by Gina LaManna
Special Thanks:
To Alex and Leo—Your dance moves make quarantining with you a blast! я тебя люблю!
To my family—For always being there for me. Just like the Luzzi family.
To Stacia—For meeting Lacey and loving her enough to make her sparkle all these years ;)
To my family, friends, and LaManna’s Ladies, thank you for over five years of support with the Luzzi family!
Lacey Luzzi: Sliced
Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries, Volume 13
Gina LaManna
Published by LaManna Books, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
LACEY LUZZI: SLICED
First edition. July 10, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Gina LaManna.
Written by Gina LaManna.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Sliced
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
EPILOGUE
Author’s Note
To all of my super sweet Lacey readers who have been reading the Luzzi Family saga for 5 years! Thank you!
Sliced
Tis the season for pumpkin spice and everything nice! With Thanksgiving on the horizon, Lacey Luzzi is all set to cuddle her adorable baby and sexy husband after a giant feast. However, her plans turn belly-up when a dead body appears during the largest bake-off event in St. Paul history.
Amelia Rapport, the front runner to win the state-wide bake-off, has landed face-down in a pool of royal icing, and somehow, it’s Lacey’s job to save the event. If she doesn’t, not only will millions of cookies go to waste, but her life—and the lives of those she loves—will be in danger.
This is one murderer who isn’t ready to be caught, and when Lacey gets too close for comfort, he’s bound and determined the cake won’t be the only thing getting sliced...
Chapter 1
I pushed a pair of sunglasses higher onto my nose, glanced at myself in the mirror, and groaned. Sunglasses had never really been my thing. My mother used to say they made me look like a bug. My grandmother told me they “didn’t really fit my face”. Anthony lovingly stated that he preferred to see my eyes, but we both knew he was lying.
Then again, I hadn’t bought these oversized shades because they made me look trendy; I’d bought them because they were the perfect disguise for my undercover mission. I cruised down Highway 94 toward the Wisconsin border, pulling off on an exit just before the state line.
Cruising down the ramp in my brand-new mom-van, I caught sight of a weathered sign with the name Sugarloaf Shores printed in whimsical lettering on an old wooden two by four. I was convinced it was the smallest town in the entire Midwest region, and admittedly one of my all-time favorites. All thanks to the best cake shop in the world.
I parked the car outside of The Sugarloaf, a cottage that looked like it’d popped straight out of Hansel and Gretel. It had been constructed of large stones with a quaint white picket fence around the outside. The roof was a cute, thatched thing that accented the gingerbread-like nature of the shop.
Scarecrows lined the walkway to the front door and crinkly corn stalks stood tall, strapped against the front porch. Dried tomato vines climbed over the garden fence, dripping with the very last round of produce. Fall mums bloomed in chunky window boxes, accented by the dotting of a personal-sized pumpkin patch in the gardens out back.
I eased inside the shop, hugged by the warm scent of baking pies and chocolate cake and harvest-scented candles. I sized up the festive decor, carefully closing the door behind me as a bell tinkled to let everyone know I had arrived. Unfortunately, the bell wasn’t exactly convenient seeing as I was deep undercover. I pushed my sunglasses up higher and pulled my hat a little lower.
Luckily for me, The Sugarloaf was almost empty. A pair of older women perused shelves of fun-flavored sodas, and a family of five was just finishing their order at the register. Behind the counter perched a woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties, dressed in a ruffled white apron with a streak of flour on her forehead. Next to her, a woman who looked to be about my age boxed up an order of doughnuts. The two were clearly related.
I eased through the store, feeling like a knock-off Audrey Hepburn with my huge shades. Then I glanced in the mirror and found that my mother had been right: I looked like a bug.
After ten minutes of perusing the aisles, soaking in the cute little towels embroidered with turkeys and the buckets filled to the brim with bulk candies and sugary substances, I slid my way over to the counter. My meandering through the store had been a ruse. I knew exactly what I’d come for.
The Forbidden Slice.
Just the name of the cake carried enough weight to make me feel as if choirs of angels had burst into song. I stood before the counter, staring at the last slice of the day and thanking my lucky stars I hadn’t arrived a minute later. All the sneaking around had been worth it. Ensuring Anthony could be home with Bella, making an excuse to Meg as to why I couldn’t paint her toenails, ditching Nora’s invite for a lackluster dinner...
The cake was four layers high. Each layer consisted of a moist, crumbly sponge with beautiful, coffee buttercream sandwiched between. A shiny chocolate ganache dripped over the sides, leaving streaks of gooey goodness along the way.
“I’ll take The Forbidden Slice, please,” I said when the older of the two women behind the counter smiled politely at me. “In a to-go box.”
“Absolutely. Great choice,” she said. “Would you like—”
“Oh, my...” The second woman—named Nellie, according to her name tag—elbowed the first woman out of the way. “Are you Lacey Luzzi?”
I toyed with the edge of my floppy hat. “No. You must be thinking of someone else.”
“I’m pretty sure I know who I’m talking about,” Nellie said. “I am an avid fan of your work.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lacey Luzzi Security Services,” Nellie said. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should introduce myself. Nellie Davis, daughter of Peg and Wyatt Davis. My parents own this place.”
I blinked. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nellie,” her mother chastised. “Let our guest be.”
“You just don’t understand,” Nellie pressed, first looking to her mother, then to me. “I really, really adore your work. I’m a true crime fanatic. Your name has come up more than once.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
Nellie laughed, put a hand to her heart. “You are as funny as they said you’d be.”
“You must have the wrong person,” I mumbled. “I should really be going, actually, if I could just grab that piece of cake for the road...”
“Lacey, there you are!” The doorbe
ll tinkled behind me. “Cripes, you drive fast in that mom-van. Did Anthony put a turbojet on that sucker or what?”
The familiar voice rolled through the shop. Any hope of remaining incognito went out the window with the arrival of my oldest friend. I took off my hat, squashed it into my bag, and turned to face Meg.
“Oh, hello,” I said. “How’d you know to find me here?”
“So, you are Lacey Luzzi?” Nellie asked excitedly. “I thought I recognized you.”
“Of course she’s Lacey Luzzi,” Meg said. “Though she’s probably trying to be in disguise, what with those ugly sunglasses. Take those off, chickadee. You look like an ant, and I don’t mean those cute ones from the Disney movie. What’s it called? You know the one I mean.”
“Ants?” Nellie suggested.
“I’m not sure if that’s the one,” Meg said. “But nice try.”
I sighed and reluctantly removed my sunglasses. “I can’t go anywhere without a posse these days. If it’s not Bella, it’s you. If it’s not you, it’s Nora. I only wanted ten minutes to myself to enjoy a piece of cake. By the way, you never said how you knew to find me here.”
Meg slapped me on the back. “We all knew where to find you. If you thought you’d fooled Anthony, you’re just being silly.”
“Is he tracking my mom-van?”
“Probably. But also, you told everyone you’re having a black hole sort of day.”
“What’s a black hole day?” Peg, the older woman behind the counter, leaned forward. “That sounds awful.”
“It’s half awful and half awesome,” Meg explained. “They’re those sorts of days where it’s literally impossible to get enough food. I’m talking a full breakfast, fabulous lunch, snacks all day, dinner, ice cream, chips, cookies... Everything goes in, and you just can’t seem to get full.”
I nodded miserably. “It is one of those days.”
“I understand,” Nellie said seriously. “It is exactly half awful and half awesome.”
“She always comes out here on her black hole days,” Meg said in a hushed voice. “We all pretend we don’t notice, but we do. Lacey says your Forbidden Slice is the only thing that helps. But I don’t have that sorta time today. What I have to say can’t wait for Lacey to fill up the pit of her stomach.” Meg turned to me. “I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”
“Get in line,” I said. “I am not leaving here without my slice of cake.”
“Eh.” Meg waved a hand. “I’ll take one too.”
“There’s only one piece left.” Nellie looked between us, her eyes wide with concern. “And Lacey was here first.”
“If I forfeit this slice of cake to you,” Meg said, “what do I get in return?”
“Nothing. I was here first.”
“That’s a good point,” Meg said. “But you’ll do me a favor anyway, won’t you?”
“Can I please just get my cake?” I pleaded with Nellie. “I’d really like to start eating it.”
“Why don’t you add a chai latte to the order,” Meg said. “It’s on Lacey’s bill since she stole my cake.”
“I—” I hesitated. “Fine. That’s fine. So long as I get my cake.”
Chapter 2
“This is as incredible as I thought it’d be,” I said, jabbing my fork toward The Forbidden Slice. “I don’t know how I existed before I found this place.”
“Who does a girl gotta sleep with around here to get the recipe?” Meg asked, stabbing her own fork at my cake. “I’d just about die for this. Which is actually sort of an inappropriate thing to say considering the favor I have to ask of you.”
“Oh, please, no,” I said. “Don’t tell me someone’s dead.”
“It’s nobody you know.”
“Is that supposed to make it better?”
Meg shrugged. “A little?”
I sighed. “I don’t even want to know. I just don’t need to know. Don’t tell me. Don’t bring me into this, please. It’s almost the holiday season. I’m off dead bodies until the new year.”
“I’m so sorry to eavesdrop,” Nellie said, sidling over. “But is this about the Amelia Rapport death?”
“Who’s Amelia Rapport?” I asked. “And why is she dead?”
“That’s what you need to find out,” Meg said. “Someone killed poor Amelia.”
I scanned Nellie. “And how do you know about it?”
“The Great Minnesota Bake-Off is starting next week—obviously you’ve heard about it,” Nellie said. “Every bakery and café and amateur baking enthusiast participates.”
“Do you participate?” Meg asked. “Does The Sugarloaf enter every year, I mean?”
Nellie nodded. “Of course. We’ve won in the cake division for the last thirty-seven years running.”
“Crap,” Meg said. “I was afraid of that.”
“They deserve to win,” I said. “Why are you afraid of that?”
“Because I entered the cake category,” she said. “I should’ve went the sugar cookie route.”
“Maybe it’s not too late to change your mind?” Nellie wondered.
“I seriously doubt that.” Meg glanced at her watch. “Even if it wasn’t too late, how could I perfect my sugar cookies so close to the competition?”
Nellie and Meg shared a moment of silence. Meg shook her head.
“I’m dead meat,” she said.
“Not as dead as Amelia,” Nellie said.
They shared another moment of silence.
“So,” I said. “Who’s Amelia?”
“She was the only person expected to be able to give The Sugarloaf a run for their money in the cake division,” Meg said. “The Sugarloaf has won for decades, but supposedly Amelia had a killer recipe—” Meg paused and snapped her fingers. “Darn it! There I go again. Supposedly, she had an awesome surprise up her sleeve.”
“That sounds very tragic,” I admitted.
“It was,” Nellie agreed. “So tragic.”
“There’s something you can do to help,” Meg said. “To save the day.”
It took me a beat to realize that Meg was looking straight at me as she said the last part.
“I’m no good at baking,” I said. “Do you remember when I tried to make that fancy meringue pie?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “Those firefighters were hot. It’s a shame you don’t try to burn down your house again.”
“I wasn’t trying to burn down my house,” I muttered. “And I’m sorry, but I’m not getting involved in this.”
“If you don’t, then I could die,” Meg said. “Do you want that? Do you want me to die, Lacey?”
“I feel like that is a trick question.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to sound so confident,” Meg retorted. “Amelia landed face down in a pool of blood—”
“I don’t want to hear it—”
“—red royal icing,” Meg said.
“I did not see the sentence taking that turn,” I mumbled. “Go on.”
“She was stabbed in the back. Someone took a real slice out of her.” Meg shook her head at the piece of cake. “Dang it! Why are baking and murder so closely related? I can’t say anything these days without it being inappropriate.”
I sighed. “Do the police know who did it?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m sure they’ll figure it out.” I swallowed a bite of The Forbidden Slice and tried to enjoy it despite the grim topic of conversation. “They always do.”
“No, they don’t,” Meg said. “I was a cop. We didn’t always solve everything.”
“They do on TV.”
“Then maybe I should’ve been a TV cop,” Meg said. “I probably would’ve done better in that line of work, anyway. I look the part of a movie star cop. I’m too glamorous to be an everyday cop.”
“Totally,” I said. “Totally accurate.”
Nellie looked half confused and half bemused. I didn’t blame either half of her expression.
“You’ve got to go undercover and c
heck it out,” Meg pressed. “Since I’m in the competition, you can come along with me as my sidekick.”
“I don’t know the right end of a ladle,” I said. “You don’t want me to be your assistant. I can’t even spell ladle correctly.”
“You don’t use a ladle,” Meg said. “Don’t be ridiculous. So long as you know the right end of a knife, you’re good. Ooops, there I go again. All this murder is bleeding into my speech. Crap. Blood. Don’t pass out, Lacey.”
“I’m good,” I said. “And I’m good on the case. I’m not looking for work. I’m going to take it easy through the holidays and reassess what I want to do professionally in the new year.”
“You’re fooling yourself,” Meg said. “Also, back to Exhibit A. If you don’t help me find who killed Amelia, I might die.”
“Help me connect the dots. Why would you end up dead?”
“What if it’s a serial killer who murders bakers?” Meg retorted. “I’m a baker.”
“You’re not really a baker. You thought shortbread was the opposite of tall bread.”
“I’m learning,” Meg said. “And I don’t want to end up dead before I submit my recipe for judging. My creation is gonna be dynamite, just as soon as I figure out what to make. Crap, there I go again with the threats. I’m not going to blow anyone up, for the record. I’m going to blow their minds.”
Nellie looked unsure if she should stay or go. I gave her a finger wave to let her know it was fine to fade into the background, but she gave a shake of her head and cleared her throat.
“Actually,” Nellie said, “if you don’t mind, I have something to say.”
“Preach, sister,” Meg said. “We’re all ears.”
“Amelia was a friend of mine,” Nellie said. “I respected her work. She got her start here at The Sugarloaf as an intern, and we all wish her only the best.”
“If she worked here...” I hesitated. “Was that a conflict of interest for her to be competing against you?”
“Why would that be a conflict of interest?” Nellie asked. “Every contestant is required to use a new recipe every year. No repeats allowed. So, we’re always coming up with different cakes for judging—it’s not like she could steal our recipe or something. Plus, the baking world is quite small. Most people have worked at a few bakeries throughout their careers, so that would be a silly rule.”