by Gina LaManna
“You didn’t quite fulfill your end, now did you?” Anastasia raised an eyebrow, and I realized that she was referring to the fact that we hadn’t figured out his name.
“We told you what we saw and what we found out. That should be enough whether or not we asked his name,” I said. “It’s just a few jars of sauce, anyway.”
“I don’t owe you anything, girl,” Anastasia said. “Just because my grandson gave you my phone number doesn’t mean I have to make a vat of sauce for you.”
“Is all of that for us?” Meg asked, sticking her finger dangerously close to one of the pots.
Anastasia whacked at her hand with a ladle before returning her attention to the boiling cauldron and stirring. I had to admit, it smelled wonderful.
“It could be,” Anastasia said, with a sideways glance at me. “It depends if you’ll do what I ask.”
“We don’t know what you’re asking,” I said with a sigh.
“I’m asking you to go back to the house on Sixty-sixth. Take a phone, a camera, or whatever. Get a picture of the gun.”
“No,” I said. “No way. My life is not worth a few cauldrons of sauce.”
“You’re telling me that Carlos will be okay if you show up to the family barbecue with no sauce and no report on the bomb?” she asked.
I gasped. “How do you know about Carlos?”
She shrugged. “Business.”
“But you’re not – you can’t...” I started and stopped. How to say that business with Carlos was rarely legal?
“I know who I’m working with,” she said. “Now, I’m asking you one simple favor. I’m sure Carlos won’t mind. Then, I’ll send you home with some of this sauce he loves. More sauce than he can eat in a year.” Anastasia smiled. “Don’t worry, you can freeze it.”
“Thank goodness for small miracles,” Meg said. “That’s a lot of sauce, and we wouldn’t want it to go to waste. But I think you underestimate the Luzzi Family,” she hissed into Anastasia’s ear. “Their metabolism runs at the speed of magic. I’ve never seen such skinny people put it away so fast.”
“I can hear you,” I said. “And I’m still incredibly confused. You know Carlos? Did you know who we were when we showed up on your doorstep?”
“I’m sure Carlos will fill you in on all the necessary details. I’m not silly enough to overstep my bounds where that man is concerned,” she said. “So I’m not telling you anything else. All I will say is that the sauce will be done in an hour and not a second sooner, so you have time to kill, regardless.”
I hesitated. Whether or not the woman knew Carlos, I wanted the sauce. Did I need it? No. But I wanted it. Plus, I had no desire to show up empty-handed to my first Family barbecue. Another thought popped into my head: what if the whole “task” to find Dave’s sauce was a decoy to see if I could locate Anastasia? My mind spun with possibilities, but despite all my thinking power, nothing was connecting at the moment.
Looking around, I spotted a stool that looked specially made to seat a leprechaun. I moseyed over to it and attempted to make myself comfortable. It was an impossible hope; my knees knocked against my chin and it was incredibly difficult to look important when I was the shortest one in the room.
“Why do you need a picture?” I asked.
“Proof,” Anastasia responded. “Obviously.”
“Proof for what?”
“Didn’t working for Carlos teach you not to be nosy?” she asked, stirring the sauce. A bubble popped and splattered a reddish liquid on the stove.
My stomach betrayed me, growling loudly. “I’m good at my job because I’m nosy.”
“And you’re hungry,” she said. “How about I feed you a quick meal and send you on your way? A quick photo, that’s all. Of something illegal.”
“Owning a gun isn’t illegal,” I said.
“It is if you don’t have a permit for the thing,” she pointed out, aiming the spatula in my direction like a weapon.
“True,” I said, eyeing her utensil with newfound interest. I could outrun a ninety-year-old woman with a spatula, I was pretty sure. Not positive, but pretty dang sure.
“Tell me why you care,” I pressed, “and I’ll consider it. I’m sure Carlos would prefer I come back alive and sauceless, rather than dead and sauced any day.”
“Sauced,” Meg snorted. “Good one.”
Anastasia straightened her long black robes which, after watching the bubbling mess on the stove, I now understood. Lifting her nose, she spoke. “I don’t believe you saw a gun at all.”
“Of course we did,” I said. “We were both there.”
“And you could both be lying,” she said evenly. “No proof.”
“Come on,” I said. “Help us out.”
“Help me, help you,” she said. “I’m asking for a photo.”
Meg tugged on my arm. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
I barely had time to nod before she started jabbering away. “Lace, listen. I left my helmet there. We were gonna stop back anyway. Let’s just go now and—”
“Meg, Meg!” I’d been saying her name repeatedly. “You do know that when you ask to talk to someone for a second, usually that means you whisper. Or step outside the room.”
“Oh, right,” she said. “I didn’t think we had time for that.”
I glanced at Anastasia. “Apparently we have an hour to kill.”
Anastasia whistled a tune as if she wasn’t listening, but the way her eyes darted and her head tilted towards the conversation, it was easy to see she was hanging onto every word.
“Fine, this way,” Meg said, dragging me into the living room. One of the two black cats hissed at me.
“Here, chubby,” Meg said soothingly. The cat marched right over to Meg and submitted its little body for a full petting.
I pretended it didn’t bother me.
“It’s okay. Don’t feel bad,” Meg said, cradling the kitty. “Your own cat doesn’t even like you. How can you expect someone else’s to warm up to you? You must not have good cat juju. Me? I got the powers of kitty cuddles.”
“Thank god I don’t,” I muttered, not meaning it. I wanted the cat to like me, too. It was my birthday, for crying out loud.
“Listen,” Meg said. “We came all the way out here. You failed big time with the bomb thing – no offense – so let’s get you that sauce. I know it means a lot to you.”
“But I don’t want to risk my life,” I said. “Or yours. Especially yours. I could just meander on over there and sneak in, but I’d feel incredibly bad putting you into a dangerous situation.”
“Girl, you’re so hazardous it’s a danger just being your best friend,” Meg said with a shrug. “That’s why you need someone sturdy like me. You think a wisp of a woman like Kate Moss could be your best friend? I don’t think so. She’d sail away in the wind, first time danger got near.”
I smiled. “You do make a good best friend.”
“Damn straight,” Meg said. “So let’s both put ourselves in danger. Look at it this way. We’re not stupid. Plus, I really want my helmet. It was specially made for me ‘cause my head was too big for all the normal sizes.”
“Wow,” I said admiring her noggin. “I never noticed how large your head is.”
“Lots of brains,” Meg said.
“Mmm,” I murmured. “Yes.”
“And lots of padding, also. ‘Cause my head’s so big I gotta fill it with extra calories. Bread, candy, peanut brittle – sauce.” She smiled. “We’ll go there and drive by. If he’s home, we’ll just grab the helmet and take off. We’re out of there the second something smells wrong.”
“Meg, your sense of smell has led us astray more than once,” I said. “In fact, I think the fumes from the sauce are getting into your rather sizeable head.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But still. If it’s dangerous, we’ll peace out, no problem. Maybe he’s not home. If so, we truck it on foot ‘til we see the shack and take a photo. I know Anastasia said she wanted a pictu
re of the gun, but the shack is suspicious enough. If she’s looking for some proof we saw something weird, that’ll do it.”
“If she agrees to accept a picture of the shack as part of the deal, I’ll agree,” I said. “I’m not breaking into any shack or any house. We’ll go and get your helmet, snap a quick photo of the cabin, and leave.”
“Exactly,” Meg said. Turning to the kitty, she cooed, “Don’t worry, my friend, it won’t take us long. No, Auntie Lacey won’t hurt you...go on, say hi.”
The cat clearly wanted to do anything but say hi to me, and instead he bared his claws in a get lost sort of way. I got lost into the kitchen.
“Anastasia, I have a deal,” I said. “I’m not risking anything for the sauce. Meg and I will ride over to the house and snap a picture of the man’s shack.”
“The shack?” she asked, her wrinkled face bunched up in surprise.
“Will you settle for a picture of the log cabin in his backyard as proof?” I asked.
“What’s in the shack?” Anastasia leaned against the stove, but she was so small her elbow was nearly level with the burners.
“We saw him take what we think were guns in there,” I said. “Can’t be sure, but I’m not breaking in. Doesn’t feel right.”
“Fine,” she said, waving the spatula like a wand. “That’ll do.”
“It will?” I asked. Though I personally believed it was a completely logical request, I hadn’t expected her to cave in so easily. “So, will you tell us what you’re planning on doing with the picture?”
“Do you want the deal or not?” Anastasia asked. It was apparently a rhetorical question, since she plowed right ahead. “Be back here in one hour with a photo of the shack and this will be yours.”
She gestured towards the vats of sauce with a grand sweeping motion, as if the tubs held the Elixir of Life, and not a few squashed-up tomatoes and basil.
“Deal,” I said.
“Hey, can I take Ying with me?” Meg asked as she walked into the kitchen with a cat perched on her shoulder.
“That’s Yang,” Anastasia said with a frown. “And no, you cannot. They’re house cats.”
“But he likes me,” Meg said. “And, was that a no to Ying or Yang?”
“That one is Yang,” Anastasia said once more. “And I said no.”
“Great,” Meg said. “Well, see you later.”
I gave a brief nod to Anastasia – wondering at the last moment if Her Witchiness preferred a nod, a handshake, or a curtsy. For some reason, all of the above felt incredibly awkward, so I waited for her to dismiss us with a flick of her spoon.
Meg led the way with a quick pace. By the time I reached the car, she was already yanking on the passenger’s side door handle.
“Hold your shorts on,” I said, fumbling for the clicker. Starting the Lumina, I looked over my left shoulder and pulled onto the road. It wasn’t until we were a mile and a half away that I looked over at Meg and suddenly noticed that her vest was lumpier than usual.
She shifted awkwardly in her seat under my burning gaze.
Er – wait a minute. It wasn’t Meg that was moving; it was her vest.
“Meg,” I asked sweetly. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”
“Nope,” she said.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“You know me,” Meg said. “I always speak my mind.”
“Nothing about your vest that you’d like me to know?” I asked.
“Not particularly,” she said, her gaze migrating away from mine and out the window.
“Anything I should know?” I asked. I’d realized the game she was playing. Of course she didn’t want me to know, but whether I should know was a different story...
“Should is a word I use very loosely,” Meg said doggedly. “Should I eat this candy? Eh, maybe not, but do I anyway? Yeah, usually. That’s the answer.”
Meg’s scatterbrained stream of consciousness confirmed my suspicions. My friend was nervous, and Meg was not a person who was shaken easily. It was the last part that really frightened me.
“What’s in your vest?” I asked, point blank.
“Ying,” she said with a small sigh. “He wanted to come.”
“Meg! Anastasia explicitly told you no.”
“I tricked her,” Meg said with a sly smile. Upon my deep frown, she changed her tune quickly. “I mean, I didn’t trick her. I knew I was holding Yang in there. But I really wanted to take Ying. It worked because Anastasia said I couldn’t take Yang, but she didn’t say that about Ying.”
“Either way, you’re stealing a cat,” I said.
“Well dang, when you put it that way...” Meg trailed off, letting the kitten out of the vest. She’d zipped a very peaceful-looking Ying into her vest as if she were a mama kangaroo holding her baby in her pouch.
I rolled my eyes. If I didn’t know Meg so well, I wouldn’t believe her logic one bit. But knowing her as well as I did, I was fairly confident she viewed the cat-napping not as a crime, but simply as offering to take a friend for a voluntary ride. It was hard to be angry at her, but still. “I’m turning around,” I said. “We have to return the cat.”
“Let me keep her for one hour,” Meg said, looking so longingly at Ying that it nearly broke my heart. “She loves me.”
“I thought you just said it was a he?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure actually. I’m giving it equal opportunity to be both. We’ll see what it chooses,” Meg said.
“It can’t – oh, never mind,” I said. The cat seemed to be purring happily, and there was a decent chance Anastasia wouldn’t notice her cat had gone on a joyride for an hour. If anything, Meg was like the favorite aunt – taking the kitty for an hour, spoiling it rotten, then dumping it back on her (or his) parents’ steps.
“You’re giving him – her – whatever, back,” I said.
“Of course,” Meg said before nuzzling the cat’s cheek. “Yay! Ying, we get to be friends for an hour. No thanks to mean Auntie Lacey who wanted to return you.”
“The first rule of parenting is not to talk bad about each other in front of the baby,” I said. “Don’t say mean things about me.”
“Since when did you want to become part of Ying’s life?” Meg pouted. “You can’t just decide you want in when it’s convenient. And what about cat support?”
“I’m not having this conversation now,” I said. “Just remember – don’t get attached. We’re returning Ying when we get back.”
Meg covered the cat’s ears. “Don’t listen to Auntie Lacey,” Meg hissed. “Meggie loves you very much.”
Chapter 11
“CAT STAYS IN THE CAR,” I instructed as we pulled up to the house on Sixty-sixth Street. I made the executive decision to park on the street and walk up the driveway this time. It would be good to switch things up, since the first time we’d arrived raring to go, motorcycle revved and all, and that hadn’t turned out well. It was time for the subtle approach.
“You should’ve brought Tupac’s leash,” Meg said. “Ying could’ve stretched his legs while I gathered my helmet.”
“Tupac doesn’t have a leash,” I said. “He doesn’t let me get close enough to pet him, let alone walk him.”
“I’m telling you, it’s that kitty cat juju,” Meg said. “Work on it.”
“After we get back in one piece,” I said through gritted teeth. “Okay. Ying stays in the car and we keep our voices low. We’re walking the trail until we see your helmet – then, we’ll judge if it’s safe enough to go further and snap a picture of the shack.”
“The place looks deserted,” Meg said, pointing up the long driveway.
Despite the winding curl up the driveway, it was clear that no car was parked anywhere between the street and the house. The garage door was closed tightly and the front door was shut as well. Grease Ball appeared to be out for the moment.
“That could help or hurt us,” I said. “We have to hurry. Maybe he’s just picking up eggs from the store.”
> “Yeah, or maybe he’s picking out a new loofah. Or getting some shampoo. You know, he should really try that dry shampoo,” she said. “Maybe I should leave a note. Baby powder supposedly works the same, for half the price. Or maybe he’s doing all of that and stopping off for a Big Mac. I could use a Big—”
“Let’s get a move on,” I said, breaking through her tirade. “Whatever he’s doing, it won’t last forever and we don’t want to get caught.”
“Yeah, unless—”
“—enough with the exceptions,” I said. “We also need to hurry in order to get back to the car. We can’t leave Ying in there all day. Anastasia will notice that her cat is gone eventually.”
“Roger that,” Meg said. “Project Helmet Head in effect.”
I grimaced at the name, but didn’t argue. Instead, after determining the front lawn, house, and all other visible areas were as clear as I could guarantee, I led Meg down the small, narrow dirt path that wasn’t really a path.
The line of trees surrounding the house provided some cover for our sneaking, but it wasn’t perfect. Neither was the path; made mostly of broken cattails and long grasses smashed down by repeated use, we were poked and prodded with all sorts of sharp branches as we stumbled past the front yard and into the woods.
“Who would’ve thought that nature would be so uncomfortable?” Meg asked, swiping a stubborn leaf from her forehead.
“Shh,” I said, pulling up my stride and listening.
“Ain’t nothing but bullfrogs and mosquitos and cicada,” Meg said, barely giving time for a breath, let alone a listen.
“No, the crack,” I said. “There was definitely a crack.”
“There was no crack,” Meg said. “I said I’d warn you about crack if I ever—”
“Shhh,” I said. “Listen.”
We were both still for a moment, Meg tilting her nose to the wind as if she’d gained the wolf-like ability to catch a person’s scent from the breeze.
“I’m catching whiffs of sauce,” Meg said. “A tiny hint of tequila...oh, shit. Catching whiffs of someone who hasn’t washed their hair in a day or two.”
“Meg,” I put a hand on one hip. “That’s me. It’s not my fault I had a late night and didn’t have time to shower yet. I was going to the second we got back.”
