Lacey Luzzi: S'mored: A humorous, cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 5)

by Gina LaManna

  “I often have that effect on men,” Meg sniffed, turning up her nose. “But for Clay, I guess.”

  She gave a guttural sigh and leaned over my bed, ripping the comforter from its resting place and wrapping it around her body.

  “Thank you, Babe Watch,” I said. “Clay, it’s safe to come in here now.”

  There was another gigantic crash just outside my bedroom door. A moment later, Clay toppled into the room wearing extremely dark sunglasses strapped across his face.

  “Is she clothed?” he gestured vaguely towards the center of the room. Based on his wobbly movements and broad gestures, I doubted he could see a thing.

  “You can’t see us at all, can you?” I asked.

  “Nope. I made these glasses special,” Clay said. “They’re supposed to be Spy Shades.”

  “Supposed to be?” Meg asked. “Can I try?”

  Clay protectively pressed the glasses even tighter to his face. “I screwed this pair up on accident. The lenses are supposed to be partially reflective so I can see if anyone’s standing behind me – however, this pair turned out entirely reflective. Basically, the lenses are mirrors.”

  “So right now you’re staring at your own eyeballs?” Meg asked.

  Clay bumped into my bed as he strode around the room, stumbling as if drunk. “I can’t see a single thing except myself,” he said happily.

  “You can take off the blinders. Meg is all covered up,” I said. “Will you please help us with the suitcases?”

  Clay raised his glasses cautiously and peeked underneath the rims. After verifying for himself that Meg was safely wrapped in my blanket, he pushed his invention on top of his head.

  “Do you like what you see?” Meg asked, doing a little shimmy.

  Clay ignored her, glancing at the suitcases. He gave a firm shake of his head. “Oh, boy. I can’t help with those.”

  “Why not? Aren’t you a big, strong guy?” Meg asked flirtatiously. She leaned forward and pouted her lips, but her covering popped right off and Clay nearly fell over.

  Reaching towards his head, he wildly flipped his sunglasses back down.

  Meg frowned. I walked over and helped her bundle back up in the comforter, while I tsked in Clay’s direction.

  “What?” Clay rubbed his right arm. “I sprained my wrist the other day at the gym, and it’s still tender.”

  “That happened like, six weeks ago,” I said. “Dr. Gambino wouldn’t even prescribe you a brace. He said it was too minor to treat.”

  “But it’s my mouse hand,” Clay said, a bit defensively. “How am I supposed to right click with a sprained wrist? I’m not moving those elephant-sized suitcases.”

  Clay turned on his heel, heading in the direction of the hallway. He smacked noggin-first into the doorframe on the way out, and the entire floor shook a bit. He flicked his sunglasses back on his head and stomped out.

  I sighed. “I have an idea for next steps. Wait here a second.”

  “Ringing your new boyfriend?” Meg catcalled.

  “Just keep the comforter on for now,” I said, reaching for my phone. “We can’t afford any more delays.”

  Meg grunted as I dialed.

  “Are you back from Carlos’s errand?” I asked. My voice sounded hopeful as Anthony picked up the phone. “And if so, could you please, please, please come save me? I need help. I’m in danger.” It was clear from the even tone of my voice that I was far from frightened. I suspected I sounded more monotone than anything.

  “Where are you?” Anthony’s voice rumbled. “I’m headed back into town now.”

  “At my apartment.”

  “Are you being held by gunpoint?”

  I looked to where Meg was thumbing through a magazine on my bed, the comforter in a pile at her feet. “Kind of.”

  Silence engulfed the line.

  “There are guns on full display,” I added, unhelpfully.

  “Are they real?”

  “Come over here and see for yourself. I think she’ll even let you touch ’em,” I said, unable to keep the smile out of my voice. Something about being surrounded by my best friend, living with my favorite cousin, and talking to my boyfriend all at once put me in a sunny mood.

  “Are we still talking about guns?” Anthony asked, the skepticism in his voice heavy.

  “If you want to be.” I shrugged. “Please stop by? We’re on our way out of town, and I’d love to see you before we go.”

  Anthony sighed. “If the crime is indecent exposure from anyone but yourself, I will not be happy.”

  “Oh,” I started, but the line had already disconnected. I sometimes suspected Anthony could read minds, and this was one of those times.

  I looked over to the bed where my best friend grimaced at one of the photos in the magazine. The image of her lying there suddenly reminded me of our younger days. The times when we’d done absolutely everything together. We’d eaten each other’s food, read each other’s books, and even bathed together while our moms took turns working their respective night shifts. We’d been a team from day one, and I couldn’t be happier to have her as my sidekick.

  Except right now, I couldn’t quite muster the guts to lie next to Meg on the bed in her current attire. There was too much potential for parts of my body to come into contact with parts of her body that should never touch.

  Instead, I lay on the floor and painted my nails while Meg read me the “Top Ten” list of foods that, according to Cosmo, burn butt fat, boost nail growth, and make my hair shinier all in one go, while we waited for Anthony to arrive.

  Chapter 2

  “Show me the guns.” Anthony stepped into my apartment, somehow bypassing the seven different locks I’d fastened tightly only five minutes before. Anthony had quite a way with getting places he wanted to go, even if they were off limits. Recent examples of such places included locked doors and underneath my shirt.

  “In here,” I shouted, blowing on the top coat of polish to make sure it was dry.

  Anthony strode into my open bedroom door like he owned the place. Then again, Anthony belonged everywhere.

  He was well over six feet tall and a firm wall of man – his muscles woven together like an intricate puzzle. His broad chest strained at the seams of his signature black spandex shirt as he moved across the room. I could count the abs on his narrow waist as he approached, and I wondered how he managed to look understated and elegant all at once.

  I caught his eye, surprised to see his face paling rapidly. He normally kept up a healthy Mediterranean tan, but at the moment, he looked closer to Clay’s skin hue than his own. Though he’d locked mobsters in trunks and disassembled bombs, he now stood in my bedroom looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “Oh hey,” Meg said, looking up. She flexed her foot and flipped a page in her magazine.

  Dang, that girl was something else. Her confidence wasn’t the least bit impacted by Anthony’s presence, whereas my confidence levels took a dive whenever the man stepped into the same room as me – even when I had all my clothes in place.

  “What seems to be the life-threatening issue here?” Anthony cleared his throat and directed his gaze towards me.

  “I missed you?” I squeaked.

  Most times I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I knew that when his eyes melted from bitter espresso to creamy cappuccino, he was thinking about how he could get a hand under my shirt. I knew that when his eyes glittered black, he was focused on business and business alone. I knew that when his eyes were the shade of a frothy latte, he was in a good mood, which was very, very rare. But anger, amusement, frustration, and curiosity all looked pretty much the same to me.

  “Mm-hmm,” Anthony murmured. “And what else?”

  “Well, we do have a problem.” I stood up and nudged Meg’s suitcases with my toe. My recently painted toenail, to be exact. “Oh, crapola.”

  I knelt down and licked my thumb, quickly swiping away a streak of red nail polish from the camouflage green suitcase. It didn’t wo
rk, and the devil-red paint smeared even more.

  “You best not be getting nail goop on my knockoff Gucci travel cases.” Meg eyed me over her magazine.

  “False alarm, Meg. No polish.” I stood up and gave Anthony my best please don’t tell face.

  Anthony grunted. “Let me guess – you called me over here to be your bell boy?”

  “You’re a very attractive bell boy,” I wheedled. At Anthony’s unamused face, I tried again. “Can you please help? We can’t physically lift them, and Clay sprained his wrist.”

  “Clay was at the gym this morning.” Anthony crossed his arms.

  “Yeah, doing the elliptical with his legs,” I said. “He’s still babying the wrist sprain from six weeks ago. He’s probably concerned that if he injures it more, he and Horatio won’t be able to continue doing…well, whatever it is they do online.”

  “Come on, buddy,” Meg said. “You heard your girlfriend. Luggage duties come with the new relationship territory. Welcome to being a boyfriend.”

  “You told her?” Anthony looked over at me. “Already?”

  I shrugged. “I had to tell someone.”

  “She tells me everything,” Meg said. “I can’t wait to hear the nitty gritty details of your first late night encounter.”

  “What does she mean by late night encounter?” Anthony’s voice became dangerously soft.

  “Eating ice cream,” I said. “Popping popcorn, roasting s’mores, and watching a movie. Cuddling under a blanket.”

  “You’re lying.” Anthony took one step further into the room, his focus landing on me. “I know when you’re lying.”

  “Mmm,” I paused, distracted as one of Anthony’s arms encircled my waist. “You’re mighty talented.”

  Anthony raised an eyebrow, before breaking into a grin and shaking his head. Leaning in, he kissed me on the forehead. “What if I don’t want to move these suitcases?”

  “Then I’ll mace you,” Meg said. “I just got a new can I adopted from an old friend.”

  “Please don’t do that,” I said. “I’d like my best friend and my boyfriend to get along.”

  “I wasn’t gonna,” Meg whispered loudly. “It was an empty threat. You ruined it, Lacey.”

  “You know, the main reason I don’t want to move these bags down to the car for you is because that means you’re leaving me for a few days,” Anthony said, his dark eyes catching me in their gaze. He swiftly took in my traveling attire, but thankfully didn’t seem put off by my stretchy pants and yoga-style tank top. “And I don’t like the idea of that. So, I think I’d prefer those bags stay right where they’re at.”

  “Girl, he wants you,” Meg murmured under her breath.

  “Meg, stop.” I heard an embarrassing hitch in my voice, a shade of breathlessness I wished I could cover up.

  “Don’t be all changing who you are just because you’ve got a boyfriend,” Meg said. “Don’t be choosing him over me!”

  “Meg, he and I have been dating for less than a week. Give me a break,” I said. “Plus, you and me, we’re going away together for the next few days. A romantic girlfriend getaway.”

  “That sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Anthony muttered.

  “No, quite the contrary,” I said. “It’ll be laid back. Super easy-going. Just hanging around, eating s’mores, drinking wine.”

  “We’ll be having plenty of girl chat, too,” Meg said. “Reading Cosmo, talking about our ovaries, combing each other’s hair. Wanna come?”

  “Fine, I’ll help with the suitcases,” Anthony growled. But before reaching for the bags, he wrapped his hand around the nape of my neck and drew me in close. “But come back to me in one piece, you hear me, sugar?”

  “I hear you,” Meg piped in. “Loud and clear.”

  “Meg!” Anthony and I said it together.

  “Just being a proper third wheel over here,” she said. “Trying to contribute.”

  I gave Anthony a pleading look. “How about we have a date night when we come back, just you and me?”

  “I like the sound of that,” he said, his eyes starting to melt into a cappuccino color. If only Meg weren’t lying in my bed, dressed in nothing but a…well, nothing at all.

  “Great, you can come to Shotz for your date,” Meg said. “I’ll make sure you have a private table that’s not too sticky. One away from the human-sized Jenga I just bought for the bar, so you don’t get bricks tumbled into your Gigantor pickles.”

  “Yeah, we’ll discuss the details later,” I said. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

  “Just being a proper third wheel,” she said again, flicking the magazine shut. “Let’s go!”

  Anthony heaved one of the suitcases onto his shoulder, striding without a second glance through the door and down to the car. I noticed a second too late that Meg hadn’t securely fastened the zipper on the suitcase, and a piece of her clothing dangled loosely from the opening. I watched through the window as Anthony lifted the suitcase into the car, mere seconds later. It was hard to suppress a snort of laughter as I realized that the dangling piece of clothing was, in fact, a pair of Meg’s undies. Highlighter pink in color.

  Just as Anthony moved to shut the car door, they slipped out of the bag and fell into the street. I couldn’t hide my smile as Anthony’s face turned confused, then horrified, and then guilty, as he very carefully poked at the clothing garment with his toe. Glancing around to make sure he wasn’t being watched, he prodded the material into the gutter, straightened up, and marched back towards the house with his chin held extra high.

  Ten minutes later, the car was loaded. It was amazing how fast he moved once Meg mentioned ovaries.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” I asked Anthony.

  I sat in the driver’s seat of my Lumina, leaning out the window, while Meg set herself up in the passenger’s seat. She propped one foot on the dashboard and one foot out the window.

  Anthony stood on the other side of my door and gave a non-committal neck tilt.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” I said.

  “It’s part of my job,” he said, clearly distracted by the V-neck of my tank top. He reached a hand out, tugging at the collar line of my shirt. As I moved to swat him away, he gestured towards the suitcases in the trunk.

  “Fine,” I said, allowing him a peek. He deserved a glimpse after all the manual labor. Fair is fair.

  After a lengthy gaze, he gave a nod of approval and took a step back from the window. My gut twisted as we held each other’s eyes, neither of us ready to say goodbye.

  “Thanks for moving the stuff for us.” I tried to keep my voice positive.

  “You’re welcome, sugar.” Anthony leaned through my window, his fingers dancing along my collarbone as he pulled me in for a kiss.

  I couldn’t help my eyes closing slightly as I tilted forward, inhaling the musky scent of him – all man. He wore cologne smelling of a hint of pine, but with a fresh, lemony twist that always made it seem as if he’d just jumped out of a shower. His hand brushed against my cheek before his lips gently met mine; a soft, sweet kiss for the road.

  “Awwww,” Meg cried, fanning herself. “So cute.”

  I opened my eyes at the same time Anthony pulled back, giving me an exasperated look. I shot him a look in return – one asking for forgiveness – to which he emitted a long, loud sigh.

  “I’ll see you when I get back?” I said.

  “Unless you wanna come with us,” Meg offered again. “We can paint your nails and glitterize that sexy mane of yours. I’ve been dying to try frosted tips on you.”

  “I’ll see you later,” Anthony said.

  I glanced towards Meg to give her frowny eyebrows, and by the time I turned back, Anthony was gone.

  “Frosted tips went out of style like twenty years ago,” I pointed out as I pulled away from the curb.

  “Yeah, well so did inviting your boyfriend to a girls’ weekend,” Meg said, a smug grin on her face.

  “I didn’t invite
him,” I said. “It’s just you and me.”

  “I know, chickadee,” Meg laughed. “I made sure of it.”

  Chapter 3

  “She’s not hiding anything under the blanket,” I explained to the guard, who was leaning through the window of my Lumina, his eyes focused on Meg.

  “She’ll need to remove the blanket in order for me to allow her entrance to the estate,” the man said, his dark eyes watching Meg’s movements carefully. She was still wrapped like a burrito in my comforter. “Security measures.”

  “You heard it,” Meg said. “He’s asking me to strip in the name of security.”

  “Please, that won’t be necessary,” I said to the guard. “Trust me. She doesn’t have anything on underneath.”

  “That’s what I need to make sure of,” the guard said.

  “No, you don’t understand,” I said. “She doesn’t have anything on underneath.”

  “Loosen up, Lacey. He asked for it.” Meg shifted in her seat, leaning towards the guard. “Now listen, buster. I don’t normally give free shows, but for you…”

  The guard’s eyes flicked to me in confusion.

  I shrugged. “She’s right. You asked for it.”

  “Go ahead,” Meg said, opening the blanket wide. “Feel me right up.”

  The guard’s eyes widened as Meg flung the comforter back, revealing her see-through cover-up and her itsy bitsy bikini.

  He coughed, backed away, and gestured for us to continue through the gates.

  As I cruised up the long, winding driveway to Carlos’s mansion – a place large enough to host a fireworks display, strong enough to withstand a terrorist attack, and majestic enough to display art from the Vatican itself – I explained to Meg in no uncertain terms that she was to remain in the car while I ran inside to grab the cabin keys from my grandfather.

  “Oh, and while you wait, do you mind covering up with the blanket again?” I asked, sweetness lacing my voice. “Safety measure. If the guards are looking at you instead of the grounds, they’re not doing their job.”

  “But I got all dressed up to say hi,” Meg grumped.

  “It took us eighteen minutes to convince the security guard you’re not a threat to the estate,” I said. “We don’t have time. Please, just wait here.”