Lacey Luzzi Box Set

by Gina LaManna

  “Lacey, what are you doing?” Meg asked, casting a nervous glance at Clay. “Thought you were lotioning your head or something.”

  I wanted to tell them I knew what was going on, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d let them come to me as a couple when they were ready.

  “I feel so much better, actually,” I said. “Clay, can I come home with you?” I gave my cheeriest smile, which seemed to have no effect on the two except to confuse them beyond belief.

  “Was it that drink?” Meg asked with heavy skepticism. “I put a little something extra in it.”

  I frowned. “Extra?”

  “Sugar,” Meg said. “Literally. Sugar. Don’t worry. I’ll always tell you when I add crack to things.”

  “How about you never add crack to things,” I suggested.

  “Are you sure about this?” Clay asked. “Because we decided – Meg and I – we have something to tell you.”

  I stood up, waving off Clay’s comment. “I feel bad for my reaction earlier. Long day, I was stressed – it’s none of my business what you have to tell me.”

  “No, I think it is—” Clay said.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” I declared, the smile coming naturally now. “I don’t want to rush anything for you guys. Let’s go home, Clay. Meg, do you still want to go to Stillwater tomorrow? We can make it quick. Just pick up the sauce and head back.”

  “And maybe my helmet,” she said.

  “We’ll see,” I said, not particularly anxious to revisit Grease Ball’s house. But I didn’t want to say no because I did really want Meg’s company for the trip. Even if nobody knew that today was my birthday, it’d be nice to spend it with someone I cared about.

  “Great!” Meg said. “No need to tell her yet then, Clay.” She shot a forceful look in his direction. “She doesn’t seem miserable at all.”

  “I’m way better,” I said. “Trust me. I’ve had a, um, a grand realization.”

  “Excellent,” Meg said. “Sleep tight, chickadee.” She reached forward and pulled me into a huge squeeze that just about shattered six of my ribs. “Happy birthday, honey.”

  When she let me go, the grin on my face was a hundred percent real. “Thank you, Meg. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Sweet dreams,” she said, blowing kisses to both Clay and me as we left the bar side by side.

  I waved at Meg, but I made sure to let Clay catch all her kisses.

  Chapter 10

  A GOOD NIGHT’S REST can do a lot for a person.

  I rolled over around ten a.m. the next morning, feeling refreshed, energized, and excited for life. I sang a miniature happy birthday ditty in my head, which wasn’t as fun as it’d initially sounded. I knew for a fact that I sang terribly out loud, but I’d never realized that I sounded off-key even in my own head.

  Foregoing my self-serenading extravaganza, I focused instead on Meg’s birthday wishes murmured in the wee hours of the morning. That alone had been enough of a reminder that people cared about me, and I was being a bit silly with my woe is me thoughts. Sitting up, I gratefully acknowledged that thirty felt pretty good, and that I was lucky to have such a sparkly life overall. It wasn’t always perfect, but it could be really darn great. I had a roof over my head, sugar in my coffees, and a foot of licorice rope that looked like real rope waiting for me in one of Meg’s pockets. I had a loving Family who provided me with a job, and speaking of said job...

  I had stuff to do.

  I’d planned to get up early and hit the road running, but after my late night discovery about the bomb’s non-existent threat, the pressure to move quickly had all but dissolved. Now, my worst case scenario was that I wouldn’t find the sauce. If that happened, Carlos could use a little salt and pepper as seasoning. Or ketchup. It wouldn’t kill anyone.

  Blips of conversation filtered through my almost closed bedroom door. I could make out Meg’s spirited voice followed by Clay’s calmer one.

  I’ll give them a few minutes, I thought as I rolled over and closed my eyes.

  I never expected to fall asleep again, but the next time I looked at the clock it was forty minutes later and time for me to get a move on. Dressing in my most comfortable workout pants and a yoga-inspired, loose charcoal-gray tank top, I looked the part of someone headed to the gym.

  The last place on my birthday I wanted to end up was the gym, but even less desirable than heading to the gym was the thought of cramming my legs into jeans. Especially since the day ahead promised a lot of movement. We had to visit Horatio’s grandmother and deliver the news about Grease Ball. I was still debating whether or not we’d tell her about the odd experience with the log cabin in the backyard. For all intents and purposes, our friend seemed to be a normal suburban guy tucked away in his normal suburban home with a lack of shampoo.

  The fact that he shot guns at intruders didn’t help our case for “normal.” Then again, I lived with a man who’d built a laying desk, I’d kissed a different man who may or may not list assassin on his resume, and my best friend wore an orange mohawk helmet on the regular. Normal was subjective.

  Maybe I’d just leave the part about guns out, because maybe if we hadn’t trespassed, he wouldn’t have shot at us. The story was complicated. We could get the police involved, but there were some explanations I’d be expected to contribute, and I wasn’t exactly ambitious about making them public. Plus, if the guy were really a threat, the police still wouldn’t be my first choice for help. I’d go to Anthony.

  As Anthony’s name crossed my mind, it dawned on me that I’d never truly apologized for my comments about the Family. He hadn’t brought it up last night, but I also shouldn’t have said it. The best plan of action would be to confirm the bomb was taken care of, and then apologize all at once. Once the air was cleared, we could go back to being – well, whatever we were.

  Raising my hands above my head, I stretched out, feeling mighty limber for a thirty-year-old, as I made my way down to the living room. Logically there wasn’t much difference between yesterday and today, but I felt older. Maybe even a little more mature. Or maybe it was all a nonsense mental game and I was no less or more mature, limber, or smart than I’d been twenty-four hours ago.

  “There she is,” Meg said as I popped into the room. “How ya feeling?”

  “Good,” I said. “Not even too hungover.”

  “That’s because I laced the entire drink with ten times more sugar than I usually do. Your blood is a higher percentage sugar than water, which means the drink was basically healthy for you.” Meg smiled up at me from her perch in the laying desk.

  Clay stood protectively next to her like a parent guarding his child at the top of the staircase. He snuck a glance my way for a second, then trained his eyes back on Meg and kept his hands at the ready.

  How sweet. He was guarding his new love as she attempted to maneuver the laying desk.

  “This thing is sweet,” Meg said, gesturing towards the contraption. “I need to get myself one for the bar.”

  “You don’t do paperwork,” I told Meg. “Why would you need one?”

  “‘Cause I’m supposed to do paperwork,” she said. “You know, inventory and taxes and all that crap. But it’s much easier to just not do it.”

  “Hmm,” I said.

  “But what I’m saying is that maybe if I had one of these here handy-dandy desks, I’d actually do my paperwork. I wouldn’t even have to move to take my naps.” Meg looked at Clay. “How long would it take you to make me one?”

  “Well, it’d be very expensive,” Clay said. “This is just a prototype...”

  “That’s okay,” Meg said. “You ain’t charging me anyway, right? I’m basically part of the family.”

  Maybe they were engaged! My mind leapt straight to the wedding. Would it be local? One never could tell with this pair.

  “Uh...” Clay said, glancing at me with hesitation.

  “Right,” Meg said. “Help me out of this trap.”

  Clay putzed wi
th a few knobs and levers, pulled hard on a string that caused a metal arm to rise, and eventually with some advanced acrobatics, removed Meg from the seat.

  “You ready to get going, chickadee?” Meg asked. “I gotta be back here by eight p.m. I got a masseuse and nail girl coming. Gotta look fabulous for that barbecue tomorrow.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said with a wink. “Special day, huh?”

  Meg blankly stared at me. With her mouth partially open, she looked to Clay. “How does she know?”

  Clay shook his head. “I didn’t – I don’t...does she know?”

  “Didn’t you just hear her?” Meg asked. “‘Course she knows. Lacey, who spilled the beans?”

  “Nobody,” I said smugly. “I’m just an expert detective. But don’t worry; the secret is safe with me.”

  Meg narrowed her eyes. “You’re not mad?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “I think it’s so incredibly freaking sweet. I didn’t believe it at first, but now...” I smiled. “I’m so happy.”

  “Wowzers,” Meg said, with a hesitant glance at Clay. “I didn’t expect this sort of reaction.”

  Clay shrugged. “I didn’t know what to expect. No offense, but sometimes girls’ emotions confuse me.”

  “Well, you’ll have plenty of time to learn all about our emotions,” I said, grabbing Meg’s arm. “Shall we go get the sauce? Tomorrow will be a very special day.”

  Meg’s eyes twinkled. “This is great! It’s gonna be so fun. I can’t wait. Let’s go, girlfriend.”

  “Hasta la vista, Clay,” I said, leading Meg out front. “Don’t worry, cousin. I’ll bring her back in one piece.”

  THE CAR RIDE TO STILLWATER buzzed with excited energy. Meg had ridden her bike over to my place, but since I wasn’t quite feeling the whole wind in my hair sort of vibe, we’d agreed to take my Lumina. Little it was not; in fact, it steered like a yacht the size of Florida and could do just as much damage. The thing was a rock on wheels, and despite its lack of prettiness – an Audi S8 had it beat by a million miles – it got the job done.

  I turned onto the road that supposedly led to Dave’s Special Sauce. “Let’s just drive by quick once more,” I said. “If there’s nothing there, we’ll go straight to Horatio’s grandmother’s place.”

  “What about my helmet?” Meg asked. She’d dressed for the occasion in her standard outfit: a camouflage vest with more pockets than there were states in America, a bandana around her forehead, and combat boots that laced up halfway to her knees. Judging by the bulk in her pockets, she’d probably moved the candy and snacks from our last trip over to this vest.

  “Let’s grab it after,” I said. “If we have time.”

  The goal was for Meg to forget about the helmet. If we could secure the sauce from our witchy friend, I’d be able to collect money from Carlos and buy Meg a new one. Preferably one without the mohawk, though it did suit her well.

  “I know you’re trying to distract me—” Meg started, as she fished around in her pocket. “Hey, look! I still got the candy from the other day.”

  I grinned to myself. Meg didn’t need my help with any sort of distraction.

  “If anything, this peanut brittle got harder from the other day.” She tried to take a bite, but it didn’t work. Her teeth clinked against the edge and I was worried she’d need to visit a dentist. As if to demonstrate its diamond-like strength, Meg tapped the sweet against my dashboard. “Whoops.”

  “Whoops is right,” I said, running my hand over the crater of a dent in the dashboard. “Jeesh. That peanut brittle is intense. This car has been banged up, shot at, and the victim of car bomb attempts, but this is the first dent it has seen in years.”

  “Gonna hold onto that,” Meg said, tucking the brittle back in her pockets. “Never know when it’ll come in handy. There, there, I got it tucked nice and safe in the pocket next to the licorice. The one that looks like real rope.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’m keeping it,” she said firmly, a pout on her face.

  “No problem,” I said. We had bigger fish to fry. “Over to Mama Horatio’s?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Meg said. “But if she tries any voodoo crap, I’m busting out my peanut brittle on her ass.”

  “I thought you were psychic,” I said. “Any thoughts on what’ll happen?”

  Meg removed a hunk of rope, and I did a double take.

  “It’s just licorice,” she said, taking a bite. “My visions don’t work if my blood sugar’s low. I’ll munch on this and let you know if the mood strikes. My powers can be a bit finicky.”

  “Great,” I said. “You’ve got a long career as a seer ahead of you.”

  “I can see that,” Meg said. “Duh.”

  “YOU’RE BACK,” THE TINY woman said, pulling the front door of her spooky little cottage open. If possible, more vines wound their way around the front walkway, more trees drooped eerily with hanging branches, and more creepiness oozed from the place.

  It didn’t help that the woman was dressed in a full black robe with her mane of frizzy black locks controlled only by a hairnet.

  “Is that your witch’s outfit?” Meg asked, forgetting that we were guests. Or maybe she didn’t forget, and politeness just wasn’t in her wheelhouse at the moment.

  “Witches?” Anastasia muttered. “This is what I wear to brew the sauce you girls are looking for.”

  “Does it give you magic powers?” Meg asked as we stepped inside. The question earned her a firm elbow to the ribs. However, my elbow hit the peanut brittle, so my plan backfired and left me wincing with pain.

  “The robe prevents splatters on my clothes,” Anastasia said. “Silly girl. Have you never cooked a day in your life?”

  “Uh, yah,” Meg said, “I own a bar. I cook drinks every day, and I don’t wear witch’s robes.”

  “Probably because you don’t know where to buy them,” Anastasia said, showing us into the kitchen, where what could’ve been cauldrons bubbled on the stove. Whirling around, she crossed her spindly arms. “You’re just jealous, aren’t you?”

  “No, I am not,” Meg said vehemently. Then she leaned against the counter, took in the kitchen scene, and sighed. “Okay, fine. I’m a little jealous. Where do you get them? I bet Amazon has a great selection.”

  “We’re not here for robes,” I clarified. “We’re here because we’ve completed our end of the deal.”

  “You have?” Anastasia eyed us skeptically. “Tell me about the house on Sixty-sixth Street.”

  “Meg and I drove over there directly after leaving your house last week,” I began.

  “That’s actually false,” Meg chirped. “We stopped at the candy store first.”

  I gave her a glare, but I didn’t deny it.

  “What?” Meg shrugged. “Honesty is the best policy.”

  This from the woman keeping her love affair a secret from her best friend and her boyfriend’s cousin. I didn’t argue aloud, however. Just in my head.

  “Right,” I said. “But it was a brief stop at the candy store—”

  “She uses the term brief loosely,” Meg whispered, leaning towards Anastasia and bobbing her thumb towards me.

  “Just great,” I said through gritted teeth. “Perfect time to turn into an honesty machine.”

  “You never know when the mood will strike,” Meg said. “Just like magic. And gas, for that matter. They’re really very similar if you think about it; they’re both unpredictable and silent with the potential to be deadly.”

  “Anyway, we drove over to the house like you asked,” I continued, “and walked right up to the door. Then we knocked on it.” I was stalling now because I really regretted not asking the man’s name. That had, after all, been the most important point in the deal.

  “And?” Anastasia wasn’t fooled by my procrastination techniques. “What did you find?”

  “We found a man with, uh...he had long-ish hair and seemed relatively normal,” I said. “I think we might have spooked him,
showing up unannounced like that.”

  “What else did you find out? Anything unusual?”

  “One thing,” I said, holding up a finger. “The most important thing. He said he’s actually from around here. Grew up in town. He was just moving over to a new house.”

  “Any idea why?” she pressed.

  I shrugged. “More space? He has a lot of land at that house on Sixty-sixth.”

  “Space for what?” Anastasia had slowly been stepping forward with each question.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He wouldn’t even give us his name, which is not that surprising since we were two strangers showing up and randomly knocking on his door.”

  “I told you my name,” Anastasia said. “And I let you in when you did the same thing to me. He didn’t let you in?”

  “No,” Meg said. “But I peeked around him and saw a gun.”

  I wanted to give Meg a good shake. She wasn’t helping Anastasia feel good about the newcomer to her town. Despite it being strange that he’d blindly shoot at two women on his property, the truth of the matter was that we were the ones trespassing, and for all we knew, he had licenses for those guns. This was, after all, Minnesota. People did outdoor stuff like hunt and fish and ride lawnmowers in bikinis.

  “A gun?” Anastasia inhaled a deep breath. “Shame on him, keeping a gun like that in plain sight.”

  “Do you know this man?” I asked. Something about the way Anastasia had phrased the last question tricked off my Sugary Senses. We’d never told her his name, but she referred to him as if she knew him.

  “No, of course not,” she spluttered. “I’m just appalled. A man moves to beautiful, rural Stillwater and totes a gun around in plain sight. What if you two were children?”

  “We basically are,” Meg said. “But don’t worry, we didn’t touch the gun.”

  Anastasia ignored Meg, a small miracle.

  “I need you to go back there,” Anastasia said. “I need you to do one more thing.”

  “That’s not part of the deal,” I said. “I fulfilled our end of the bargain, now you fulfill yours.”