Lacey Luzzi: Sprinkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 1) (17 page)

“So, what I’m thinking now is: what if The Bratva didn’t
actually
steal anything from us? What if it was the mole?” I shook my head. “The only thing I’m stuck on is the motive. Why would he do something like that?”

Michael swallowed a bite of garlic bread. “I know why.”

I looked up and set my wine glass down. “Why?”

“I’ll bet you the rat stole from you. Your family would obviously pin it on the Russians, causing a distraction while he slipped away and gave the goods to the cops. The snitch obviously wants out, and the Russians wouldn’t let him go peacefully. He’s hoping to get into the Program.”

I nodded. “Witness Protection. I’m following.”

“For good reason,” he muttered. “I just mean, if he’s acting like that.”

If one of my Family members wanted to get out of the business, I’d tell them to shut their mouths, try out a new city for awhile, and vanish like a magician’s rabbit. I’m fairly certain Carlos wouldn’t agree with this method, but I wouldn’t be the one to ask. I’d choose ignorance over violence any day.

I found my head nodding yes. Everything was making sense. But that still didn’t solve my problem of how to get the drugs back for Carlos.

“That doesn’t really help,” I said. “I mean it does, to understand it. But Carlos still expects a bag of the stuff on his desk, regardless of who took it.”

“That’s not as hard as it looks. In fact, you should be happy.”

I gave him a confused look.

He leaned forward. “You’ve limited your options. You’re no longer fighting the Russian mob, you’re looking for one, lowly little person.”

“You have a point.”

“The only thing is-” he tapped his chin. “I have a feeling the timeline will shrink up. The Russians and you want the same thing, right? To find this guy. So it’s no longer a war against them – it’s a race. Find him first, and you win.”

Iciness crept down my spine. The news wasn’t exactly reassuring. In fact, I had a distinct feeling I didn’t want it to come down to a footrace between me and a group of the Russians, wrestling over a bag of crack.

A phone beeped. I reflexively looked down, but it wasn’t my screen. Michael’s phone was on the table, closer to me than him.

“Here you are, it’s a Nikolai,” I said, sliding the phone over. I cracked a smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to look.”

He grinned. “No prob, friend from Chicago. Sorry, could be work related.”

“Go ahead.” I gestured grandly and went back to sipping wine, my head beginning to feel like it was floating.

After a second of staring at the screen, his face turned white. His knuckles crunched the phone. The chair crashed to the floor as he stood, knocking it over without a backwards glance.

“I’m so sorry, you won’t believe this. I really, really need to go. Nic needs help.”

“Okay,” I said, pushing my chair back and standing up. “I’ll come with, what do you need?”

“No, no.” He said distractedly. “Stay here, make yourself comfortable. Feel free to watch TV or something. It won’t take long. I’m so, so sorry. I promised I wouldn’t do this to you again, and I know I’m an idiot. You’re totally free to leave and never speak to me again.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said.

“I just can’t believe this. If it were anything else I’d say no – or not even have picked up the phone. I am
so
sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I gave him a little push towards the door. “Stuff happens. I understand the craziness of life.”

“I promise I’ll be back soon. Please make yourself comfortable. Thank you so much for understanding.” He slung his jacket on and gave me a small kiss on the cheek. With a sad smile, he stepped outside into the crisp night air and shut the door behind him.

“Alright.” I picked up the wine bottle. “It’s me and you.”

**

I finished the last of the red wine alarmingly fast while sitting at the dinner table alone, my head feeling like it was growing larger and emptier by the second.

I searched for a TV as soon as he’d left, but hadn’t seen anything. Not even when I’d poked my head into the rooms with closed doors. I was a bit surprised to find that none of the rooms contained an ounce of furniture except the bedroom.

Even the bedroom was sparse: a full bed with plain sheets, a reading lamp and a few clothes tucked away in the closet. Feeling a bit bubblier and morally looser than usual, I peeked through the clothes, noting the blandness of his closet.

Apparently it’s his body that makes the clothes look good
, I thought, pushing aside the third gray sweater I’d seen in a row. I neatly spread his hangers out in the same format they’d been when I’d started my snooping.

There wasn’t a single picture in the place. I thought about peeking (innocently) through a few boxes, just to see if I could catch a glimpse of his elusive family. Where did they live? It dawned on me that I didn’t even know where Michael was from. But if he were Italian, why didn’t he have any photos of his family? Even Carlos – an ice king in his own right, allowed photos of the Family in the main wing of the estate, and for crying out loud Nora had an entire hallway of knick knacks and old pictures. Even Marinello’s had a wall of pictures with Luzzi’s and Marinello’s as you entered the restaurant. It was just unfortunate they’d chosen
all
of the ones which I’d been shoving food at my face.

There was a makeshift couch (college-style futon) in an open space which qualified as a living room. I kicked my shoes off and lay down, hoping the room would be less fuzzy if I rested my eyes for a few minutes. The futon was surprisingly comfortable, but my eyelids refused to cooperate.

My phone blinked with a text from Clay.

I opened the phone to silence the beeping, but I didn’t read the message. Instead, I selected Meg’s number and pressed dial.

“Megggggggg,” I drawled as she picked up. “Guess where I’m at?”

“Drunk town. I’ll come get you. Gimme an address.”

“You don’t need an address.” I broke into a fit of giggles. “But you’re so sweet. That’s why you’re my frienddd.”

“Where are you, then?” Her tone was stern. “OH, I know. You’re at that dude’s house from the bar. The skinny cute one, yeah?”

“Yeah, but he’s not hereeee.” I hung my head off the edge of the futon, hoping some additional blood flow would make me think clearer and stop slurring so dang much.

“Where’d he go? Shape up girl, gimme a straight answer.” The sharp edge to her voice helped me to focus.

“I don’t know. He read a text on his phone and then rushed out. He told me to sit tight, so I did. With a bottle of wine. Now, I am at his place, alone, drunk. I just wanted to say hiiiii to you.”

“Ah, I see,” she said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “So, what’s he into?”

“Into what?” I asked. “His house is bare. There’s nothing except gray sweatshirts and a lot of lasagna.”

“No sex drawer? Toys? Latex? Whips? What about porn?”

“No, I didn’t look.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

I smiled into the phone. “Let’s just say I might get a good enough glimpse later tonight. We already got lunch today, too!”

An intake of breath from the other end signaled Meg’s envy and surprise. “No.”

“Y-E-S.” I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “And I think it could be
good
.”

I could hear a crackling from the other end, as if she were fanning herself.

“You okay?” I asked, pulling myself into a sitting position.

“Yep. Just glad you capitalized, on account of me letting Mr. Dreads walk away for this dude.”

“Another one will come around.”

“Easy for you to say. Anyways, what are you gonna do now? Are you sure you don’t need a ride?”

I stood and wandered around the foyer, but seeing nothing there of interest, I made my way back into the kitchen. It was the only thing stocked in the house. I saw a huge sack of flour under the sink, some beers in the fridge, sugar, eggs, cereal, and meat. The usual suspects.

“I’m going to make cookies,” I declared. I gathered eggs, sugar and flour and began the hunt for some sort of chocolate bar to bust up into chocolate chips.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Meg asked.

“Why not?” I took a minor stumble as I searched for some vanilla flavoring. “I have nothing else to do – plus, there’s no dessert. Who forgets dessert?”

“Uh, Lacey?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head, Meggo.” I clicked off the phone so I didn’t have to balance it as I cracked some eggs into a bowl. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the joy of having someone else on my side for this crazy job, or maybe it was some weird desire to show Michael I could be domestic (or at least fake it), but I was positive making cookies was the best thing to do at this moment.

Who wouldn’t want to come back from a mysterious errand to the smell of freshly baked cookies oozing from the kitchen? I most certainly wouldn’t mind.

I set to work, humming a little ditty and threw a bunch of flour, some butter and the rest of the ingredients I’d scrounged up into a bowl. I formed them into beauteous little circles and greased the pan, then set them in the oven to bake. I set the timer on my phone then returned to the futon to lie down and wait for my date.

Chapter 15

When I woke, my alarm had long since passed, and the cookies that were supposed to be smelling delicious in fact radiated a violent burning odor. The front door opened, and I heard Michael’s voice call from the foyer.

“Lacey? Where are you? Is there a fire?” He rushed into the living room looking harried and concerned, his curly hair poking out at odd angles, as if he’d been running his hand through it over and over again.

I smiled. “I made cookies.”

“With what?” He looked confused. “I don’t have flour.”

“What are you talking about?” I stood and showed him to the kitchen. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the stove. “Ooops. I’m really sorry about that smell. I bet that next batch will be much better.” I gestured towards the huge bowl I’d left on the counter, meaning to change it out with the timer that hadn’t gone off. “Stupid cell phone alarms, I’m sure you know how it goes.”

“But where did you…?” His eyes traveled to the cupboard from where I’d retrieved the flour.

“Yeah, you goof. You had so much flour I figured you wouldn’t miss a bit in the cookies.” I frowned. “Though it didn’t quite work out how I’d intended, what with the burnt smell and all.”

Michael stood up, his shoulders rigid. “Oh, that is really sweet of you."

“I’m sorry! Are you upset? Is it the cookies? I should have asked first. I feel really bad. I could make another batch.”

“No. It’s fine, really.” He smiled, and a bit of his former, cheerful self beginning to return. “Truthfully, everything is a-okay. This was adorable. Thank you for the effort.”

He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. I relaxed a bit.

“Honestly, I’m sorry. Here, I’ll just open this window.” I leaned over and cranked the window open above the sink. A blast of frigid air hit the two of us.

My phone pinged. It was a message from Meg, and I squinted in an attempt to read it.

Coming to get you. Haven’t heard from my 6 missed calls…got address from Clay.

Oh,
damn
, I thought. I kind of wanted to leave, but I didn’t want to run out on him right when I’d caused a mess.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “But I’d called Meg to come get me when you were gone since I wasn’t sure when you’d be back. She’s on her way over, even though I thought I’d told her I didn’t need a ride. Is it cool if I…”

I gestured towards the outside and shrugged. “I’d feel really bad making her drive over here and turn around.”

“Of course, I completely understand. Thanks again for everything. You’re the greatest.” Michael gave me a deep kiss. It was only minutes later when I heard a car pull up outside. I stepped back and grabbed my coat.

“Thank you for dinner,” I called over my shoulder as I hurried down the path towards Meg’s waiting car. “So sweet of you.”

“Thank you for coming.” He waved. “I had a great time; I apologize for running out on you.”

** **

The next morning I woke to a droplet of water splashing onto my forehead. I rolled over and waved my hand at the imaginary faucet. Another large pellet of water dropped on the back of my neck. I hunched further under the covers. Only when a steady stream of water trickled into my hair did I roll over and open my eyes.

“What?” I growled.

Clay was standing over me. Unfortunately, the view was less than stellar: he was already in his spandex blue biker shorts and Under Armour long sleeve shirt (which was new, and matched Anthony’s exactly). However, it had a different fit on Clay, and his stomach was pressed uncomfortably close to my face. He held a water bottle, its contents currently being squirted onto my head.

“Gym time,” he said.

“I’m taking the day off.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“Go alone.” I pulled the covers under my head. If I thought that would stop the flow of water, I was wrong.

I burst out of bed. “What’s your problem?”

“You got me into this monster trainer; you’re not ducking out now.”

“Here’s an idea.” I poked his spandexed stomach, which was still a bit mushy despite the two days we’d been working out. “Why don’t we
both
quit. We’re not cut out for it. Give it up.”

“Not true,” he said. “Plus, you need your car. If you want it, you’re coming with me to the gym. Otherwise, I’m not bringing you to pick it up.”

He looked oddly determined, something I’d never seen before when the words
Clay
and
Gym
were uttered in the same sentence. I sighed. I
had
already paid for three months. And I was pretty sure Anthony wouldn’t exactly be receptive about giving me a refund.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll come with.”

“It’ll cheer you up after your shitty date last night.” He walked out of the room.

I followed, rubbing my eyes. “How did you know about that?”

After Meg had dropped me off I’d stumbled into my apartment like a zombie and spoken to nobody. I hadn’t even made popcorn.