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

by Gina LaManna

  Anthony’s dark, curly hair swirled loosely over his olive-skinned forehead, the subtle aftershave scent comforting in the morning air. The man didn’t even have morning breath. How does he not have morning breath? Breathing quickly against my arm, I ranked my own breath somewhere around dragon status. Yikes.

  I was torn between wanting to get my rear end out of bed and brush my teeth, and sticking around to watch Anthony for thirty more seconds. It was a rare thing to witness, Anthony truly at peace. The serious expression normally lining his features had fallen away during the night, his forehead relaxed and smooth.

  I scooted towards the edge of the bed, keeping my breath pointed far enough away that I didn’t endanger his nose hairs with my scorching scent. But even that didn’t put him off, as he snuggled in closer, making it even more difficult to leave.

  Tearing myself away from the hint of a smile pulling his lips upward in sleep, I forced myself to the bathroom. Meg had already burned her nose hairs, and we didn’t need another victim in the same house. A quick trip to the bathroom and a vigorous brushing session later, I’d turned my toxic disaster into a minty fresh smile. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t swipe on a hint of lip balm and the subtlest tinge of mascara. Deciding after a few minutes that I looked a little bit less like a zombie, I crept back towards the bed.

  Halfway there, however, I paused.

  Creak. Someone was outside the room.

  “Anthony,” I whispered.

  Creeeaak. I ducked low to the floor, a distinct clink of metal causing my adrenaline to flow.

  “Anthony, wake up,” I hissed. “Someone’s coming into the room.” He stirred, muttering something unintelligible.

  “Hey, tough guy, get your gun.” I gave the bed a small shove, hoping that either the word gun or the ripple of the mattress would wake his sleeping figure. It worked. Anthony’s eyes shot open and he rolled towards me, all in one motion. I held a finger to my lips and pointed to the door, where someone was slowly turning the knob.

  With a sharp nod, Anthony gestured for me to get back in the bathroom. I army-crawled towards the restroom while Anthony pulled a gun from who-knew-where. He crept away from the bed and pressed his back against the wall, pointing the weapon at the door. We’d have to have the whole no guns in bed discussion at a later date.

  We both paused, the room deadly silent, though my heartbeat pulsed in my ears like a bass drum. The knob stopped turning and the door began to open.

  Anthony cast a warning look in my direction, pointing his gun at the intruder – watching, waiting.

  I wondered if the killer hadn’t realized Anthony was sleeping in my room, and was sneaking in to finish me off. But why?

  My thoughts halted as the door slammed open with a deafening thunk – one so loud the walls of the cabin shook.

  Anthony’s trigger finger tensed.

  “Don’t shoot!” I yelled, recognizing Meg’s figure as she stepped inside the doorframe.

  At the same time, my best friend shouted, “Surprise!” And, without waiting for a response, she catapulted herself into a dead-on sprint, taking a leap across the bedroom and sailing through the air like an ungraceful cat. She landed on the mattress where Anthony had been seconds before with an alarming crunch, the legs of the bed frame trembling under the shock.

  “Meg, what on earth are you doing?” I stood up and rested a hand on my hip. “Anthony almost shot you!”

  “You forgot to invite me to the party,” Meg said, sprawling across the bed in her Babe Watch position. True to form, she had on her curve-flaunting bikini, looking ready as ever for the beach.

  Anthony lowered the gun and put a free hand to his temples. He shielded his eyes, as if hiding his gaze from Meg’s swimsuit. Her bottoms were just so teensy tiny, the material started to get lost in certain places.

  “What party?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “I just didn’t want to miss out on anything fun,” Meg said, her voice faltering. “I thought maybe—” She was interrupted by a long, loud creak from the bed.

  “Meg, there’s no party here,” I said. “We were sleeping.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but this time the legs of the bed let out a deep groan.

  “But I thought I heard – you guys weren’t having a pillow fight or anything?” Meg asked, her eyes confused. “I just felt left out.”

  “There was no pillow fight happening,” I said, softening at her slightly depressed tone. “I promise you. Only boring stuff, like sleeping and brushing my teeth.”

  “Oh, well in that case, I’m sorry.” Meg’s cheeks turned a bit pink. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just didn’t want you to forget about our girls’ weekend.”

  “Of course not.” I sat next to her and very carefully patted my friend’s knee, making sure not to touch any indecently exposed body parts. “We’re still going to have our girls’ vacation, don’t you worry. If everything’s okay, Anthony said he might even head out today.”

  “Really?” Meg looked far too excited at the prospect. “Because I think everything’s fine. He can take off anytime.”

  “I’m right here,” Anthony said. “I can hear everything you say.”

  I stood up. “There’s no rush. We can let him check things out so that the rest of our getaway is uninterrupted. In the meantime, maybe we can go check out the local bar today. It’s called Gabe’s, and Carlos asked me to stop by.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good.” Meg smiled, and I realized she’d been sincerely concerned that the murder and Anthony’s presence had thrown a wrench in our “alone” time.

  I’d have to make sure that didn’t happen – I wouldn’t ruin my friendship with Meg for any man, even Anthony. She and I went way too far back. After all, she was the only person who had known and loved my mother like I did.

  “Well, I best be going now,” Meg said, moving to climb out of the bed. “You two can finish spoonin’ in peace.”

  “We weren’t spooning—” A large crash interrupted my denial.

  The right leg of the bed frame gave out first, and I lunged forward trying to help in some way. But I was much too late, and the second leg gave out before I reached Meg. The headboard clattered against the wall a moment later, splitting completely in two.

  I watched, helpless, as the rest of the bed crumbled to the ground.

  “Gosh darn piece of junk. Tell Carlos not to buy these flimsy toothpick beds from IKEA.” Unscathed, Meg peeled herself from the sunken mattress, dusting off as she stood. “Anyway, like I was saying, I’m gonna go now.”

  “Meg, you don’t have to go,” I said, still harboring a bit of guilt that she’d been feeling left out.

  “Great!” she turned back and smiled. “How about breakfast, then?”

  “Good idea. I’m starving.” I rested a hand on my stomach for emphasis.

  “I’m assuming you’re going to cook?” Meg crossed her arms. “Because I’m feeling lazy. And plus I can’t cook.”

  “I consider cooking s’mores a delicacy,” I pointed out.

  Meg picked at her nails, showing me what she thought of my response.

  I sighed. “Okay, give me a minute and I’ll make breakfast. I hope you like toast and cereal. Maybe an egg if you’re lucky.”

  “I’ll take all of the above. I’ll just go freshen up while you start getting stuff ready,” Meg said. “And Anthony, put your gun away if you’re thinking about joining us at the breakfast table. You’re just being impolite.”

  She left the room, leaving Anthony standing with an uncomfortable expression on his face. “Since when does she have a problem with guns?”

  I shrugged. “She’s just upset that our weekend is overshadowed by a murder.”

  “Scarily enough, I don’t get the feeling it’s the murder that bothers her.” Anthony retrieved a pair of black pants from the floor, pulling them on over his boxers. “I think she has a problem with me.”

  “So, are you hungry?” I dodged the obvious response. I knew Meg
had a problem with Anthony’s presence. But I didn’t know how to balance my best friend and my boyfriend when I wanted to keep them both happy.

  Anthony raised an eyebrow, showing he didn’t appreciate my sidestepping his statement.

  “Hey, you should be excited!” I gave a lame attempt at a fist pump. “After all, we haven’t even…s’mored yet, and I’m offering to cook breakfast.” I smiled. “Most men would feel lucky.”

  “S’mored, huh?” Anthony raised an eyebrow, shaking his head as his eyes flashed with amusement. “When you say cooking, do you mean putting bread in the toaster?”

  “I offer buttered toast or raw toast on the Lacey Luzzi Menu Du Jour. Whatever tickles your fancy.”

  Anthony’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “By raw toast, do you mean bread?”

  I shrugged. “Tomato, tom-ah-to.”

  Chapter 14

  My cooking style couldn’t be called graceful. I wasn’t trying to sound angry, but the slamming noises coming from the pots and pans and stovetop made it sound like I had a huge chip on my shoulder when, really, I was just looking for a toaster. Unfortunately, I caused a loud enough racket to draw everyone in the house to the kitchen, including our three unexpected guests.

  “Good morning, Principessa,” Marco sang, coming into the kitchen.

  I pursed my lips, reminding myself that he’d be gone in a few minutes – just as soon as I got some food in his stomach. In the meantime, I should be polite to him for Nora’s sake. Glancing up, I gave Mini-Mario a smile. He appeared more groomed than a male runway model, and just as slippery-looking. His skin was so oily, I was certain that if I brushed up against him I’d have enough grease to line a skillet. Some people considered their bodies as temples, but I was pretty sure Marco considered his a slip-and-slide.

  “Did you have a good evening?” I asked.

  “Oh, tesora, did you have a bad night?” Marco walked over towards me, lifting his hands to rub my shoulders. “You seem tense. And all that banging in here, what’s going on?”

  I squirmed out of his reach. “Hey Marco, I’m going to be honest with you, and I hope you don’t think I’m being rude. I have a boyfriend, so I’m just not interested in anyone else romantically at this time.”

  “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I will change your mind,” Marco said, surprisingly unfazed by my rejection. So much for worrying about being rude.

  “Sorry, I don’t think so. I’m very happy right now.” I opened the cupboards, muttering under my breath, “I’d be even more happy if I could find the coffee pot.”

  “I make you an espresso, darling.” Marco stepped forward and this time attempted to slide his well-oiled arm around my back. I managed to leap out of the way just before I got grease stains on Meg’s shirt.

  “I don’t have any espresso…” I peered down at Marco, who was at least four inches shorter than me.

  “You have luck, then.” He nodded vigorously. “I never travel without it. Premium grade espresso.”

  I debated telling him I didn’t particularly care for the bitter taste of espresso, but I didn’t. I figured it would keep his arms busy and away from my shoulders. I also pretended to stifle an exaggerated yawn. “That would be fantastic.”

  I moved out of the way while Marco began shuffling around the kitchen. Soon enough, more footsteps thundered on the floorboards and Meg entered the kitchen, followed closely by Anthony.

  “How’s the toast coming?” Meg asked.

  I held up the bag of bread. “It’s still raw.”

  “I see the problem,” Meg said. “You haven’t had your sugar bomb coffee yet. That’s probably why you didn’t notice your shirt tucked into your undies. Pull down that fabulous shirt so it’s over your rear end – at least until after breakfast.”

  I flushed right past pink and hit tomato-red in a second. I yanked the shirt down.

  “Here is espresso for the lady,” Marco said, giving me a Dixie-cup-sized espresso.

  I stared at it, not sure how to drink the thing. “This is…smaller than I’m used to.”

  “It’s perfect, trust me,” Marco said.

  “Any chance you have sugar or cream? Marshmallows, maybe?” The liquid smelled bitter, even from far away.

  “You should not ruin espresso with mini marshmallows and such things.” Marco looked appalled that I’d even suggest it.

  “We can grab you a coffee in town, babe.” Anthony emphasized the last word.

  “I’m just going to do some cooking first.” I didn’t enjoy the immediate tug-of-war between Anthony and Marco over my attention. It was early morning still, and I just wanted to cook some toast and ruin my coffee however I liked. And since I couldn’t find a toaster, I just have to settle for using a skillet over the stove to brown the bread.

  I looked in the fridge, remembering we hadn’t picked up much at the grocery store last night besides chicken, which was all gone. And Nora kept nothing in stock here: no jam, no peanut butter, no cinnamon, or butter, or even syrup. Which brought me back to the raw bread.

  Setting plates in front of everyone, I placed an unadorned piece of toast on Anthony’s, Meg’s, and Marco’s plates, before setting one on my own. I slid into the seat next to Anthony, while everyone looked at their breakfast in confusion.

  “What are you waiting for?” I asked. “Eat!”

  Marco came and sat on the other side of me.

  I scooted my seat towards Anthony.

  Marco pulled his chair closer to me.

  I leaned away.

  Marco rested his hand on the back of my chair.

  I sighed, not wanting to tell Marco off; I hated confrontation, but the man was making it difficult. How many ways could I say I wasn’t interested?

  “Listen, Marco – you and me, it’s not going to happen. This is Anthony, my boyfriend.” I touched Anthony on the chest. “We talked about this yesterday. Nora invited you to stay here last night, but today you’ll have to go.”

  Anthony watched the exchange as if mildly amused. Some of his earlier possessiveness had faded, and I had to wonder if it was because he’d decided I had a zero-level attraction to Marco. I had to give the little Italian credit where it was due, however. Over a foot shorter than Anthony, he seemed completely unfazed by the presence of my boyfriend.

  “I will change your mind, Lacey. You will learn to like me. Maybe even love.” Marco grinned up at me. “I will take you on a date tonight.”

  “Sorry, Marco. I can’t,” I said, gesturing towards Anthony. “Like I said before, this is my boyfriend.”

  Marco frowned, but it was only temporary. “Is no problem. I borrow you for a date from your boyfriend.”

  “I’m not a library book,” I said. “You can’t just check me out when you want and then return me.”

  “No, I don’t return you.” Marco shook his head vehemently, not catching the joke.

  “I, however, am much more open to the idea, if you know anyone who’s looking,” Meg said. “But I got high standards about who I let check me out. Credit check, background check…you know the drill.”

  Feeling frustration bubble up inside me, mostly because my vacation was becoming more and more derailed by the second, I pushed my plate forward with a clatter. “Nobody here is looking for anything romantic this weekend, or going on any dates. Now let’s talk about something else before I set this kitchen on fire.” My phone chose that moment to ring, breaking the tense silence in the kitchen.

  “I’ll be back. Eat your toast.” I walked out of the room, feeling my stomach plummet as I saw Nora’s name on the screen.

  “Hello, Nora,” I said.

  “Lacey dear, how was your first night at the cabin?”

  “It was fine.” I cringed, realizing I hadn’t yet called Carlos and updated him with the events of the previous evening.

  “Great!” Lowering her voice, she whispered, “So what do you think of Marco – sexpot, huh?”

  “Not particularly. Nora, I’m not interested.”

&
nbsp; “But you said you were open to looking.” Nora sounded disappointed. “Were you lying to me?”

  “No, of course not.” Guilt rushed into my chest. I should at least try to be grateful – my grandmother was only trying to help. “I just don’t have any feelings for Marco.”

  “Sometimes they grow and blossom even when you don’t think there’s anything there.”

  “Is that what happened with you and Carlos?” I asked, realizing I didn’t know much about my grandparents’ relationship history except that they’d met in Italy and run off together because their families disapproved of the courtship.

  “Oh, not in the slightest.” Nora’s girlish laugh tinkled across the phone. “We had a whirlwind relationship. I fell in love with that man the first time I laid eyes on him and ever since it’s just been growing. I still can’t get enough of him, darling, and I’m old.”

  “You’re not old,” I said, my heart tugging at her story. Now that I was in a relationship, tales of long-lasting love hit me harder than before, apparently. It was easy to see how much Nora loved her husband, even after decades of being together. I wondered if Anthony and I had something as special as Nora and Carlos. But I pushed the thought away, not certain if I was ready to hear the answer.

  Because as much as I hated to admit it, when – if ever – I fell in love, deeply in love, I wanted everything. I wanted the butterflies in my stomach. I wanted subtle touches on my lower back, lazy circles massaged on my knee when we thought people weren’t looking. I wanted to feel like the center of someone’s world.

  But maybe I was asking too much.

  “That’s sweet of you,” Nora was saying when I refocused on the conversation. “I think you’re right. Age is a number, and my number is twenty-one.”

  “Say, I was kind of in the middle of cooking. Did you have something to tell me when you called?”

  “Lacey dear, when did you take up cooking?”

  “I started small. Simple stuff, you know.” I glanced towards the kitchen, watching as Marco slid his semi-burned toast into the garbage. “But I have room for improvement.”

  “Great! We can do a grandmother/granddaughter cooking class sometime,” Nora said.