, however, say, "You're invited to my family's house every Sunday."

  "Because we're dating. At least I think we are." His last sentence comes out as a whisper.

  I open my mouth to say, "Of course we are." But a
re we? Our relationship's become a roller coaster ride these past few months.

  "Well, I said I'd go. I should get ready." I still have several hours, but this conversation is starting to make my chest heavy, and I want it to end.

  "Right."

  "I'll see you tomorrow," I quickly say before he hangs up.

  I get why he's irked, but my spending the evening with Michael and his family is the least of our issues. Julian and I have a lot to discuss, but now isn't the time.

  "Yes." It comes out curt, and I hate that I may have hurt his feelings. "Have a good night."

  When the line clicks off I know he doesn't mean it. At least not sincerely.

  I heavily sigh. I'm about to open my door and head upstairs when I remember Aunt Stella and Freezer Dude. Darn. Why did I agree to this?

  I shut my eyes and concentrate on Freezer Dude. It's how we communicated in the past. For reasons I'll probably never learn, we're connected, and I only have to think about him and he appears. It used to be that my finger would tingle whenever he was close by. That stopped a while ago. Can't say I miss it.

  I open my eyes and the two of them are in my backseat. They're not kissing. Thank goodness. But the sides of their bodies are pressed together. If I wasn't annoyed about having to do this, they'd be cute. For old dead people and all.

  "Ready?" I ask.

  They both nod. Aunt Stella looks super eager, and Freezer Dude appears pensive. Or afraid. I don't blame him.

  I put the car in reverse. "Let's do this."

  * * *

  By the time I pull up to his daughter's house, I'm pumped. I don't know what happened on the four-minute drive over, but I'm ready to get inside. That's my goal. I may not convince the daughter to listen to her dad. I may end up in jail for harassment. As long as I get inside her house, I'll consider it an accomplishment.

  I'm not nervous when I walk up to her door. I don't take a deep breath to settle my nerves. I make a fist, lift my arm, and knock.

  Then, at that moment, the one when I hear footsteps getting closer, my nerves jangle, my stomach knots, and I want to find the nearest bush in case I need to empty my stomach.