Sugared

by Gina LaManna

  “Oh, bleep,” Meg said, and together we raced past Nora, still rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “I’m driving.”

  Chapter 3

  I threw Meg’s car into drive after wrestling the keys from her, screeching our way down the path toward my grandparents’ estate. They lived about a mile from us on the same chunk of land. I thought it was too close. Nora thought we weren’t close enough.

  “Be gentle with my baby!” Meg cried, rubbing the dashboard. “Her name’s Patty.”

  “Patty?”

  “Because I have to do this a lot to make her work.” She gave the dashboard two firm taps with her palm. The car shuddered. “I pat her. Hence the name Patty.”

  “Where’d you get this hunk of metal?”

  “Clay made it with scraps from the junkyard. Romantic, huh?”

  “Would be more romantic if this thing had a turbo blaster.”

  “Slow down, girlfriend, or the guards are going to hold you up for endangering my life.”

  The gravel beneath the tires gave way to smooth asphalt, signaling we’d reached Carlos’s land. Meg had a point; if I flew too fast through here, someone would let my grandfather know, and I’d have some explaining to do for why I was leaving skid marks on his driveway. Since I didn’t have time to waste, I tapped the brakes.

  “I still don’t know why we’re in a hurry,” Meg said. “There’s Anthony’s car right there.”

  I whipped my head around to spot a sleek black Lamborghini, the latest vehicle my husband had been driving on the job. “Carlos has more cars than you have pockets on that thing,” I said. “Anthony could be driving any number of cars.”

  Meg glanced down at her vest. “I have a lot of pockets.”

  “Exactly. Carlos has a lot of cars.”

  “He’d have to be magic to get to the cathedral this quickly.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “We had breakfast together.”

  “What?!” I screeched to a stop in front of the guard towers. One of the men there scanned me over. “Come on, we’ve been through this song and dance a hundred times,” I told him. “You know who I am.”

  “Then start the music one more time,” Meg said. “Because this guy’s ready for another spin.”

  The guard checked my face against something on his computer, gave a grunt of approval, and raised the gates. Always easier to get out than in.

  “Why’d you have breakfast with Anthony?” I asked Meg. “And why am I never invited to these things?”

  “Well, it was probably one of those times where he didn’t actually consider himself to be hanging out with me.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “You mean, he stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a bite to eat, ignored you, and you pretended he was your friend?”

  “Sort of, except I didn’t even really see him. He was talking to my other BFF in the next room.”

  “Carlos is not your BFF.”

  “Oh, he will be,” Meg chortled. “Give him time to come around. We’ll see eye to eye someday, just you wait.”

  My lips formed a thin line, the dark, ugly weight in my chest buoyed by the hope that maybe Anthony was still sitting at home, somewhere on the estate’s property, sipping an espresso and barking orders at some new staff member.

  Or doing his secret agent thing and investigating issues that I never tried to understand. Or, maybe, he just stopped into the house for a bite to eat and was already at our home.

  “Call Anthony,” I instructed Meg. “Please. My phone’s in my pocket.”

  “Why are we speeding so fast?” She reached over, fumbling around my nether regions in search of my pocket. “You never exactly explained. I just heard the words ‘dead body’ and put two and two together.”

  “Meg!” I cried, braking too hard for a stop sign. “Watch where you’re reaching! I said my pocket, not my privates. It’s in my sweatshirt.”

  “Oh, that pocket. Makes sense.” Meg slipped her hand into the pocket of my hoodie and pulled out my phone. “Now, let’s focus on the dead body.”

  “It’s—he’s—at the cathedral. They wouldn’t tell me much, except the man they found was tall, dark, and handsome.”

  “Honey, that description hardly fits Anthony.”

  “You’re full of it.”

  “He’s the strong silent type.”

  “He’s also tall, dark, and handsome.”

  “Dang, I suppose you’re right. Anthony really is everyone’s type.”

  Meg dialed for me, hit speakerphone, and together we listened as the phone went to voicemail.

  “What if...” I swallowed, unable to finish the sentence.

  Meg reached over and patted my hand, just like she had the dashboard of her car. “It’s not him, I promise you. He didn’t have time to get over to the cathedral and die on us this morning. He’d have to be an alien! I mean, a part of me thinks he’s half robot, but I’d have to see him naked to confirm my suspicions. Wait a minute. You’ve seen him naked. Will you confirm my suspicions?”

  My face burned red. “He’s, uh...” I cleared my throat. “Fully human.”

  Meg fanned herself. “I can feel the passion radiating off you from here. Impressive for a couple of your age to still have that sort of burning love.”

  “I’m barely in my thirties!”

  “You have a forehead wrinkle.”

  “Because I’m human! Humans aren’t perfect.”

  “Speaking of robots, when can you stop over at my apartment?”

  “What?” I shook my head. “You mean, my old apartment?”

  “Mine now,” Meg said. “And yes, that’s the one. With the upside-down number seven that looks like an L on the doorframe. Clay and I have someone we’d like you to meet. His name is Bob.”

  “Bob? Who is Bob?”

  “Just you wait and see,” Meg said. “But I really think you’ll love him.”

  “Is he an animal?”

  “No.”

  “Human?”

  “Basically.”

  “Oh, no. A robot?”

  “Ding, ding, ding.”

  “One more question...” I sped through a stop light turning red and accelerated onto the highway. “Why didn’t you name him Rob?”

  “Damn,” Meg said. “Rob the Robot. That would’ve been perfect.”

  “You swore,” I told Meg. “That means I get a scoop of ice cream.”

  “It was an accident. Oh, also, speaking of accidents, I sure hope it’s not Anthony dead in there because that would be very inconvenient.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I had a little something planned for you this week in preparation of your marriage. A honeymoon of sorts.”

  “Oh, no. We already have our honeymoon planned. We’re going alone. Completely and utterly alone, sorry.”

  “Fine—a pre-honeymoon, then.”

  “You mean, a bachelorette party?”

  “Yeah, but you’re not a real live bachelorette, seeing as you’re already married. Let’s just call it a special girl’s day I had all set up. It would really chap my ass if I had to cancel it because Anthony got himself in trouble, and you guys didn’t end up getting married for the second time.” Meg glanced over at me, saw the stricken look on my face, and coughed. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. That was very inconsiderate of me.”

  “Just a little.”

  “Look, I’m so convinced it’s not Anthony in there that I didn’t think before I spoke.”

  “Why didn’t he answer his phone then?”

  We cruised through St. Paul and entered the beautiful Cathedral Hill neighborhood. Sloping old streets met the magnificent houses on Summit, the skyline in the distance hovering just beyond the still-naked tree branches, still recovering from winter.

  I pulled over to the side of the road and threw Patty into park as Meg gave her a few taps and mumbled a thank-you to her vehicle.

  “I don’t know if I can go in there.” I squeezed my knuckles tighter around the steering
wheel. “I don’t think—”

  “You don’t have to go in there alone.” Meg slid out of the car first, then came around and let me out. “I’m going to be there with you. If you prefer to wait outside, we can have that arranged, too. For the right price.”

  I looked up at Meg and felt my eyes get all watery.

  “I was kidding, chickadee!” Meg pulled me to my feet. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t joke. I was trying to get you to smile.”

  “I know, that’s why I’m crying,” I told her, falling onto her shoulder. “Thank you for coming with me, and for coming over this morning.”

  “Come on, come on.” Meg half-dragged and half-carried me inside. “You and I, we’re meant for each other. We’re like Dairy Queen cake. I’m all those delicious crumbles on the inside, and you’re the colorful frosting that everyone’s gotta dig through to get to me.”

  “That makes no sense at all.”

  “Of course it does. Everybody love the delicious crumblies more than anything.”

  While I puzzled on this, Meg heaved one of the heavy cathedral doors wide open, and the effect was stunning. A blanket of reverence cascaded out of the church, cloaking us in wonder. Even Meg balked at the sight before us, and she didn’t balk by nature.

  “Wow,” Meg said. “I forget how beautiful this place is.”

  I craned my neck upward to take in the grand ceilings, the columns and ancient stone flanked by stained glass windows, images from years past telling stories along the walls.

  Rows and rows of empty pews created breaks in the gargantuan space before the altar. Sunlight filtered in behind us, christening the tiny dust particles, morphing them into bits of golden powder around us.

  “Are you the soon-to-be-Mrs.-Luzzi?”

  A sandy brown-haired man in a suit strode toward us, his badge out for us to inspect. I barely glanced at it before nodding.

  “You can call me Lacey,” I added. “We came straight here. Can I see...where is he?”

  “Follow me.”

  Detective Rocha led us through a back passage of the cathedral, around the rear of the church as Meg and I hustled to keep up. Statues lined the walls and tile clicked beneath our feet, loud as gunshots in the silence.

  “He’s right around here,” Detective Rocha said, stopping before a corner. “We called you right away, so I’ll have to warn you the scene could be potentially upsetting.”

  I swallowed, trying to control what little breakfast of Lucky Charms and chocolate chips I’d had. “Okay. Let me see him, please.”

  “If you prefer to wait, we can—”

  “No,” I said. “I’d like to see who it is.”

  “Very well, then.”

  We bypassed crime scene tape, and I had to guess that by the absence of other non-uniformed humans milling around, the space had been cleared. Even so, there was quite a collection of police and other uniformed personnel speaking to one another. They mostly ignored us save for a few curious glances.

  Detective Rocha murmured a few words to an older gentleman closest to the body, the latter backing away as the detective stepped closer.

  I followed him, moving next to the body, but my eyes didn’t want to cooperate. They cinched shut despite my desperate need to see the deceased’s face.

  My body, my feet, my mind, all of it wanted to turn and run away, to pretend that this had never happened. Somewhere deep down, I knew that once I opened my eyes and took in the sight there, I’d never be able to wash it away.

  “Oh, cripes,” Meg said. “That’s not good.”

  Meg’s voice urged me onward, and I chanced a slight peek from between my eyelashes. Dark hair, check. Handsome face, check. Familiar expression—check.

  “Oh,” I sighed, falling to my knees, my hands coming to rest on the dead man’s shoulder. “No, no, no. What happened to him?”

  “You know this man?” Detective Rocha’s voice was kind. “Can you give us a name, Miss Luzzi?”

  “I don’t know his last name,” I said, my words still catching up with my brain. I spoke in a hushed whisper, my voice an echo of its normal strength. “How did he die?”

  “We don’t know yet, ma’am, but signs point to an overdose.”

  “Is he a relative?”

  “A friend.” I paused, my eyes roving over the familiar face, the handsome man’s breath gone from his body all too soon. His eyes were closed, but even in death there was a mischievous smirk tilting his lips into a halfway grimace, as if he’d been half smiling as he exhaled his last breath. “His name is Beckett.”

  Chapter 4

  The drive back was silent. Meg and I had remained at the cathedral for much longer than I would’ve liked—answering questions, fighting back tears, struggling to hold in the contents of my stomach while imagining the circumstances of Beckett’s death.

  We hadn’t known him well, but he’d been instrumental to helping us solve The Violet Society thefts—or, assumed thefts—while in Milan the previous year. He’d been a magician, a mystery, and by the end of the trip, a friend. Thanks to him, we’d recovered Miss Lizabeth Harriet Morgan the Third’s priceless jewelry.

  As usual, the police asked way more questions than they answered. It was clear, however, that they were just going through the motions. All they wanted was to identify Beckett and move him out.

  “I really liked Beckett,” Meg said. “He had that nice pizazz about him, you know? That special kind of flair is rare.”

  I nodded in agreement, my eyes dry, my emotions having already gone through the ringer. Worst of all, I felt a sense of relief. Relief that the man in the cathedral hadn’t been Anthony. A wave of guilt washed over me, yet I couldn’t stop it. If it’d been Anthony, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Crumbled, maybe. Gone empty inside.

  But the loss of Beckett wasn’t an easy one. He’d been instrumental in helping us with a project last year in Milan. A man who, despite sometimes operating in the gray areas of legality, had that certain zest—pizazz, if you will—that drew others to him.

  My phone startled me from my daydreams, vibrating in my lap until I caught sight of the name on screen. I exhaled a breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  “Anthony,” I gushed into the phone. “I love you. How are you? Where are you? We’re coming now. To you. Where you are—”

  “Lacey, slow down, what’s wrong?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m working.”

  “Where?”

  “You really don’t want to know. Trust me.”

  “The cathedral?” I interrupted. “We just came from there.”

  The line went stone cold silent.

  “Anthony?” I prodded.

  He cleared his throat. “So, you beat me there.”

  “I got a call from the police asking me to stop by.”

  “Why are they involving you?” He sounded both mystified and irate all at once. “You’re supposed to be on vacation. You made me promise that I’d take it easy for the next three weeks, and I expected you to do the same.”

  “Well, it looks like we’re both involved.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s Beckett,” I said, my voice cracking. “From The Violet Society. Italy. He’s dead.”

  “Dead, how?”

  “What do you mean, how? He stopped breathing. He’s no longer alive. His heart has quit.”

  “Suffocation?”

  I hesitated. “No. They think it was an overdose. Possibly suicide, is what I gathered from their questions.”

  Anthony’s voice was measured as he responded, carefully guarded against any display of emotion. “And this involved you—why?”

  “He had only one thing on him when he died. A slip of paper with my name on it.”

  “Why on earth did he have that?”

  “If I knew, maybe he wouldn’t be dead!” My voice came out a little crosser than I’d intended. “I’m sorry, I’m not upset with you—I was so worried when they told me there was a b
ody, and you didn’t answer your phone, and...what if Beckett was trying to tell me something, and he didn’t get me the message in time? What if it’s my fault he’s dead?”

  “Lacey, go home. Is Meg with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Keep her with you, and I’ll be there soon. Everything is going to be okay—got it?”

  My lip was trembling too hard for me to respond.

  “Sugar, it’s not your fault that Beckett died. Nobody knows why he had your name on his person. Maybe he was going to pass you a job, or ship you a wedding present, or...” His voice fell on flat ears, and eventually he gave up. We both knew it was a stretch. “Lace, he was involved in bad things, and with that comes risks.”

  “I know.” I hung my head. We both knew the risks all too well. “I still wish—”

  “Go home, sweetheart. I’ll be right there.”

  “Anthony, we have got to get out of this business.”

  The memory of the pregnancy test floated up to me, a wave of sickness racking my body. What if it had been Anthony dead? What then? I shuddered at the thought.

  “Calm down. I love you. I’m safe. You’re safe. We’re okay.”

  “We’re supposed to get married there in one week,” I argued. “Our wedding space is now a crime scene.”

  “Can you put Meg on the phone?”

  I moved like a robot and handed over the phone. Meg made a lot of donkey-esque grunts before hanging up.

  “What did he tell you?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said cryptically. “Let’s go home, chickadee.”

  Chapter 5

  Dinner was supposed to be a joyous affair—or, at least, as joyous as discussing a seating chart over pumpkin ravioli could be, but the mood had turned a notch more somber than usual.

  Nora was fretting over ravioli because half the pieces were bubbling hot, and the other half were frozen straight through. Apparently, she’d thrown out the recipe before finishing the job, and the result was a Swedish bath of hot and cold noodles in rapid succession.

  Carlos had yet to appear, which meant that dinner hadn’t formally started. Meg and I sat in the kitchen as Nora struggled over the stove, hissing curses and taking huge gulps of her wine.