by Gina LaManna
Meg raised her hand when she got no response to her first question. “Ciao.”
Immediately, rapid-fire Italian swallowed her. She beamed in the attention.
“No, this one is the blushing bride,” Nora said, massaging my shoulders like a boxing coach. “Have a seat, Lace.”
I sat next to Meg, bombarded by questions I couldn’t understand. “What did she say?” I leaned over to Nora, who was interpreting just as fast as she could.
“She asked when you’re having kids.” Nora looked expectantly up at me.
“She didn’t ask that.”
“Maybe not, but I am.”
Twenty minutes later, I needed a break. I’d downed two cappuccinos, and the jitters were hitting me. I debated ordering a third, if only to give me a chance to breathe between the questions.
When Nora pulled out her phone to show off a picture of Anthony to the ogling ladies, I yanked Meg to her feet. “I need to talk to you. Over here.”
We slipped out the back door and into the alley. A smoker stood at the other end. He left when Meg gave him a finger wave.
“I can’t go back in there!” I paced up and down a line of garbage cans. “It’s this exact thing that has made Anthony and me procrastinate on setting an actual wedding date. Why can’t they just leave us alone?”
“They’re doing it out of love, Lace. Nora is happy for you. Me too, believe it or not.”
“Yeah, but you’re not talking about it every second. Lately, the minute I step foot inside the estate Nora is chasing me down with a bread knife or shoving cake samples in my mouth.”
“I thought you liked cake.”
“I do, but not shoved down my throat,” I said. “Usually.”
“Let us eat cake,” Meg said. “I think that’s a quote from the Bible.”
“Nope,” I said. “It’s not.”
“Ah, well…I don’t know what to tell you then. Have you talked to her about it?”
I rubbed a hand across my forehead. “I’m not sure it would help anything.”
“Did Nora really chase you with a knife?”
“I can’t remember,” I said. “I might’ve dreamed that part. But still…it’s too much. It’s claustrophobic. I don’t want a huge wedding. In fact, I don’t know if I want to invite anyone at all.”
“Well you have to invite one person.”
“Anthony, I know.”
“No, me,” Meg said. “I couldn’t care less if Anthony shows.”
I smiled. “Of course. But I just meant everyone else. If I invite one family member…I’ve gotta invite them all.”
“Listen, I’m going to take care of you from here on out,” Meg said. “If anyone wants to talk to you about getting married, they can talk to my favorite friends first.”
“Put Punchy and Squeezy away,” I said, resting a hand on Meg’s fists as she brought them into a ready stance. “I appreciate it, but I’m not asking for violence. I just wish they could be patient, or…I don’t know, quieter.”
“Just run away and get married! Then people will stop asking.”
I considered it for a moment. Truthfully, it wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed my mind. The idea was almost freeing. “I don’t know.”
“I’m not saying you should, I’m just saying that it’s an option. If you’re not happy about it, change something. It’s your own wedding, for crying out loud. Don’t let it just happen to you.”
“Holy cow, you’re right.” I crossed my arms and looked up at Meg. “You’re actually right!”
“I’m always right, so this shouldn’t be a surprise.”
“You just gave me an epiphany! Anthony and I can make our wedding exactly how we want it.”
“About that epiphany…don’t you need medicine for that? I’ve heard of it happening before. It’s a silent killer.”
“You’re thinking aneurysm.” I uncrossed my arms and pulled my phone from my pocket. “Do you mind if I give Anthony a quick call?”
“It’s a good idea,” Meg said. “I was just about to suggest it myself.”
“You were?”
“Well, yeah. He always makes you feel better,” she said. “That’s why I gave him permission to marry you. So he can be responsible for all the cheering up—I’m officially passing the torch. Anyway, I need a donut after that epiphany. While you talk, I’m gonna get me two of them, and I’ll save half for you.”
I gave Meg a thumbs-up and dialed Anthony. I briefly debated mentioning the note I’d found taped to the back of our door, but I was spared a decision because he didn’t answer. I hadn’t prepared for this scenario, and since I didn’t have much time to make up a clever message, I said exactly what was on my mind. “How do you feel about eloping?”
Then I hung up, still trying to decide if I’d been joking.
Chapter 8
The room was quiet. Suspiciously quiet.
I’d returned five minutes ago to the table, and not a single woman had said a word. Meg chomped obliviously on her second brioche.
“Saved you a bite,” she said. “It’s delish.”
She plunked a partial croissant, dusted with powder and oozing with warm chocolate, onto my plate. It smelled heavenly enough that I didn’t even mind the bite marks. I polished off the croissant, then looked around the table, finally breaking the silence. “Is everything okay?”
“We’re respecting your privacy,” Nora whispered. “Just like Meg asked us to do.”
“Speaking of psychic,” Meg said, pretending she hadn’t heard Nora, “anyone want me to read their espresso grinds? Or their palms? I’m on a roll lately. Last month I predicted that Lacey and Anthony would get married.”
“We were already engaged by then,” I said.
“I’m one hundred percent accurate,” Meg said, turning her attention to the group. “Anyone?”
A woman with reddish hair shaped into a helmet over her head raised a hand. “My future?”
“Bring it here, sister.” As Meg dived into her psychic reading, Nora began a side conversation with the woman nearest her.
I chose to eavesdrop on the latter. Nora’s friend—black hair, silver jewelry, and eyes like a lion—was a little intimidating. My grandmother thumbed at me. “She’s working on the case, you know. She’s kind of a big deal.”
The woman responded in Italian, which made me think she understood English, but preferred not to speak it.
“Interesting.” Nora nodded, then turned to me. “Monica said that the authorities believe the thief is a woman. Can you believe that? They’ve dubbed her the Kitty Kat Burglar.”
“Really?” My eyes widened. “How does she know?”
“She has contacts in the police,” Nora said. “Her husband is a powerful politician here in Milan, and Monica is very involved in everything—politics, fashion, charity—you name it.”
“What makes them think it was a female?”
Nora translated my question to Monica.
This time, however, Monica answered herself, in perfectly crisp English. A trace of an accent twisted her vowels into a sing-song-ish melody. “They believe it’s a woman because of her methods. There have been no signs of forced entry, no guns involved, nothing except finesse.”
The crunch of glass tinkled in the back of my mind, a thought niggling, fighting to get out. I wondered briefly about The Violet Society, if they allowed women into their ranks.
“Finesse is generally a lady’s game,” Monica said. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Finesse?” Nora laughed. “Lacey?” Then she caught me staring and looked into her empty mug. “Of course she does. Lacey is full of finesse.”
I hardly noticed the conversation because finally, the thought that’d been rattling in the back of my brain broke free. “Do you know how the thief was breaking into the glass cases?” I asked Monica.
“No, I don’t know anything about the details,” she said. “Just what I hear from my husband’s friends.”
The crunc
h of glass had jarred something in my memory. Alessandra’s heel, slicing through glass like it was butter. Something about her stiletto was off. Normal shoes didn’t crush glass like that—at least not the thick, reinforced stuff found in the showroom.
“I need to go,” I said, standing. The women extended hands, hugs, and kisses, while I pecked as many wrinkled cheeks as I could before slipping away from the crowd. “Thank you all for your help.”
“You’re welcome,” Monica said, responding for the group. Her dark eyes swept over my sundress. “And Lacey, I’d advise you to be careful. If my husband’s contacts are to be believed, which I trust they are, the thief is just getting started.”
“Those are some nice ol’ ladies,” Meg said, once we were outside. “That Monica gives me the willies a little, but I think it’s because of her eyes.”
“She was just trying to help,” I said. “Let’s visit Chad. I have to ask him some questions. After that, we need to find Alessandra.” I dropped my voice, whispering my theory about her stilettos being a possible break-in tool to Meg. “What if she’s the burglar, and she returned to the scene of the crime?”
Meg snapped her fingers. “I should’ve seen that one coming a mile away! Nobody’s that nice for no reason at all. Though her coffee shop didn’t sound like a bad idea.”
“Later,” I said. “Let’s find ourselves a Kitty Kat.”
Chapter 9
“It’s not Chad,” drawled a man in a thick accent. “It’s The Chad.”
“That’s cool,” Meg said. “I’m just Meg. Like Chanel. Or Dior.”
“Well, I’m The Chad.”
“Then never mind, I’m The Meg.”
“Nice to meet you, The Chad,” I said. I’d read an article on the way over here that said he was from Florida. He had glowing skin and highlighted hair, and looked like a retired member of a boy band. “I’m Lacey, plain old Lacey Luzzi, and I am working for Lizabeth Harriet Morgan the Third.” I cleared my throat after all the names. “I hear you recently experienced a burglary.”
“You’re the girl Lucas called about.” He ran a hand over his chin, analyzing my body like he might a test tube. “Well, you must be because you’re certainly not a model.”
“You’re right, I’m not,” I agreed. “Can we ask you a few questions?”
“Do you work for any big papers?”
“No,” I said, sensing his disappointment. “Is that a deal breaker?”
He flicked his wrist at me in annoyance. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but let’s hurry it up. I’ve already spoken with the press and the police, so I doubt I’ll be able to tell you anything new.”
I got the sense that The Chad had a habit of basking in media attention, judging by how quickly he’d dismissed me as a nobody. I wouldn’t be surprised if he enjoyed being included in a scandal this huge. He must have had a field day with the police and reporters swarming his shop.
I pulled out my notebook. “On the day the watch was stolen, did you notice anyone new or suspicious hanging around the store?”
“I always have new people coming in to look at my jewelry. I don’t remember any one person in particular.”
“I understand you have a security guard?”
The Chad rolled his eyes. “Had one. Fired him the next day.”
“Could I get his name?”
“Nino Grasso. Talk to him if you want, but he didn’t see nothing—hence the reason I fired him, the worthless toad.”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“He gets a slice of pizza at three p.m. at the stand down the street. Like clockwork. He’d notice a missing pepperoni on his slice, but he couldn’t hear someone breaking into my store?” The Chad took a few breaths to calm down, his face turning from red to orange as he paused, breathed, sweated a little bit, and then resumed speaking. “Anyway, Nino says he saw nothing. I saw nothing. We have no video footage, eyewitnesses, or prints, according to the cops.”
“I’ve heard rumors the thief might be a woman,” I said. “Any thoughts on that?”
He scoffed, crossing his arms and laughing, until he realized that nobody was laughing back. He coughed, backtracking at the expression on Meg’s face. “I suppose it could be, but seriously? A woman? Robbing me?”
Meg’s lips curled like a rabid raccoon. “You don’t think a woman has incentive to steal from you? I can give you a few reasons. Are you ready? You might need a pen to write these down because I could go all day—”
“Meg, Meg, Meg!” I got through to her on the fourth try by pinching a hunk of her skin just above her chest. “Stop!”
“Ow.” Meg looked down at her boobs. “That’s sensitive territory, girlfriend.”
“Clipboard,” I said to The Chad. “The day the cops came here to investigate your missing jewelry, do you remember seeing a woman walking around with a clipboard?”
“Lady, I don’t know! Everyone in here was carrying a notebook or talking on a phone or asking me questions. I’ve got no clue.”
“The girl I’m thinking of is pretty—really pretty. You would’ve remembered her. Long brown hair, an inch or two taller than me, probably wearing stilettos.”
The Chad’s brow furrowed with intense concentration. “I would’ve remembered someone like that. Definitely would’ve remembered someone by that description. Sorry, it’s not ringing any bells.”
“She speaks two languages,” I said. “English and Italian.”
Meg shook her head, and then widened her hands. “Her butt was about this big.”
I frowned, about to chastise Meg when The Chad’s eyes lit up like a firecracker. “I remember her!” he gasped in recognition. “She was a real beauty, but she told me she didn’t speak English.”
“She was pretending,” Meg said. “Sorry. She just didn’t want to let you down.”
The Chad swore. “I knew it.”
“It’s a good thing I speak man.” Meg shot a smug expression in my direction. “You’re welcome for the clue.”
“Do you know her name?” I asked The Chad, but he was too busy staring off into space, probably visualizing Alessandra. “Hello? The Chad, I’m talking to you. Do you remember anything other than her measurements?”
He shook his head, a slight reddish tinge tinting his cheeks. “Sorry. Not really.”
I bit back a groan and rushed through my last questions. I was starting to smell like coconut from standing too close to his self-tanner. “This woman told me that she was an assistant. Do you know who she works for?”
He gave me a blank stare.
“Right,” I said. “Well, thanks for your time. We’ll keep you posted if we hear anything.”
“You’ll get my jewelry back?” He followed us to the door, leaning against the frame and not bothering to lift his eyes from our behinds as we walked away. “Maybe I can get you into a fashion show or something if you can bring me back my watch.”
“If his IQ were ten points higher, I’d wonder if he hadn’t pulled off the thefts himself, for publicity’s sake,” Meg said as we walked away. “But he’s about as discreet as a cowbell.”
“The very same thought crossed my mind,” I said. “But we did learn that Alessandra was here and she…well, she’s the one I’m worried about. Let’s find out if she was at Leslie’s on the day of her break-in.”
“I need a scoop of gelato on the way, maybe a slice of pizza topped with focaccia.”
“What about your diet?”
“Maybe I’ll add a nice salad on the side.”
“We don’t have time for a salad, we have to meet Angelica first for self-defense before we go see Leslie. It’s almost three.”
“Fine, then I’ll get a pizza with spinach on top and we can pretend it’s a salad.”
Chapter 10
It’s impossible to eat pizza in Italy without having a glass of the house wine with it. Which is why we didn’t argue with the waiter when he suggested a carafe of local vino. We left the little restaurant full o
f pizza, happy from wine, and primed for kung fu.
“Angelica won’t know what hit her.” Meg spun her way onto the main street, threw a few punches into the air, and then resumed walking like nothing had happened.
“Just basic self-defense,” I said. “Nothing fancy. She doesn’t have to become a black belt in thirty minutes. That’s what we’re for.”
“You’re a black belt?”
“No, but—”
“I was almost a black belt, but I retired when I got my yellow belt.”
“Isn’t that the first or second level?”
“Yeah, but I figured if I could already break bricks, what could a master teach me?” Meg shrugged. “I figured I might as well just go on my way and crush bricks.”
“Well, we don’t need to crush bricks today. Better to just get a feel for the runway. We can’t scare Lizabeth’s models away.”
Meg didn’t listen, karate-kicking her way past Prada, McDonald’s, and the other fancy stores until she spotted Angelica waiting for us in the middle of the room.
Meg flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Ready for your lesson?”
Angelica puffed on a cigarette. “Lizabeth paid me extra to come here today. Flat rate, so let’s get it over with, soon as possible, please.”
“First, smoking is bad for your health.” Meg reached out, swiped the cigarette, then rested it between her own lips. “I’ll hang onto this for you.”
I took the cigarette from Meg’s mouth, extinguished it, and dispensed of it. “No smoking today. Angelica, we’ll try to keep this brief. Can you walk us through a trial run? Where will the runways be set up?”
Angelica rolled her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. Eventually, she took a step back and gestured up and down the hallways. “For Milan Fashion Week, they use the natural beauty of the city and set up as many shows outside as possible. The largest runway will be set up here, through the Galleria, with the second largest just outside in the D’uomo piazza.”
I scanned the room, but there were no signs of a runway anywhere. “The show is tomorrow.”