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

Page 15

by Gina LaManna


  “What the heck?” Clay muttered. “How—? Strange.”

  “Please excuse my mediocre brain for not being able to keep up with you, but could you please expand on any one of those questions?”

  “Well, cousin of mine, you know more than me, for once.”

  “Hey—”

  “Sorry, but it’s true. It’s just...the strange thing is that I can’t find anything about a body up there. What happened, Lacey? I’m hearing neither head nor tail about a murder.”

  I filled Clay in on the series of events, surprised that Anthony hadn’t made contact with him yet, if for nothing else, than for some help getting information. Maybe Anthony had a source up here, someone he was meeting with who could lend a helping hand in the region. I wouldn’t be surprised; Anthony’s network was expansive, and between his and Carlos’s influence in Tonka, I would bet they had some “friends of the Family” nearby.

  “Finding anything?” I asked.

  “Not a peep.” Clay was starting to sound agitated. Information was Clay’s jam. If he couldn’t get it, nobody could. But that also made him very angry. “No name, no date, nothing.”

  “Oh!” I blurted out. “I actually have a name. Joseph Facelli.”

  Clay waited a beat. When he spoke, his voice was stern. “Next time, tell me the name first.”

  “I can hear you grinding your teeth over the phone, Clay,” I said. “Stop it – it’s not good for you.”

  A few click clacks and Clay sucked in a breath. “Joseph Facelli, huh?”

  “You got a hit?” I knew Clay was tempting me, holding the information like a carrot in front of a horse. Even though I’d never truly understood that saying. It would make much more sense to dangle an ice cream cone or a bottle of wine. I know I’d move faster chasing the latter.

  “You’re welcome, cousin.” Clay spoke as if he’d just done me the largest favor in the world.

  “Do you plan on telling me what I should thank you for?”

  “Oh, right. Facelli…let’s see. He was involved with the mob in Chicago, but only fringe. It doesn’t look like he had any luck working his way up the ranks, and he was definitely far from center stage.” Clay read under his breath. “Ouch.”

  “Are you okay? What on earth are you doing online?”

  “Why do you care what I’m doing online?” Clay sounded overly suspicious for such a simple question.

  “What do you mean? You were reading about Facelli, then stopped. You said ouch.”

  “Oh, er. Right. I just meant that it looks like Facelli got in some trouble with the bosses down there. Double crossed them or something. I’m not surprised he moved farther north. In fact, he might have been on his way out of town when someone offed him and stuffed him in your trunk.”

  Clay’d managed a quick cover up, but for the third or fourth time lately, I wondered exactly what Clay was so private about online. Most of the time he liked to proclaim his ventures from the rooftop, showing me every script, code, and wha-zoodle he created. This new, secret Clay had me wondering what he was up to, sneaking around on the Internet.

  I let it drop for now, focusing on the problem at hand. “Any initial gut feelings? You think his own Family ordered a hit on him?”

  “I’m not sure he was even in with a Family. He was a little squirt, kinda reminds me of Alfonso – that one ginger kid who liked to pretend he played with the big boys, but didn’t know what he was getting himself into.” I knew exactly who Clay meant. It was back when Clay had wired me into a gold dress that’d nearly exploded to bits during the strangest wedding ceremony I’d ever witnessed.

  Clay cleared his throat sheepishly, probably remembering the same incident.

  “Couldn’t Carlos just ask around down there? He got his start in Chicago, I’m sure he still has some friends,” I said. The only small problem would be having to tell Carlos about the body, and then finding a good enough reason to explain why we’d waited so long before disclosing a murder on his property.

  “He might…but the Chicago branch might be embarrassed by Facelli, trying to hush things up down there. I think it might be best not to ask in this case and let them lick their wounds in peace.”

  I pursed my lips in thought. “So…he might’ve been up here because he was on the run from his fallout with Chicago. But if not, can you think of any other reason he’d be hanging around this area? More specifically, in my trunk?”

  “That’s what I’m looking for. Wait for it, wait for it…” A few clicks of a mouse, a few strokes of the keys, and Clay was back. “Um, do you know anything about diamonds?”

  “Excuse me?” I rolled over, nearly falling off the bed. Or rather, the sunken mattress. I directed my attention back to the phone. “How did you guess about the diamonds?”

  I could practically hear Clay smiling, puffing his chest out with pride. “I cracked a code.”

  “Since we’ve been talking?”

  “Yes,” Clay said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing, “among other things.”

  I winced. “What sort of other things have you been doing since we’ve been on the phone?”

  “Cripes, Lacey. Why do you have to make everything awkward?”

  “I just—”

  “Never mind. I wrote a quick script to analyze a few bland emails between Facelli and a few other known Family members. My program figured it out in seventy-four seconds.” Clay paused, letting his work dazzle me. When I didn’t comment, he continued, “Looks like Facelli had a diamond running gig the night you discovered his body. Assuming you found him the first night you arrived.”

  “Yep. Out of curiosity, what did the emails say?”

  “That’s not important,” Clay said quickly. “Anyway…”

  “Did the email say, ‘Meet me at 8 p.m. in Tonka for the diamond delivery?’” I asked, with the feeling that Clay might’ve overstated his “code-cracking” abilities.

  “Not quite…” Clay hedged.

  “Then what was it?”

  “Socks. Facelli was trying to set up an order for socks from his buddy.”

  “Good job cracking that masterpiece,” I said with a light laugh. Wanting to keep Clay in good spirits, I pressed on. “Did your script pick up anything else?”

  “Not particularly,” Clay said, sounding a bit stung. “I can’t tell exactly what their plan was, but I’m guessing it was some sort of handoff. Relatively small stuff.”

  “But if Facelli was on the run, why would he go getting involved with something like that?”

  “Maybe he’s even more like Alfonso than we thought.” Clay began speaking more quickly. “Maybe the Chicago bosses had developed an interest in diamonds, some use for them.”

  “And Facelli saw an opportunity to get into their good graces if he could get them the diamonds,” I added.

  “Exactly. Maybe Facelli was trying to redeem himself, to make amends for whatever he did to tick them off in the first place.”

  “That makes sense.” I paused, thinking. “It’s a win-win. Because if he’s not a part of their Family, then there’s no risk for the bosses. If Facelli gets caught, it’s his problem and not theirs. He’s not linked to them.”

  “Right,” Clay agreed. “And if he succeeds, the Family gets their diamonds and Facelli gets a reward. In this case, maybe they spare his life.”

  “That probably means something went wrong.” I thought back to the sour cream on Facelli’s mustache. “But the question is, what?”

  “The question is not what went wrong, Lace. It’s why you?”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know. I’ve never even been to Chicago. I hadn’t heard about diamonds until this trip...I have no clue.”

  “I don’t believe that it was random. If the Chicago bosses wanted him dead, he’d be gone. Poof. Disappeared. He wouldn’t be found like that.”

  “But it didn’t seem like an amateur hit. The cops couldn’t find fingerprints, boot tracks, nothing. Not to mention, the window of opportunity for someone to kill Face
lli and get him into my trunk without making a mistake was pretty small.” I thought back to the evening. “We had visitors not long after we arrived, and I got my pajamas shortly after that. We were in and out all evening, and nobody noticed anything unexpected.”

  “You had company?” I could almost feel Clay’s jaw drop.

  “Yeah, uh...friends of Nora’s.”

  “Lacey, you have got to tell me these things. There’s a murder and strange people showing up at your door, and you don’t even consider the fact they might be related?”

  “Oh, I considered it a few times.” I ran my hand through my hair. I’d been telling the story so many times lately, and it was getting exhausting. “But I don’t think that’s the case.”

  “But you don’t know so.”

  “My gut—”

  “Don’t tell me you trusted your gut!” Clay sounded appalled.

  “What’s wrong with my gut?” I threw my arms up in exasperation. “You and Meg, man. You’ve both given me flack for my gut today.”

  The line fell silent. “Does Anthony know about these guests?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about you put him on the phone, so I can get all of the information?”

  “He’s not here right now…”

  “Are the strange visitors there?”

  “They’re not here either—” I stopped talking, hearing the front door open and the chatter of Italian voices filter through the hallway. “Maybe.”

  Clay sighed. “Get me the names and I’ll run background checks on all of them. But Lacey, next time let me know sooner.”

  “I will,” I said. “Say, is there anything else? I’ve got to go prepare some dinner.”

  “Be careful,” Clay said. “Because there’s only two reasons I can think of that a body would end up in your car. First, it was a convenient hiding place, which is unlikely. There’s a lake right there which is a whole lot more convenient than staging a crime scene.”

  “What’s the more likely option?” I swallowed hard, not sure I wanted to know.

  “That whoever placed Facelli there is sending a message.” Clay stopped typing, his point punctuated by silence. “And you’re the recipient.”

  “Well, I’m doing my best to keep on the lookout. Meg and I have an appointment to scout out a few suspicious truckers around here, some folks that might have a little something to do with the diamond trafficking in the area.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I’m bringing Anthony.” Part of me wished I could protect myself without his help, but another part of me was relieved that someone with as much skill and expertise as Anthony would be watching my back.

  “Good. And if you find out names, or any information at all, please, please keep me posted. Names, Lacey. Names would be great.”

  “Names, I can do,” I said. “I’ll call you tomorrow night after karaoke – don’t ask. Anything more I can do for you in the meantime?”

  “Keep your head down and relax. You’re on vacation,” Clay said wryly. “I’ll do more digging on my end and call you with any updates.”

  Chapter 22

  “What’s happening here?” I padded into the kitchen, which appeared to have been made into a set for the latest hit cooking show.

  “We’re setting up a cook-off,” Meg said. “See, these men got lost on the way to the store, which is what took them so long. I see you got your Barilla freeze-dried whatever-the-heck sorta pasta that is there, so I figured we could have a contest. You versus Marco.”

  “No!” I glanced up at the men. “I’m sorry, but we had a deal...you are supposed to be out of here by tonight. It’s already late afternoon, and you should be getting on to a hotel.”

  Marco shook his head. “No, Lacey, I promised to cook you a one on one romantic dinner tonight.”

  “That’s not happening, either. I promised my boyfriend that I wouldn’t let you tempt me with food.” I crossed my arms, leaning against the island in the center of the kitchen. Meg sat on a stool, watching as Marco lined up all of his fancy ingredients on the counter.

  “I propose a plan,” Marco said. “A cook-off, pasta style. You and me, we go...how you say, mouth to mouth?”

  “Definitely not.” I shook my head so hard I got dizzy. “I think you might mean head to head competition.”

  “Yes, my head against yours.” Marco nodded patiently. “If I win, we are allowed to stay one more night. If you win, we leave immediately.” I glanced at the fresh tomatoes on the counter, the handmade pasta next to the sink.

  “Not fair. I didn’t get fresh ingredients.”

  “Then I let you choose the judge.” Marco smiled. “Anyone here. One judge, who gets the full decision.”

  I hesitated a moment. If I could blackmail Meg into choosing my dish, we could have the men out of our hair before bedtime. There was always the off chance she’d be a loose cannon and rebel, but I had to take that chance. Anthony wasn’t around, and I didn’t know the other two stooges.

  Granted, I could have tried to get them to leave based on the fact that this house belonged to my grandparents, and they didn’t technically have a say in the matter. But that would require time, energy, and effort, none of which I wanted to spend arguing with them. My stomach rumbled as loud as a thunderclap, and I sighed loudly. Plus, there was always Nora to consider, and I’d already gotten in one argument with her today. I really didn’t want to make it two.

  “Fine,” I sighed. “Meg, will you be the judge?”

  “If I must.” Meg gave a loud, strenuous sigh, as if taste testing was the most difficult job on the planet. “You’ll owe me, though. Big time.”

  “And regardless of what happens, you’re out of here by morning at the latest. If I win, you’ll be out tonight.” I glared at Meg. “I will win, I’m confident.”

  “Girl, I’m a fair judge,” Meg said. “I’m an equal opportunity eater.”

  “We can discuss this later,” I said through gritted teeth. “How much time do we have?”

  “One hour exactly.” Meg stood up, holding her arms in the touchdown position. “My stomach won’t be able to last much longer than that, and you’ll have a fainting referee. Nobody wants a fainting referee.”

  “Here goes nothing,” I said, grabbing my Barilla, hoping it wasn’t expired. I enviously eyed the fresh oregano and tomatoes, looking so lush on the cutting board in front of Marco. “This is not fair. He has an entire basil plant growing out of a pot.”

  “Life’s not fair,” Meg said. “Get cookin’, good lookin’. Oh, and you too, Lacey. Get to work.”

  Chapter 23

  One hour later on the dot, Meg clapped her hands. Marco and I stopped what we were doing after I squeezed in one last stir.

  “Time’s up folks, this mama bear is too hungry to wait any longer. Now, show the referee what you’ve got.” Meg made a gesture worthy of Vanna White. Directing us to place our dishes before her, she sat at the center island with Alfie on one side and Dan-the-string-bean leaned against the other side.

  “These are my two backup judges. Just in case I need a second opinion.” Meg wrinkled her nose as I placed my dish before her. “But I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

  “Hey, don’t judge a book by its cover.” I tilted my head, noting that my noodles were a bit sticky and brown, more like potstickers than pasta. Maybe I did get my cooking skills from Nora; the thought was horrifying.

  Meanwhile, Marco showed up behind me, setting an elegant platter down, which immediately outshined my paper plate. He’d heaped beautifully tender noodles, cooked al dente according to the instructions, topped with a tomato-based sugo and a light sprinkling of freshly grated parmesan cheese.

  “I have to say, this doesn’t look good, Lacey.” Meg shook her head as if disappointed with my performance.

  “I didn’t have the opportunity to get fresh ingredients, so it’s not particularly fair,” I said, leaning in and lowering my voice, “plus, you’re my friend, you’re supposed to have my
back no matter what.”

  “I have your back if you have my stomach, but this...this mess…” Meg attempted to stab a noodle from my paper plate with a fork, but it collapsed in half. “Honestly Lacey, even if you had the freshest of ingredients, would it have changed the outcome?”

  I ignored my friend’s lack of faith in my ability to prepare a meal, and instead turned my grumpiness on my competition. “Where on earth did you find a porcelain platter to serve your...meal on?”

  I said the second to last word as if it were the worst meal I’d ever encountered in my life when, in reality, my stomach was rebelling against me and telling me to eat Marco’s cooking.

  “The cupboard,” Marco said.

  “How sensible,” I growled.

  “Lacey, you’re getting hangry,” Meg said. “Hunger and anger don’t mix well together. Just forfeit, let the boys stay here another night, and eat food meant for humans. I’m sure Marco will share.”

  “Of course,” Marco said. “For my love.”

  “Not my love,” I said, my teeth grinding. “And I’m eating my own food because it’s delicious. Meg, you’re forced to try it.”

  “Fine. I’ll get to it. Dinner time!” Meg clanked her spoon against her water cup. “Everyone take a seat.”

  Chairs scraped against the floor as we all hovered around the center island. Marco earned a slap to the hand as he pulled up a seat next to me and rested his hand on my thigh.

  “Watch it, buster.” I scooted away a few more inches and pulled my paper plate of noodles with me.

  “Have some of the meal,” Marco said, pushing his platter towards me, just as Meg was helping herself to a large portion of it.

  A few noodles fell onto the table and Meg scooped them right up and continued eating.

  “Meg, you have to try mine, too!” I pushed my paper plate towards her.

  “I will. At the end,” she said through a mouthful of Marco’s meal. “But this is heavenly. Seriously, try it.”

  “Why would I have that,” I gestured towards Marco’s exquisite compilation of pasta, herbs, and sauce, “when I could have this.”

 

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