Lacey Luzzi: Sparkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 2)

by Gina LaManna

  “Oh my gosh, you guys. He’s going to ram your car, Clay. Your car. Get your minds out of the gutters.” I felt my cheeks tinge the color of pink cupcake frosting.

  Nevertheless, Clay sped up six miles per hour for the rest of the drive. And when we hit Lutsen, I smiled back at Anthony with a thumbs up. I was rewarded with an eye roll in return.

  ** **

  As we trolled the streets of Lutsen looking for our resort, I had the sudden realization that I’d be seeing Carlos in the morning and he’d be expecting an update.

  “Guys, I don’t know what to tell Carlos,” I said. “He’ll expect a report on Leo.”

  “Well, what do you have?” Joey asked.

  “We went to talk to Looney to get some information, but he scattered and we thought we were SOL. But then this kid—Alfonso—shows up. Get this. He confesses to the whole thing! He said he killed Leo, his own Uncle, in order to get Carlos’s approval in order to join the Mafia.”

  “There ya go. What happened to the kid?” Joey shrugged.

  I looked out the window and ignored the question. “It seems a little odd. I’m not sure if he did it or not—I mean the kid’s fifteen, looks like the love child of a carrot and a tangerine, with bonus freckles. He’s way over anxious to get into the mob. Like he wanted to prove he was Italian, you know?”

  “I don’t understand the problem. That kid’s trouble. I knew him. Always claimed he was going to make his bones to get in good with Carlos—Leo and I tried to convince him not to. Told him it didn’t make sense unless Carlos requested his service. Guess the kid didn’t listen, and it bit Leo in the butt.” Joey shook his head sadly.

  “I’m just not sure he’s capable of it,” I mused.

  “He gave you a confession,” Joey said gruffly. “Anyways, where is he now?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” I scrunched up my face.

  “You don’t know?” Joey looked at me, dumbfounded.

  “He escaped while I went to visit Vivian. If you hadn’t distracted us, maybe I would’ve been back in time to catch him.” I crossed my arms.

  “Probably not, though,” said Clay.

  “Oh, stop it,” I said.

  “Tell Carlos you found the dude’s information, and you’re just working on locating his whereabouts. That way it buys you a little time, he’s appeased for now, and you don’t sound like as much of an idiot.” Joey looked at me.

  I had to admit, his solution was reasonable. I just hoped Carlos didn’t ask questions. I wasn’t a good actress or liar. Which were two of the reasons I was terrible at my job.

  “That’s the place,” Joey pointed out a gaudy inn with too many Christmas lights. We pulled over and hopped out.

  A perfumed entrance scented the entire front yard and a girlish pink sign announced Vivian & Donald in swirly, a little bit tilted, letters. A terrible grin spread across Joey’s face. “That’s where she’s getting hitched.”

  “Wow,” I said. “That is very… Vivian.”

  “My sparkles will look ah-mazing with those lights,” Meg said. “The men won’t know what hit ‘em.”

  I kept my mouth shut, thinking that if Meg hit anyone they’d probably believe it was a brick wall or a semi-truck.

  “All right, let’s unload.” Clay went around the back and pulled out a few bags.

  My door opened without me touching the handle.

  “You staying with that clown?” Anthony’s hand reached out to help me from my seat.

  “Uh, yeah.” I said, glancing quickly at Joey.

  Anthony leaned his head in the rear window, where Joey’s orange face deepened to the shade of an overripe squash.

  Anthony gently rested one hand on the window, his large frame blocking the door, as he spoke to Joey. “You’ll behave, right?”

  Joey fumbled for an answer. Anthony’s gaze was unwavering, and eventually Joey figured out how to open the door and stomped around the other side of the car.

  “Thanks, but not necessary,” I said. “I can handle myself.”

  A wry smile spread across Anthony’s face. “I’d like to see that.”

  ** **

  I settled into my room and stood under the gloriously warm shower for a minimum of forty-two minutes. At home, our water would run cold after seven minutes of a slight drizzle, so I took advantage of the hot water and the wonderful water pressure while I had it.

  By the time I stepped from behind the shower curtains and toweled off, the steam making it difficult to feel completely dry, I already considered the weekend a win. Long shower, fresh shampoo, clean sheets on a regular-sized bed, continental breakfast—what more was there to life, really?

  Except when I opened the bathroom door there was a surprise waiting for me that I could have done without. A note rested on the end of my bed, typed in block letters and menacing even from far away.

  YOU MESSED UP. KILLER WILL STRIKE AGAIN.

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my face from top to bottom, trying to squeeze out the impending stress headache. I lifted the sheet of paper very carefully by the tippy, tippy corner and moved it to the nightstand. I’d deal with that later.

  Right now, I had business that needed tending to.

  More specifically, a bed that needed de-fluffing.

  I backed way up to the door, took a nice deep breath, and then charged at the puffy mattress like a bull after a red cloth. I ended my run at the bed with a gorgeous, flying leap and landed spread eagle, perfectly plopped in the middle of the king-sized mattress. Just one of those things that never gets old.

  I’d wanted to do that since I’d arrived, and I wasn’t going to let a measly little letter stop me. Squashing fresh hotel beds was a once-a-year sort of deal. It wasn’t like I was rolling in the dough and taking vacations once a month.

  Anyway, I knew what the note was about. I’d underestimated Freckle Face. I’d let him slip through my grasp, and somehow he’d followed us up here to torment us throughout the wedding, trying to break into the Family business.

  And for what? I wanted to shake him. Life in the Mafia wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. See previous thought about bed squashing: I wasn’t exactly rolling in dough and flying to Hawaii willy-nilly. It was a lot of work, pain and stress. Kind of like a job as a banker, or an Actuary. At the end of the day, work was work.

  Maybe the kid was working with somebody? He’d escaped only three hours before I’d driven up here. Plus, I wasn’t even sure if he had his driver’s license. Not that a small thing like an ID would stop him; it certainly hadn’t stopped me from embarking on one of several joy rides in high school, or trips to the bars at an age younger than was legal.

  I sat up and dug through my purse for the back of a receipt. I was confused, overwhelmed, and didn’t know exactly where to go from here. Maybe if I started organizing my thoughts, I’d get a better idea of who I should be looking for. Making a list of all of the people who had passed us on the freeway during the ride up here would be a decent place to start.

  I poised my pen, but stopped short.

  Maybe I could just grab the wedding invite list. That would be much faster. Probably Vivian would have it, or one of her bridesmaids. Or even Anthony, since he was on security detail. I could imagine him being Type A enough to carry a copy of the guest list in his pocket, scanning the crowd to see if anyone didn’t belong.

  I opened the door and came nose to nose with Joey. His face was contorted into an anguished grimace as he held three bags and tried to shove his key into the card reader.

  “Stupid card doesn’t work,” he said. “Yours work?”

  “Yeah, mine is fine—obviously. I already showered. You haven’t been in here yet?”

  “No. Do you see my things in there?”

  “All right, Mr. Crabby Pants. Excuse me.” I side stepped around Joey and headed to find Vivian or Anthony, whoever I ran into first.

  “I went to the bar for a drink,” Joey called after me as I hit the elevator button.

  “I don’t rea
lly care where you went,” I said, stopping and turning around. “Just so long as you keep your shit on your side of the room. Plus, where’s my money?”

  Joey grunted and hauled his oversized luggage into the room, while I trailed with my nose wrinkled. Even I didn’t need that many bags, and I’d brought a dress, heels and my new cotton undies. I was going all out.

  I waited a moment as he dug into his bag and pulled out a thick envelope. Five thousand dollars, all there in nice, juicy hundreds.

  “Nice doing business with you.” I took a few of the bills and shoved the rest into the safe, locking it behind me.

  The elevator door dinged open and let out an elderly couple. I rushed to catch it, and as I stepped inside, I glanced down at my feet. I realized I hadn’t bothered to put on shoes after my shower. In fact, I hadn’t bothered to put on any clothes at all, period, except for the robe. I cinched the complementary white cotton bathrobe tighter to my waist as somebody cleared their throat behind me.

  I hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the elevator, so when I flicked my eyes up and saw Anthony standing at the rear, I nearly keeled over from overwhelmed nerves. He was outfitted in a beautifully cut black suit that moved just so as he shifted his weight, raising a hand to clear his throat. His eyes gleamed with a delicious passion as he took in my attire, or lack thereof. He reached across the front of my body and pushed the Emergency Stop button, and I nearly died. I’m pretty sure his elbow grazed my boob, and if that much contact felt like a firecracker had exploded in my stomach, I wasn’t sure I could handle much more without turning into a puddle of bliss.

  I let my mind run like the wind: Was he going to take me here? In the elevator?

  I wouldn’t say I hadn’t dreamed of this day for many, many nights. But I hadn’t expected it to be like this. I’d planned to shave tomorrow morning, so my legs were currently scratchier than I liked for our first time, and I couldn’t be sure my underarms were what you’d call ‘smooth.’ And I definitely had not yet applied deodorant.

  Anthony cupped my chin in his hand and ran a coarse, yet tender finger across my cheek. “Sugar, who were you expecting?”

  I blushed, suddenly remembering that I’d left both pairs of panties up in my hotel room, when I desperately needed them now. Also, they were with Joey. Great. “Uh, wasn’t thinking, I guess.”

  “You just cruise around hotels wearing…” He took a step backwards, his sinewy muscles flowing smoothly under the expensive suit. How Anthony always managed to smell fresh and wonderful, I’d never know. His light scent filtered to my nostrils, and I thought for a moment that if we didn’t get this elevator moving again I’d become intoxicated through the aroma alone.

  I’d zoned out, not realizing he’d finished his sentence without my mind listening.

  “Sorry, what?” I looked up.

  “I said—” he leaned close and planted his hand at the nape of my neck, drawing my face in close to his chest. “You’d better watch where you go traipsing dressed like that. You’re looking for trouble, a pretty girl like you. Can’t trust men these days.”

  I gulped, suspicious it was audible in the confined space. The air in the elevator seemed to be disappearing much faster than I could breathe it in. “Are you talking about yourself?”

  Anthony winked.

  “For your information, I don’t make a habit of traipsing about places like this.” I shook my head to clear the fogginess overtaking my mind, and put my hands on my hips. “Plus, I was looking for you.”

  Anthony cocked an eyebrow and I felt my knees tremble. The man could wear a suit, for God’s sake. And that cute little quirk of his mouth was nearly too much to handle. “You were looking for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like this?” Anthony gestured towards my outfit and took a step closer.

  I stared warily at his eyes, until he broke eye contact and dropped his gaze slowly lower, down my eyes to my lips, and finally to my chest, where I realized far too late that the robe had split open when I’d put my hands on my hips.

  However, try as I might to move, I was frozen. Anthony continued his caress where he’d left off moments ago near the base of my neck. He tucked a stray piece of hair back towards my ponytail, ran his hand down my cheek until his thumb brushed against my collarbone, his palm eventually sweeping over my breast.

  A shock of electricity jolted from his fingers straight through my skin, causing all sorts of havoc in my body. My heart pounded like it was trying to break free from my ribcage, my breathing sounded shallow and hectic. I leaned into him, my eyes falling halfway closed in an attempt to capture the moment in a perfect little capsule of time.

  He played briefly with my nipple, the skin of his hand a tantalizing mixture of smooth fingers and coarse, workingman’s hands. I groaned aloud as gave me the slightest of massages and almost toppled against the wall when he withdrew his hand from my robe, his hands closing the front and cinching the belt tighter.

  “What are you doing?” I gasped.

  “I told you, dangerous men are wandering these halls.” He smiled, and as frustrated as I was with his shenanigans, I couldn’t stay mad at the way his serious expression was offset by the tiny laugh lines around his eyes. “So, what is it you wanted with me?”

  “I found this in my room.” I held out the donut bag, still trying desperately to catch my breath.

  Anthony wrinkled his nose. “I’m good. I just ate. Also, those are not part of the healthy diet we planned out together at the gym.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not donuts.”

  Anthony reached out with a skeptical gaze and took the bag. He glanced inside and read the note. When he looked up eventually, his expression was unreadable and stern. “So, who did eat the donuts?”

  “That’s all you have to say?” I stomped my foot like a child. “I ate them, okay? I was stressed. But more importantly, somebody’s going to die here. We have to stop it.”

  “You think this is the work of that ginger child you let escape?” He looked at me questioningly. I had to give him credit, it didn’t one hundred percent feel like he was judging me. Maybe ninety percent judgment and one percent sexual interest, or frustration. It was hard to tell.

  “He was a teenager.” I looked at the carpeting. “And yes, I’m willing to bet it’s him doing this.”

  With a grim expression, Anthony reached over me and I held my breath, wondering where this would lead.

  “How can you think of romance when there’s a killer on the loose?” I asked hotly.

  Then the elevator lurched and we descended.

  “Oh,” I said, feeling incredibly stupid. He’d unstuck the Emergency Stop button.

  Lacey: 0. Elevator: 1.

  I glanced around, wishing I knew how to whistle. “Just kidding.”

  “Don’t be so sure. You don’t ever know what’s on my mind.”

  I looked up at Anthony, and as promised, I couldn’t read his expression. But I thought of that cute little smile once more, the smile that was so hard to evoke but so worth the effort, and I gave a teensy grin of my own.

  Chapter 6

  By the time the elevator arrived at the first floor, Anthony and I stood side by side, trying to appear as if all were normal in a confined space where one of us looked like a roman god in a tux, and the other resembled a naked weirdo in a robe and socks.

  The doors cracked open and I breathed a huge sigh of relief, as if the journey to the lobby had been a scuba diving adventure, and I was just getting my first whiff of clean, fresh air. Anthony was on his phone before the doors opened, speaking in low undertones, his voice too soft to hear.

  I stood idly by as he finished up a phone call, presumably to one of his ‘men’—large, scary men that reported to Anthony and worked for Carlos’s payroll. I was only too happy to ignore them and assume they were in place as an unseen army that flanked Carlos’s mansion. I had zip, zero, nil desire to interact with them more frequently than I already did.

  Ant
hony muttered a few phrases louder than the rest, and I leaned closer, hoping to appear bored. I didn’t want to interact with the scary men, but I didn’t mind knowing what was happening. It wasn’t eavesdropping if there was the potential it involved me.

  Anthony’s voice grew steadily louder, but for some reason my brain still couldn’t make out the individual words. Then the light bulb clicked into gear, and I realized I’d been trying to overhear a conversation in a language I didn’t understand. Anthony hung up the phone, the Italy tattoo on his neck cinching just a bit as his jaw line tensed. I wanted to reach out and stroke his cheek like he’d done mine, but I didn’t have nearly as much balls as he did. Plus, my robe was short enough that I was afraid of exposing my entire buttocks to the hotel. Operation Moon My Family was not high on my To Do list.

  “Italian, huh?” I said. Which was a terrible pickup line, since I obviously knew he spoke the language.

  Anthony’s jaw twitched; now was no time for small talk, apparently.

  “That’s neat.” I nodded, trying to fill the awkward silence.

  My thoughts got away from me, and I pondered where he was from. His English was nearly perfect, but was there an accent I detected? Or was I simply over thinking things now?

  “What region are you from?” I asked.

  “The south.” His voice was clipped.

  “That’s not really a region, that’s half of the country,” I pointed out. “My ancestors are apparently from Bari. That’s—”

  “I know where that is.” Anthony gave me an incredibly pinched smile, which looked more like a grimace. “You should get dressed. Rehearsal dinner is in an hour.”

  I slowly backed into the elevator which dinged conveniently at that moment. Then, I noticed his thumb had been on the ‘elevator call’ button.

  “Right. Keep me posted on the developments?” I gave a slight wave as the doors started to close.

  Anthony waited on the other side, watching until the doors closed completely, his gaze stern, steady and promising nothing. His eyes seemed to say, “Try to make me tell you something. Just try.”

  I crossed my arms and slunk into a corner, trying to ignore the other people in the elevator. There was an elderly couple to my left who smelled like disintegrating anchovies and a tan man with slicked back hair, so black it looked like shoe polish and so shiny I’d bet I could slip and slide right off his scalp. There was also a small child, and I cinched my robe tighter. I tried to cover myself from the six year old (ish) little boy, who stood exactly at my belly button height, and who was staring at me uncomfortably, almost as if judging me for a one night stand I didn’t have.