Lacey Luzzi: S'mored: A humorous, cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 5)

by Gina LaManna

  “Those office romances are tricky,” Meg nodded. “I just told you that story about the wet wipes? He was a cop, like I said. When I broke up with him, he quit and moved to Timbuktu.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s a fact. Ask anyone.”

  “Fine, I believe you,” I sighed. “But this is my assignment. He shouldn’t be trying to take it over.”

  “There is no assignment, Lacey.” Meg stood up, stomped towards me, and set a drink in my hand. “You are supposed to be on vacation. Carlos asked you to go to a bar and gather some gossip – you did that, so just call him with the information and leave it be. Let the cops handle the other stuff.”

  “The Luzzis don’t let the cops handle our business. I’m a Luzzi,” I said, a bit more forcefully than I intended.

  “Of course you are.” Meg patted my back. “Nobody’s arguing that. But we don’t even know that this was directed at you. It could be random.”

  “Do you think it’s random?”

  “No, of course not. But I want this drink, and you are terrible at relaxing. You make me feel bad about myself.” Meg shook her mane of hair, walking back over to the hammock and flopping onto it. “I instruct you to take a four-hour break. I insist that you take three sips of that drink in your hand, and I am commanding you to stop sucking at being on vacation. Seriously, Lacey. You’re driving me nuts.”

  “I just want—”

  “I know you want to show Carlos you’re capable and be the first mobsterista on the face of the earth to lead the Luzzi clan. Or whatever. But how about what I want?”

  I paused. “What do you want?”

  Meg glared at me. “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said? Take three sips of your drink immediately and sit down. Then shut your brain off. Three hours. We can compromise – three hours of laying out on the porch in peace.”

  “That’s not a compromise,” I muttered. “You’re being kind of a dictator.”

  “Enough!”

  I sulked for a second, taking a long gulp of the icy drink. “Did you put anything in here besides vodka?”

  “Yeah,” Meg grinned with a wild expression. “Gin and whiskey and rum.”

  “This is potent.”

  “We’re on vacation.”

  “I already feel hungover.”

  “Then the only solution is to have another sip,” Meg said. “You promised three.”

  I didn’t remember promising anything, but I took another sip to appease my friend. She’d come up here on vacation with me, and I didn’t want to completely ruin her trip, just because I fell into trouble left and right.

  I could probably handle two hours of relaxation. I sat back in the chair, closing my eyes. It would give me time to think and hatch a plan, so when the boys and Anthony returned, we could get right back to work.

  Chapter 19

  Some time later, Meg’s snores woke me from an accidental catnap. The warmth of the sun, the lull of the breeze whispering against the leaves, and the steady lap of the lake against the beach combined to make the perfect vacation soundtrack. Coupled with the toxic cocktail Meg had duped me into drinking, I’d been a goner. Never stood a chance at keeping my eyes open.

  Glancing at my phone, noting that thankfully only twenty minutes had passed since Meg had handed over my drink, I waved a hand over my friend’s face. She was out. Utterly, completely zonked, her mouth open so wide in a snore that I could’ve placed a baseball down her throat with minimal effort.

  Restless again, I paced for a few more minutes, taking another couple of sips from Meg’s drink. I told myself it was only because I was too lazy to go inside and grab a glass of cold ice water when really, it tasted quite good. I paced a few more laps around Meg’s hammock, the motion making me hyper-aware of the pleasant buzzing sensation in my head. I set the cool drink on the table. I couldn’t afford to be drunk – I needed a hundred and sixty-eight percent of my mental capacities firing in order to figure out the twisted tangle of events that had descended upon the Luzzi cabin. Dealing with a murder, diamond smugglers, and a boyfriend who may or may not be out retrieving wet wipes at this very minute required all of my brain power.

  I set out on a brief walk, leaving the quiet house behind me. Quiet except for Meg’s thundering snores, that is. My feet carried me down the dusty road where usually the Fiat and the Lambo were parked, their spaces now empty. I continued down the winding street at the end of the driveway, a true rural backroad with narrow curves and minimal traffic.

  I didn’t have a destination in mind when I’d set out, just an anxious energy I needed to burn off. As much as I attempted to focus on the mysterious happenings at the cabin, my mind kept drifting back to what Laurelei had told me about my mother. Had there been a man involved, one who’d caused my mother to run away from the family? If so, who was he? And could he be my dad?

  As I walked, I imagined my mother as a little girl, running down the road ahead of me, her pretty pigtails bobbing in the wind. I’d never seen a picture of my mother as a child until I found Nora and Carlos. My mom hadn’t wanted me to find my family, and she’d never given me any hints as to who they might be.

  But there were pictures on Nora’s wall of her kids when they were young – clustered together on a baseball field, candid photos at family reunions, school pictures – in which my mother’s hair had glowed golden and her eyes had sparkled. Lost in my reverie, I barely realized I’d wound through more than a few curves in the road. The scenery all started to blur together – mosquitos buzzing on their search for blood, tall, luscious greenery lining either side of the street, and the midafternoon air damp with humidity.

  Suddenly the road opened up and turned into a spacious park. Anxious to escape the heat of the beat-up, asphalt road, I shuffled my feet through the dry, crisp grass and made my way towards the abandoned swing set in the middle of the playground. But what caught my attention wasn’t the rugged soccer field outlined with splotchy paint, or the old tire swing that looked as if it’d been around since my mom had come here. It wasn’t the wide-open space, free for children to run through for hours, or the benches and picnic table under the shade of the ancient oak trees.

  What caught my eye was the water tower. Tucked away in the far side of the park, slightly hidden behind a small cluster of trees, stood a tall fixture bearing the name TONKA scrawled in thick block letters. I’d wondered if my mom had spent time in this park, walked down this road, swung on those swings. But I knew she’d been up there. In fact, I now knew she’d tried to lead a cow up there. Which meant there had to be stairs…

  I couldn’t help myself. Heading in the direction of the water tower, I picked up my pace until I was jogging. Deciding immediately that was a bad idea, I slowed right back to a walk. The water tower wasn’t going anywhere, and it was hot as heck out here. Plus, I still had a bit of alcohol running through my veins, and at the first few jogs it had sloshed uncomfortably.

  The base of the water tower was far more unexciting than I’d hoped. Plain and white, decorated with black marks and weather-beaten notches on the exterior, it didn’t look like a magical place. I rested my hand on the outside, and though I knew it was silly, I hoped to feel something. Some kinship with my mom, some excitement she might’ve felt years ago. I wondered if my mother had come here with her mystery man.

  The only thing I felt, however, was a slight rumble in my stomach from its contents settling, and the heat of the sun burning my neck. I glanced upward, watching where the top of the water tower pierced the cloudless blue sky. Which left me with one option.

  Climbing up.

  A quick lap around the base led me to the rickety old staircase, one so creaky I wondered if it’d even been updated since my mother’s days. A chain hung across the entryway, but it wasn’t enough to keep anyone out who wanted to get in. I heaved one leg over the chain and took a few steps up.

  I noticed a handful of signs plastered to the wall at the first turn, as I ascended the staircase.
The typical “warnings” not to climb were the main focus, but next to them were a few peculiar posters, one in particular that made me smile – a crude picture of a cow climbing the stairs with a huge X through it, and a No Livestock warning.

  I pressed my hand to the words, unable to keep the grin from my lips. Pressing onward, I made it to the top with no small amount of sweating and heavy breathing, and I was suddenly happy that I’d come here alone. When I got back to the cabin, a jump in the lake and a shower were in order, stat.

  The view from the top was more spectacular than I’d imagined. The water in the distance glistened, shimmering and alive just beyond the green stretch of trees and grass and park. The small road I’d taken here cut through the lush foliage like a black ribbon, snaking its way down to the waterfront, where the lake glimmered large and deep and soothingly quiet.

  It was beautiful. I could understand why my mom would’ve snuck up here to get away from everything. I couldn’t quite understand the cow, however; I was more than okay keeping the space to myself and not sharing it with livestock. I dangled my feet off the edge, resting my arms on the thin rail that encircled the water tower. When I looked straight down, my stomach churned. A fall from this height would not be good for any of my bones, and I scooted back a few inches.

  My phone still in my pocket, I retrieved it, intending to take a picture of the scenery, but pausing before I opened the camera. A lens wouldn’t do this place justice; it was best I left it a memory, something to savor, to hold onto – a piece of the puzzle from my mother’s childhood sliding into place.

  Setting the phone down next to me, I was surprised to see I had a message. Flicking it open, I was even more surprised to see that I still had service up here. I opened the message, smiling as I read Anthony’s name. But as I read the text, my smile faded to confusion.

  His message was simple: Sorry, busy. Can’t talk.

  I’d never asked him a question. I set the phone on the ledge next to me wondering if he’d meant to send it to someone else. And if so, who? I tried to push the thought from my mind, but something didn’t sit well. Sending a wrong text was the type of mistake I would make – an error of clumsiness, thoughtlessness. It wasn’t the type of slip-up Anthony usually made. Flipping through my text messages, I noted that the last message I’d sent him had been hours ago, and completely unrelated. I checked my call log to be sure, and...whoops.

  Three butt dials. All within the last five minutes.

  I dropped the phone next to me, half hoping it would fall off the water tower and shatter into pieces on the ground below. Nothing made a new girlfriend seem more desperate than three unreturned phone calls in a row, and no messages left.

  I sighed, considering sending a quick text back to explain, but decided that was probably unnecessary, as well. If Anthony was busy, he probably wasn’t checking his phone – except to make sure his annoying girlfriend was okay. My face flamed. What was wrong with me? Normally I wouldn’t have thought twice about calling Anthony, but now here I sat analyzing every tiny, miniscule detail. It was happening; I was turning into a thirteen-year-old girl. This relationship business was tough.

  Needing a distraction, I debated giving Clay a quick call, but I wasn’t sure what I could tell him. I didn’t have any names, no additional information. It’d be pointless. Just then my phone vibrated next to me, and I glanced down, expecting to see Anthony’s name across the screen, calling to make sure I hadn’t gotten myself into trouble. But instead, the screen read NORA.

  I picked up. “Hey Nora, how are you?”

  “Fine, dear. How are you?”

  I looked out at the lake in the distance, the quiet, empty field before me. My adrenaline rush from realizing I’d pocket-dialed Anthony three times in a row had diminished, and I was finally feeling calm once more. “I’m good. It’s beautiful here.”

  “Yes, of course it is. So, any progress with the men?” Nora’s voice sounded higher-pitched than normal.

  “Which men?”

  “Lacey, you know very well which men I mean.”

  “If you’re talking about the three strangers you sprung on me, then yes, I do know them.”

  “So?” Nora’s airy tone was belied by curiosity.

  “I told you, they’re not my type. I’m not looking, Nora, you can’t force these things.”

  “But dear, you haven’t been looking. When’s the last time you went out on a date?” At my silence, she continued. “The nice Russian – Andrey, I think? Well, I haven’t seen him around. Neither have I seen Michael. Those are the only two dates you’ve brought over that I can remember. And that was a while ago.”

  I didn’t bother to tell her that Andrey had, unfortunately, become a victim of the Russian mob, or that Michael had been taken away in the trunk of Anthony’s car and dealt with – in a way I would never ask about.

  “Lacey, you’re almost thirty.”

  “Yes, and I’ve been focusing on my career lately. If you haven’t forgotten, I’m working for your husband. I want to do a good job.”

  “You’ve been doing a wonderful job! But there’s more to life than being a workaholic.”

  “I’m hardly a workaholic. I’m on vacation right now.”

  “Exactly. You’re on vacation, so you don’t have work to focus on. Why not go out with one of the men? There are three of them to choose from!”

  I expelled a long sigh. “This was supposed to be a girls’ weekend. It would be unfair to Meg.”

  “You gals can double date. There’s one for you, and two for Meg. I know she’s a feisty one.” Nora’s laugh tinkled over the phone, but it sounded forced.

  “Why are you so set on me going out with one of these men, Auntie Nora?” I said, unable to keep my tone level. “They’re not my type. I’m not interested right now, I’ve got enough on my plate. Are you telling me that you’ll love me less if I don’t get married before I’m thirty?”

  “No, dear, of course not!”

  “Then why the sudden pressure?”

  “I just want you to feel comfortable talking with me about these things,” she said. “I know your mother is...maybe you’re feeling like you don’t have anyone to talk to about romance, and that sort of thing.”

  I softened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound annoyed. But I have friends, good ones. Meg and Clay.”

  I hesitated. I didn’t include Anthony on purpose, and a small twinge of guilt pricked at my gut for keeping secrets from my grandmother. Maybe Anthony had been right in that keeping our relationship hidden was a bad idea; all it’d seemed to do was bite me in the rear end and cause problems.

  “Well, I just want to make sure you’re leading a fulfilling life, and I know if I hadn’t met Carlos, I wouldn’t be nearly as happy as I am today.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being alone.” Even though I wasn’t single any longer, I didn’t like the suggestion that a woman needed a man to be complete. I was just as whole a person before I’d started dating Anthony, and getting into a relationship hadn’t made me any less of a person.

  “No, but I just think—”

  “I’ll find the right person when the right time comes,” I said.

  “Well, will you tell me about it?” she asked pointedly.

  “When the time is right, yes.”

  “What does that mean, Lacey? Are you going to go off and elope on me? Show up one day at the house with a husband and a family? I want to be a part of your life.”

  “You are a part of my life. An important part. But I’m also an adult, and I lead my own life. I was twenty-six before I even met you, or even knew you and the rest of the family existed.”

  “Which is why I’d hate to see you keeping secrets from me.”

  “Why are you so convinced I’m keeping secrets?” Again the guilt poked at me, but I was conflicted. I was nearly thirty, and it was – should be – up to me who I date, when I date, and which sort of friends I keep close to me.

  This phone call was the exa
ct reason I’d wanted to keep mine and Anthony’s “status” quiet for a few weeks. We were so new, our relationship a tiny sapling so fragile that a gentle wind could break its tender branches. But, in Nora’s case – she was no gentle breeze. She was more like a forceful lawnmower plowing right through our little sapling of a relationship.

  It wasn’t only for my sake that I wanted this, either. What about Anthony? The last thing I wanted was for Nora to continuously pester him about babies and weddings.

  I just wanted time...time to get to know him. To whisper into the late hours of the night exchanging secrets about our pasts. To discover where he’d come from, and where he wanted to go. But until I was sure we were sturdy together, I wanted to keep us locked in a greenhouse to grow and flourish in safety.

  “You’re a huge part of my life,” I said again. “But you also have to understand that if I want to elope, that’s my choice. If I want to be single for my entire life, that’s also my choice. If I want—”

  “No, Lacey. You don’t want to be single your whole life.”

  “It’s my life, Nora!”

  “But I know better, dear. I’m older. I’ve experienced the joys of young love, but I’ve also experienced how satisfying it is to be in a relationship for decades. There’s no way you can know that at your age.”

  “But I need to figure it out for myself. No matter how much you preach to me, it won’t help me to understand.”

  “I’m not preaching, Lacey. I’m helping you.”

  I took a shuddering breath. “Are you? Because it feels like you’re forcing me into something I don’t want.”

  “How do you know what you want? You’re too young to know.”

  “Too young to know what I want but so old my eggs are drying up?” I shook my head, though she couldn’t see it. “You can’t have it both ways, Nora.”

  “Listen to me, Lacey. Just go out with one of—”