by Gina LaManna
“That is a terribly alarming thought.”
“I never said I worked in a heartwarming industry.”
“Well, thanks for your help,” I said. “I guess I’ll go talk to Britta.”
“Not you, too! Your daughter needs you.”
“I’m married to Anthony Luzzi,” I said. “Plus, I’m pretty tough myself. I don’t think she’ll try anything on me.”
Derrick gulped. “Oh, crap.”
“What now?”
“You’re a Luzzi?”
“Believe me,” I told Derrick. “I’m the least of your problems right now.”
Chapter 11
I’d resigned myself to calling my workday complete as I headed home. Despite my anxiousness to get my Bella cuddles in, I could also feel the case beginning to snowball. It was a hard balance, this working mother business.
After only one day on the case, I already had four solid suspects and counting: Britta, Hunter, Frankie, and even Susie. If I threw Frank Senior and the rest of the Linguine family into the mix, that number went up exponentially. It seemed like the sort of case that just needed a bit of tugging before the strings began to unravel, and the whole thing blew wide open.
My phone rang en route to Casa Luzzi. I glanced at the caller ID and saw Susie’s name. I hit answer and the Bluetooth sound flooded through my mom-van.
“Hey, Susie,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Just curious how the case is going.”
“Oh?” I tried to match this concerned friend with the image of the frustrated, even angry, woman who’d asked us to leave her house. “Why?”
“Because Amelia was my friend.”
“Right, but you didn’t exactly seem happy to talk to us.”
“I was plenty happy to talk to you up until you started accusing me of murdering my best friend,” Susie said. “I want justice for Amelia too—even if you’re the one to find it for her.”
That felt like a swift, back-handed compliment, but I was willing to take it. Plus, alienating Susie wouldn’t help me in the long run. If she knew anything, I wanted her to feel comfortable telling me.
Or maybe, I thought, channeling Anthony—she was lying. Maybe Susie had killed her friend and was just wanting to stay current on the case. Putting out feelers to see if we’d landed on any suspects better than her. I decided to test my theory and lean into this assumption. It might backfire, but if I didn’t take any risks, I wouldn’t get much reward.
“It’s coming along,” I said. “On that subject, while I have you on the phone, I wanted to apologize for coming on so strong earlier. You were the first person we talked to, and I got a little carried away with my adrenaline.”
“Easy to do,” Susie said. “I understand, and really, no hard feelings.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said. “The more I get into this case, the more complicated everything is.”
“Is that right?”
If I was reading the conversation correctly, Susie was definitely intrigued. I just wasn’t sure if it was genuine curiosity over her friend’s death, or if the situation was far more morbid.
“It’s hard to believe everything I’ve heard, let me tell you.”
“Like what?” she chirped. “I can confirm or deny any of the rumors you tell me that I know about. If that’d be helpful.”
I pretended to be conflicted. “I’m not sure if that’s a great idea. It’s probably best if I keep the details to myself.”
“Who am I going to tell? I just want justice for my friend.”
“I suppose you have a point.” I wheedled awhile longer, waiting for the stoplight to turn green. Once it did, I put Susie out of her misery and doled out some information. “Seems like Amelia really had it all. Superstar baker, boyfriend, best friend—er... two best friends?”
“You’re talking about Hunter.”
“Yeah. Actually, Hunter mentioned something funny when we were talking to him. He said that the two of you dated?”
“We did,” she said. “I mean, we dated for a short time. It wasn’t anything serious.”
“So, you weren’t upset when things between you and Hunter ended?”
“Why would I be upset?”
“Breakups can be hard and messy. You’re saying that wasn’t the case for the two of you?”
“Not at all,” Susie said. “It was mutual.”
Not exactly the story I’d heard from Hunter, I thought.
“Oh, I see.”
“That’s not what he said?” Susie asked. “I’m going to guess he said I dumped him.”
“He might have said that.”
“He’s just trying to get attention,” Susie said. “He’s doing it again now, claiming to be friends with Amelia. They barely knew each other. He was so not Amelia’s type of guy to hang out with.”
“What was Amelia’s type?”
“Frankie. Her boyfriend.”
“Were they having any problems that you knew about?”
“Sort of, but that’s the point,” Susie said. “Amelia never picked guys that were good for her. Don’t get me wrong, they loved each other, but their relationship was hot and cold.”
“Do you know what made them argue?”
“What didn’t make them argue? The temperature on the thermostat, the show on the television, the way to pronounce tomato. They could make anything into an argument.”
“Was there anything that caused a particularly big blow-out in the weeks prior to Amelia’s death?”
“You mean, something that he might have killed her over?” Susie’s voice turned hushed. “Do you really think he would have done that? I mean, I said they argued, but I think Frankie loved her. If I had to guess who did it, I would’ve guessed Hunter. He’s the liar.”
“This has been very eye opening,” I said. “Thank you for your help.”
“Anytime. Will you keep me posted on any developments?”
“I’ll do my best.”
We disconnected, and I pointed the car home wondering who in this mess was lying. Between Hunter, Frankie, Susie, I had my hands full. Throw Frank Senior into the clan, and now Britta Facelli, and it was hardly a wonder poor Amelia had ended up dead. She’d had a slew of liars surrounding her... the question was who’d taken everything one step too far?
I SPENT MY LATE AFTERNOON and evening ridding my mind of murder as I basked in enthusiastic baby talk and squishy, drool-filled snuggles. After a few precious hours spent whacking cups against one another and an extremely splashy bath, I reluctantly set a sleeping Bella in her bed. Then I kissed Anthony goodbye as he left for his thing and met my grandmother at the front door.
“I won’t be long,” I told Nora as she set up shop with a baby monitor in front of my television. “Call me if she stirs. She doesn’t need to be fed until I get back.”
“Unless you blow up.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” Nora said. “But you did list me as your beneficiary to take over Bella if something happens to you or Anthony, right?”
“Why are you asking me this now?”
“Because you’re going baking at Meg’s. There’s a very real possibility you could blow up under those working conditions.”
“True, but please don’t get your hopes up. It’s depressing.”
Trying not to think about the dangers I’d signed up for when I’d agreed to help Meg taste test her brand-new recipe, I sped across town. I arrived at Meg’s, parked behind Clay’s baby—a large, ugly van that NASA would be either very proud of or very terrified to find out existed.
I hiked up the steps with spray-painted artwork that had changed into several variations since my time living at the address and up to the apartment which had the same lopsided number seven dangling from the door.
Meg opened the door wearing a tutu. Or rather, an apron with enough frills to be confused for a tutu. It was bright red with cherries splattered over it and enough tulle hanging from the sides to outfit an entire lingerie store.
&
nbsp; “Just in time,” Meg said. “Cookies are fresh out of the oven.”
“When did you switch to making cookies?” I asked. “I thought you had entered the cake category.”
“I have an in with the judges. That, plus Sandy Sue Mallory decided she wanted to do cakes. So, one of the judges said it would be okay for us to swap.”
“Which judge? Don’t tell me you said something to Hunter about it.”
“Not that nincompoop,” Meg said. “Filip.”
“Filip?”
Meg turned a shifty gaze behind her then conspiratorially dropped her voice. “The Polish judge. He and I had a... thing when I studied abroad there.”
“You studied abroad in Poland?”
“Yeah.”
“When?” I racked my brain. “I’ve known you almost our whole lives. You didn’t study abroad in Poland.”
“No, okay. Maybe that’s a little ambitious. I didn’t study there, per se. At least, not formally. I might have studied other things,” Meg hedged. “Do you remember that time I flew to Spain?”
“Yeah.” I crossed my arms. “To meet that guy from the internet?”
“That’s the one. Well, that internet man didn’t really exist. I mean, he did exist, but he was a she named Pamela who wanted to steal all of my money.” Meg rolled her eyes. “Annoying, right?”
“Right,” I echoed weakly.
“Once I put the kibosh on that little scam, I decided I might as well enjoy my vacation. I spent the week traveling around a few countries in the area.”
“You told me you met a Spanish guy and holed up with him in a beautiful seaside hotel for a week.”
“I know, but—”
“You sent me pictures,” I said, confused. “Who was that guy?”
Meg shrugged. “Taxi driver. Paid him a couple of bucks to pose with me in photos. I mean, c’mon Lacey, you told me it was a bad idea to go abroad, and I couldn’t let you be right.”
“That sounds like a completely logical reaction.”
“I knew you’d see things my way.”
I massaged my forehead. “Tell me about Filip.”
“Not much to tell. We’re friends. He did me a favor by letting me switch categories under the radar. End of story.”
“Is that legal?”
“Girlfriend, you sorta work for the mob. What do you care about cookie legalities?” Meg clapped her hand. “Speaking of cookies... you’re on the clock. Start at this end of the counter and munch your way on down to the other side.”
I rubbed my hands together and studied the neat little rows of cookies stretched out before me. Everything from angry gingerbread men to sweet unicorns jumping over sugar cookie moons. None of them were decorated.
“The decorations come later,” Meg said. “I need to figure out the actual cookie recipe first.”
As I crunched my way through a series of surprisingly tasty treats, Meg busied herself preparing another batch of frozen Nutella chunks that would be encased by a red-velvet cookie dough. It was a sugar bomb in cookie form and pure bliss.
“Any chance you have Filip’s phone number?” I asked between samples. “If you’re on good terms with him, maybe you can convince him to chat about the case.”
“You can call him from my phone,” Meg said, rolling more dough between her palms. “I’m too busy to talk about murder.”
I took Meg’s phone and looked up the contact. Hitting dial, I slouched back in my seat and gratefully accepted a tall glass of chilled milk from Meg. I dunked a madeleine into the cup and closed my eyes as it melted on my tongue.
“I didn’t know you could bake,” I said. “I’m impressed.”
“I can do a lot of things,” Meg said. “I just don’t try that hard very often.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I?” she said. “I have a husband, a best friend, and lots of good food. Why should I try harder? I’m doing pretty darn good.”
“Interesting,” I admitted. “I should try that theory.”
“Maybe not,” Meg said. “It only works on certain people who are naturally amazing. Like me.”
At that moment, someone answered the phone and spoke in another language. I gave Meg a look.
“Polish,” she mouthed, as if that would explain everything.
“Hello, is this Filip? Yeah, great. My name is Lacey Luzzi—I’m a friend of Meg’s.”
“A friend of Meggie’s is a friend of mine,” Filip said smoothly in an accented tone. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s about the bake-off.”
“I can’t grant you entry no matter how good of friends you are to my Meggie,” Filip said. “I’m sorry, but it’s much too late. Especially for a nobody like you.”
“A nobody?”
“In the baking world,” Meg said. “You have to admit, nobody really knows who you are except for the fire department—and that’s on account of you baking poorly.”
“I’m not trying to enter the competition,” I said quickly. “I’m actually a private investigator hired to look into Amelia’s death. If you have a moment, I’d like to ask you a few questions about your fellow judge.”
“Maureen?”
“Other judge,” I said. “Hunter Arquette.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Was he friends with any of the contestants? Amelia, maybe?”
“I don’t know,” Filip said. “I don’t know Hunter well at all. I mostly know of him. Supposedly he dated one woman... a Susan, but then he dumped her.”
“You’re telling me that Hunter dumped Susie?”
“Seems that way,” Filip said. “I remember when they sent out the first round of nominations for the judges. My name was on it, obviously, as was his. The next week I remember reading in the paper that Hunter had dumped his girlfriend so he could judge.”
“But you don’t know that he dumped her for a fact?” I asked. “Could she have dumped him?”
“Maybe,” Filip said. “But that’s not what I heard.”
I changed my tune. “Is there a prize granted to the winner of the competition?”
“A twenty-thousand-dollar grand prize is up for grabs. It’s the biggest prize yet,” Filip said. “In the past, it’s only been one thousand dollars. But the contest has grown in popularity by leaps and bounds lately, so they’ve upped the stakes this year. Competition is fiercer than ever before.”
“Had you heard that Amelia was supposed to give The Sugarloaf a run for their money this year? Possibly boot them from their 37-year reign as winners?”
“I try not to pay attention to rumors,” Filip said. “I judge on taste and presentation alone. I like to go in blind.”
“Of course.”
“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re spending so much time looking into Hunter’s love life,” Filip muttered. “Who cares?”
“I don’t personally care,” I corrected. “I’m just trying to find out who might’ve killed Amelia.”
“You’re looking in the wrong place,” Filip said. “You should probably talk to Kiernan Brooks. He was also on the short-list to be selected as a judge. It’s rumored that Hunter edged him out.”
“Are you insinuating that Hunter might have... pressured Kiernan out of the position?”
“I don’t know anything,” Filip said. “I’m just telling you the facts.”
“Crap,” Meg said. “Speaking of facts, that’s the fire alarm. We’ve got to go, Filip, mi amigo.”
“See you tomorrow, Meggie.”
Filip hung up. I looked over at my friend.
“Meggie?” I said.
“He’s Polish,” she said with a shrug.
“Sure,” I said. “If you say so.”
Chapter 12
“Today’s the day, chickadee!”
“Gah!” I flew straight up in bed, grasping the comforter to my chest. A voice was far too close to my ear, seeing as my bedroom was still pitch black. I whirled in confusion. “Who’z zer?”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said, Meg!” I hissed, regaining my ability to form English sentences. “But what in the world are you doing here? At this hour?”
It was still dark outside. Still dark inside. I squinted at the clock and saw the numbers 4:34 shining red back at me. On impulse, I flew out of bed and raced toward Bella’s crib on the other side of the room.
“What are you doing?” Meg asked. “She’s fine. I was quiet. I didn’t wake her.”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “I can’t remember the last time I didn’t wake up to the sound of a crying baby. I just had to make sure she was still breathing.”
“Dude, she’s snoring louder than Anthony.”
Meg thumbed over to the bed where Anthony’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. Anthony probably wasn’t snoring because he wasn’t sleeping at all. He was pretending. It was better that way.
Once I knew that Bella was breathing and Anthony was playing dead, the grumpiness started to seep in at the corners. I pointed toward the door and trooped after Meg, who marched quite happily into the kitchen.
“I was going to get the coffee going for you,” Meg said, “but that sounded like a lot of effort. Do you feel like doing the honors?”
I stomped over to the coffee pot. Grumped some more. Ground the beans and placed them in a filter, then added water to the kettle and switched on the stove.
“I’m surprised,” Meg said.
“You’re surprised?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked me why I was sitting on the foot of your bed at four in the morning,” Meg said. “Or how I got in here.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the counter. “I was getting to that, but it would be better for all of us if we wait until after I get caffeinated to speak to you.”
“Good point,” Meg said. “I’ll let you make that coffee then. I’ll take mine with cream and sugar and those teensy little marshmallows, please. A lot of them. I had to get up early this morning.”
“No kidding.” I made up two coffees and handed one over. I only had the energy to make mine black. I’d catch up with a sugar bomb on round two.