Lacey Luzzi: Sprinkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 1)

by Gina LaManna

  “Y-E-S.” I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “And I think it could be good.”

  I could hear a crackling from the other end, as if she were fanning herself.

  “You okay?” I asked, pulling myself into a sitting position.

  “Yep. Just glad you capitalized, on account of me letting Mr. Dreads walk away for this dude.”

  “Another one will come around.”

  “Easy for you to say. Anyways, what are you gonna do now? Are you sure you don’t need a ride?”

  I stood and wandered around the foyer, but seeing nothing there of interest, I made my way back into the kitchen. It was the only thing stocked in the house. I saw a huge sack of flour under the sink, some beers in the fridge, sugar, eggs, cereal, and meat. The usual suspects.

  “I’m going to make cookies,” I declared. I gathered eggs, sugar and flour and began the hunt for some sort of chocolate bar to bust up into chocolate chips.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Meg asked.

  “Why not?” I took a minor stumble as I searched for some vanilla flavoring. “I have nothing else to do – plus, there’s no dessert. Who forgets dessert?”

  “Uh, Lacey?”

  “Don’t you worry your pretty head, Meggo.” I clicked off the phone so I didn’t have to balance it as I cracked some eggs into a bowl. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the joy of having someone else on my side for this crazy job, or maybe it was some weird desire to show Michael I could be domestic (or at least fake it), but I was positive making cookies was the best thing to do at this moment.

  Who wouldn’t want to come back from a mysterious errand to the smell of freshly baked cookies oozing from the kitchen? I most certainly wouldn’t mind.

  I set to work, humming a little ditty and threw a bunch of flour, some butter and the rest of the ingredients I’d scrounged up into a bowl. I formed them into beauteous little circles and greased the pan, then set them in the oven to bake. I set the timer on my phone then returned to the futon to lie down and wait for my date.

  Chapter 15

  When I woke, my alarm had long since passed, and the cookies that were supposed to be smelling delicious in fact radiated a violent burning odor. The front door opened, and I heard Michael’s voice call from the foyer.

  “Lacey? Where are you? Is there a fire?” He rushed into the living room looking harried and concerned, his curly hair poking out at odd angles, as if he’d been running his hand through it over and over again.

  I smiled. “I made cookies.”

  “With what?” He looked confused. “I don’t have flour.”

  “What are you talking about?” I stood and showed him to the kitchen. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the stove. “Ooops. I’m really sorry about that smell. I bet that next batch will be much better.” I gestured towards the huge bowl I’d left on the counter, meaning to change it out with the timer that hadn’t gone off. “Stupid cell phone alarms, I’m sure you know how it goes.”

  “But where did you…?” His eyes traveled to the cupboard from where I’d retrieved the flour.

  “Yeah, you goof. You had so much flour I figured you wouldn’t miss a bit in the cookies.” I frowned. “Though it didn’t quite work out how I’d intended, what with the burnt smell and all.”

  Michael stood up, his shoulders rigid. “Oh, that is really sweet of you."

  “I’m sorry! Are you upset? Is it the cookies? I should have asked first. I feel really bad. I could make another batch.”

  “No. It’s fine, really.” He smiled, and a bit of his former, cheerful self beginning to return. “Truthfully, everything is a-okay. This was adorable. Thank you for the effort.”

  He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. I relaxed a bit.

  “Honestly, I’m sorry. Here, I’ll just open this window.” I leaned over and cranked the window open above the sink. A blast of frigid air hit the two of us.

  My phone pinged. It was a message from Meg, and I squinted in an attempt to read it.

  Coming to get you. Haven’t heard from my 6 missed calls…got address from Clay.

  Oh, damn, I thought. I kind of wanted to leave, but I didn’t want to run out on him right when I’d caused a mess.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “But I’d called Meg to come get me when you were gone since I wasn’t sure when you’d be back. She’s on her way over, even though I thought I’d told her I didn’t need a ride. Is it cool if I…”

  I gestured towards the outside and shrugged. “I’d feel really bad making her drive over here and turn around.”

  “Of course, I completely understand. Thanks again for everything. You’re the greatest.” Michael gave me a deep kiss. It was only minutes later when I heard a car pull up outside. I stepped back and grabbed my coat.

  “Thank you for dinner,” I called over my shoulder as I hurried down the path towards Meg’s waiting car. “So sweet of you.”

  “Thank you for coming.” He waved. “I had a great time; I apologize for running out on you.”

  ** **

  The next morning I woke to a droplet of water splashing onto my forehead. I rolled over and waved my hand at the imaginary faucet. Another large pellet of water dropped on the back of my neck. I hunched further under the covers. Only when a steady stream of water trickled into my hair did I roll over and open my eyes.

  “What?” I growled.

  Clay was standing over me. Unfortunately, the view was less than stellar: he was already in his spandex blue biker shorts and Under Armour long sleeve shirt (which was new, and matched Anthony’s exactly). However, it had a different fit on Clay, and his stomach was pressed uncomfortably close to my face. He held a water bottle, its contents currently being squirted onto my head.

  “Gym time,” he said.

  “I’m taking the day off.”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “Go alone.” I pulled the covers under my head. If I thought that would stop the flow of water, I was wrong.

  I burst out of bed. “What’s your problem?”

  “You got me into this monster trainer; you’re not ducking out now.”

  “Here’s an idea.” I poked his spandexed stomach, which was still a bit mushy despite the two days we’d been working out. “Why don’t we both quit. We’re not cut out for it. Give it up.”

  “Not true,” he said. “Plus, you need your car. If you want it, you’re coming with me to the gym. Otherwise, I’m not bringing you to pick it up.”

  He looked oddly determined, something I’d never seen before when the words Clay and Gym were uttered in the same sentence. I sighed. I had already paid for three months. And I was pretty sure Anthony wouldn’t exactly be receptive about giving me a refund.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll come with.”

  “It’ll cheer you up after your shitty date last night.” He walked out of the room.

  I followed, rubbing my eyes. “How did you know about that?”

  After Meg had dropped me off I’d stumbled into my apartment like a zombie and spoken to nobody. I hadn’t even made popcorn.

  Clay kept walking, but I saw his shoulders stiffen, pulling on the spand-i-fabric.

  “Hey, I’m asking you a question – did you talk to Meg?” I asked.

  “She came up to make sure you made it in okay. We had a drink.”

  I smiled at his receding back. I tapped the doorway, deciding if I should comment. I decided against it and turned back into my room to prepare for the mental and physical torture ahead.

  When we walked into the gym, Anthony was waiting at the counter. He was talking with Marge, but they stopped abruptly as we approached, and Marge’s ears turned a slight pinkish color.

  I stuck my hand out for a wristband and looked over my shoulder at Anthony. “We’re not even late.”

  “I heard you drive up.” He nodded through the window, through which we could clearly see Clay’s van parked in two spots. His face was unreadable, as usual. “Nice wheels
.”

  “Hey,” I said, as Clay looked away awkwardly. “You should see the inside. It’s really impressive what he’s done with it.”

  Anthony looked at me, the slightest shadow of surprise reflected on his face. “I meant it. The inside is amazing.”

  “It is.” I crossed my arms. “Wait a minute, how did you-”

  “Let’s go. Get changed.” Anthony surveyed my outfit.

  “I am changed.” I looked down at the yellow sweatshirt I’d been wearing for days and shorts that could’ve passed as pajamas. “I’m comfortable.”

  “I’m gonna use the bathroom,” mumbled Clay, pushing past the two of us.

  Anthony and I stood defiantly with our backs to the counter, neither looking at one another nor speaking. Marge bustled away, as if she didn’t want to intrude on our awkward stare down.

  I heard her fiddling with something in the cooking area behind the desk, but didn’t break eye contact with the chair across the room.

  A moment later, she bustled back out. “Freshly baked cookies, anyone?”

  They smelled delicious, but after the debacle last night, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “But thanks a lot, Marge.”

  Anthony looked at me for the first time. I thought I imagined a flicker of a smile pass across his face, as if he was reading the thoughts flooding my brain.

  He leaned over and snatched a cookie from the tray. I watched out of the corner of my eye, and my stomach growled. I hadn’t got the chance to get my sugar infusion that morning, yet.

  Now, there was no mistaking his smile.

  “Cookie?” He stuck his arm out. “I promise they’re not burned.”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but Clay waddled from the bathroom and I didn’t want to have this conversation in front of him. I ate the cookie. I also grabbed a second and third one for the road.

  I settled for a steely glare throughout the entire workout.

  Then when Anthony added an extra five pounds to my bench press, the stream of expletives that left my mouth caused him to raise an eyebrow. Clay looked mortified; his entire face was the shade of a beet – something I’ve never eaten, only looked upon in disgust.

  And when he cranked my treadmill up an extra notch, I stood on the sides and let it run underneath me, my feet safely planted on the non-moving parts, refusing to put up with his punishing workout.

  Anthony eyed me. All he said was, “Cookies.”

  I looked down at my stomach and hoped to see a six pack of abs, so that I could laugh at his face. But, I didn’t. I stepped back on the treadmill.

  Finally, we wrapped up for the day, and Clay went to rinse off.

  I rounded on Anthony. “What the hell do you know about my dating life? And why are you so interested?”

  He didn’t move a muscle. He was so nonplussed; it notched my anger up another level.

  “Huh? Have you been following me?” I asked. I poked his rock hard chest. If he weren’t my crazy gym trainer and maybe stalker, I would’ve thought he was quite attractive. And I would have never talked to him like this. But getting him into bed was (almost) the furthest thing from my mind.

  “You know I could have you arrested for that!” I said, following him as he walked back towards the front desk, maybe to wait for his next client. “I could call the cops on you.”

  I wasn’t expecting him to whirl around and stare me down with his dark, mysterious eyes. He thoroughly looked me up and down, and while I expected to feel violated by his studious gaze, instead my body shivered with an excited thrill. “Yeah, but you won’t.”

  ** **

  I’d missed a call from Carlos during the workout, along with six from Auntie Nora and a combination call with Nora yelling at Carlos in the background to ‘have anotha scoop of gravy.’ Then, there was a last one that was just a few huffy breaths followed by a click, which could have been either of them trying to figure out how to properly dial the phone.

  The jumbled messages all suggested the same thing: it’d been too long since I’d been over to eat. Come for lunch. Now. I sighed, thinking that I’d already seen Carlos for breakfast recently and would see him tomorrow. Were they trying to get me fat?

  Promising Clay that I’d do the dishes for a week, he grudgingly agreed to drop me at my car and come with to lunch. My little Kia was right where I’d left it after the cookie disaster of the previous evening. I refused to look towards Michael’s house (except once, and I saw nothing), as I got in my car and vroomed away.

  I pulled into the driveway of Nora and Carlos’ estate and parked behind Clay’s creep-van. Our two cars were extremely successful at creating an eyesore in the driveway, especially next to Carlos’ spiffy Lamborghini shining brightly next to them. I knocked on the door. Clay shot daggers at me with his eyes. I looked down. I realized neither of us had changed – and while it wasn’t exactly tragic in my case, just slob-worthy, Clay’s blue biker shorts weren’t exactly ‘Family’ material.

  “Go change,” I hissed.

  “No.” He crossed his arms defiantly.

  “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

  “I can wear whatever I want. Are you ashamed of my body?” He smirked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. But you’re asking for this one.”

  Harold whisked the door open. “Buongiorno-no-nooo no. No. No.”

  Harold shook his head back and forth. “Have you two showered in the past week? The smell is incredible.”

  “Well, it was a last minute invitation,” I offered.

  Harold smiled at Clay, who returned the grin. “Good to see you, Clay, it’s been awhile.”

  “Same to you, Mr. Harold.” Clay shook Harold’s hand. They’d always gotten along. Harold was a sweet soul, and it was hard for anyone to dislike him.

  “I think your attire is rather fabulous, but I’m not sure that Carlos will agree,” Harold said honestly.

  “Carlos and I have… come to an agreement. But thanks for watching my back.” Clay winked.

  Harold bowed deeply. “Anytime.”

  I idly wondered if their ‘agreement’ had anything to do with Clay’s ability to move Family money around and make it vanish faster than a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie within my arm’s reach.

  Harold gestured us in and we escaped a brutal pat down, due to the fact that the guards on duty were seasoned veterans this time around. Either that, or Clay’s body was on full display – no patting necessary.

  “Carlos is in the kitchen,” Vittorio said. He was one of the older ones, his hair on the verge of turning gray, but not quite there. He was buffer than most college football players, however, and eight times as smart.

  “Thanks, Vitto.” I smiled, and Clay and I tramped down the hallway towards the aroma of bubbling pasta sauce.

  Auntie Nora opened the revolving kitchen door, enveloping me in a huge squeeze. When she released me and turned to Clay, her gaze faltered as her eyes took in his uber-tight workout clothes. “Oh, dear, do you need to use the restroom before supper? I have an extra pair of pants, if you’d like in the closet. Carlos’ old ones.”

  “Nah, I’m comfy.” Clay gave a solid nod.

  “Oh, dear. Okay, then. Come on in,” she gave a weak smile. However, as Clay stepped over the rug she hugged him just as tightly as she had me. Just, a little off to the side and one-armed, avoiding a full-frontal hug. I didn’t exactly blame her. She closed her eyes as she hugged him, as if it might be the last time she saw him alive.

  Which, it very well could be when Carlos saw his attire.

  “We’re just sitting down to supper. I cooked plenty of meatballs. Clay, I hope there’s enough to keep you full – I hadn’t known you were coming.” Nora ushered us into the dining room.

  “It’s no problem, I appreciate it. I always love stopping in,” Clay said wryly, hanging one arm over Nora’s shoulder.

  Carlos looked up from his seat at the head of the table. He opened his mouth as if chewing a meatbal
l, though there was no food on the table. His eyes flicked between the three of us, who I’m sure were looking as guilty as robbers caught red-handed.

  “Sit. Mangiamo,” he declared in Italian. We eat.

  I caught Auntie Nora’s eye and there was a second of bewildered eye contact. Since when did Carlos not have a smart comment about Clay? Maybe what they said was true: people did change.

  Then I looked at Carlos, and I realized I was being stupid – Carlos would never change. I idly wondered what favor he needed from Clay this time around. Either that, Carlos was really scared of his grandson.

  Nora plied us with heaps of wine, pasta and meatballs. As we dug in, Carlos asked about my progress on the case.

  “It’s good,” I said. “Got some new information.”

  I filled him in on my newest conclusions. It was the first time Clay had heard any of them, but he didn’t look phased. He kept his head in his spaghetti and noodles in his mouth.

  Carlos gave one slow nod afterwards. Nora gave me another scoop. I pushed my plate away.

  “How’d you figure this out? Who’d you talk to?” He eyed me closer than I liked.

  “A friend,” I said vaguely. “Nobody you know.”

  “Then I don’t trust him.”

  “You can trust him, Sir. Its good information, isn’t it?”

  Carlos grunted. “Why’d you take two cars today?”

  I glanced at Clay, who seemed in the middle of a huge gulp of wine. “Uh, just coming from different places. I called him last minute.”

  “If you’re not coming from the gym, then why are you still in your pajamas? And if he’s not coming from the gym-” Carlos nodded to Clay, “then why the hell is he wearing those hideous pants?”

  I looked at Clay, who said nothing. I looked to Carlos, but realized I didn’t have anything either.

  “You stayed at a boy’s place last night,” Carlos said accusingly.

  “Not exactly,” I clarified. “I’d call him a man. And I didn’t sleep there, either.”

  Carlos glared angrily at me. “Don’t tell me he’s your source of information.”

  His voice was cool and threatening. I’d have almost preferred for him to snap and yell at me.