Lacey Luzzi: Sliced (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 13)

by Gina LaManna

  “Just out of curiosity, what else did you hear?”

  “Nothing of note.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” I grumbled. “So, I’ve just been over here wasting my time?”

  “You don’t have to be over there wasting your time alone. You could come over here and waste time with me.”

  I flicked my eyes up from the computer screen and studied Anthony. Somehow, getting older and having children agreed with him in a way that it never had for me. He’d gone a week too long between haircuts, so his dark locks were a tad longer than usual and spilled over onto his forehead.

  He’d also dressed down for the evening in a pair of faded jeans and a simple white T-shirt. It was such a rare outfit on him that I did a double take.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked. “Where’re your fancy suits?”

  “Usually a woman notices when her husband dresses up—not down.”

  “Most people aren’t married to Anthony Luzzi.”

  “Well, I know someone who is.”

  “Married to Anthony?” I rested my hands on the computer and tilted my chin. “Hopefully you only know one person married to Anthony.”

  Anthony laughed, then gently reached over and closed my laptop.

  “Hey, I was working!”

  “Why work when you can do other things...” Anthony winked. “Things that are a lot more fun than stalking a baker’s Facebook page.”

  “My work is important! Amelia needs my help.”

  “I know, sugar. But seeing as she’s already dead, don’t you think it could wait half an hour?”

  “Half an hour? Wow—now that’s ambitious. I repeat: what’s the special occasion?” I flicked him a coy smile. “I’m listening.”

  “Finally, I’ve got your attention.”

  Anthony inched his arm further on my shoulder and pulled me to him. By the time his lips met mine, work was the furthest thing from my brain. So were cookies. And cake. And ice cream. And baking in general. No matter how much I loved food, there were some things that were better.

  However, an hour later, after a shower and a snack—or five—I was back on the couch with a bowl of ice cream, diving back into the files.

  My first find was the sneaking suspicion that Amelia had a best friend named Susie Crawford. She appeared in most of Amelia’s social media pictures and posts, and often, they were featured wearing matching aprons, baking mitts, or other cute things that were almost painfully adorable.

  It was the painfully adorable part that piqued my curiosity. Nobody was that cute or that perfect. Or that great of a baker. Everybody knew that the best bakers of all were magical elves who lived in trees and sent out cookies to Walmart in pre-packaged boxes. I wondered what secrets Susie hid behind her frilly apron.

  The second person of note was an apparent boyfriend that had been in pictures with our victim. Franklin “Frankie” Linguine didn’t strike me as the type to date a cozy little baker. Where Amelia was blonde, and cute, and adorable looking, Frankie was all gold chains, greased hair, and eyebrows that looked like they were held back with spit.

  I leaned closer to the screen and further studied Frankie’s eyebrows. They were definitely combed. I wondered if he used clear mascara to keep them in place because each strand was situated exactly the same in every photo. Frankie’s eyebrows creeped me out. I would also have to look into Frankie.

  The third person I had my eye on came as a bit of a surprise, even to me. In fact, it wasn’t even my idea to look at him—the head nod toward this man came from Meg and Nellie’s records. Hunter Arquette wasn’t in any of Amelia’s social media pictures. There was no mention of him anywhere online in conjunction with Amelia. But apparently, all was not as it seemed between him and Amelia.

  Hunter Arquette, bread master extraordinaire, television star wannabe, and judge of Minnesota’s greatest bake-off was also rumored to have been romantically involved with Amelia. The dates of their union were somewhat unclear, but it appeared they had dated just over a year ago if the gossip was to be believed. Which, based on my social stalking of Amelia, would have overlapped in her relationship with Frank Linguine.

  I chewed on my pencil as I considered. An affair? Could Amelia’s death have something to do with her love life... not her baking career? A jilted lover? I picked up my bowl of ice cream and took another bite—for energy to think better, of course.

  Anthony watched me from where he was perched on the couch with his fingers poised over the keyboard of his laptop.

  “What?” I asked with a mouthful of Snickers. “I burned a lot of calories tonight.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not complaining. I just don’t appreciate the judge-y face.”

  “I’m not judging. I’m just watching my beautiful wife.”

  I gave a playful eye roll. “Yeah, right. Plus, I have to carbo load for tomorrow.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’ve got suspects to interview.”

  “And a bowl loaded with fats can help you do that?”

  “Your brain needs healthy fats to function, you know. Even for babies. Breastmilk is very high in fat. I have to have fat milk for our Bella.”

  No wonder our child doesn’t sleep,” Anthony said. “She’s drinking a Snickers shake every time you feed her.”

  “She’s a very happy, well-adjusted baby.” I took another few bites. “Dr. Gambino said so.”

  Anthony leaned over, gripped my chin between his fingers, and pulled me to him for a long, slow kiss. I was feeling all sorts of heated up when he pulled back and smiled.

  “You taste sweet.”

  “I see, I see how it is. All I am to you is dessert.”

  Anthony’s eyes gleamed. “I can be tempted...”

  “I have to get to bed.” I pulled myself reluctantly off the couch, then turned and planted a kiss on Anthony forehead, which turned into another long, slow smooch that almost had my robe falling right off. “I have to get up tomorrow morning, and Bella will be up in about twenty minutes.”

  “Good night, Boss Lady. Do you know who did it yet?”

  “Maybe the boyfriend, or the ex-boyfriend, or the best friend.”

  “So, like every murder mystery ever.”

  “But I’m not your average detective.”

  “That, you aren’t,” Anthony agreed. “You are Lacey Luzzi.”

  Chapter 5

  My morning started early. Mornings always started early with a baby. Maybe Anthony has a point, I thought, as I dragged myself out of bed to rescue a babbling Bella. Maybe if I ate less ice cream Bella would sleep better. Then again, I was pretty sure my little girl just had FOMO—fear of missing out. And that’s why she didn’t want to sleep.

  Bella and I traipsed downstairs so one tired mama could make some coffee. After we caffeinated and knocked down towers of stacking cups for a good forty minutes, I decided it was time for a change of pace. Buckling Bella into her stroller, I wheeled the contraption across our property to my grandmother’s house.

  Nora and Carlos Luzzi owned sprawling acreage in the beautiful suburbs of St. Paul. It was armed to the teeth with guards, and probably weapons, and probably stuff I didn’t want to know about. It was funny how I barely noticed the guards anymore. I wasn’t sure what that said about me, or what it would say about Bella since she was growing up in this environment. But for some reason, buying a house on a neat little cul-de-sac seemed a little too normal for our family. So for now, here we stayed, armed to the teeth.

  I left the stroller outside near the front steps and lugged the baby carrier up the stairs. I managed to spill most of my coffee down my leg, which was fabulous. Luckily, the coffee was already cold because new moms never get to drink hot coffee.

  “Princess Bella!” Harold said as he opened the front door. “I’ll take her off your hands, Miss Lacey.”

  Harold swept the carrier from my arms, but I was pretty sure his eagerness was less about helping me and more about being able to
cuddle Bella. Harold had adapted very well to the baby. Too well. I sometimes hoped he wouldn’t steal her from me.

  In a very adorable fashion, the poor butler had found himself wrapped around Bella’s chubby little pinky finger. In an equally adorable measure, Bella seemed oddly bonded with Harold in return. Another reason to not move to the suburbs, I thought. Bella and Harold were practically best buds. It would break their hearts to be apart from one another.

  “I think she wants me to hold her,” Harold said, a bit possessively, as he wiggled Bella out of the car seat. “I’ll accompany you to your final destination.”

  With my files, my empty cup of coffee, and my eye on Harold, I strolled down the Hall of Infamy. Bella had already made it onto the wall, and aside from my spelling bee certificate, hers was the only photo that wasn’t a mug shot. Carlos had said to give her fifteen years. I would do everything in my power to make sure that wasn’t true.

  I pushed through the swinging doors and stepped into the cheery kitchen. The walls were light yellow in color, and the big, family-style picnic table was pressed up against one wall as usual. This morning it smelled like syrup and cinnamon and waffles. I temporarily forgot about Harold and plopped myself down at the table to serve myself a waffle.

  “About time,” Meg said from the other end of the table. She held a cup of piping hot coffee in her hand. “I was getting worried about you. A few more minutes, and I would’ve sent out a search party to check on you.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Nora’s my grandma now, too.” Meg shifted on her seat. She tugged a plate already stained with syrup toward her. “I don’t need an excuse to be here anymore.”

  “You never needed an excuse,” I said. “You always just showed up.”

  “I blow wherever the wind takes me. And there’s a lot of me, so it takes a pretty strong breeze to get me there, but sometimes I help it along. Sometimes I like to run with the wind.”

  “Would you like me to take her, Harold?” I looked to where Bella squirmed in Harold’s arms.

  “I’ll take her.” Nora stood before the butler, her hands outstretched, fingers wiggling. “Don’t you miss me, sweetie pie?”

  Because Bella was in very capable hands—and because I didn’t want to get in between a Nora and Harold standoff—I turned my attention to the important business of breakfast. And work.

  “You’ll never guess what,” Meg said. “It’s about the case. Guess.”

  “I reviewed the files you sent over. I think we should check out Frankie, and Susie, and —”

  “Hunter!” Meg interrupted.

  “Yes, exactly what I was going to say.”

  “There’s more.” Meg pushed a newspaper across the table toward me. “Hunter released a statement.”

  “Who reads the newspaper anymore?”

  “Carlos,” Meg said seriously. “I stole it from him. I’m pretty sure I have a twenty-eight-minute window to return it before he shoots me.”

  “Oh, honey,” Nora said. “You’ve got fifteen minutes at best. I’d get a move on if I were you.”

  I snatched the paper and propped it before me, skimming quickly.

  “What am I looking at?” I asked when I finished the article detailing Amelia’s unfortunate death. “There doesn’t seem to be any new information. Mostly, it’s a regurgitation of facts from other sources that the newspaper stitched together in a new article.”

  “Look at the tagline they put next to his name where they quoted him.” Meg jabbed a finger at the paper. “Best friend of the victim.”

  “Hunter and Amelia were best friends?” I hesitated. “I didn’t know that. I thought your notes said they’d dated.”

  “That’s the intel we got,” Meg said. “So, something’s not right—one way or another. Because I also heard rumors that they hated each other’s guts. That’s three different stories about one relationship.”

  “Sounds messy.”

  “The point is that we don’t know exactly what Hunter was to Amelia. Some say they were enemies. Some say they were lovers. Some say they were best buds. Isn’t that weird?”

  “It is weird.”

  “Weird is good,” Meg said. “In these circumstances, I mean. Weird means we’re onto something.”

  “Well, Anthony was going to watch Bella today, but he’s not back yet from whatever he’s doing this morning.” I glanced over at where Nora and Harold were silently arguing with their eyeballs about who got to hold Bella.

  “I’ll watch her,” Nora and Harold said in unison.

  “Having a baby really cramps your investigating style,” Meg said. “Always needing someone to feed her and whatnot.”

  “Not at all; Bella enhances my work.” I stood and gestured toward my empty plate. “Before I had Bella, I could never eat a waffle that fast. Or make a latte one handed. Or subsist on three hours of sleep. I’m more capable than ever before.”

  “You could always eat a waffle in four seconds flat.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t make my lattes one-handed.”

  “Sometimes you ate your waffles one-handed. If the other hand was busy with a sugar bomb.”

  “You have a point.”

  “I would get that newspaper back to where you found it.” Nora shifted Bella onto her shoulder and smiled indulgently at Harold, as if she’d won the battle. “Carlos really will shoot you if it’s not in its place when he returns from the restroom.”

  As Meg scurried away to save her life from her newest grandfather, I cleaned my plate, peppered Bella’s face with kisses, and then went back for a few more kisses.

  “It’s okay.” Nora shooed me out of the kitchen. “She’s in very good hands.”

  “I hate leaving her,” I whimpered. “It doesn’t get any easier.”

  Meg reentered the room. She wound up and slapped me hard on the rump. “Get with it, girlfriend. Amelia needs your help. She’s dead. She can’t talk anymore.”

  “Yes, that is a fact,” I agreed. “I don’t know too many dead people who can talk.”

  “If you watch that one movie,” Meg said, “I’m pretty sure aliens —”

  I cut her off with some more slobbery kisses to Bella’s chunky cheeks and then was ushered out of the room by a trio of Meg, Nora, and Harold. The final straw was when Carlos lumbered through looking grumpy. He had one hand over a bulge on his waistband as he looked around the room, and asked, “Who bent the pages of my newspaper?”

  Meg and I were in the car before he sat down to eat.

  “Where to first?” Meg asked. “I’ll drive.”

  “I figured,” I said, “seeing as we’re sitting in your car.”

  “It’s only half my car. You know, because I’m married to Clay. It’s sort of his car, too, so he added some fun features to it.”

  I groaned. “Fun features are never a good thing when Clay’s involved.”

  “There’s about a fifty percent chance we’ll end up in the hospital. But,” she added optimistically, “the other fifty percent is the chance that he saves our lives when this investigation goes belly up.”

  “I guess I sort of have to take those odds.” I reviewed my notes. “Let’s head to chat with Susie first. I want to see what she has to say about her best friend.”

  “If she was Amelia’s best friend, then why did the paper say that Hunter was her best friend?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s what we need to find out.”

  Chapter 6

  Susie Campbell lived in a very cute little house, in a very cute little section of town that was very cute all around. It fit every inch of her adorable baker persona. From what I’d gathered from the teensy bit of social media creeping I’d done the night before, it was exactly what I would’ve expected for Susie Campbell.

  “Well, this looks like something out of a fairytale,” Meg said, climbing out of the car and adjusting her camo vest—her arms bare despite the dropping temps. “You got my butt?”

  She stopped before a cobblestone wa
lkway already festively adorned for the fall season with cheery pumpkins and lopsided squashes and lumpy little gourds. A friendly scarecrow waved from the front lawn.

  “Your butt?”

  “Yeah.” Meg raised her eyebrows at me. “I’d say my back, but my butt’s probably bigger. Definitely stronger. Plus, I’m not having a witch push me into an oven like that one fairytale. No way, not today. I’ve got a bake-off to win.”

  “I don’t think you’re in danger of being pushed into an oven. I don’t even think we fit into ovens.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m on a new diet,” Meg said. “I can fit into all sorts of ovens.”

  “Which diet is that?”

  “The CC diet,” Meg said. When I looked confused, she continued, “The Christmas Cookie Diet. Basically, all you eat is Christmas cookies. Something about the holiday spirit is supposed to help you burn calories.”

  “Do tell me more.”

  “For crying out loud, Lacey. It’s not that hard. Only eat Christmas cookies. You’re halfway there. Just give up the fruitcake and ice cream.”

  “You had ice cream for breakfast.”

  “You’re right.” Meg pointed at me. “That’s true, I did.”

  “So, you’re not on a diet.”

  “I am. Starting now. I’m allowed a relapse now and again.”

  “You had cheesecake for lunch yesterday.”

  “Also true. I’m allowed a few relapses.”

  “I see,” I said. “Well, good luck.”

  “Are you joining me on this diet?”

  I shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”

  “That’s the skinny spirit,” Meg said. “Now, let’s go figure out how to not get pushed into an oven.”

  By the time our nutritional discussion was complete, we were at the front door to Susie’s house. There was a merry little wreath made of yellow and orange leaves, acorns, and sprigs of greenery on the door complete with a kitschy greeting. Next to it was a bowl of oversized candy corn sitting on a rustic-looking table.

  Meg reached for a candy corn. She popped one end into her mouth and chomped down hard.