by Gina LaManna
Carlos reached toward the nearest bookshelf and pulled out a well-worn novel. “The Godfather,” he began. “By Mario Puzo.”
I rolled my eyes, sat back, and waited for Nora’s clock to countdown on Carlos’s obligation. We were twelve minutes into the tale and many sips of Carlos’s limoncello when an interruption clattered through the door.
Carlos took advantage of the distraction and, in one motion, downed his limoncello, reshelved the book, and vanished to the hallway.
“Hello, people,” Meg said, her sharp eyes catching Carlos’s quick retreat. “Carlos! BFF! Where are you going?! I wanted to give you a good squeezing hug hello.”
“He’s in a mood,” Nora said. “I think we’ll let him relax in front of the television for the rest of the night.”
“Good idea,” I said, patting my stomach. “In fact, I should be heading home and doing the same thing.”
“Actually, I really need Carlos’s advice,” Meg said. “Something’s come up.”
I eased myself back into the chair. “This can’t be good.”
“Patty’s smashed.”
“Who’s Patty?” Nora frowned. “And why is she smashed?”
“Patty’s her car, Nora,” I said, explaining as Meg continued. “How’d your car get wrecked?”
“Well, you remember that bank heist earlier today?”
“How could I forget,” I said dryly. “I was there.”
“When I rushed to the scene, I parked behind this huge, creepy white van in the alley. The driver was in such a hurry to get out he totally banged up the front of my car.”
“Meg!” I sat up, wincing with the exertion and breathing as heavily as a hippopotamus. “You probably parked behind the bank robbers! Did you get a good look at their vehicle? What about the driver? Could it have been a female?”
“Yeah, I just told you I saw the vehicle—it was creepy and white. I don’t know about the driver—I didn’t get a good look at the person’s face.” A crash sounded from the hallway behind her. “You alright, Todd?”
“Did you see a license plate? Any defining features? Lettering on the side?”
“Girlfriend, I was too focused on getting an interview with the media to pay attention to that.”
“I remember,” I said frostily. “Seems like you sought out the media before you came to save me. And who’s Todd?”
“Anthony had it under control.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the next. “Anyway, when they sent documents about renewing my car insurance a while back, I sort of thought they were optional. And Todd’s my instructor. Come in here, Todd!”
“You don’t have insurance...” I said, understanding. “And you want the name of an under-the-table mechanic who, of course, Carlos would know.”
“That’s about right.”
“What’s Todd an instructor for, exactly?”
The answer to my question appeared in the doorway. Todd was a skinny little man with huge glasses and black hair greased back with what appeared to be olive oil and spray paint.
“Todd Weably, Private Investigator, at your service.” He flipped an official looking badge out and flashed it around the room. “I’m teaching PI courses, and Meg, here, is a model student. We were just practicing the art of stakeouts in the neighborhood, and Meg wanted to swing by.”
I squinted at him. “The art of stakeouts? You mean, eating cold pizza until your butt falls asleep?”
He shifted. “Yeah, that.”
“As a matter of fact, I have the perfect shop for you,” Nora said. “Every time I hit a parked car, Carlos sends both vehicles to a guy named Chance.”
“Chance sounds like exactly who I’m looking for,” Meg said. “He does average work, charges cheap, and runs from the cops?”
Nora beamed. “Of course. Let me get the address for you.”
“If you need company, I’ll go with you to the repair shop tomorrow,” I volunteered. “But first, we should head to the police station and let them know about the vehicle. They might want to check it out.”
Meg frowned. “Do we really need to involve the police?”
I held up my swollen hand with the tacky piece of cereal jewelry still on my ring finger. Mostly because it had gotten stuck there and even butter hadn’t been able to loosen it.
“Yeah,” I said. “We really need them. I want my ring back, and I’m in no shape to hunt it down myself. Let’s talk to Detective Rocha.”
“Fine,” Meg agreed. “But I get baby talk time for this. And you’ll need to follow me in your car.”
“Deal,” I said, relieved to find Anthony standing in the doorway. “Now, it’s Anthony’s baby talk time, and this mama needs to get some sleep.”
“Sleep.” Meg guffawed. “Yeah. When you got a husband like Anthony, a woman doesn’t need sleep.”
Anthony looked mildly hopeful at Meg’s thought.
“Sorry,” I said, clearing the air for them both. “Sleep means sleep. I’ve been robbed, assaulted by my grandmother during baby talk, and serenaded by Carlos’s rendition of The Godfather. This day is officially over.”
“Before you go, I need to check one thing.” Nora shot both hands forward toward my chest before I even had time to respond. She grasped one breast in each hand and gave a firm squeeze. Her face bloomed with surprise while the rest of the room froze in shock. “Oh my, it’s a girl!”
“Nora, get your hands off me!” I leapt backward, horrified at being groped by my grandmother. “What the heck are you thinking?”
She looked too proud and giddy for the situation, and not enough embarrassed. Poor Todd Weably looked ready to faint, while Meg looked mildly interested in the whole scenario.
“Well?” I prompted. “Why’d you cop a feel?”
“I went back to my Googles this morning,” Nora said, looking proud. “As it turns out, there are about a hundred different ways to tell if you’re carrying a boy or a girl! If the right breast is bigger than the left, it’s a girl. If it’s the reverse, it’s a boy.”
“Oh, do me!” Meg said, raising her hand. “Squeeze me, next!”
“I think you have to be pregnant first,” I said to Meg. “So, you’re gonna wanna hold onto that for later.”
“Okay, then I’ll do you,” Meg said, her hands coming straight for me. “Look out, chesticles.”
I deflected her nosy fingers with a dodge and went to cower in Anthony’s arms. “Save me, please.”
He smirked. “Only if I get a turn when we get home.”
“You, too?” I rolled my eyes. “Cripes. I’m going home.”
“How about a backup test? Would you pee into a cup for me?” Nora asked. “Please?”
I gave her the strangest look I could muster. “I’m afraid to ask what you’d do with that.”
“If I mix Drano with urine and it turns green, it’s a girl. Blue is a boy.”
“Absolutely not.”
“But—”
“No, Nora—get your own urine!” I turned and left the room, stopping only to pause in the doorway to glare at my grandmother. “Good night, everyone.”
Chapter 3
THE NEXT MORNING, I sipped a decaf coffee in bed—minus most of the sugar bomb supplies—and cranked up the volume on the television. The newscaster was babbling on about the previous day’s heist, and I was anxious to hear if they’d released any further details on the matter.
“...and that concludes our segment on the bank robbers who the Twin Cities media is dubbing the Femme Fatale. Stay tuned for more information.”
“Femme Fatale,” I said with a sniffle. “Why do they get such a cool name? I want a cool name.”
Anthony ran his hand lightly over my stomach, then up to my chest. His hands paused over my breasts before he gave a light squeeze, and then studied my face. “I think Nora might be right. Literally—the right feels larger.”
“I don’t think so. It’s a stupid old wives’ tale and highly inaccurate.”
“How do you know? Maybe it is a g
irl.”
I blushed as Anthony watched me for an answer. Finally, I winced, feeling sheepish. “Don’t judge me, but I peed in a cup this morning and mixed in Drano.”
“And?”
“Blue,” I said. “We’ve got one vote for a girl, one for a boy.”
Anthony sighed, then continued the journey with his hands. My buttoned-up pajama shirt was mostly wide open at the seams, thanks to its unfortunate status of not being maternity wear.
I had decided to get by with as many old clothes as possible, since my favorite uniform of yoga pants and tank tops had been mostly wearable up until the past few months. However, just because certain items of clothing no longer fit, it didn’t mean I gave up trying. I’m not a quitter.
His hands felt nice, caressing my skin, his eyes locked on mine despite the blaring news reporter in the background. We both needed to get up and get to work, but clearly neither of us felt like making the effort to move from bed.
Not only was there a huge draw in the form of a gorgeous man in bed, but my moving to a standing position was the equivalent of raising a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float: difficult, time consuming, and once it got up there, that puppy wasn’t coming back down until the day was over.
I sighed. “Can’t we take the day off?”
“I’m not sure why you’re even working,” Anthony said, a smart clip to his voice. “I’ve asked you a hundred times to stay home until the baby’s born. I don’t understand this draw you have to...Meg.”
“Meg’s bar,” I corrected him, though he looked like he’d meant what he said. “My draw to Meg’s bar is the fact that it’s something to do. Something mindless. I get out of the house, make conversation with a few people, carry a few drinks to tables. Any of the heavy stuff the cooks run for me.”
“I still wish you’d stay home.”
“Yeah, well, I wish I didn’t sound like a broken vacuum sucking air every time I walk, but that’s not happening either.”
Anthony grinned at me and shook his head. “You’re perfect, Lacey. You’re beautiful. You—”
“Ah, ah, ah...” I said, leaning forward to nuzzle against Anthony’s neck with a true grin. “This isn’t one of those moments where I am asking for sympathy. Just making a joke.”
He didn’t look convinced, but my nuzzling turned into a kiss, and that was enough of a distraction to keep Anthony’s mouth busy on mine and his hands creeping down in search of bare skin. A very romantic gesture considering how far around his hands had to go in order to reach it.
“I’m not always on the verge of an emotional breakdown, you know,” I said, when the kiss paused. Anthony’s eyes were all glazy with lust, and this gave me a flutter of excitement. “I can still take a joke and...what did they just say?”
My head swiveled as the newscaster came back on after a series of commercials, and my eyes narrowed at the reporter’s smoothly lined face and strategically monotone voice.
“Did he just say what I think he said?”
“Lacey.” Anthony squeezed my shoulder. “What was this talk about not being on the verge of an emotional breakdown at every moment?”
“I can break down if it’s for a good cause!” I stopped arguing to try and sit up in bed, but the mission was unsuccessful. “Can I get a push, please?”
Anthony did his due diligence as a human crane and situated me gently on the bed with a smattering of pillows to keep me locked in place. “How about we shut the TV off and get back to where we were? I think my hands were around here—”
“Shh, shh!”
“The Femme Fatale has held up several Bank of the Lakes branch locations. The company has facilities all around the Saint Paul area and a few expanding into Minneapolis. Here’s footage of the facility just outside White Bear Lake early yesterday afternoon...”
The blond-haired, blue-eyed, bored looking newscaster gestured to a small video on screen showing a familiar bank lobby. The security cameras had been rolled back to just before the heist began, and sure enough, there I was in line chatting anxiously on the phone and holding the box that contained my mother’s wedding ring.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, let’s turn this off. I don’t want to see—”
“Among the hostages in yesterday’s horrific scene was one very pregnant woman who is said to have remained calm—”
“Hold your thought there, Slick.” My eyes narrowed as I leaned forward to examine the reporter. The cameras flashed to a close-up image of me hanging up the phone and the ensuing conversation with the man before me in line. “What did he just say?”
Anthony sensed the venom in my voice and responded like a 911 operator, trying his best to keep me calm.
“Now I’m very pregnant?” I burst, shaking my fist at the television because any bigger movement was just plain difficult. “What the heck does that mean? I’m not having twins.” My hands roved possessively over my stomach. “One baby in here. Is he calling my baby fat?”
“He is not calling our baby fat, he’s—”
“Well, what does a little pregnant look like, then? If you have a skinny child? I can’t help if my baby really enjoys cake and ice cream for breakfast.”
“I thought you gave up cake for breakfast.”
My hands rubbed faster over my stomach. “I did, but Sprout likes it.”
“Sprout?”
“Holding place for a name, since I can’t stand calling him or her an it.”
“So, Sprout can have cake for breakfast, but not you?” A grin tugged at Anthony’s face. “How does that work?”
I pursed my lips. “You know. I have to put it in my mouth for him or her, but pretty much, I think Sprout takes all the calories.”
“Right. Exactly.”
“Plus, I only allow myself cake on stressful days. Like today.”
“And this eating healthy bandwagon?”
“Has a broken axle.”
“Have you been playing Oregon Trail on Meg’s computer at work?”
I ignored the truths that Anthony spoke and focused back on the screen. “What a punk. I’m not very pregnant; I’m just normal.”
“Lace, I think he just meant your due date is close.”
“He could’ve just said that,” I grumbled. “And speaking of due dates, the police better get my ring back before this baby comes out. I am praying my finger deflates the second Sprout has vacated the oven.”
“Please don’t be upset about the ring,” Anthony said, looking like nukes were flying and WWIII was on the horizon. “I have a new one coming, and in the meantime, you have...”
He trailed off as I rolled my eyes and held up a finger where the cereal ring was still trapped.
“Yep. It’s gorgeous,” I drawled. “Don’t you think?”
He tried hard to stifle a laugh, but it slipped out anyway.
“I’m going to work. My sensitive mood is back.”
Anthony grasped me—not a hard thing to do since I wasn’t Speedy Gonzales these days—and pressed a hard kiss to my forehead. His hands got a little ambitious moving all around my shoulders and back and hips, and then with finesse that came from being Anthony, he sucked me right back under the covers.
It wasn’t until I had a grin on my face and a bounce in my waddling step that Anthony let me back out of bed.
“You’re an hour and a half late to work,” Meg said, when I arrived looking as if a leaf blower had fixed my hair. “Worst employee of the month.”
“But I had a good reason,” I said, and then gave Meg a waggle of the eyebrows and a salacious grin. “If you know what I mean.”
“Welp, okay then.” Meg picked up her keys from behind the bar and yelled a message to Jose, the chef, to take over. “I’ve got gossip to hear,” Meg said, “and an illegal mechanic to find. Let’s hit the road, shall we?”
Chapter 4
WE TOOK SEPARATE CARS, first stopping by my grandparents’ house—both for breakfast and because Meg had lost the address Nora gave her the evening before.
“Just adds a little sparkle to the day, doesn’t it?” she asked rhetorically when Meg questioned the contents of her mug. “If you can’t start your day with something delicious, why start your day at all?”
“I agree,” I told her, wholeheartedly reaching for the croissants instead of the charred mold of oatmeal that had been cemented into the pan. For good measure, I added a few extra chocolate croissants onto a napkin, then deposited them in my bag. “Sprout agrees, too.”
Nora glanced up. “Lacey, while you’re here, I have something for you.” Nora shuffled out of the room, then returned as quickly as she’d left. “Hi baby,” she cooed, her hands coming to rest on my stomach, which ironically worked well as a coffee cup shelf these days. “It’s your Nonna Nora! How are you this morning? Are you going with Mommy to hunt down some bad guys?”
“No,” I corrected. “We’re going to the police station to add to the statement I gave yesterday. We’re doing the right thing with the new information we have.”
“Not me,” Meg said. “I don’t want to do the right thing, and I didn’t give a statement. Plus, I hate the police.”
“You were a cop.”
“Yeah, and now I’m scarred for life. No more for me,” Meg said proudly. “I’m gonna be a PI now. Way more freedom.”
I rolled my eyes because to Meg, freedom meant flexibility with the law. “Why are you coming with me to the station then?”
“Because I need a ride back from the illegal mechanic that Nora’s going to re-give me the address to.” Meg batted her eyes. “Right?”
Nora rattled off the address of the shady mechanic with all-too-much familiarity. “If you tell Chance that Nora sent you, you’ll get a discount. I get every fifth repair free because I’m there so often. Mirrors, bumpers, totaled vehicles, you name it.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “We’re starting out Sprout’s life with an under-the-table car guy.”
“It’s good to know a car guy,” Nora said. “Vehicles aren’t cheap. And speaking of Sprout, here’s what I wanted to give you.” My grandmother pulled over a small package she’d set on the table. “Open it! Open it. Now. Please.”