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

by Gina LaManna

  “I understand,” I said. “Truly, I do.”

  “Is it something I could help you with?” she said. “If it’s something to do with the bake-off, maybe I could point you in the right direction.”

  “As a matter of fact, maybe we could ask you a few questions if you have a minute?”

  “I think that’d be fine,” Peg said slowly. “About what?”

  “It’s a tiny bit sensitive. Maybe we could go somewhere a little more private?”

  “We’ve got a breakroom,” Peg offered. “Would that work?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  “But if you wanted to bring snacks...” Meg said. “That would also be fine.”

  Peg grabbed a carton of fresh milk and a few empty glasses before showing us to a small office at the rear of the store.

  The room was a warm, cluttered space that felt instantly homey. Awards, papers, and a number of certificates were plastered across the walls in so many layers that the wall itself looked to be fluttering with life. One massive serving platter sat on a pockmarked oak table. A mismatched array of spindly chairs sat around the table with cushions that had seen better days.

  We took seats at the table, and I studied the spread before us. On the oversized platter sat bits and bobbles of broken cookies. A gingerbread man’s leg. A half-moon strand of pie crust. A shapeless blob that might at one time have been a brownie.

  “Wow,” Meg said in awe. “This is your breakroom?”

  “It’s a mess,” Peg said. “But I can’t stomach the oopsies going to waste.”

  “This place is amazing,” Meg corrected. “Can I have some of the oopsies?”

  “Please. Have at ’em.”

  Peg gestured to the platter. She poured us all glasses of milk before sitting down herself, then she reached for a star sugar cookie that was missing three of its spokes.

  “Mrs.—”

  “Peg,” she said. “Call me Peg or Peggy.”

  “Peg,” I said. “You’ve been in charge of The Sugarloaf for how long?”

  “I inherited it from my grandparents. We’ve been winning the Great Minnesota Bake-Off since its inaugural year several decades back. We’re a staple. I didn’t even go to college; there was only one thing I wanted to do with my life, and that was bake.”

  “What about Nellie?”

  “Well, she did start college,” Peg said. “But she dropped out.”

  “She did? She hadn’t mentioned that about school.”

  “She doesn’t tell many people. But she decided mid-way through her undergraduate degree that she wanted to take over The Sugarloaf when her father and I retire.”

  “Can I ask how far away retirement is for you and your husband?”

  A shadow crossed over Peg’s face. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  “Is Nellie excited to take over the company?” I asked.

  “She wouldn’t have dropped out of school if she didn’t want to bake,” Peg said. “That’s all she has planned to do with her life, much like myself. If the business ever went away, she’d be devastated.”

  “Went away?” I frowned. “But The Sugarloaf has always been around. How could it be struggling?”

  Even as I said it, I found myself recounting my last few visits to the shop. Today when we’d entered, there’d been nobody else perusing the shelves. Last time we’d stopped, there’d been only one other family. And the times before that, it hadn’t been particularly crowded, either.

  “There’s a lot of competition in the baking space these days,” Peg said. “People are very into novelty desserts, specialty sweets, and complex pastries. There are more and more shops selling sweets popping up around the Twin Cities every year. As you know, we’re a bit of a drive—physically. People are finding options that are closer to their homes, and they’re not making the trek to our store anymore. We’ve having a difficult time figuring out ways to combat that.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said. “I’ve always loved The Sugarloaf. I can’t imagine it not being around.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Peg said. “We’re working hard. We’re resilient. Times change, and we’ll change with them.”

  “So, you’re not in danger of closing?”

  “Well—” Peg was interrupted by the sound of footsteps joining us in the break room. Peg looked over, smiled. “Hi, honey. Ladies—this is Sandra, my oldest daughter. Nellie’s big sister.”

  We offered our greetings. Sandra gave us a polite nod.

  “Sandra, this is Lacey Luzzi, and her friend, Meg. Meg is in the bake-off, and Lacey is—”

  “I know who you are.” Sandra reached out and shook my hand, then turned to Meg. “Good luck in the bake-off. Nellie mentioned you had some pretty amazing cookies.”

  “That, I do,” Meg agreed. “Do you bake, too?”

  Sandra shook her head. “Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit the Davis family skill.” She reached over her mother’s shoulder and snagged the blobby brownie from the platter. She grinned at her mom. “That is, unless you count taste testing as a job.”

  “Lacey does,” Meg said. “She’s hired on to be my taste tester.”

  “It’s more of a volunteer position,” I said.

  Sandra grinned at me in understanding. “I volunteer, too. Anyway, my sister told me about you guys helping her out. Poor Amelia. She used to work here, you know.”

  “I heard,” I said. “And it’s awful what happened to her. That’s why we agreed to help. We want to find her killer.”

  “Very noble of you,” Sandra said, raising her brownie in salute. “Well, I have to take off. Mind if I grab those gingerbread cookies, mom?”

  Peg sighed. “Unfortunately, there are plenty left in the back. I might have exaggerated when I said they were flying off the shelves. Help yourself.”

  Sandra gave us a little wave before disappearing from the office. As she stepped through the door, she had to dip out of the way to allow room for a tall, gray-haired man to slip by. He nudged her with an elbow, and Sandra ducked underneath the man’s arm as he tried to ruffle her hair.

  “Dad!” she exclaimed. “Stop it! We have guests.”

  “How’s it going in here, honey?” The man Sandra had called Dad made his way to Peg and stood behind her, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder. “Need anything?”

  “Just chatting with some customers, dear,” Peg said. “They’re friends of Nellie’s.”

  “Could I speak with you outside for a moment?” he asked her.

  “We were just getting ready to head out,” I said. “We’ll leave you to your office.”

  “You’re fine to stay,” he said. “I just need a quick word with my wife.”

  “Ladies, this is my husband, Wyatt.” Peg rose and slipped beneath her husband’s arm. She rested one hand on his chest, and her head on his shoulder. “We’ve been married going on thirty-four years this spring.”

  “Congratulations,” I said. “That’s amazing.”

  “Super amazing,” Meg said. “And he bakes?”

  “He does the business side of things,” Peg said. “But he’s learned his way around a spatula in his time here.”

  Wyatt nodded and smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He tugged his wife out of the room. I was almost certain that he didn’t want to be overheard, but Wyatt’s whisper wasn’t soft. Neither were Peg’s responses.

  I bit into a cookie and chomped loudly, but even that didn’t cover up their conversation. Meg made no qualms about trying to eavesdrop.

  “—don’t think it’s prudent to go airing our dirty laundry with strangers.”

  “They’re not strangers,” Peg argued. “Those two women are helping to solve a murder.”

  “A murder that we had nothing to do with. It’s best if we stay out of it.”

  “I’m just trying to help!” Peg said. “For Amelia. I knew her, Wyatt. So did you. We need to help however we can.”

 
“No good deed goes unpunished.” There was a long pause, as if Wyatt expected his wife to back down. When she didn’t say anything, he exhaled loudly. “Fine. Help all you want but keep our financial matters private.”

  “It won’t be private if we go out of business.” Peg hissed, for the first time sounding sharp since I’d known her. “The entire world will know about our financial problems when we file for bankruptcy.”

  After a few more whispers that dropped out of hearing range, the sound of footsteps culminated the Davis argument. One door slammed, and then Peg reappeared.

  “Sorry about that!” She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “My husband can be so old-fashioned about some things. He’s very private. I’m more of an open book.”

  “Well, we don’t need to take up any more of your time,” I said. “If Nellie stops by, maybe you can tell her we were looking for her?”

  “I will certainly do that.” Peg led us to the front door. On the way, she grabbed a pre-packaged slice of cake. The Forbidden Slice. She handed it over. “Go on, take it. They’re not exactly selling off the shelves.”

  “I’m sorry, Peg.”

  “Don’t be,” Peg said with a forced smile. “We’ll find a way to pull through, no matter what. We always do.”

  Chapter 25

  Meg and I sat in my mom-van outside of The Sugarloaf. The car was on with the heat blasting, but it was still in park. We were both eyeing The Forbidden Slice as it sat on the console between us, tempting fate.

  “We probably shouldn’t bring it home,” Meg said. “That means we’d have to share.”

  “I’m pretty sure if I eat it now, I’m still going to have to share,” I pointed out.

  “Technically, I’m sharing with you,” Meg said. “I think it was a gift to me.”

  I winced. “I sort of remember her handing it to me...”

  “Your memory is whack. And even if that did happen, it doesn’t mean she meant the whole slice was exclusively for you. I think she meant—”

  A bang on the window startled us both. I jumped about a foot in the air, and Meg had her hand shoved into a suspiciously bulky pocket of her camo vest as she landed back in her seat. When she saw who was at the window, she sneakily withdrew her hand from her pocket and put a smile on her face.

  “Hey, Nellie,” I said, rolling down the window. “How’s it going?”

  Nellie didn’t look pleased. She was dressed in a chunky turtleneck and had rosy pink cheeks. The pink in her cheeks increased in color until she was almost red.

  “Don’t hey, me,” she said finally. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Well, we were thinking about eating that slice of cake your mother gave us,” Meg began. “Then you came around and startled us right out of our skins. Though I’ve got to admit, I’m still thinking about that cake. Just a little bit in the back of my brain.”

  “Why are you here?”

  I met Nellie’s gaze head on. “We had a few questions. That’s all.”

  “For my family?”

  “Technically, they were for you,” I said. “But when you weren’t around, your mother asked if she could help us out. I took her up on the offer.”

  “My dad said you were asking about the state of our finances? Why do you care about The Sugarloaf’s finances?”

  “I didn’t know you dropped out of school,” I said to Nellie. “That’s exciting that you’ll be taking over the business.”

  “Yep.”

  “That would be unfortunate if it goes away,” I said carefully. “Is everything okay, Nellie? Why didn’t you tell us The Sugarloaf was in trouble?”

  “It’s not,” she snapped. “I have everything under control.”

  “You do realize that this doesn’t look great for you,” I said. “We’re investigating a murder, and you suddenly have a motive.”

  “What’s my motive? To kill Amelia in order to collect the grand prize?” Nellie raised a hand. “That’s stupid. There are still three other great bakers I’d have to beat. There would’ve been better ways to get the money.”

  “That is true,” Meg said.

  “Why did you ask us to look into the case?” I asked.

  “Because you showed up in our store, and I thought it was some sort of a sign,” she said. “I’d read about your work in the papers. I knew Amelia, and I didn’t think the police were going to put her death as a top priority. It was the right thing to do.”

  “The one thing that gets me,” Meg said, “is why you poisoned Lacey if you’re innocent?”

  “Poison?” Nellie looked genuinely taken aback. “I didn’t poison anyone. And no offense, but Lacey still looks...” She surveyed me top to bottom. “Alive.”

  “For now,” Meg said cryptically.

  “Shouldn’t she be at a hospital or something?”

  “She’s fine... now,” Meg said with dramatic sigh. “But you did give her a cup of cider at the bake-off, did you not?”

  “I don’t know. I probably offered her one. But not because I wanted to kill her!” Nellie threw both arms up in the air. “You two are ridiculous. I never should have gotten involved with any of this in the first place. Forget I ever spoke up. I don’t want anything to do with the two of you anymore.”

  “But—” Meg started.

  “I hope you find who killed Amelia because she deserves it. But it sucks that you don’t trust me.”

  I gave a feeble argument, but Nellie had already turned away and was stomping back to the shop.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Meg said. “She’ll come around.”

  “I feel a little bad.”

  “Why?” Meg shrugged. “You really don’t know her. Not like you know me or Anthony. I mean, sure, she makes good cake. But there was a reason you came to ask her questions, and that reason didn’t go away. This could’ve all been a show.”

  “I suppose,” I said. “I’m not sure what to make of it, yet.”

  “Well, I know what to make of it,” Meg said. “I think you need to freeze that Forbidden Slice because I doubt you’re getting another one anytime soon. And you might as well forget the Gold Card.”

  “Maybe she’ll come around once I catch the murderer?” I wondered hopefully, thinking it would be very sad to be looking at my last ever Forbidden Slice.

  “On the plus side, we’re getting close,” Meg said. “We’re starting to tic people off, and that’s always a good sign. Speaking of making people upset, Susie’s got an interview over at Channel 87 in a little bit, and I think we should go see what that’s all about.”

  “Why is Susie doing a television interview?”

  Meg shrugged. “I think that’s what we need to find out. It could be publicity for the bake-off, or it could be publicity for herself. Or maybe she’s got information about the murder she offered to give up on air.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “This interview wasn’t planned,” Meg said. “I was watching this morning, and they said they had a surprise segment coming live this afternoon.”

  “I’ve got nothing better to do,” I said, “and it feels like we’re not making any progress on the rest of this case, so we might as well keep pulling on threads.”

  “You’ve got so many threads loose that if it were a sweater, it’d unravel. Keep going. You’re almost there—I can feel it.”

  I tucked The Forbidden Slice onto my lap and set off in the direction of the TV station where we’d confronted Hunter what felt like years ago. Technically, it had only been a few days, but this case was dragging on for so long that it felt like we’d first met Hunter during the ice ages.

  My mind was occupied as we drove down the country road toward the freeway. It was a two-lane street with a few stoplights scattered between acres of cornfields, patches of pumpkins, and wide swatches of rolling green fields. I let my thoughts wander freely as we loped toward the highway.

  I was so consumed running through all the different theories we had surrounding the case that it took me quite
some time to notice that we were being followed. Actually, it took a bump to the back of the car. I wasn’t exactly at the top of my game.

  “Cripes,” Meg said as we lurched forward. “Tell me that was an accident.”

  I looked in the rearview mirror. A large, black truck loomed there. The driver had a nylon stocking pulled down over their face, gloved hands on the steering wheel, so I couldn’t make out gender, let alone any distinguishing features. The front license plate—only visible as the truck started to hang back a bit—was from Arizona, which led me to think the car was probably a rental that couldn’t be traced back to anyone. Which made sense if the killer was as smart as I suspected.

  Still, I shouted the license plate and told Meg to write it down. She tapped the letters and numbers into her phone and screeched that she’d sent them to Clay for analysis.

  “How about you call the police?” I said. “Seeing as you have time to text and all.”

  “But we don’t know that he’s coming after us—”

  Meg was interrupted as the truck roared with acceleration. It jammed into our backside, sending us shooting forward with a jerk. This time, we weren’t without a casualty.

  I slammed on the brakes as we went careening across the road, but in the process, my poor slice of cake left the safety of my lap and went sailing through the air. The lid to the flimsy plastic container flew open, and the dessert splatted—frosting first—against the windshield.

  My mom-van skidded in a wide circle. We were thrown back against the seats of the car as we spiraled, spiraled, spiraled, and came to a wicked halt. My head smacked against something hard, and a twinge of pain in my left leg told me something had jammed into me there, too. By the time we came to a complete stop, my head felt like it was spinning.

  We had stalled in the middle of the road, facing the exact opposite direction from where we’d been heading. We were eye to eye with the truck, and as I watched, the driver’s knuckles tightened against the steering wheel. I braced myself for the truck’s acceleration and the ensuing crash.

  “Will you look at that,” Meg gasped. “Saved by the bell.”

  I glanced in the rearview mirror to see what Meg was looking at. By some miracle, a school bus was trundling up the road behind me, seemingly oblivious to the crash ahead. The seats were bursting with children. As we watched, the driver began to slow the bus—first with a look of confusion, then one of concern.