Mob Wedding Mayhem

by Ally Gray

  “Marriage is about compromise, right? So we compromise. We’re not going to pay her a visit, but we can still call her on the phone.” Nathan held out his phone and pointed with it to the computer. “Look up the aunt’s number.”

  Stacy sighed, but decided it was the best she was going to get. “What do I even say? ‘Hey, did you have an out-of-wedlock child with a man your father killed earlier this week?’ That should go over well, assuming her aunt doesn’t rip the phone right out of her hand.”

  “Maybe not lead off with that one, you know,” he suggested jokingly. “Start with something with a little more… I don’t know… class?”

  She shot him a look and snatched his phone, but sat staring at it for a few moments while she thought of how to begin. Finally, she decided on her tactic and dialed the number, her fingertip hovering over the send button for a few seconds before she pushed it.

  Chapter 12

  “Why wouldn’t she talk to you?” Jeremiah asked as they pulled through the drive-thru for coffees to take to the office. “She’s old enough to get married, but not old enough to talk on the phone past her bedtime?”

  “Something like that. Her aunt—Mr. D’Argenzio’s sister—answered the phone and wouldn’t put her on. My money’s on the fact that Nathan had just texted to get her info, and therefore Daddy Dearest shot a quick phone call down to his sister and told her to keep us from talking to her.”

  “Let’s not use words like ‘shot’ anymore, okay? Just until this wedding is over?” Jeremiah said before shuddering dramatically. “Didn’t you say Jorge and Miguel were preparing a brunch for the boss man’s breakfast meeting?”

  “Yeah… and?” Stacy asked, her attention focused on her rearview mirror as she changed lanes.

  “Well, that would mean he won’t be in his office for a while… it might be a good time to look for proof.”

  “Proof of what? Of an illegitimate child, a daughter under lock and key?” she asked in a defeated voice. “Face it, until we get a hold of Caterina, we’ve got nothing to go on.”

  “The answer to talking to her might be in that office, too. If her aunt knew you were calling from his desk phone, she might be more inclined to let you talk to her.”

  “What good would that do? The lady would surely just stand right there and monitor the whole conversation.”

  “Hmm, could be. But you could come up with some kind of code. Something like, if you’re being coerced into this wedding, say, ‘Anything but vanilla butter crème.’ Something like that.”

  Stacy pushed back against the beginnings of a brutal headache, one that she hopefully had brought upon herself by switching to decaf. Maybe one little latte would solve all my problems, she thought longingly.

  “Fine, we’ll do it. But only if Miguel agrees to watch the door and make sure no one comes in there,” she conceded. “I can’t believe I’m letting you prod me into infiltrating the mob. And for what?”

  “For true love to reign supreme,” Jeremiah answered dreamily, watching her reaction out of the corner of his eye to see if he’d pushed it too far.

  “True love is dead! At least for this couple! All we can safely say is we’re trying to keep two people who probably don’t want anything to do with each other from making a horrible mistake!” Stacy stopped for a red light and took advantage of the precious sixty seconds to rest her head against the steering wheel. “I just want this wedding to be over, and when it is…”

  “When it is, what?” Jeremiah demanded suspiciously.

  “Nothing.” She sat up and drove through the intersection, merging into the right lane and taking the turn towards the rolling expanse of The Highlands at Magnolia Crest. The emerald green of the pampered golf course shimmered in the distance, its beauty belying the dangerous feeling that nagged at Stacy with every passing mile.

  “We don’t want valet, do we?” Stacy asked when she finally faced the turn into the club house’s circular drive.

  “Of course we want valet! It’s the only time I can get people to do my bidding!” Jeremiah answered, pointing up the incline to the driveway.

  “You have a staff of six assistant florists! If you can’t get them to do your bidding, an eight-dollar-an-hour valet isn’t going to make that much difference in your life! Besides, somebody will know our car is here. How stupid would it be to try to make our escape, but then have to stand under that awning while they bring the car around? We should park around behind the delivery entrance to the kitchen.” She continued past the driveway while Jeremiah whimpered and cast a mournful glance at the ornate front doors, pulling up next to Jorge’s car behind the building.

  “Good, Jorge is here, and that means Miguel is here,” she said, breathing a small sigh of relief. She parked the car, gathered a few things, then walked over to the kitchen door and knocked loudly, knowing at that time of the morning the sound of running dishwashers might drown out all other noises.

  An unknown face appeared in the window for only a second before it disappeared. Just as Stacy raised her fist to knock again, Miguel appeared, looking very frightened. At first he shook his head frantically, but then he relented and opened the door barely wide enough for them to squeeze through. He doubled locked the door before ushering them past the whooshing dishwashers and into Jorge’s small office.

  “You guys? What’s up?” he asked with a pleasant smile. He waited expectantly for either of them to explain.

  Stacy explained briefly, her resolve faltering when she saw Miguel’s nervous expression and Jorge’s agreeable smile dissolve slowly into a panicked expression. He closed his eyes as he thought it over, then nodded his head.

  “No, I cannot send Miguel. He doesn’t know the boss as well as I do. But I’ll go stand watch. You have to try to help this girl, whatever the cost. I’ll make up an excuse to linger in the hallway while you sneak in and see what you can find out.”

  They tiptoed down the hallway until they remembered that sneaking around looked more suspicious than wearing a sign around their necks, stating their true purpose. Jorge carried his clipboard, ready to inform anyone who passed by that he was waiting for Mr. D’Argenzio to finish a phone call in his office. He wished Stacy and Jeremiah good luck before planting himself outside the door.

  “So where do we start, Columbo?” Jeremiah whispered, looking around to see if he could spot any cameras that might feed to a security office.

  “I don’t know. First, we should probably find out if someone was shot in here. I don’t even know of anyone who’s been reported missing. You look for clues, starting with the blood stain on the carpet.”

  “What do you mean, a blood stain? Ewww, that’s nasty!” he cried quietly, holding his hands in front of him and cringing.

  “There was a stain the other day, just like a blood stain. It was over here somewhere,” she said, her voice trailing off as she rubbed at the carpet with her shoe. Nothing.

  “What about this?” Jeremiah asked, pointing to the chairs that lined the walls. “Isn’t that a strange number of chairs? Like one’s missing?”

  “That’s your clue?” she demanded sarcastically, before droning, “’Your honor, it’s an open and shut case. There were only three chairs in his office!’ Stop being such a florist, I swear!”

  “What does my job have to do with it? Oh, is that a gay joke? How can you even say that, you know my wife!”

  “Of course it’s not a gay joke, don’t be ugly! I meant that florists like things in nice even numbers! You’re the one who brought up—”

  A sound outside the door made them freeze, their bickering brought on by nerves coming to a screeching halt. It took a moment to realize it was only Jorge coughing, and they waited for a moment longer in case that was the signal. When it was safe, they stood straighter and looked around.

  “Okay, forget the gun shot. Like you’ve said all along, it may not have been anything. Let’s focus on the guy in the ugly golf pants,” Stacy said, walking over the boss’ desk and sitting in his leathe
r chair. She turned to his computer and looked up the name of the older man that Todd the manager had said. “Hmm, look at this.”

  Jeremiah came around behind the desk and stood behind her. “He reported his locker had been broken into last week, and some of his clothes were missing?”

  “Right. Todd said there were only a handful of people who still wore the traditional knee-length pants. And the good doctor’s locker was broken into. But look here. The box that says security filed a report with the police isn’t checked.”

  “So? It was only last week, maybe they haven’t gotten around to it. And have you seen those pants? Who in their right minds would help get them back?” Jeremiah shuddered.

  “No, I’m thinking something else. What if security didn’t call the police because it was an inside job!” Stacy’s eyes grew wider at her own suggestion.

  “Seriously? An inside job? What, like, the Plaid Boys and they’re tasteless crime spree?”

  “Stop making jokes! I mean it, what if someone working for Mr. D’Argenzio got the pants out of Dr. Pierce’s locker to make it look like Joey was a thief? They got him all dressed up, they played a few holes of nighttime golf, and then they killed him and drowned him.”

  “It’s a theory, I suppose,” Jeremiah admitted, shrugging his shoulders and looking further at the screen. “It would explain why he was wearing that, but not why he couldn’t wear his own clothes.”

  “Maybe they were trying to win him over, make him think they were on his side. So one of the men got an outfit out of the doctor’s locker—”

  “I think they call it a uniform when it’s for a sport,” Jeremiah interrupted.

  “Whatever. They got the clothes and then lured him out to his death!” Both Stacy and Jeremiah stared at the screen for a moment as if it contained answers they needed, but then shivered and turned away. “You know what, we’ve got to hurry and we still don’t know anything more than we did before. You keep looking around, and I’m going to try to call this aunt again.” She pulled the slip of paper with the phone number out of her purse and dialed, then gasped when she heard a woman screaming through the phone.

  “Nicky! Thank god you called, there was this lady who called late last night, asking for Cat—”

  “Hello?” Stacy asked. “I think I’m the lady who called so late.”

  “What’s going on?” the woman asked after an ominous pause. Stacy wondered how long it took to get wiretapping started, envisioning the cranky-sounding woman wearing a headset and speaking into a microphone. “Where’s Nick?”

  “Well, he’s in a meeting at the moment. I am aware that Caterina is not in Europe, and I assure you that’s none of our concern. Her father actually let me use his office phone so you would know that everything is completely legit.” She cringed at her own use of the awkward slang. “I need to speak with Caterina about some of the wedding preparations.”

  “She doesn’t have anything to do with that. I’ll talk to you, whaddya need to know?”

  “Well, Mrs.—” Stacy said, then paused.

  “Cantrello.”

  “Oh. Mrs. Cantrello, I have some specific questions for the bride, such as the length of her veil…”

  “Fingertip.”

  “Okay. And her hair?”

  “Updo.”

  “Oh, well, I’m sure that will be lovely. What about…” Stacy racked her brain, trying to come up with a question the older woman wouldn’t be able to answer. “Her ring.”

  “What about it?” the woman challenged.

  “I need to know for the ceremony and the write up in the paper,” Stacy answered smugly. “What cut is the diamond? Are there any bezels? How many carats? Where did the groom propose? Was it a surprise proposal, or did the bride select her own ring while accompanying the groom?”

  Stacy could practically feel the woman’s frustration coming through the phone. There was a lengthy silence, punctuated only by the sound of a flicking lighter and a deep inhale as the woman lit a cigarette.

  I’ve got you now, she thought.

  “Mrs. Cantrello, there is no ring, is there? I’m guessing there was no proposal, either. Am I right?”

  “You have to talk to Nicky about that. That’s none of my concern. I’m just supposed to watch over my niece and make sure—”

  “Make sure what?” Stacy pressed when the woman didn’t finish. “Make sure she shows up for this wedding? Make sure she doesn’t run off with her boyfriend? Mrs. Cantrello… did you know Caterina’s boyfriend is dead?”

  She thought the older aunt had hung up on her, but instead the clattering noise was the sound of the telephone striking the floor. After a few mumbled curse words and some more clattering, the aunt came back on the line.

  “That can’t be true. My brother would never—”

  “But it seems that he, or someone, did, Mrs. Cantrello. You’re awfully calm about this, you know. Something tells me that maybe this isn’t the first time he’s gone to such extreme lengths to get what he wants. Am I right?”

  The sound of sniffling came through the line, followed by a hiccupping sob. “Yeah. That’s how I ended up married to… I mean…”

  Before Stacy could hear anything else, the sound of a loud argument outside the door startled her. She put the phone back in its cradle and waved frantically to Jeremiah to come join her. They both turned and faced the door innocently as one of D’Argenzio’s men shoved his way through it, sending Jorge flying down the hallway and out of sight.

  “You! What are you two doin’ in the boss’ office?” he shouted. Stacy didn’t even have a second to think up a good excuse before the rest of his team sauntered up. Mr. D’Argenzio brought up the rear, strolling casually through the path his men made when they moved aside for him without even being asked.

  “What have we got here, boys? Mrs. Prudell, and a guest?” he asked with a wry smile. “Take ‘em downstairs. You know what to do.”

  “Wait, sir, I was just trying to get a hold of your daughter for her portion of the wedding,” Stacy began, but the father of the bride held up a hand to silence her. All motion stopped for a moment, as if someone had simply pulled a switch and frozen the scene in place.

  “Lady, you had one job. All you had to do was make my daughters’ day special. You couldn’t even do that without sticking your nose in where it didn’t belong. We’re done here.” He flicked his hand and several of his men grabbed Stacy and Jeremiah, pinning their arms behind their backs and pushing them towards a door hidden in the paneling of the office. At the last second, Stacy sprang into action, only managing to slip her college signet ring off her right hand ring finger and letting it fall silently to the carpet as proof that she’d been in that office.

  I hope that’s not the only way they find out I was here! she thought in a panic.

  They were half-dragged, half-carried down a narrow stair case that smelled of mold and plaster. At the bottom of the three flights of steps, one of the thugs opened the door and pulled the chain on a single bare overhead bulb. The dim light of the antechamber was enough for them to see the vault in front of them, its oversized door already standing open. With a quick, forceful shove, Jeremiah and Stacy ended up on their knees inside the vault. They turned in time to stare down the barrel of the gun aimed in their direction. Instead of the inevitable popping sound of a gunshot, the man kept the pistol trained on them while another assistant began to move the heavy door into place.

  The bars slid into position as the wheel turned in its bearing, plunging them into total darkness.

  Chapter 13

  “Anything?” Stacy whispered, keeping her voice down in case anyone was still standing watch outside the vault. Even in the near darkness she could tell Jeremiah was shaking his head.

  “No, the walls are too thick. There’s no reception. But hey, at least there’s light, right?” he said, trying to keep her spirits up.

  “Great. It’ll be nice and bright when we finally suffocate to death,” she answered. It had already
been an hour according to Jeremiah’s phone, and given the close quarters she wasn’t sure how much air they had left. A single tear slipped down her cheek, glistening in the light of the phone.

  “Hey now, none of that,” Jeremiah said in a soothing voice, but beneath his false bravado he, too, was terrified.

  “Why not? A good sobbing cry will help speed things along.” She waited for a moment as she struggled to gain her composure, but finally gave in to her misery.

  “You know the worst part about this? I mean, besides dying in a really large box? It’s having my wife spend the rest of her life wondering what I was doing here with you.” Stacy looked up suddenly in surprise and opened her mouth to protest, but Jeremiah cut her off. “That came out wrong. I only meant that I would wonder if I were her and the tables were turned. I won’t have the chance to tell her that it was all just part of my job, and that you and I didn’t disappear together.”

  “You should text her,” Stacy suggested tearfully. “Even if it never goes through, it’ll still be in your phone if… if they ever find us.”

  Jeremiah half-heartedly poked at the screen in his hand, and seeing him take her advice made it even more real. She began to cry again, realizing that she’d been waiting for him to say something about how silly her idea was.

  “You know the worst part for me? It’s knowing how Nathan’s going to find out… that I’m pregnant.” It was Jeremiah’s turn to stare in open-mouthed surprise. “He’s going to read it in a coroner’s report or hear about it in courtroom testimony instead of hearing it come from me. I should have told him…”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I knew how he’d act. He’d want me to take it slow, to not work so much. I didn’t want to say anything until I was really, really sure, but then I finally got in to see my doctor after we took on this event. By then, I kept putting it off and we kept arguing about stupid stuff… and now he’s going to find out his wife and his child both died, only he’s going to read it in a legal document instead of hear the good news over a candle-lit dinner.”