by Gina LaManna
“No thanks,” I said. “I have a boyfriend. In fact, he might be here tomorrow.”
Meg raised her eyebrow at me. I shrugged at her in a sort of go with it vibe.
“Alfie,” Meg said, waggling her eyebrows. “In case you’re wondering, my door will be open tonight.”
Chapter 6
THE THREE MUSKETEERS clattered through the house, lugging their Meg-sized suitcases upstairs. I’d barely had time to explore, and already we had visitors. As I sulked in the entryway behind them, I took in the lay of the land myself.
The format of the cabin was simple. The screen door led straight into a hallway that ran through the middle of the place. Off to the left of the hall sat a closet, opposite the kitchen where our chicken lay cooling on the counter.
The kitchen had obviously been redone years after the place had been built, based on the modern, stainless-steel appliances. The rest of the cabin had the old-timey feel of a countryside getaway, though somehow Nora had combined the two styles successfully. For the life of me I couldn’t guess why she’d wanted to redo the kitchen. Cooking was not one of her talents.
Meg and I quickly scoped out the best bedrooms downstairs, staking our claims while the boys struggled to haul their suitcases upstairs. As I moved my belongings into one of many bedrooms, I called across the hall to Meg, who was setting up her room a few doors down.
“Yo. Meg, do you have the Target bag with my pajamas? I had it in the car.”
“No,” she hollered back. “I can’t find anything in my own bags, let alone yours!”
I dug through my bag, unable to find my pajamas. “Dang. I must have left them in the car.”
A few footsteps later, and Meg appeared in my doorway. She wore what could only be described as a frilly, over-sized doily. Her leopard print undergarments shown through with unfortunate clarity.
“Everything you brought on this trip is see-through, huh?” I asked.
“This ain’t see-through,” Meg said. “It’s couture.”
“Oh, sorry. My mistake.” I looked closer for the name of the brand, but couldn’t find anything. “Couture by who?”
“It’s knockoff couture, inspired by the real thing. I bought it out of your cousin Joey’s trunk. He had a bunch of real sweet deals. You should pick yourself up a purse from him and replace that nasty black thing you got. He had some real pretty ones in bright yellow.”
“Yeah, I’ll have to check it out,” I said, unconvinced. “So you haven’t seen my pajamas?”
“No. And I’d check the car for you, but I don’t want to risk getting dirt on my couture pajamas.”
“I’ll go look,” I said, stuffing a T-shirt back in my bag. “Thanks, though.”
“I actually wouldn’t be that sad if you forgot your pajamas, though. They’re no fun at all. They’re flannel and huge.” Taking a step closer, she dropped her voice. “Chickadee, we’ve got eligible men in this house. None of this sweatshirt and sweatpants crap. Your cousin Joey might have some extra couture he could give you a discount on.”
“Meg,” I hissed. “Anthony. I’m dating Anthony. Even if the men are eligible, I’m not.”
“Hmph. Even if you’re taken, that doesn’t mean you should give up on life. I’m being your best friend now and giving you some tough love. Ms. Lacey Luzzi, I will have an intervention if you glue sweatpants to your rear end.” Meg shook her head sadly. “You should follow my example. I dress to make myself happy.”
“Anthony fell in lov—” I paused at the dreaded L-word. “Er, Anthony fell for me just the way I am. Yoga pants and all.”
“I’m only saying, just ’cause you’re in a relationship doesn’t mean you should stop trying,” Meg said. “Who knows? Maybe Anthony will be so turned on by my sexy attire that he’ll try and come onto me, and I’ll have to drop kick his ass. That wouldn’t be good, huh?”
“Yeah, that probably won’t happen.” I started walking down the hall. “Him and I, we’re committed to each other now.”
“I’m just saying,” Meg said, following me into the hallway. She pulled up to a short stop. “Hang on a second, Lace. You say your PJs were in a plastic bag? On second thought, I might’ve seen them. In fact, I remember thinking that Target bag was full of garbage. If you find my leftover Taco Bell mixed in with your pajamas, it was an accident. I swear.”
I groaned. Impossible. Not my favorite yellow sweatshirt. I’d just replaced the original that’d blown up in my first mission for Carlos. The poor thing couldn’t catch a break.
“It’s a blessing in disguise!” Meg called after me. “Just remember, there’s always Walmart couture!”
I jogged down the front steps of the porch and up the short path to where the sturdy Lumina sat parked. I’d originally sold my soul to Carlos at a chance for a little Kia, but that had also been lost in the fiery aftermath of a bomb, an all-too-frequent occurrence with my new job.
Beeping the car open, I peeked around the yard to make sure none of our visitors were outside – smoking or talking or drinking – or whatever it is men do at night when they’re bored. I didn’t want to be surprised by Mini-Mario Lopez while digging for my PJs.
Thankfully, the place was silent.
I slipped to the other side of the Lumina to get a better look at the vehicle the Italians had driven out here. A tiny little Fiat, it was a wonder that the big guy, Alfie, could fit in there at all. I imagined him having to be folded up into a pretzel and placed in the back seat, and I stifled a smile at the image.
As I reached for the Lumina, a crack sounded behind me. I swiveled around, my heart pounding audibly in the quiet night.
There wasn’t a soul in sight.
My fingers twitched with anxiety. The cabin was tucked back from the road, surrounded by thick, gnarly woods, except for the backyard. The lawn behind the house led straight towards the menacing, inky black lake. The tree leaves rustled under the dark sky, and the whole moment took a turn for the eerie.
I hurriedly popped the trunk open. I had to grab my pajamas, hot sauce stains and all, and get back inside. Heaving the heavy metal lid open, I clapped a hand over my mouth and stepped backwards in surprise. My Target bag was tucked next to something that made my pulse freeze.
Or rather, a someone.
I screamed, my voice shattering the creaking quiet, interrupting the whispering water as it curled onto the sandy beach. I screamed and screamed and backed away from the car, still screaming.
Meg came outside then, doily-dress and all. “What is that racket? Girl, my ears are poppin’ over here. I was just trying to bleach my nose hairs, and I think I singed off all my smellers, thanks to you.”
I looked over at her, and she sobered up real quickly, after seeing the shade of white my face had turned.
“What is it, Lace? You look like you seen a ghost,” she said, taking a few steps off the front porch.
I raised a shaky finger and pointed at the back of the Lumina. “Look.”
“Oh, hot damn. He landed right in my Tabasco sauce,” Meg clucked disappointedly and shook her head.
I looked at Meg, opening and closing my mouth a few times, still too shocked to speak in full sentences. Meg straightened her shoulders and took control. “Chickadee, what you’re seeing here is a dead body. I seen plenty of ’em, on account of I used to be a cop.”
“But why is he here? What do we do?” My voice cracked left and right and my whole body shook, but I was too scared to be self-conscious about it.
“Huh, good question. I got no idea who this is. But maybe we should dunk him in the lake. I always wanted to fasten cement shoes on someone,” she shrugged, leaning in and taking a closer look.
“You have cement shoes with you?” I asked.
“No.” She crossed her arms thoughtfully. “But maybe one of them boys inside does.”
“I think we should call the police,” I said.
“Oh, yeah.” Meg scratched her head. “That, too. Except before you do that, hang on a sec. I gotta get ri
d of a few recreational materials in your stolen vehicle.”
“You brought drugs?” I asked. “In my Lumina?”
“Not just drugs,” Meg hedged. “Guns, too.”
“Oh, dear Lord.”
“Aren’t you supposed to say mamma mia, dios mio, somethin’ with a cool accent? You know, since you’re Italian?” Meg’s muffled voice asked. It appeared her rear end was speaking to me, since she’d opened a side door and began digging under one of the seats. “Got ’em.”
“’Em?” I asked. “As in plural? Guns?”
“As in – don’t worry about it,” Meg said, straightening up, semi-out of breath. “Go ahead and call now. I’m gonna retire to my room when the copsters arrive. You know, beauty rest. I’ve had a bad hair day what with the nostril burning and toe-fuzz debacle. But don’t you worry, I’ll wait with you ’til they get here, honey. You seem pretty surprised.”
Surprised was an understatement. I looked quickly at the trunk. “What do we do? Do we shut it?”
“Whatever floats your boat.” Meg shrugged. “It don’t matter to him, that’s for sure.”
I nodded. “Yes, please. I don’t think I can stomach seeing him, just laying there all helpless.”
Meg slammed the trunk shut and led me over to the steps.
“Okay,” I picked up my phone to dial 911, but different numbers came out. My fingers were shaking and my heart led me to dial the only number I knew better.
“Anthony?” I said to the silent voice on the other end of the line. “Are you busy? I promise it’s a real emergency this time.”
Chapter 7
I DISCLOSED THE DETAILS of exactly how I’d discovered the body to a dangerously silent Anthony. I left out the bit about my sauce-splattered pajamas and our three male visitors, preferring that information to remain a mystery for now. He was surprised enough already, and there’d be time later to fill in the rest.
After he made sure I was okay, he double-checked that Meg was prepared to act as my bodyguard until further notice. She more than happily agreed, especially on the part about using force to protect me as necessary. I declined coverage, but like most contracts, I couldn’t find a way out of it.
Then Anthony explained in no uncertain terms that he’d take care of things. I didn’t know exactly what he meant by that, but unless he’d turned into Harry Potter, his taking care of things didn’t get the body out of my car. The man was good, but he had his limits. At the moment, Anthony was over a hundred miles away and I didn’t think he could make people vanish by wishing them gone.
“Oh, one more thing,” I said, just as he was about to hang up.
“Do I want to know?” Anthony asked.
“Well, it’s about us. You and me,” I said.
“Is now the time to have this conversation?” Anthony asked.
“Kind of,” I said. “Since it might be relevant to you if you’re at the estate. I kind of told Carlos and Nora that I wasn’t dating anyone. Before you get mad, I know we were going to tell them right away, but can we agree to just keep things quiet until I get back from the cabin? Pretty please?”
The silence told me Anthony wasn’t happy.
“I’m sorry,” I said, truly meaning it. “I know it’s important for you to be honest with Carlos, but—”
“Lacey, we talked about this,” he started. “I don’t want our relationship to be a secret. It’s out of respect to both Carlos and you.”
“I panicked, okay?” I burst out. “Nora was asking when I’d give her a baby. I was overwhelmed.”
“A baby?” Anthony asked.
“A living, breathing child,” I said. “I told her I didn’t have a boyfriend, only so that she’d leave me alone. She was saying nasty things about my ovaries.”
“One weekend,” he said firmly. “Then we tell them.”
“One weekend. I promise.”
Anthony sighed. “Please try to not get into any more trouble.”
I started to explain how it wasn’t my fault, but as usual, he was already gone.
Chapter 8
AFTER I GOT OFF THE phone with Anthony, I dialed the local police. Anthony said he was going to take care of things, but that still didn’t solve the fact that I had a body dipped in hot sauce just hanging out in my trunk.
Plus, he hadn’t specifically said not to call the police. I’d only rung Anthony to let him know what was going on, not to make him drive up here and take care of things. Though if he happened to appear in my bed, I wouldn’t complain – mostly because I wasn’t sure I’d get a wink of sleep otherwise, what with three strangers alive in the house and one dead outside.
Also, as much as I respected Anthony and his work ethic, I didn’t have plans to sit outside on the frigid front steps and wait for things to work themselves out. I wasn’t the best at my job always, but I sure as heck was going to try.
Together, Meg and I huddled on the porch, the cement steps making our rear ends turn frozen and prickly all at once – an incredibly unpleasant sensation. Despite the discomfort, my body shook so thoroughly that I could barely focus; Meg tried to feed me leftover chicken, ply me with copious amounts of wine, and even offered to let me hold her gun for a while. Nothing worked to settle my nerves.
I glanced at my watch, hoping the cops showed up soon. Hoping for the cops to arrive was an unfamiliar sentiment in the Luzzi business, but this was an emergency. I’d called the local station, sure they had no idea of the weight the Luzzi family name carried. Carlos operated an entire state away – this was Wisconsin. The Luzzis were headquartered in Minnesota.
After a few minutes, Meg convinced me to have a glass of wine. For warmth, she said.
“Nora does say that three glasses of red solve any problem,” I said, accepting it. “One glass can’t hurt.”
“Nora’s ‘problem’ is no worse than a burnt batch of cookies,” Meg said. “You’re upgraded to crisis status. You can have a whole bottle.”
My fingers shook as I took a sip, falling silent once more.
Meg made a valiant effort to keep up a steady stream of chatter, but I couldn’t bring myself to crack a genuine smile. Slowly she lapsed into silence, the only noise an occasional pour from the wine bottle as she refilled our glasses.
“Hey, I know you’re in shock,” she said, breaking two minutes of silence. “But the cops are going to ask you some questions when they arrive. Let’s practice now, since I’m a former cop. First question: did you know that dude?”
“You mean the victim?” I shuddered. “Sorry, I didn’t get to thoroughly examine him. I was too busy screaming my lungs out.”
“That happens sometimes,” Meg said. “But you saw his face, didn’t ya? He had a pretty thick mustache. It was real nice and bristly, even though I think some sour cream was caked in there. I feel like you would’ve remembered that mustache. At least I would’ve, if it walked into my bar.”
“No,” I said. “I have never seen that body before, I’m pretty sure.”
“Maybe you haven’t seen the body, but what about the man? You know, back when that body was still alive?”
I turned and stared at Meg. “No. I’ve never seen him before. I have no idea what, why, or how he got here.”
“Huh,” Meg said. “Because somebody definitely shot him. There was definitely a bullet hole through his forehead. I know, on account of his brains—”
I leaned over the side of the stairs and puked out all my guts. Or whatever was in my stomach at the moment, which was mostly red wine and a little bit of chicken grease.
“Thatta girl.” Meg rubbed my back in soothing circles. “Boot and rally, boot and rally.”
I wiped my mouth and looked up. “This isn’t college. Be more sensitive, we just saw a dead person.”
“Your digestive system just isn’t used to it. Back when I was a cop I puked and fainted at the same time when I saw my first corpse. Was real nasty.” Meg stopped, probably watching me sway back and forth, on the cusp of relieving my stomach contents
once again.
“Too many details,” I said through gritted teeth, praying I wouldn’t gag.
“I’m just trying to help,” Meg said. “I’ve been in your situation, chickie. Misery loves a party.”
“Misery loves company,” I said, focusing on not listening to Meg’s words.
“Anyway, like I was saying, I puked and passed out all at once. Everyone said they’d never seen anything like it before. Real mess. But after a while, I got used to the scents and sights of a crime scene. You can’t help seeing a dead guy every now and again on the force.”
“That’s why I’m not a cop,” I said.
“Yeah, but you’re a mobsterista. That profession comes with a similar risk, sometimes. But don’t fear! There’s good news.”
“Really?”
Meg nodded, her eyes glazed as if lost in a daydream. “After some time, solving all those crimes got my stomach so strong I could eat a Mexican burrito and wash it down with some chicken nuggets and a milkshake, all while cruisin’ to a crime scene, and I’d be just fine.”
My stomach roiled, but I tried not to let it show.
Meg glanced in my direction to make sure I was watching and listening to her “astounding” story. The fact that I was about to keel over in a dead faint was completely lost on her. Through sheer, brute force, I managed to give her a small smile.
Once satisfied she had my attention, Meg nonchalantly examined her newly painted nails. “Yeah, it’s a real talent I have. You may get there someday, but it takes practice.”
“I don’t want to get there,” I muttered, just as red and blue lights flashed against the cabin. “If I never had any more practice, I’d be ecstatic.”
“You know what those blinking lights mean. The Fuzz are here.” Meg stood up, stretched, and faked a yawn that could’ve put a hippopotamus to shame. “That means it’s about time for me to turn in. If you need help, call my cell and leave a message.”
“You have to leave now?” I stood up, a little shaky, grasping onto Meg’s arm for dear life. “I mean, you’re not doing anything illegal at the moment, right? Why don’t you stay?”