Cupcakes, Butterflies & Dead Guys (Gianna Mancini Mysteries Book 3)

by Jennifer Fischetto

  A dresser drawer or closet won't be difficult for her to manipulate. Doing those things zaps a ghost's energy quick though. Chances are she'll get tired fast and won't be able to cause any true havoc.

  After dessert, Ma seems too eager to spend time with her sister to mind the rest of us leaving. I love hanging with my family, but I also love hanging out in my undies in my apartment. Apparently like Uncle Franco. Eww!

  Julian walks me to my car and opens the driver's door.

  "Do you want to come over?" I didn't say I want to be in my undies alone.

  "I'd love to, but I need to stop by the office first."

  I pluck a piece of lint off his sweater and then return my hand to the spot and let it rest there. "Your boss has you working on a Sunday?"

  He grins. "It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours. I like the money."

  Ugh, don't rub it in. Julian wouldn't have a problem giving me anything I asked for, even if it was cash for my rent and utilities. Shoot, I could move back in with him. We lived together for a year in Connecticut. I moved in shortly after meeting him. We got along great until his grandmother died, and I made up a bunch of lies instead of simply telling him I could see her spirit. So yeah, despite breaking up once already and despite us taking it slow now, I could move in and not worry about money. But I don't want to be kept. I like paying for my own things. I also like being in control of what I pay for.

  "Okay, guess I'll have a shower and open some wine while I wait for you."

  He kisses the tip of my nose. "Perfect."

  I slip into my seat, and he shuts the door and leans in the window. "Drive safe."

  "Of course." I pull out of the driveway and wave before speeding off.

  I'm halfway to my apartment when I remember Ma's scarf. Part of me wants to just go home. She doesn't need it tonight, and I can stop by in the morning before I go into work. But then I remember flinching at Raina's last movie. She played in a low-budget horror version of Bloody Mary. I loved this tons and bought the DVD when it came out. I've seen it at least five times now.

  I make a left at the corner and head to Kelly's.

  When I get there, there's a white rental car in the driveway, and a light is on in the kitchen. That must be Raina's car. She's home. I get giddy and remind myself to control my giggling. No one likes a giggling, spitting, messy fan.

  I park behind the rental, hope I'm not taking Kelly or her husband's spot, and get out. I still can't believe that Raina Stone is not only staying in my town but that I was close to her yesterday. And how don't I know that she's related to Michael? Maybe I can get her autograph or that selfie now.

  I ring the doorbell and hear it chime inside. The night air is brisker than I thought it would be, and I chose to only wear a light, black cardigan over my skirt and blouse today. I wasn't expecting to be outside much, in and out of my car to Ma's and back.

  I press the bell again, wrap my sweater closer around me, and jump on the balls of my feet. There are no sounds—no footsteps approaching. It's too early for an actress to be asleep, and what about Kelly's family? Maybe Raina left her car here, and she went out with her sister.

  Darn.

  I decide to knock for the heck of it. I can always come back in the morning. But I look good tonight, and I don't usually wear eye makeup to work. It gets sweaty in the deli, and it smudges, making me look like a raccoon. But if I have to, I can resemble a raccoon for one day.

  I curl my fist and pound on the door. I know no one is going to answer, and for reasons I'd like to not admit, I turn the knob. It's brazen and dumb. First, who leaves their doors unlocked on Long Island? No one. Not if they enjoy keeping the stuff they own. And second, how dare I think I can just open someone's door. I mean, I won't go inside, maybe peek my head in, but it's still a bold move. Okay, maybe it's stupid. And wrong. Darn my curiosity. I don't expect it to turn though, so what's the harm?

  But it does turn. And the door slides open a few inches.

  Oh my God.

  What the heck do I do now?

  I can't go inside. That's completely illegal. But scenarios as to why it's unlocked run through my head. Maybe there was an emergency, and everyone left without regard to locking up. I hope not. That would have to be a big emergency.

  What if they all left, and Raina forgot to lock up? I've known people from other parts of the country that never even think of locking up. They usually come from rural or small-town areas. Everyone knows everyone. The thought of crime is low, especially amongst friends and neighbors. Raina not only grew up right here in South Shore Beach, though, she also lives in California. I can't imagine things are that relaxed out there.

  Okay, so back up and leave, Gianna. You can come back tomorrow.

  But what if someone is hurt?

  Do I believe that, or do I simply want to continue living up to my nickname—Curious?

  I take one and only one step inside. It may be one giant step, but I don't think I'm in direct violation of the Simon Says rules.

  "Hello? Is anyone home? Anyone hurt?"

  No sound, but there's a strong scent of bleach and lavender. Someone's been cleaning. If Kelly is anything like Ma, she spent yesterday evening tearing her house apart after the shower.

  The kitchen is lightly illuminated, probably from the stove light, but I can't see much other than a counter. The room to the right has its door shut, and the living room appears to be empty. I can't see all of it, but unless someone is sitting in the dark, which would be creepy, it's empty.

  I turn and am about to leave, aka finally mind my business, when I notice something from the corner of my eye. In the living room, near the sofa, is the toe of a brown suede boot. It reminds me of a pair I saw at the mall last month that were to die for, so, of course, I need a closer look.

  I take a half of a step to my right and peek into the room, and sure enough, it's gorgeous. It's a knee-high, suede boot with a three-inch heel. Not the same ones from the mall but still breathtaking.

  Another half step and a cold sweat clings to me.

  Attached to the boot is Raina. She's lying on her back in the center of the carpet, between the facing sofa and loveseat. Her eyes are shut, but I doubt she's taking a nap on the rug. Every nerve ending is on full alert. Something is terribly wrong.

  I rush over and kneel beside her. There's blood beneath her head and along the stone edge of the fireplace. Did she fall and hit her head? I pull my cell from my purse, dial 9-1-1, and feel along her neck for a pulse. I'm not good at it, so I lean my ear to her chest and listen for breath signs.

  This can't be real.

  "What's your emergency?"

  "Sh-she…" I swallow hard. The word is barely audible. "I think Raina Stone is dead."

  * * *

  After the first officers arrive, they have me sit in the kitchen, at the table where I frosted happy cupcakes the day before. It's still where I'm sitting twenty minutes later when I hear one of the officers say the detectives have arrived.

  My stomach churns. I fear the detectives will be Sanchez and Burton—my arch nemesis. No, I'm not a superhero, but Kevin Burton and I have a lot of history that isn't puppies and rainbows.

  Sanchez appears in the doorway, and perspiration dots my forehead. I'm not in the mood for verbal sparring and glares tonight. I just found one of my idols dead. Isn't that enough?

  Sanchez talks to one of the uniformed officers and watches me at the same time. He wears a gray trench coat over dark trousers. All he needs is a matching hat and thick mustache, and he'd remind me of Inspector Gadget. Him, I like. He's always been kind and gentle with me. Definitely good cop to Kevin's bad. The only issue is that Kevin is never playing bad. He's naturally a jerk.

  The detective approaches the table, and I realize I'm twisting my fingers together. He notices it too before he sits to my side at the head of the table. He takes his meaty hand and places it over mine. The warmth from his flesh drifts into me and pushes away at the chill in my bones. My nerves start to
calm.

  "Hi, Miss Mancini. How are you?"

  How does he think I am?

  "Where's Kevin?" My voice trembles. I don't usually act like this about the younger detective. I'm usually giving him an earful, knocking him down to size. I must be more shaken than I thought.

  Sanchez's smile is soft and puts me further at ease. "He's not here tonight."

  Seriously? I let out a relieved sigh and relax more.

  He squeezes my hands. "Are you ready to tell me what happened?"

  I nod vigorously, wanting to get this over with. I explain my coming over to get Ma's scarf, and I tell the truth about entering. "I don't normally do that, but I was hoping to catch a glimpse…no. I was hoping to catch a minute with Raina Stone. I wanted to get a picture of us."

  His expression doesn't change. He continues to look at peace with what I'm saying. If he's judging me, he hides it well. "Go on."

  "I stepped in a couple of inches, and I called out. No one answered, and when I turned around, I saw a foot by the coffee table." Okay, that's a tiny lie. There's no sense in explaining my love for boots.

  "I went to her, to see if she was okay. I noticed the blood beneath her and on the fireplace. I touched her neck for a pulse, but that's all I touched."

  I think about yesterday's party and all of the furniture and counters I touched then. If they dust, they'll see that. "I was here yesterday too. A bunch of people were. Raina's aunt was having a bridal shower."

  Sanchez takes out his notebook and jots down the names of the people I recognized, which isn't many. "Okay, wait here for a few minutes." He stands and heads into the living room.

  An officer stays at the doorway to the kitchen. I'm not sure if he's keeping an eye on me, but I doubt his job is to hold up the wall with his back.

  I overhear a lot of chatter and movement, but I can't make it out clearly. I allow my mind to drift because I don't want to think of what's happening to Raina's body. I can't imagine not seeing her in any more movies. Her fans will be sad, upset. She may not have been famous, but she had to have enough of a following for her death to matter.

  I suddenly realize that if I'd been in a different head space, I could've snapped a photo of her with my cell and sold it for a high price. Oh my God, Gianna, what's wrong with you? How can you even think that?

  I am officially a horrible person.

  I glance up at the officer. He's staring at me hard, and I wonder if I've been showing my thoughts on my face. I do that all of the time. I suck at poker, but for some reason, I'm a good liar. Not exactly admirable traits. Which is why I only lie when absolutely necessary. Or when I'm going to be embarrassed, like with admitting to finding a dead body because my passion for boots has no boundaries.

  I lower my gaze and look around the room. Dark wood cabinets, white appliances, a potted fern that hangs above the sink, and a large, round owl clock above the back door. The surroundings aren't new. I saw them all yesterday, but it keeps my mind off of what's going on in the living room.

  I stare at the fridge, which is covered with photos. Some are of Kelly's daughter, from birth to her present age. Light brown curls frame her chubby face. In one, the little girl is all baby teeth and smiles. She's adorable and obviously happy. I wonder if this will affect her in any way. She's a toddler. How well can she currently remember the aunt that lives on the other side of the country? As time goes by, any possible memory will surely fade away. That's sad. The poor little girl…

  Wait.

  Oh God. Raina's family. Kelly, Wilma, Michael. They're going to be devastated. My throat tightens, and that burning sensation, the one when you're about to cry, appears. I grab a napkin from the holder in the center of the table and dab at the corners of my eyes.

  Sanchez returns to his seat and lays his notebook on the table. "Miss Mancini…"

  "Please call me Gianna."

  He smiles quickly. "Okay, Gianna, I want you to think back to when you first arrived tonight. Before you got out of your car. Did you notice anyone else outside? Maybe a car that looked out of place? Anything unusual?"

  Why is he asking me this? That suggests someone else was involved in Raina's death, which means… "You think someone murdered her?"

  His gaze darts away, and he doesn't confirm nor deny.

  "I assumed she fell and hit her head," I say.

  "That's probably what happened," he says. "But until I hear from the coroner, I need to look at every possible angle. What do you remember?"

  I think back. Hard. I want to be helpful, but I have to admit I was totally self-absorbed, thinking about seeing Raina again. Of course, I never thought seeing her again would be so final. Well, alive anyway.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Sanchez lets me go, I get into my car and drive off. I don't call Julian. I don't need any hand-holding. Besides, he'll be at my apartment soon enough if he's not there already. Maybe it's because I've officially done this—been a part of death in some degree—more times than should be normal, but I'm not as upset as I thought I'd be. Or as I was the first time with Emma, the clown. I seem to be a magnet to death. It must have to do with seeing ghosts.

  And speaking of ghosts, where is Raina's?

  That's the biggest difference between tonight and deaths in the past. If this time were the same, her ghost would've still been in that house or in my car or someplace. She'd be confused as to what happened to her. She'd want to see her family and ask me to give them a final message. Did she already cross over? I always help a ghost move on. Why not now? It's selfish of me, but I'm hoping I can pick her brain about her life before she moves on. Gossip about the other stars, insight into the glamorous Hollywood life, how she keeps her skin looking so glow-y. The important things.

  I pull up to a red light at the corner of the deli. My apartment is around back, and as I'm making a right turn on red, I notice a weird, illuminated blur through the front windows. What is that? The place is locked up, and the lights are off.

  My heartbeat accelerates. It's not a robbery, right? I lean forward, pressing myself against my steering wheel, and realize it's a woman.

  Oh my God, it's Raina Stone's ghost.

  At least, I think and hope it is.

  I turn the corner and speed across the gravel-filled back parking lot. The sound of tiny rocks shooting out from beneath my tires makes me cringe. I hope I haven't damaged my car. I slam on my brakes, throw the car into park, and grab my keys. I race to the back door of the deli, almost twisting an ankle in the process, and jab the key into the lock.

  "Raina, wait, I'm coming," I shout and hope no one normal is listening.

  Her ghost must be in there to cross over. For some reason, the deli freezer is their portal. It's been happening forever, as far as I know. I was eight when I fell in the freezer, hit my head on the cold, concrete floor, and died for one minute and thirty-two seconds before the paramedics revived me. It was from that point on that I could communicate with the dead. And in these nineteen years I haven't been able to figure out why they cross over through the freezer.

  I pull the door open harder than I should and nearly pull my arm out of its socket. The deli's kitchen is dark, and I immediately bang into the corner of a table. My hip takes the brunt of the force, and I cry out softly. I don't want to frighten Raina. Yes, there's irony in my not wanting to scare a ghost.

  I hit my hand against the wall where the light switch is and have to feel for it several times before I find it. The overheads blast on, and I race to the freezer. I yank it open as Raina is almost gone. Actually, I'm not even sure that is Raina. All I see is the tail end of an arm and leg.

  "Wait," I shout. "Raina."

  The ghost stops and peeks her face out. I'm weirded out for a moment. Only the face, not even the whole head, of Raina Stone is pressed out of the back wall of the walk-in freezer. It's freaky and should cause nightmares, but now I'm positive it's her.

  I want to ask her to stay, but that's wrong. She obviously feels like it's her time to move on
, and who I am to ask otherwise? Especially when all I want is gossip, a few moments with one of my idols. I'm not selfish enough to ask. I do, however, have an important question.

  "Was your death an accident?"

  If she tells me yes, I won't be able to tell Sanchez. He'll have to figure that out on his own, but it shouldn't be difficult. I'm sure the coroner's ruling will say as much. If her answer is no though…

  She smiles at me, and it makes her look serene. "Tell her I'm sorry."

  What? I'm taken aback for a second. I expected an answer to my question, not a cryptic message. "Who?"

  Suddenly, her face is gone.

  I wait, hoping she'll come back through, that she's not gone for good.

  It takes me a minute before the freezer's chill starts to turn my fingers into popsicles, and I decide to move. Disappointed and confused, I let out a heavy sigh. This did not go as I'd imagined.

  I shut the freezer door behind me, turn off the lights, lock up the deli and my car, and head up to my apartment. What a weird night. Raina Stone is actually gone.

  * * *

  I manage to slip out of my clothes and into pink leggings and a long white T-shirt before there's a knock at my door. I look into the peephole and see Julian.

  I open the door, and he holds up a small yellow box. "I figured you'd be drunk by now and would like to soak up some of that wine with cannoli"