Lacey Luzzi Box Set

by Gina LaManna

  “Good.” Carlos’s voice softened. “Now, just tell me you have the crown, and I will be happy.”

  “I sort of doubt you’re ever happy,” I said.

  “Lacey.”

  “I don’t have it. Not yet, but it’s coming.”

  “Today?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “How sure are you that you’ll have it by the deadline?”

  I hesitated, debating whether to lie or go with the truth. If I was being truthful, my guess would be close to zero percent. Even if we caught the thief, the chances he’d have the crown on him were slim. So, I decided to lie. “Probably higher than fifty-fifty odds.”

  “Lacey!”

  “Listen. I’m doing my best. I have something planned tonight—”

  “Does it have something to do with the surprise couples’ massage you’ve planned for Nora and me?’

  “So much for the surprise,” I grumbled.

  “What nonsense do you have in mind?”

  “It’s not nonsense.”

  Carlos frowned.

  “Look, I’m doing my best. I have a few things going at once. If this thing tonight doesn’t work, I’m uh, analyzing some files that should help me get some insight into the situation.” That was also a lie. Technically, Clay was working on the analysis, not me.

  Anthony had supplied him with all the necessary materials earlier this morning: copies of the personality tests, entry gate logs, and any other information he’d scavenged from the estate. Hopefully Clay’d have some insights – either on my father or the Luzzi staff – before the end of the afternoon.

  “And what am I supposed to tell my client when the crown isn’t ‘available’ tonight?”

  “What time is he coming?”

  “Nine. Sharp.”

  I winced, wondering if it was too late to spread a new rumor that the jewels would be moved at eight-thirty. “That’ll be a tight deadline.”

  “You’ve had days.”

  “Yes, but I can’t work magic. You didn’t even tell me your client’s name.”

  “Because I wanted to protect you. The client is dangerous, Lacey Luzzi. This is the first assignment I’ve given you on your own. If I’d told you a name, you’d have gone around asking people questions, and they’d have known something was wrong.”

  I couldn’t argue with him on that point.

  “You’d have been poking a sleeping bear. And that sleeping bear would know your face, your name, where you eat and sleep and crap. Nora would’ve killed me if I’d sent you into that bear cave.”

  “I believe the saying is wake the sleeping lion, or into the lion’s den...” At Carlos’s disgruntled gaze, I moved on from the botched sayings. “Never mind, bear cave it is. But Carlos, by keeping secrets from me, you’re preventing me from doing my job.”

  “Are you doing a job for me? Or are you working on your cross-dressing abilities?” Carlos glanced at my outfit. “Speaking of, I’m buying you a new apartment. We need to move you away from your cousin. He’s doing strange things to your personality.”

  “This outfit isn’t for Clay, it’s for Meg.”

  Carlos blinked.

  “Well, that came out all sorts of wrong. It’s Halloween, and this is my costume. A Disney costume. I’m Aladdin,” I finally said, throwing my arms up. “Whatever, that doesn’t matter, either. You should have told me the name of your client, Carlos. I’m running into dead ends, especially since I only had about three days to investigate everything.”

  “Don’t worry, Lacey.” Carlos shook his head. “If the crown’s not here by nine p.m. tonight, I won’t have to tell you a name. The client will be knocking on our door, and I will be forced to send you to answer it.”

  My cheeks flamed. “Does this have anything at all to do with The Fish?”

  Carlos hesitated. “Of course not.”

  “Can you stall the client if I need a few minutes tonight?”

  “Nine p.m., Lacey. Nine o’clock. Sharp.” Carlos disappeared from my window.

  “Dang,” I muttered, flipping the mirror back down. “Looks like I’m in trouble.”

  My face agreed. Mascara now surrounded my right eye, the goop dripping down my cheek. A bit of eyeliner dusted my upper lip. Still, I was sure that my face wasn’t nearly as black and blue as it’d be if I didn’t have that crown by tonight.

  Chapter 25

  I PACED THROUGH THE estate. The hallways were quiet, but everything had come together nicely overnight, leaving the estate cohesive, polished, and ready to go. I checked and double-checked that everything was in order. First, for the Haunted House. Second, for the heist.

  My feet carried me through the cobweb-strewn hallway, coffins and gravestones littering the route, a few ghosts drifting here and there from strings attached to the ceiling. The windows had been blacked out, eerie darkness replacing the sun’s normally airy glow throughout the Great Hall.

  Reaching down into my purse, I retrieved the finger I’d been carrying around with me for a few days now. I approached the statue of a man who resembled David and, taking a tiny bottle of super glue that’d I’d also stashed in my purse, re-affixed the finger on its rightful hand.

  I held the thing in place, my arm falling asleep after holding it above my head for so long. When the super glue finally dried, I stepped back to survey my handiwork. I realized with a loud groan that I’d attached the knuckle upside down. “Crap.”

  Attempting to wiggle it back and forth, I crossed my own fingers, hoping that it’d come right off again, nice and easy. No luck. The thing was stuck so tightly on the knuckle I’d have to re-break it and risk the entire hand coming off with it.

  Footsteps clacked down the hall, so instead of fixing the knuckle, I did the next logical thing – I grabbed an orange and black streamer and tied it around his finger like a bandage. For the finishing touch, I threaded a cobweb over his hand and plopped a huge, fake spider in fake-David’s palm.

  “Creative,” Harold said, nodding in approval.

  “Thanks.” I grinned. “Nice spooky touch.”

  “Does this last minute adjustment happen to have anything to do with the missing finger I noticed earlier this week? I wondered when it would reappear.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ah, so the statue has the ability to regenerate parts of his body, then?”

  “Yes, I guess so.” I stepped away, a blush on my cheeks. “Everything looks great, Harold. Thanks for your help.”

  He winked. “Yes, it does. We’ve all been putting final touches on this morning, getting everything ready for the girls’ arrival. Did you see the dry ice out front?”

  “Yes, it’s fabulous.” The entrance had been decked out with a grouping of witch’s brew, creepy characters, and strobe lights. “It’s a pretty scary place. If I were Marissa’s or Clarissa’s age, I’d turn around and run away.”

  “Yes, that’s the difference. They’re brave.”

  “Hey!”

  “I’m kidding.” Harold’s eyes shone. “You’re brave and thoughtful. It’s nice of you to put so much work into this. Though...” His previously bright eyes now turned shadowy. “Why did I receive a cancelled invitation from Meg? She changed her answer from Attending to Unable to Attend last night.”

  “How come Meg gets an invite, but I don’t get an invite to my own Haunted House?”

  “Did you check your email?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Okay, I had to start doing that.

  Harold gave me a second to process. “Is everything okay between you two? That girl often makes me feel uncomfortable, and I don’t appreciate when she touches my bum or mocks my accent, but I always thought you two made a great pair.”

  “So did the soul mate analysis, apparently.” I hung my head. “By the way, she’s not mocking your accent. She just randomly bursts into English accents from time to time. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Does she realize that it’s not a real English accent s
he’s using?”

  “If that’s your polite way of saying Meg is terrible at accents, you’re correct. Does she realize it? No.” I smiled, remembering the time she’d asked Harold on a date in stilted fake English. “I think it’s sweet. She speaks like that around here in order to make you feel more comfortable, she says. In case you’re homesick and missing your family.”

  “Well, if you do see her, please pass along the memo – kindly – that it makes me uncomfortable.” Harold cleared his throat. “I do hope you two work things out.”

  “Me, too.”

  Silence fell over the hall as I scanned the last of the decorations, subtly assessing my job as Surgeon to the Statues. Deciding my finger re-attachment wasn’t the most botched procedure in the world, I gave a nod.

  “This place really does look excellent. Good work, Lacey.” Harold returned my nod. “I hope Meg does stop by to see it.”

  “Are you dressing up in a costume?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What are you going to be?”

  “Oh, I’m dressed up already.” Harold looked down at his impeccable suit and tie – the same one he wore every other day of the year.

  “What are you?” I asked hesitantly, still not quite sure if he was joking or serious.

  “I’m dressed as a doorman!” Harold laughed, and laughed, and laughed, as if it were the most hilarious thing in the world. When I didn’t join in, his expression turned borderline offended. “I’m a butler, Lacey. They’re different.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” I said, remembering he’d mentioned his plan already. “Clever.”

  “Never mind, you just don’t get it.” Harold stalked from the Great Hall.

  I started after him but stopped as Clay appeared where Harold had been standing moments before. My idea to run after Harold and apologize disappeared with the look on Clay’s face.

  “What did you find?” I asked, stopping in my tracks. “And why are you wearing spandex?”

  “Does that statue have an upside down finger?” Clay asked, pointing towards pseudo-David.

  “No, and stop ignoring me,” I grumbled. “Why the spandex, Clay?”

  My cousin glanced down at his all black outfit. I supposed it was supposed to resemble Anthony’s normal attire – tight black shirt, loose black pants, black shoes to match – the whole secret agent thing to the max.

  “Because. You told me you had a costume for me to dress up in, so I wore the under-layer.”

  “You could have worn an over-layer in the meantime,” I said. “I mean, you are out in public.”

  “Why does nobody complain when Anthony wears super-tight, all black clothes?” Clay whined.

  I remained silent. No way was I telling my favorite cousin that Anthony bulged in all the right places while Clay, well, he bulged in all the wrong ones. Don’t get me wrong, Clay was a good-looking guy. But not all good-looking guys were meant to walk around in spandex. That’s just how life worked, be it fair or not.

  “Never mind. Where’s Meg?” Clay asked, tapping the fingers of one of his hands against the sheaf of paper in his other hand.

  “What do you have there?”

  “Information.”

  “Would you like to share it?” I asked.

  “No. Where’s Meg, I thought we were doing like, a group costume or something? She’d appreciate my spandex.”

  Both my eyebrows shot up. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “No! I just meant—” Clay’s face burst into a shade of red normally reserved for ketchup. “— I just meant she always wears clothes that are too tight, er, form-fitting, and...you know what? I found some information, here you go.”

  “Ah, really?” As much as I wanted information on my father, I hoped that Clay had also discovered insights on Carlos’s staff. Because, if I didn’t find that crown, I probably wouldn’t be alive to meet my father.

  “Yes. No, not about your dad,” Clay said. “I found a discrepancy on the check-in log, an anomaly in the patterns. We have a person leaving the estate, but not entering.”

  “And this person would be...?” I tried hard not to let my hopes rise. It could be anything – a blip, an accident, a friend coming and going.

  “It’s Meg,” he said. “The other day it looks like she left the estate, though she hadn’t ever arrived according to these logs.”

  “Clay!” I stomped a foot. “That means nothing, and you know it. She came in with me, so the guards must not have marked it down. And when she left, they noted it.”

  “Oh, I know that,” Clay said, frowning. “But it’s all I could find. I had to tell you something.”

  “So what you’re saying is that those records are useless.”

  “Yep, pretty much.”

  I hung my head. “Next time, don’t go getting my spirits up. It’s exhausting.”

  “Hey, I just said I had information. I didn’t say I had good information, there’s a difference.”

  I raised my eyes to stare at my cousin. “You don’t think that’s the tiniest bit misleading?”

  Clay considered it, looking up to the ceiling. “Okay, yeah. A tiny bit, I suppose. Sorry. So anyway, about this costume?”

  “Follow me,” I said, my tone as monotone as Eeyore’s. “I have it in the kitchen.”

  Clay and I walked side by side through the haunted hall, silence descending over us as we examined the decorations along the way, tucking a misshapen ghoul out of the way here, straightening a tombstone over there.

  A flash of movement around the corner stopped me in my tracks. “Anthony?”

  “Anthony’s here? Where?” Clay glanced in all directions.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, my voice dropping in volume. “I thought I saw the kitchen door open and someone peek out.”

  “And you assumed it was Anthony?”

  “It looked like his hand.”

  “Suppose you’d know his hands better than anyone.”

  I gave my cousin a look. “Inappropriate.”

  “Not like that! Jeesh, Lacey, get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “Maybe try thinking about what you’re gonna say before you say it,” I said. “That’d make it easier for me.”

  “I’ll consider it,” Clay said. “So, was it Anthony in there?”

  My pace quickened considerably. “Not sure, but I’m going to find out.”

  “You do that. I’ll wait here.”

  I didn’t bother to respond. Breaking into a light jog, I kept my footsteps as quiet as possible. I burst through the kitchen door in a matter of seconds, hardly noticing Nora sitting at the table.

  “Is Anthony here?” I asked, a bit out of breath.

  “He went that way—” Nora barely got the words out before I caught a glimpse of Anthony vanishing through a doorway on the other side of the room. Or rather, the back of his head.

  “Anthony!” I called, stopping. “Wait!”

  I gave him a few seconds to turn around voluntarily before launching myself at the opposite doorway.

  “Holy cow, he’s ignoring me,” I said to Nora, before hurtling down the next hall.

  Anthony continued to move at a rapid pace, not once looking back.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I growled, sprinting after him.

  Before he knew what was happening, I’d taken off from the ground, the running start carrying me farther than I’d expected. With a flying leap, I managed to shoot across the last few feet between us and land, piggy back style, on Anthony.

  “Lacey, what the hell?” Anthony reached up and reflexively clasped me to him, his hands tightening around my calves. My legs encircled his waist, my arms around his neck.

  “Don’t you run away from me, mister.”

  Anthony turned in a circle, trying to make eye contact with me, but I wouldn’t let him. I held on tight in perfect piggyback form, spinning round and round right along with him.

  “What are you thinking, Lace? You could’ve hurt someone flying down the h
all like that.”

  “Yeah, well you hurt my feelings,” I said. “Why were you running away? I yelled stop loud enough for everyone to hear.”

  “I wasn’t running away from you.”

  “Well then, who are you running away from?” I paused. “And why?”

  “I’m not running away from anyone.”

  “Are you losing it, Anthony?”

  He peeked over his shoulder to where I still hung on for dear life. “It’s more of a what that I’m running away from.”

  At my blank expression, he sighed.

  “Fine, I’m partially running away from you,” he said. “But not for the reasons you think. See, I’m worried that if I let you catch me, you’ll dress me up in some costume. I’m not a costume sort of guy.”

  “I knew it!” I grasped his ear with my finger. “I’m angry, buster. Now get a move on, back to the kitchen. Giddyup.”

  “What’s happening to me?” Anthony asked, his voice weak.

  I gave a light tug on his ear. “I don’t see you walking, buddy. March.”

  With me still strapped to his back, Anthony turned and headed back towards the kitchen.

  “Just for that, you get an extra fabulous costume,” I said.

  “Would it help if I told you that the rumor is circulating as expected?” Anthony asked, his voice so quiet I had to lean forward to hear it. “The plan seems to be working.”

  I lessened my taut grip on his ear. “Any chance we can change the time in the rumor to eight-thirty?”

  “My, aren’t you Miss Demanding?” Anthony said. “I am not sure that will be...”

  He trailed off, his voice getting softer and softer until I had to crane my neck so far around that my ear nearly touched his lips.

  “...possible.” Anthony finished the sentence, but it was a trap.

  He’d tricked me into leaning so far forward I lost my sense of balance. Therefore, when Anthony darted to the left, I flailed like a fish until he caught me, cradling my body to his chest. He smirked down at me, satisfaction lighting his eyes.