"There's no one here," my father protested, but Ralph ignored him and opened the screen door that led into my parents' backyard. Dad turned back to me. "Your grandmother is next door at Nicoletta's, and your mother is upstairs taking a nap. Where does he think this person is hiding—on the roof? Some security. Yeah, I'll bet you feel safe, huh?"
"Come on, Dad. Ralph's only trying to do what he was hired for." I took a step in the direction of the living room. "How's the blog going?"
He puffed out his chest with pride. "I made a new post this morning, and it's already got over a thousand hits. I've called it 'Weddings and Funerals—They're All the Same.'"
"Gee, thanks for that, Dad."
He lowered his eyes to the floor. "Oops. I forgot about that, bella donna."
Okay, time to lie again. "Well, I'd still love to read your latest post, Dad. Is your computer opened up to your blog page?"
My father's face brightened. "Sure is. Take all the time you want. I'm going upstairs to take a shower." He rose from his seat and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Your mother canceled the reception for the country club this morning. She was real upset about it too."
"Mike and I will pay you back," I insisted.
He waved his hand in the air. "No worries. Besides, they had a last minute request for a graduation party. Guess the people waited too long to plan the darn thing and asked to be put on a waiting list if anything came up. So it looks like we won't lose much money after all."
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, I'm so glad."
We walked out into the living room together. "You take your time and enjoy the post, baby girl. Maybe I could come to the bakery sometime and give a talk to your customers. I am famous now, after all."
"Um, I'll mention it to Josie." Yeah, like that was going to happen.
He started up the stairs, whistling, while I sat down in his office chair and stared at his blog. According to the information on the side of the page, he had 989 followers. There were tiny pictures of these people in the corner, and they looked like respectable, normal individuals. What gives? A few morticians had posted entries asking my father if he was accepting paid advertisements for the blog. Yes, it appeared that my father and his infamous death blog were a hit. Has the entire world gone mad?
I clicked the button to publish a new post and stared at the screen, my fingers poised on the keyboard. What the heck could I say to attract the attention of a possible killer?
I glanced at my father's previous post from this morning and winced. Weddings and funerals are the two most popular events you will ever see your loved ones at. There's a wedding in my future this weekend. At least I hope there still is.
Ugh. Seriously, what was the matter with both of my parents? Why could they not keep anything a freaking secret? Yes, they meant well. They truly did. Perhaps they didn't understand how serious the circumstance was. My father had suggested that maybe someone had shot at Josie because she'd been rude to them in the bakery. He also thought that the messages on his blog might have been from someone playing a bad joke. My mother was probably upstairs crying because I wouldn't be able to show my wedding gown off to 200 people on Saturday. They just didn't get it.
I sighed in frustration and tried to get into my father's unique mind-set, which was not an easy task. Then all of a sudden, my fingers began to fly.
Hey, readers. Father Death here. Some special news to share. As I said earlier, there's a wedding in my near future. My daughter is getting married on Saturday. I'm all excited about the good food I'm going to eat, especially that delicious wedding cake. Well, I hope there will be wedding cake. My daughter owns a bakery, and her coworker was supposed to make the cake, but now she's ill, so my poor girl has to stay late tonight to make it herself. Can you believe it? What do you think? Is it bad luck for her to make her own cake? Yes or no?
My fingers were shaking so badly that I had to stop and correct a few misspelled words before I plodded on.
My family is expected at a viewing tonight for an old friend. Like I said, those weddings and funerals go hand in hand! My daughter has to miss it. I offered to pick her up at 8:00, but she said she'll only be getting started about then. The poor thing will be working all night, and alone too! Her fiancé won't even be around because he'll be finishing a job across town. What do you think? Wouldn't you rather go to a viewing than make a cake?
Okay, it was risky, and to me it sounded like a really idiotic post. My stalker might not fall for this scheme, but it was all that I had.
I held my breath and hit send. A tiny message popped up that said Your post has been published.
"What the heck are you doing?"
I must have jumped about three feet in the air. Startled, I turned around to see Gianna standing there watching me, hands on hips.
"Hey." My hands were shaking violently, and I noticed her looking down at them. "Ah, I was reading Dad's posts. When did you come in? What are you doing here? No work today?"
"I took today and tomorrow off because of the wedding and to move my stuff into the apartment," she said. "I pulled into the driveway, and your bodyguard was all over me. He wouldn't let me walk into the house until I had identified myself."
It was impossible for me to look her in the eyes. Gianna always knew when I was lying, so I was done for. Call it a sister's intuition, or perhaps it was one of those things that made her an excellent attorney. Unlike my parents, she could not be fooled easily. I started to close the laptop, but she placed her hand over mine. "Not so fast, Sal."
"Let's go out into the kitchen and have some zucchini bread." Hey, it was worth a shot.
Gianna refused to loosen her grip. "I came in through the kitchen. You were so wrapped up in whatever you were typing that you didn't even hear me." She narrowed her eyes. "Level with me. What's going on?"
"I told you. I was reading Dad's blog. That's all."
She snickered. "Give it up, girl. I know you too well."
Defeated, I let go of the laptop. "Okay, but you can't tell anyone. I'm trying to set a trap for the killer."
Gianna leaned over my shoulder and read the post, which already had a few comments, much to my surprise.
Her jaw dropped. "Are you nuts? This is not a game. Someone is trying to kill you."
"Don't you think I know that?" I snapped. "They shot Josie, and I won't let them continue to hurt people I care about. No more living my life in fear. This maniac will be stopped and by me, if necessary."
Gianna's lovely face was pale. "No. Let the police catch them. This is far too dangerous."
"It may not even work," I said. "Do you honestly think they'd fall for it? I may need to come up with something else."
She glanced through the responses that were popping up on the screen. "No way. People are actually replying to this dumb thing."
"Apparently our father is good at what he does," I said.
Gianna kept staring at the screen in disbelief. "I don't get it. These people need a hobby, like checkers or needlepoint."
We started reading the responses that were pouring in. Most were well wishes for me. One suggested we have death by chocolate cake. Another recommended that we get married in a funeral home.
"Cripes," Gianna muttered. "These people are twisted. They're like—Dad!"
At that moment a new message popped up on the page under the title Miscellaneous. My heart stuttered in my chest as I read the one-line post.
I hope her wedding dress is black so she can be buried in it.
A chill spread from the top of my spine to my toes in a matter of seconds. "Well, it looks like they've seen the post. The question is—did they fall for it?"
"There's no way I'm going to let you do this by yourself," Gianna announced.
"What you do?" a voice called out.
We both let out a small squeak and turned around. Grandma Rosa and Mrs. Gavelli were standing in the doorway of the living room, watching us.
"N-nothing," Gianna stammered. "I'm going to help Sal finish
making the wedding cake."
Grandma Rosa looked sharply from me to Gianna but said nothing.
"Hmmph," Mrs. Gavelli snorted and shook her fist at me. "It bad luck to make your own cake. And I hear you have enough of that lately, missy."
"Come," Grandma Rosa said. "We will go into the kitchen for zucchini bread."
"None for me," Mrs. Gavelli announced as Gianna and I followed them into the kitchen. "I see your car, so I come over special." She placed a fortune cookie in my hand. "You need this more. No one want to kill me."
Grandma Rosa wiggled her hand back and forth. "I do not know about that. Some days, maybe yes."
Mrs. Gavelli shot my grandmother a dirty look then turned to me. "You open. Now."
Cripes. "Where did this come from?" I asked.
"Johnny get them from your shop the other day," Mrs. Gavelli announced. "When I hear a person want you dead, I save one for you. It tell you what to do."
This was all I needed. "Thanks, but you keep it, Mrs. G."
"You no argue with me," she grunted.
With a sigh I snapped the cookie in two and nearly fell over when I read the message.
Things might not always go as you planned, but they'll always end up as they should.
Gianna read the message over my shoulder and spoke low in my ear. "You are so not going alone."
Great. What the heck did this mean—that I'd wind up dead instead? "These fortunes are silly." I flung the message into the garbage and hoped no one could hear my heart thundering inside my chest.
Mrs. Gavelli nodded. "See? Now maybe you make sure I always get good fortunes." She came closer and grabbed my face between her hands. "You be good girl, and be careful. And make sure you no wear white on Saturday."
"Nicoletta," Grandma Rosa growled. "I think it is time for your nap."
Mrs. Gavelli scowled. "What, I a child now?"
"Yes" Grandma Rosa said. "The doctor said you need to rest."
"I rest when I dead."
"Okay," Grandma Rosa agreed. "That can be arranged."
Mrs. Gavelli slammed the screen door behind her in fury. "I get you for that, Rosa!"
"And your little dog too," Gianna mumbled.
Grandma Rosa watched Mrs. Gavelli stomping toward her house and then turned to face us. "You two are planning something, and I am afraid that it is dangerous."
Gianna and I exchanged a look. How did she always know these things?
"Everything's fine, Grandma," I said. "I am worried about Mom, though. How's she doing?"
Grandma Rosa gave me a suspicious look that let me know I wasn't fooling her. "Your mama," she sighed. "Even when she was a little girl, I knew that there was something not right about her. She liked to play dress up all the time and carry on with the baby dolls. It was all she thought about then."
"What does that have to do with her acting like a psychotic mother-of-the-bride?" Gianna asked.
Grandma Rosa went to the doorway, peered into the living room and toward the staircase. When she was assured that my parents were nowhere in sight, she settled herself at the kitchen table and gestured for us to sit as well. "She canceled the country club after what happened to Josie last night. Your mama was crying when she talked to the manager."
The color rose in Gianna's cheeks. "She should be ashamed of herself. It's Sal's day, not hers."
Grandma Rosa wagged a finger in Gianna's face. "I know your mama is a nutsy cookie, but she has her reasons for what she does. Once upon a time, she wanted a big wedding."
"But they eloped," Gianna said calmly. "She told us that before."
Grandma Rosa folded her hands on the table in front of her. "Yes, but she did not tell you why they eloped. I had a talk with your mama last night. I told her the time had come and that you both needed to know the truth."
Gianna and I exchanged confused glances.
I wasn't sure how much more I could handle at this moment. "Grandma, please tell us what's going on."
She gave me a somber look. "Your mama was pregnant when your parents got married."
Gianna stared from Grandma Rosa to me with unabashed curiosity. My face immediately heated, and I pointed a trembling finger at my chest. "Me? I was the reason?"
I'd seen my parents' marriage certificate before, and of course I remembered the date and year. For a moment it felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.
"Oh my God!" I shrieked. "They lied about my age. How old am I really? That would make me, what, thirty-one?" Mike would get a kick out of it when I told him he was marrying an older woman, but I didn't find this amusing. I had aged two years in a matter of minutes!
Grandma Rosa smiled sadly. "No, cara mia. The baby I mentioned was not you. Your mama was pregnant with your brother."
We both stared at her in frozen fascination.
"What brother?" Gianna asked, and then she sucked in some air.
The realization hit me at the same moment, like a sledgehammer between the eyes.
"You had a brother," Grandma Rosa said again, her large brown eyes somber. "We believe that he died during labor. He was stillborn."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The expression in Gianna's eyes was pure horror and must have mirrored my own. I let out a sharp cry while she covered her mouth with both hands. Tears started to fall from my eyes and blurred my vision. Grandma Rosa calmly handed us each a paper napkin.
Gianna sobbed into hers. "I can't believe Mom never told us."
Grandma Rosa kissed her on the top of her head. "It was a big mess back then. Your grandfather—rest his soul—never did like your papa, and this only made things much worse."
"Go on," I urged.
"Anyhow, your mama was twenty-one when she met your papa who was thirty-four, a big age difference back then. When your grandfather learned that she was pregnant, he wanted to kill your papa. He refused to have anything to do with either of them for many years." Grandma Rosa snorted. "The old fool was so stubborn that he made my blood toil."
"It's boil, Grandma," Gianna sighed.
"Whatever. There was no time for a big wedding, and your grandfather would never have paid for one, even if we had had any extra money. Your mama always dreamed of an elegant affair, but she did not have a choice in the matter. So they were married at city hall."
Which explained why she was against me doing the same thing.
"I was the only one in attendance. Although your papa and I do not always get along, he loves your mama and has been very good to her." Grandma Rosa patted my hand gently. "You remind me of your mama, cara mia. She could not wait to have children. She was so excited about the baby coming. He was born two months early. I got to see him at birth—a beautiful boy—perfect, in fact. The doctor could not explain what went wrong. Your mama blamed herself and could not deal with his death, so we never talked about it after that. She would not allow it. She was very depressed for a long time, until you were born, my dear."
I blew my nose into the napkin. My heart ached for my mother. I couldn't even comprehend how horrible this must have been for her. This was why I tried to never judge people. Someone might act rude or mean, but my philosophy was to take it with a grain of salt because you never knew what trauma that person might be dealing with in life. Take Mrs. Gavelli, who'd never gotten over the death of her daughter, Sophia. My grandmother had once told me that I looked like Sophia, and that was the reason why Mrs. Gavelli acted nasty to me sometimes—in some odd way she thought she was protecting me and really did care about my welfare.
Gianna's face was full of misery. I knew my sister well enough to realize that guilt was threatening to consume her.
"I need to talk to Mom." Her face was streaked with tears. "I want to tell her how sorry I am. I've been so mean to her lately."
"No," Grandma Rosa said sharply. "You will not speak of it. When you see her later, give her a nice hug. That is all. I told her I would tell you both what had happened but promised that you would not talk about it to her."
&nbs
p; "That isn't healthy though," Gianna remarked. "Mom's been carrying this around inside for so many years and is most likely still blaming herself. She needs to rid herself of those feelings."
Grandma Rosa shook her head. "Ah, my dear girl, you do not understand. Everyone has a different manner in which they cope with sorrow. This is what works for your mama—and always has. Do not try to take that away from her." She paused as if groping for the right words. "Your mama has never been able to deal with bad things in her life. She is fragile—like those stilts she likes to wear all the time."
Gianna smiled. "They're called stilettos, Grandma."
Grandma Rosa nodded as she rose to her feet. "I like that too. Is Johnny not helping you move today?"
Gianna shook her head. "He's in Syracuse at a conference for history professors. I'll probably see him later tonight."
"Maybe Johnny should stay at the apartment with you while we're away," I said. "I don't like the idea of you being in the building by yourself." I wondered if we could hire Ralph to watch over my family while we were gone. When I got home that night I'd talk to Mike about it.
Gianna grinned. "We'd have to say Johnny's staying with a friend. If Mrs. Gavelli found out her grandson was crashing with me, she'd go nutsy cookie, like Grandma says."
We all laughed as I dangled my car keys. "Do you want to come with me to drop off some of your things? I'm on my way over now."
"Do you need help running the bakery today?" Gianna asked.
I shook my head. "My plan is to stay open for a few hours, get things in order, and then close down until after my honeymoon. Josie can't work, so there's no other way."
Grandma Rosa eyed me suspiciously. "Perhaps you plan on it staying closed permanently."
Cripes. How did she always know these things? "Did Mike tell you something?"
She shook her head. "He did not have to. I know how much he loves you. Mike would never let you come back here if he thought you were still in danger after the honeymoon. I would miss you terribly, but your safety must come first." She clapped her hands. "Okay, you two should leave now."
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