by Gina LaManna
“To get you to your... final resting place.”
“Excuse me if I’m not particularly excited to go along with you.”
“I thought you might say that.” Sandra pulled out a gun. “Now how do you feel about it?”
I glanced at the gun and, with a breath of relief, realized it was a Taser. She really did want to keep me alive, and I supposed the only reason for that was to frame someone else.
“Who are you pinning this on?” I asked.
Sandra grinned. “Finally, you get it. That poor schmuck—what’s his face? Filip? After he awards The Sugarloaf first place, the police will receive an anonymous tip that he’s got a stash of poison in his suitcase at the hotel. The guy doesn’t have an alibi for the time of Amelia’s murder, and he won’t have one for the time of yours.”
“You’ll need more than that to get him pinned for your crimes.”
“We’ll see,” she said. “I can be pretty convincing. Now, come on.”
As Sandra had been talking, I’d used my time to plan a very lackluster attempt at a getaway. I put that plan into action as she gestured for me to get up. As I stood, I brought my tray with me. When I reached a standing position, I hurtled it across the room at her.
However, seeing as I was still bound around the ankles, my efforts to rush the door were clumsy at best. I army crawled in true Bella form toward the door. I managed to tuck a fork into my waistband as I did so. Thankfully, the clatter of the spoon and tray against the wall were enough of a distraction to keep Sandra from noticing the fork wasn’t among them.
I had never had much hope of getting away from the cabin, especially since my feet remained tied. But capturing the fork was better than nothing. Sandra let me crawl until I was about two feet from the door. Then she pointed her Taser at me and depressed the button until I went limp. The next moment the chemical smell returned, and I was out all over again.
Chapter 30
When I woke from unconsciousness—for the second time in so many days—I found myself in a pitch-black room. Unlike the cabin where Sandra had previously kept me captive, there was no lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.
However, the realization that my hands were free to put in front of my face if I wanted to, even if I couldn’t see them, was quite exciting. Sandra had left my feet bound but my hands untied. It only took a few minutes to relieve myself of the rope tying my ankles together. Another minute and a pat to my waistline told me that Sandra hadn’t noticed the fork in my pants.
I pressed my ear to the door, listening. All was quiet. I was just beginning to wonder where Sandra had brought me when my unasked question was answered in a big way.
“Ten minutes left!” A booming voice shouted into a microphone. “Ten minutes on the clock, bakers!”
With a gasp, I realized that Sandra must have transported me to bake-off headquarters and locked me in an out-of-the-way closet. Safe from prying eyes until she needed me. Or my body. Apparently my (dead) body was going to be the linchpin to Sandra’s dastardly plan.
Or so she thought, I told myself. I wasn’t going to sit still and let that happen without a fight. I got to work, easing the fork out from my waistband and sticking its teeth into the door’s lock. I was pretty certain Meg had once forced me to watch a YouTube video about how to pick locks with everyday items. I was pretty sure forks had made the list. They had to be on the list, or else I was dead.
The whole time I worked, I listened through the door as Stuart narrated bits and pieces for a surely breathless audience waiting to hear the winner’s name announced. I struggled with the fork, dropping it several times with my shaking fingers. I jammed it in there again and felt a click. I tried the lock. Still nothing. I adjusted one of the fork’s teeth and tried again.
Stuart’s five-minute countdown began. My palms were beginning to sweat, making lock picking all that much more difficult. I dropped the fork several more times, wasting precious seconds while I picked it up and found my place again.
Bella, Anthony, Meg, Nora, Carlos, Clay—the whole Luzzi family flashed through my mind on repeat as I worked the lock. I had to get out. What would happen to my family if I didn’t make it? Bella and Anthony...
“Five seconds left,” Stuart called gleefully. “Three... two... one... Set your spatulas down, ladies and gentlemen—that’s a wrap!”
I swallowed. Tears burned at my eyes. And then, in a miraculous moment, the lock clicked, and I fell into the hallway and collapsed on the floor. I was weak from a lack of water, from spending all night throwing myself at a solid wood wall, from screaming myself blue in the face.
But as I glanced up and down the dark hallway, I knew I had to move. It’d only be a few minutes before the judges discussed the final presentations and prepared to award the grand prize. I jogged down the hallway, hit a dead end. Turned around and limped the other way.
Finally, I found my way to another door branching off the hallway—a door that was fortunately unlocked. I pulled it open, ran through—and stopped. Full stop. And nearly melted with embarrassment and relief.
I glanced, speechless, at a sea of faces that were staring back at me with confused expressions. I imagined I didn’t look fresh as a daisy after my wild night out, and I supposed they were wondering what sort of madwoman had made her way on stage for the finals of the Great Minnesota Bake-Off.
Stuart—mid-sentence—gave a feeble stutter, and then stopped talking entirely. A gigantic cake—a replica of the one I’d demolished to free Filip—was rolling toward us. The four men who’d been pushing the pop-out cake onstage all paused to stare at me, too.
“Help,” I managed to squeak. “Help me.”
“Lacey Luzzi?” Stuart said, and my name went into the microphone.
“N-no!” I shouted, diving toward him. I hadn’t seen Sandra in the crowd at my first glance, and the last thing I needed was for Stuart to ruin my cover before I had the chance to warn everyone about her. “Don’t—”
Diving for Stuart saved my life, in retrospect. As I leapt across the stage, the crack of a gunshot rang out across the arena. I did a barrel roll across the stage toward the announcer, just barely missing the six-foot tiered cake.
The bullets, however, didn’t miss the cake. Frosting went flying everywhere as I did an ungraceful somersault directly into Stuart. The two of us combined in a heap as more gunfire peppered the stage and bits of cake puffed into the air in sparklers of crumbs and buttercream.
The four men pushing the cake all dove offstage. The gunfire ceased. And chaos set in.
Bakers, assistants, and onlookers scrambled in every direction seeking exits before more shots resumed. I hunched near the ground, skirting the edges of the arena as I worked my way toward the front doors. I kept my eyes peeled for Sandra—she’d missed once, and I had no doubt she’d be back to finish the job.
Bodies poured from the doors of the baking arena and into the cool air outside. I slid out with them, trying to keep away from others. I was a target—there was no two ways around it. And I doubted that Sandra cared much about additional casualties at this point.
I slipped around the side of the building, and in the distance, I caught sight of Anthony and Clay. They stood next to one another, speaking in low tones. Their faces were somber. Meg, I wondered. Where had Meg gone in the chaos following the gunfire?
I raised a hand to wave at Anthony, opened my mouth to shout his name. I knew if I could just get to him, I’d be safe. But before I could utter a syllable, another gunshot sounded, loud, deafening—followed by the spit of a bullet as it dug into the asphalt just inches away from my feet.
Rolling to one side, I found myself in a crouch on the ground, staring up at Sandra. She moved her gun to me, pointed it directly at my face. Her lips curled into a smile.
If I dove to the left, a swarm of people would be behind me. To the right, and I’d be cornered against a wall.
“Goodbye, Luzzi,” Sandra said, her finger tw
itching toward the trigger.
But the deafening blow of a bullet never came. Instead, the sound of a Xena-like battle cry filled the air as Meg leapt from a swarm of people. Whooping like a wild woman, she swung a rolling pin like a battle axe as she catapulted herself toward Sandra. She brought down the wooden rolling pin on Sandra’s arm with enough force to break it.
Sandra buckled, letting out a cry of pain. The gun clattered to the ground. Meg reached over and picked it up, deftly turning the safety on before crossing her arms and looking at Sandra.
“I’m sorry about the arm,” Meg said. “But you were gonna kill my assistant. And my best friend. I couldn’t let that happen.”
I gave a grateful smile to Meg. “I’ve never been happier that you’re on my side.”
By the time things settled into a territory that was no longer a threat to anyone’s life, Anthony and Clay had made their way over—Anthony in a light jog, Clay in a labored walk that left him breathing heavily. Several of the cops that had been milling around as additional security had leapt to attention. One of them had snapped cuffs on Sandra’s wrists and was reading her rights.
I fell into Anthony’s arms. “How did you know to find me here?”
Anthony clasped me to his chest, weaving his hands deep into my hair. He held me tight for a long moment before responding.
“Where else would you have been?” he asked softly. “When you didn’t come home last night, and Meg and Clay didn’t know what had happened to you... Everything has orbited around the bake-off. If something was going to happen, I figured it would be here.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “So sorry. But it’s over.”
Anthony gave a long, deep sigh. There was a tiny bit of relief tucked in there.
“So, seeing as I saved your wife’s life,” Meg said, giving Anthony a little elbow nudge to the ribs, “does this mean we can finally be friends?”
Anthony looked very conflicted. Then he cracked slightly and gave a wry shake of his head. “I suppose.”
“Whoop!” Meg fist pumped. “Does this mean we can all use your hot tub together?”
“No,” Anthony said. “Because we don’t have a hot tub.”
“What if we fill up your bathtub with hot water, and—”
“No,” Anthony said shortly.
“Fine,” Meg said. “I can be on board with that. I love you, man. And you, too, Lacey.”
MEG AND I WATCHED THE cop car drive away with Sandra nestled in the back.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Meg, once the taillights made their way into the distance. “I know this bake-off was a big deal to you, and I ruined it.”
“Hey,” Meg said. “I didn’t lose.”
“But they cancelled the awards ceremony.”
“Right,” Meg said. “I didn’t win, but I didn’t lose. For me, that’s actually a win.”
“Then you’re welcome.”
In the last hour or so, I had spent my time filling in Meg, Anthony, and several uniformed policemen about my night and the ensuing morning with Sandra. I dished on everything from her poisoning technique to her quest to save her family’s business—by committing murder. Meg didn’t seem to be paying attention until I mentioned the bit about the fork in my waistband that saved my life.
“Basically, I saved your life twice by making you watch that YouTube video,” Meg said. “You’re like a cat with nine lives, and I’m like your guardian cat angel.”
As I finished up with the cops, I turned to find several of the onlookers still mingling about, watching me with interest. One of them, I recognized. She approached me tearfully.
Susie wrung her hands together before her body. “Lacey, I—I’m sorry for how I treated you. I can’t believe you went through all of that to find Amelia’s killer. For what it’s worth, she would’ve appreciated it. I appreciate it. We all do. And who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped Sandra when you did?”
“I’m sorry about—”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Susie interrupted. “I shouldn’t even have entered the contest with Amelia’s recipe. I was just... I was in mourning and didn’t know what to do. My friend and baking partner had died. I thought if I won the competition for her, her death might mean something.”
“I think you’re right,” I said. “Amelia would have appreciated it.”
Next up in the line of onlookers to approach me was Filip. Susie slipped away quietly. Anthony took a step back as well. When Meg made no move to leave me alone, Anthony tugged her off to the side, too.
“Filip,” I said. “I’m so sorry about Clay. About what happened to you. I found out the truth last night, and—”
“It’s fine.” Filip waved a hand, looking surprisingly blasé about being locked inside of a cake. “I understand why someone might be a bit overprotective of Meg. Clay apologized.”
“I feel like he owes you a little more than an apology,” I said. “He locked you in a cake.”
“He’s also paying me a large sum of money for the hassle.”
“Ah,” I said.
“So, being in a cake wasn’t all that bad,” Filip said. “It’s enough money to go back to Poland and start my own bakery. Everything worked out. Someday, maybe you and Meg and Clay will come to visit.”
“That’s great, Filip. I wish you all the best.”
Filip went in for a hug, but I side-stepped him because a figure in the distance caught my eye. I bid Filip a quick goodbye and headed across the parking lot to the only woman wearing a neon-orange, faux-fur coat in the entire universe.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Britta Facelli. “I thought you were...”
“Poisoned? I hear you got a dose of it too, and yet here you are.” Britta winked at me. “It’s a shame our paths didn’t cross sooner, when I was in my prime. With your investigative skills and my knowledge of the law, we could have been a powerful duo.”
“You’re officially out of the lawyering business, now?”
“I’m as out of the business as your grandfather.” Again, Britta winked. “Does one in our business ever truly retire?”
“You sent me the photograph,” I said, the truth dawning on me. “Why did you help me?”
“Carlos did me a favor many years ago. I owed him one, and I’m a woman who pays my debts. So, I did some poking around using my own resources.”
“Did you talk to Carlos about it?” I asked. “No wonder Nora thought I’d asked him to help on the case. He was helping. I just didn’t know it.”
“We pooled our talents to find the link between Wyatt Davis and Maureen. Like I told you earlier, a Luzzi-Facelli alliance could do great things in this city.” Britta’s eyes shifted toward Anthony. “Though it seems that now might not be a great time for you to focus on your career. You have other priorities?”
“I do.” I glanced to Britta’s left and found Hunter watching her closely. “What about you?”
“Not me,” Britta said. “Not anytime soon. But I should get going. Hey, though—if you’re ever in the Duluth area, stop by the The North Star.”
“Good luck, Britta.”
In a flourish of orange faux-fur, she turned and strode quickly toward Hunter. From out of thin air, her assistant appeared behind her, clamoring to keep up. As I watched Britta Facelli make her exit, I felt Anthony return to my side.
“I’m sorry,” I said, at the same time he said, “Congratulations.”
“On what,” I said. “Getting shot at?”
Anthony pulled me against his chest. “I don’t know if I can ever get used to the fact that you disappear for hours on end or draw bullets to you like magnets, but if I keep getting upset about it, I’ll be a very angry man.”
“Should I say thank you?”
Anthony expelled a breath. “I just wish...”
Our chat was interrupted, once again, as Nellie approached—slowly picking her way through the crowd. She looked devastated. Her eyes were red from crying, her face covered in sp
lotchy pink patches. Her eyes were downcast.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, gulping for air as she arrived next to me—seemingly oblivious to Anthony’s presence. “I had no clue my sister—I don’t know how she could have done something like this.”
“It’s not your fault, Nellie.”
“I asked you to look into Amelia’s murder!”
“You were trying to look out for your friend.” I didn’t know what else to tell her. I couldn’t imagine what she was feeling.
Nellie sniffed. “I don’t know where to go from here.”
“Look, Nellie. Your sister’s mistakes aren’t yours. You have to try to move on from this,” I said. “Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but eventually. Start by focusing on the positives; you are a talented baker. I’d be lost without The Sugarloaf. Just don’t stop making my Forbidden Slices, okay? Start there and take baby steps. You’ll figure it out.”
“I...” A sob escaped. She managed the tiniest of smiles and a nod. “I can do that. The Forbidden Slices. For Amelia.”
Once Nellie had left, joining her mother and father in a somber hug, I turned back to Anthony.
“She must be feeling so awful about everything,” I said. “Poor family. There are definitely parts of solving murder that truly suck. I’m definitely taking some time off to recover from this one. At least until the holidays.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“It will be my Christmas present to you.”
“In that case...” Anthony wrapped his arms around me. “Christmas starts early. Let’s go home.”
EPILOGUE
The next few days, I did as I had promised to Anthony. I slept in as much as Bella would let me. I ate cookies on the couch and watched TV next to my husband in the evenings. I chased toy cars and sang Disney tunes and did innumerable loads of laundry like a real stay at home mom, and not a stay at home mom who sometimes chased criminals through the city.
The only thing I allowed myself to do—several days later—was to swing by Frankie’s pizza joint. There was one tiny loose end I needed to tie up. I needed to see how Frankie was doing once the Sandra story had hit the news.