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

by Gina LaManna

  “You don’t think Meg’s been wondering what it would have been like if she married Filip and not me?”

  “No, I don’t think she’s been wondering that at all.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Clay shook his head. “Filip is tall and skinny and all exotic with his accent. He probably pays attention to her. I’ll bet you Filip knows Meg wears a camo vest.”

  “Pretty much everyone knows that.”

  “Thanks, Lacey! Just what I needed to hear.”

  “Okay, you’re being ridiculous.”

  “I know.” Clay sighed. “It’s just that I finally got her. Meg—the woman of my dreams. I keep finding myself wondering how long it’s going to take for me to screw that up.”

  “Clay.” I shook my head and gave him a smile. “Okay, you are being ridiculous. Meg chose you because she loves you. The best thing you can do for your relationship is relax and enjoy it. Don’t overthink things.”

  “But—”

  “Meg’s not interested in Filip. Trust me,” I said. “She’s in love with you. I promise.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I said. “And if you’re worried, talk to her about it. If it means anything to you, I know how you feel. Talking to Anthony always helps me regroup.”

  “How could you possibly know how I feel?”

  “Seriously?” I stared at Clay. “I married Hercules, and I’m like... I dunno. Pippi Longstocking. Of course I’ve worried that I’m not good enough for Anthony.”

  “Makes sense,” Clay said with an affirmative nod that I tried not to take as offensive. “So, how do you deal with it?”

  “I trust Anthony,” I said. “And I trust that he picked me for a reason. I’m sure you feel the same about Meg.”

  “I do,” Clay said. “But now I just feel stupid.”

  “Give yourself a break,” I told Clay. “You just have some newlywed jitters. It’s not like you did anything awful—you just followed Meg’s ex-boyfriend around for a little bit. Nobody got hurt.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Right?” I pressed. “Oh, Jiminy Cricket. Do not tell me you locked him in that cake, Clay.”

  “I, uh, maybe encouraged him into the cake.”

  “That is... not cool.”

  “I know, and I’m going to make it right,” Clay said. “I’ll apologize. I’ll do the time. Whatever it takes.”

  “I wish I didn’t know that,” I said. “But here comes Meg. I think what needs to happen first is that you need to come clean with her. Then we’ll figure out what to do about Filip.”

  “Thank you, Lace,” Clay said. “I’m sorry I’m such an idiot.”

  I fell into Clay’s outstretched arms for a hug. “Me too, cousin. Me too.”

  Meg approached the vehicle, and I pulled back.

  “One more thing,” I said. “Why wouldn’t Filip tell us who locked him in the cake if he knew it was you?”

  Clay’s face turned pink. “Forget about it. I’ll make things right with Filip, I promise.”

  “You’ve got twenty-four hours,” I warned Clay. “One day to make things right, or I interfere.”

  Clay nodded. “Understood.”

  “What’s up, chickadee?” Meg pulled the door open. “Hope you saved me a falafel. I’m freezing. Your turn, eh?”

  I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. Meg and Clay had plenty to discuss, and I didn’t need to be there for any of it. A part of me wished I hadn’t found the umbrella. Clay was quite possibly the most well-intentioned human being of all time, but he certainly wasn’t the most logical. I hoped against hope that he and Filip could work out their differences without things turning ugly.

  In the meantime, my plan was to sit outside in the frigid wilderness and stare at an empty highway that would probably not see any more action for the rest of the night. The sense of optimism that I’d had going into the evening had begun to drain through me like sand through an hourglass.

  I sighed, pulled up my phone, and dialed Anthony.

  “All is okay,” I said when he answered. “Mostly okay. Except, I did find a stalker. Filip’s stalker, to be specific.”

  “You sound pretty calm for uncovering a stalker.”

  I sighed. “Well, have I got a story for you.”

  When I hung up with Anthony, I turned my sights back to the road. Still empty. I stood up and did a few squats, making my thighs burn. I stretched my hamstrings out, but seeing as I wasn’t very flexible, that didn’t turn out to be super fun. Eventually, I turned back to the van, thinking it was time for a shift change, and caught sight of Clay and Meg making out.

  “Ew,” I muttered. Apparently their talk had gone over alright.

  I’d freeze for a little longer before I interrupted that.

  I returned to the stump that I’d made my temporary chair and sat. I looked at my nails. And the next second, I felt a damp cloth pressed to my nose. I opened my mouth, but someone clasped a gloved hand over my lips and stifled my scream. Forced to inhale the chemicals, I watched my consciousness spiral away from me like a sparkler drifting into night. And then everything went dark.

  Chapter 29

  When I woke, it was slowly, painfully. I had scratches across my face, leading me to think someone had led me—or rather, carried me—unceremoniously through the woods to my final landing place. A landing place that looked a whole lot like a log cabin. I was willing to bet that we were deep enough into the wilderness that if I screamed, nobody would hear it.

  But that didn’t stop me from trying. I belted my lungs out, screaming for Anthony, Meg, Clay, or anyone who could possibly hear me. I screamed and screamed for what felt like hours. It probably wasn’t hours, but when my voice started going hoarse, I was forced to take a break.

  What was even stranger was that nobody had come at all—not even my captor. If he or she was anywhere near me, they would have heard me shouting. Why hadn’t they come to check on me? Or at least tell me to shut up? I started to get anxious at the silence. Had my kidnapper left me here to die alone? My hands were tied, my legs were tied, and I’d been left on the floor like a fallen log.

  After a few minutes of relentless silence, I took several deep breaths, forced myself to stop panicking, and thought about how to take action. First, I studied my surroundings, though there wasn’t much to study. I was entrapped in a room with four walls and one ceiling. The walls were fashioned from rounded logs, real old-fashioned and rustic-like, full of natural knots and smelling of pine. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, giving off more light than I expected. A thin chain dangled next to it.

  There were no windows in the room and only one door. Because there were no windows, it was impossible to tell whether it was night or day beyond the walls. I had no clue how long I’d been unconscious, but I couldn’t imagine it was hours on end, seeing as I wasn’t starving just yet. Maybe an hour or two max—just long enough to get me to the cabin.

  By the time I finished sizing up my prison, I decided it was time to give the whole shouting thing another shot. I yelled my head off. Screamed until my lungs ached and my voice vanished. When nothing happened, again, I eventually stopped. If making a racket wasn’t working, I might as well conserve my energy for when something did eventually happen.

  But at that thought, the terrifying possibility that someone had simply left me here to die crept back into my mind. The worst part was how long it would take. The awfulness of laying inside a cabin—alone—for days and days until I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer gave me heart palpitations.

  Where was the killer, and why were they confident enough to leave me alone, screaming, in a room by myself? By keeping me alive, they were taking the risk that Anthony—or someone—might find me before I died.

  Unless there isn’t a risk, I thought. Maybe the killer was watching me. Watching the cabin. Maybe the kidnapper was waiting for guests to arrive... setting up some sort of trap for Anthony or Clay or Meg. I couldn’t let my husband walk into a t
rap. Or my friends. I couldn’t be responsible for anyone else getting hurt.

  Filled with determination—if not for me, then for my family and friends—I rolled around on the floor, wiggling until I could somewhat make it to a sitting position. Not that sitting helped me all that much, seeing as getting to my feet was nearly impossible. And even if I could get to my feet, I’d have to hop over to the door.

  I went with the alternative. Flopping back against the wooden floorboards, I rolled and rolled toward the door, finding a whole new level of sympathy for Bella. Laying on the floor and rolling around all day wasn’t the coolest thing ever. It was no wonder she wanted to be held so much; the view was much better from five feet six-ish inches in the air.

  Once at the door, I wiggled around some more until eventually, I pulled myself to a sitting position where I could study the doorknob. Through some sheer miracle and a bit of The Force, I managed to inch my way to my feet.

  Turning with painstaking care, I moved so that my hands touched the cool metal of the door knob. I twisted it and—to nobody’s surprise, least of all mine—it was locked. I twisted again and nothing.

  I worked at it for several hours. It was hard to say an exact time without access to the sun or the moon or my phone, but it felt like ages. I tried everything in my power to get out of the cabin. I threw myself against the door, dangled from the handle, thumped against the sides. But those four walls were determined to keep me in, and there wasn’t any way of getting out.

  Eventually, I was so exhausted, so worn down and tired—not to mention cold and bruised and aching—that I slunk back down against the log wall. I closed my eyes, determined to rest them just for a moment. I willed my mind not to think. Thinking would only serve to dredge up pleasant memories of those I loved, and I couldn’t handle that.

  I couldn’t handle thinking of the way Bella’s cheeks squished up when she smiled, or the way her belly laugh was so contagious it was like magic. I couldn’t handle thinking of the way Anthony’s face brightened when I walked in a room, or the way his hand brushed down my skin in a way that spoke volumes more than he could ever say.

  I couldn’t handle thinking about Meg. A friend who, despite her quirks and flaws, had been there for me across decades. She’d lasted when many others had faded away. She would continue to be my best friend forever, I knew it. If only forever wouldn’t be cut so short.

  I must have drifted off to sleep thinking of my family and friends. I had sweet dreams about them, pleasant ones that I didn’t want to leave. Eventually, another dream took over—one filled with fresh air and sunlight. Even as I blinked back to consciousness, I struggled to hold onto it.

  When I finally forfeited my dreams to consciousness, I realized the fresh air wasn’t only in my mind. Indeed, the door to the cabin had opened—it must have—because a person was standing across the room and watching me.

  I tried to speak, but my throat was parched. Between the screaming stints, the utter exhaustion, and the lack of food and water, my throat was a desert.

  The figure across the room nodded at the floor, and I looked down. There, before me, was a thin silver tray—the fake kind one might find at a dollar store. On top of the tray sat a plate of food and a glass of water. The plate was plastic along with the glass of water, but the utensils—a fork and spoon—were real. I gave a frown of confusion.

  “Go on, eat up,” she said. “Your hands are free.”

  “What is this?” I managed, rubbing one hand across my throat. My words came out sounding gravelly. My wrists were a bit sore, but they were the least of my problems. “I didn’t know I was staying at The Ritz.”

  Sandra Davis gave a genuine bark of laughter. “They told me you were funny. They weren’t wrong.”

  “They?”

  “Your reputation precedes you.”

  I studied Nellie’s sister. Peg and Wyatt’s daughter. “I don’t understand. Are you working with your mother?”

  “Eat and drink,” Sandra said, looking disinterested. “We don’t have long.”

  “Long?” I gulped. “Before what?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  I glanced at the food. Wrinkled my nose. “I’m good, actually. I don’t think I’m very hungry.”

  “It’s not poisoned.” Sandra coughed. “Well, not this time.”

  “You poisoned me?” The pieces of the puzzle were clicking into place, but I was still missing a few. “How?”

  “Dude. You eat all the time,” she said. “It was hardly difficult to slip something into your system. You had a coffee cup from the gas station that you carried around all afternoon. You set it down while you went to the bathroom, and I slipped a little something in there. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you gave me no choice.”

  “What about Amelia?” I retorted. “Did she not give you a choice, either?”

  “If I have to choose between others or my family,” Sandra said, “I’ll always choose my family. I’m sure you understand. You’re a Luzzi.”

  I really didn’t feel like eating, but at the rate Sandra was confessing to me, I also didn’t think I had long to live. What was the worst that could happen from eating the food—I got poisoned... again? It’d just make things go faster for me. Alternatively, if the food wasn’t poisoned, it’d be good to get some energy for whatever came next. It also didn’t hurt that the two eggs and scone smelled heavenly to a girl who was practically on death row.

  “I don’t understand why you’re feeding me.”

  “I’m not a monster,” Sandra said. When I stared blankly at her, she rolled her eyes. “You don’t understand. I didn’t want to kill Amelia, but things escalated quickly, and I had to do something. I couldn’t sit back and just watch The Sugarloaf fall apart. It would have ruined my mother.”

  “Well, you sort of ruined Amelia’s life. To put it lightly.”

  “There are innocent casualties all the time in this world. I already told you I didn’t want to hurt her.”

  “That’s what Amelia was? An innocent casualty?” I asked. “Did your mother put you up to this?”

  I leaned over and made a show of taking a very large bite of eggs. They were actually very good. Better than good. Great. I added a bite of scone to follow it up and sipped from the glass of water.

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s amazing,” I said. “But I still don’t understand why you pulled out the stops to serve me nice food. You could have given me a granola bar.”

  “Because I need you to not die. And I’m a Davis. I don’t know how to serve subpar food.”

  “So, who else was in on Amelia’s murder?”

  “Why do you keep asking that?” Sandra sounded cross. “You don’t think I’m capable of carrying this off by myself?”

  “I’m sure you are, but why would you? What’s your incentive?”

  “My mother has worked for her entire life to keep The Sugarloaf running. She dragged my father into the business. And get this! My sister even dropped out of school to take over when they retire. She has no plan b.”

  “What does any of this have to do with Amelia?”

  “The Sugarloaf is in trouble. People are ordering pastries online. Suddenly gourmet coffees are the new ‘it’ thing in this country, and coffee houses are popping up every which way. Guess what? They add treats to their menu, too. People don’t need to come all the way out to visit The Sugarloaf anymore.”

  “That’s the way the world works,” I said. “It’s just business.”

  “It’s not business when it’s my family’s livelihood,” Sandra said. “Soon enough, it’ll be my livelihood too.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t bake—”

  “I don’t bake, but I need a job. I can do the books or something,” she said. “I got fired from my last three jobs, and that’s getting old. My parents can’t fire me.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  Sandra shook her head. “Our whole family is tied to The Sugarloaf. If that goes
up in flames, we have nothing.”

  “You do understand that killing Amelia doesn’t mean you automatically win, right?”

  “Amelia was the only one who could beat us,” Sandra said. “Susie has her recipe, but she doesn’t have Amelia’s talent. She can’t pull it off.”

  “The Naughty Elves? Britta?”

  “Britta got sick,” Sandra said. “She won’t be participating today.”

  “You poisoned her.”

  “The Naughty Elves are lucky they even made it to the finals. There’s no real competition there. With Amelia and Britta taken care of, we’re home free.”

  “And Maureen? I asked. “Was her premature departure from the judges panel your doing, as well?”

  “I gave her some cash along with a polite little note to keep quiet.”

  “You mean a threat?”

  “Call it what you want,” Sandra said. “It worked, didn’t it? She gets to go to Mexico. Luckily for her, she made the right choice and took the money.”

  “Why her, though?”

  “She dated my father years ago. I found some old photos in the back of The Sugarloaf one day. They’d been labeled with her name. I put two and two together when the judges for the bake-off were announced.”

  “And?”

  “And Maureen never got over my dad,” she said easily. “He told me she called him for months. She’d stop by The Sugarloaf to see him for years, even after he was married. There was no way she’d have ever voted for The Sugarloaf to win in the finals. How’s your food?”

  “Delicious,” I said without thinking. Her question had come from out of the blue and totally caught me off guard. “I mean, I honestly wish it wasn’t so good considering the circumstances. What’s the secret ingredient?”

  “Rosemary,” she said. “Gives it a nice kick, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Then, I remembered I was talking to a murderer, and I scowled. “I don’t know that they’ll let you bake in prison.”

  “I’m not going to prison.” Sandra stood. “Finish up. We’re leaving.”

  “Where?”