Lacey Luzzi: Salted: A humorous, cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  LACEY LUZZI: SALTED

  Copyright: Gina LaManna

  ISBN: XXXX

  Published: April 8th, 2015

  Kindle Edition

  The right of Gina LaManna to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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  Synopsis:

  After taking a gig with her grandfather – the Don of the Italian mafia – Lacey Luzzi has been in for a wild ride. Stolen property, rogue weddings and uncomfortable Family dinners – she’s seen it all. However this time, when Carlos interrupts Lacey’s sugar-induced nap with a phone call, he gives her an assignment that sends her skidding into a place she least expects: the local spa.

  Despite rumors of a prostitution ring Lacey is tasked with investigating, the most intimidating portion of the job is not the spa’s head guard, a man armed to the teeth and called The Refrigerator. It’s not the insanely advanced weaponry commissioned by her cousin Clay, a computer-whiz and social disaster who hasn’t quite mastered the art of explosions. It’s not even the suspicious Mister Kim, Lacey’s new landlord, who is linked all too closely with the spa.

  No, what has Lacey’s undies in a bunch is seeing her grandfather in yoga pants and working side by side with Anthony – a stud-muffin who is increasingly forward with his intentions. And when Lacey’s ex-boyfriend shows up to her housewarming party with a shiny new girlfriend, the party takes a turn for the awkward. But at the end of the day, the thing that’s really got Lacey’s stomach in knots is the spa’s no clothes policy in regards to the salt scrub that Meg signed them up for – on Carlos’s dime.

  As Lacey struggles to find out the truth behind the spa’s uber-secret second floor, she discovers that Carlos’s heart might not be as icy as she expects, and that living with her cousin isn’t quite as bad as she thinks. And when the heat is turned up between Anthony and Lacey, she just might find they have to hold hands and jump…

  ** **

  Lacey Luzzi: Salted, is a full-length, laugh-out-loud, humorous cozy mystery with a strong female protagonist in the spirit of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum, albeit one working for the wrong side of the law…

  Acknowledgements:

  To my Bond. My personal James Bond— Thank you for making 2015 the best year yet! Here’s to hundreds more pancakes for dinner, ice creams for lunch and turkeys for breakfast. And of course, fufing for days.

  я тебя люблю!

  To Mom— Happy 50th birthday! I love you. Here’s to the next fifty…

  To Meg & Kristi— Don’t worry, you’ll always be my favorite sisters.

  To Two-Timing Tom— that’s all I got.

  To Gillian— I owe the entire second half of this book to you!

  To Megan and Sherry— As always, thank you for your fantastic editing.

  To Sprinkles On Top Studios, my awesome cover designer.

  Photo Courtesy of Deposit Photos / lubavnel

  To Stacie, Kelly, Sue and Calluna—you’re my absolute favorite beaches.

  To Katie, Emily, Nicole, Shelly, Rissa, Nikki, Julie and Molly, you make writing about girlfriends easy!

  And last but not least, to all my family and friends, thanks for making me laugh.

  Lacey Luzzi: Expense Report

  —2 Body Scrubs Torture Sessions: $120

  —1.5 Salt Treatments(?): $34

  —Masseuse cash tip: $10 $0 (forgot envelope in pocket)

  —1 popsicle, 5 dilly bars, 3 pairs of chopsticks (free), half a cow (Meg): $22.42

  —U-Haul/ Mailbox incident: Felony

  —Pain and Suffering: Priceless

  Chapter 1

  Sitting in the driver’s seat of a beat-up Chevy Lumina parked outside my grandfather’s estate, I re-read the typed sheet of paper clutched in my hand. The proud owner of the strangest expense report ever created, I was currently fighting a losing battle. One in which I attempted to convince my legs to march the rest of my body right up the long, twisty driveway towards the mob boss’s mansion, hand over the report, and rightfully demand payment for certain “on the job” expenses.

  Sure, it wasn’t a job sanctioned by the government. No, my resume wasn’t politically correct. Yes, I did need the money. After all, I hadn’t planned on going to the spa today. I didn’t voluntarily get naked in front of a bunch of strangers. But when Carlos had snapped his fingers, I leapt to attention. If it hadn’t been for the phone call…

  ** **

  During the midst of a rather fulfilling nap earlier this afternoon – my cell phone had yodeled loud and clear, right next to my head. Though answering the call was low on my list of desirable things to do, I of course accepted the call. Because nobody says no to Carlos.

  As Don of the Luzzi Family branch of the Italian mob, my grandfather ruled the Twin Cities area. There was some rival competition with the Russian Organization, but he still held the power. For now.

  I’d accepted a position with the Family after my job as a sub-par stripper had left me flat on my face in the middle of a sparkly floor, breathing sequins out of my nose with gusto. I’d gone on a search for my real family after my mother had passed away shortly after said incident, partly because I’d been unable to follow in her footsteps as the main attraction at TANGO, and partly because I was out of other career ideas. I had held on to the hope that finding my family would help me figure out my path in life.

  And it did send me down a path – a rather sketchy, dimly-lit alley as opposed to the bright, shiny future I’d seen for myself. Mostly this happened because I’d never imagined my relations would turn out to be a Family of the organized crime variety. At the time I’d met them, I also happened to need an extra chunk of change. Or rather, a few extra chunks of serious cash. My grandmother had sympathy for my motherless plight, and the next thing I knew, I was agreeing to take part in the Family business.

  Now, I shared an apartment with Clay, my favorite cousin and computer ninja. Earlier today I’d paid my full half of the rent for the first time in years, thanks to Carlos’s assignments. It was a proud moment. I ignored the fact that the money had come from my reward for helping to recover a stolen, fifteen million dollar bag of flour for Carlos from the Russian mob. It’d been quite the first assignment, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.

  The assignment I’d received today was quite different. And in one sense, I could almost morally agree with the idea of it, which was pleasant for a change. No chasing af
ter drugs, no dead bodies, at least not yet. This assignment might actually be straightforward.

  As requested per said phone call, I’d shown up to a dinner of meatballs, gravy, and chip-your-teeth molasses cookies, the latter which I’d managed to tuck into my pockets very inconspicuously. After choking down the meal, my grandfather had taken me into his study to give me the business details of the job. Carlos sat down in his overstuffed chair. It had molded to fit his shape over time: a rather stout and short frame with skinny legs, but with regal salt and pepper hair and an intense expression.

  “We have reason to believe that there is a prostitution ring in town,” he said sternly, lacing his fingers on the desk before him.

  I nodded.

  “I don’t want it to be there.” Carlos carefully removed an exquisite, hand rolled cigar from the drawer next to his chair.

  I watched without saying a word.

  “Your job is to go undercover and investigate who, what, and where. No action is required. I do not, I repeat, I do not want you getting yourself in trouble or into a dangerous situation. You’ll need to search their computers, so ask Clay for help.” Carlos shifted in his seat. “If you must investigate in person, get Anthony involved. A big part of the business is building your team – surrounding yourself with the right people.”

  I nodded, and moved my weight from one foot to the other.

  “All I’m asking for is a hierarchy of the organization. You will be paid once I receive a list of who’s who. I want to know the top guy, the ringleader, his name. Who he is. Where he sleeps. When he shits.”

  “Okay, sure. I can do that.” I cringed at his language. “Do you have any idea of a place to start? For example – am I looking for Russians or Italians?”

  “That’s your job.”

  “All right, then. If I may ask – why do you want them gone?” I flinched, realizing that could be misinterpreted. I quickly added, “I mean, besides the ethical reasons, of course.”

  Carlos eyed me for a moment before continuing. “Part of the reason is ethical. The Luzzi Family wants nothing to do with it; it’s a dirty business.”

  He took a long inhale on his cigar. “In addition, we don’t want the sorts of people who think it’s good business in our city.”

  “Mmm.” I sat back. “What happens once we figure out who’s in charge?”

  Carlos gave me a painful looking smile. “The solution to the problem will be determined once we know who they are. And then a proper course of action will be detailed. But for now, understand that your job is just to find out who our new friend is. Should be simple, eh?”

  I barely noticed Nora – my grandmother, who preferred the younger term of Auntie – walk into the room and pluck the cigar right out of Carlos’s hand. “No more smoking. It’s bad for your brains, and I can’t stand the taste of these when I kiss you. Lacey, can I see you in the other room?” she called as she huffed right back to the kitchen.

  I nodded, barely registering the question, because what I was really thinking was more along the lines of the fact that nothing is ever simple when it’s an order from Carlos.

  “Lacey?” Nora called once more. “A word, please?”

  I moved into the kitchen after her, dragging my feet.

  “Everything okay?” I asked, leaning against the counter.

  Nora had pink cheeks, a half-full glass of wine on the table and an apron splattered with sauce. “Take a seat,” she said, flicking her spoon at the dinner table.

  “Oh, I already ate,” I said, resting a hand on my stomach for effect.

  “We’re not eating, we’re talking.” Nora refilled her glass and sat down next to me. “Sometimes…Carlos doesn’t know how to voice his emotions.”

  “No, really?” I asked, trying to not sound sarcastic.

  Nora smiled. “I know, I know. He can be tough to relate to at times. Which is why I’m here – I help…interpret his feelings. We’ve been together for so long that I know what he means without him having to say it. It’s a talent, and a curse.”

  I grinned. “I imagine.”

  “All I’m trying to say, is that – yes, I overheard your conversation, but that’s beside the point. I’m allowed to eavesdrop in my own home…”

  “Does Carlos know you listen in?” I asked.

  Nora waved a hand. “No matter. Anyway, dear. I’m trying to tell you that, while it may be hard for you to believe, Carlos is not a monster.”

  “I don’t think he’s—”

  “What I mean is – not everything he does is in pursuit of money. Or power. Or… any of that stuff. Sometimes, he just does things because they’re the right thing to do.”

  I considered her words. “You mean—”

  “Like I said,” Nora repeated. “I overheard your conversation, and I can read between the lines. Carlos has you, Lacey – a granddaughter. A beautiful young woman with a smart head on your shoulders, but a few unlucky breaks in life. It’s hard for him not to compare the girls in the… umm… the ring to you.”

  “So…”

  “You don’t need to say anything, Lacey. I just wanted you to know that even though I sometimes turn my head the other way from his actions, I’m aware of what’s happening. And, Lacey, it’s important you know how much he cares about you. Trust me – he doesn’t always know how to show it.” She gave a wry smile. “But it’s in here.”

  I looked down as Nora leaned across the table and rested her hand over my heart.

  “The way I look at it is this,” she said. “Actions speak louder than words. And Carlos would be devastated if you ever got hurt…” she shook her head.

  “I’ll be careful,” I said gently, trying to assure her of something that could never really be certain in this line of work.

  “Oh, I know. That’s why I’m giving Anthony a call.”

  “No…”

  “Darling, having a man around isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

  “I’ll find my own man,” I said adamantly.

  “Well, chop to it. Your clock is ticking.” Nora stood up. “Now, not a word of this to your grandfather.”

  “Thanks for talking with me, Auntie Nora,” I said.

  “Remember,” she said, holding the spatula out in my direction with an accusing stare, “not a word.”

  ** **

  “You know what? After a lot of thought, I’ve decided something,” Meg, my best friend and partner-in-crime, gestured with pride towards her expansive chest, where a push-up bra provided a substantial amount of unnecessary lift to her ladies. “Size does matter.”

  “How so?” I raised an eyebrow and slid my shabby old car into a tight parking space. I barely scraped the curb with my tires.

  Lacey – 1, Curb – 1.5.

  Meg grinned. “Since one of my chesticles is bigger than all your brains put together, you should really be listening to me in matters like this.”

  “Chesticles?” I raised an eyebrow. “What do your breasts have to do with the spa?”

  “I’m not just talking about the spa,” Meg said. “I am talking about everything the spa entails. I mean getting all salted up and scrubbed down. I mean nail polish and manicures. I mean haircuts and colors. I’m the experienced one here.” She adjusted her bra straps for emphasis before swinging open the car door to climb out. “Besides, we’re on your assignment, so you’re going in with me. There’s no way I’m doing your assignment for you. It wouldn’t be fair – you need to learn the ways of womanhood for yourself.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I can’t be your crutch to all things beautiful for the rest of your life, Lacey.” She shook her head with a serious expression. “You’ve ridden on my tail feathers long enough.”

  “I’ve had plenty of your tail feathers, thanks,” I grumbled, remembering a particularly frightening tandem bicycle ride. “Are you absolutely certain that I can’t stay in the car?” I slammed my car door shut and walked over to the parking signs. As usual, there were no less than four signs stacke
d right on top of one another. This was the glory of downtown Minneapolis.

  “Don’t worry, chickadee. You’ll love the spa. This place is fantastic,” Meg said enthusiastically. “It worked out real convenient that Carlos sent us here, ‘cause I come here on the regular. The fact that it’s free this time is the icing on top of the five-layer cake. And I know you love cake.”

  “Who says it’s free?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.

  “It’s an expense. A business expense,” she said confidently. “When I come on my own, I have to pick and choose my services carefully. But today – you better believe I made us all sorts of appointments. For the purposes of tax write-offs, of course. Carlos will thank me.”

  “That makes no sense,” I groaned. “That’s not how taxes work, Meg. Though it’s not like I’ve paid a bunch of them in recent years.” Between my previous gig as a failed stripper, and my current job as a glorified thug, I was more of an “under the table” type of girl when it came to getting paid.

  Meg shut her door and joined my side as I stared at the collage of street cleaning signs.

  I focused, doing some quick math.

  Meg grunted. “Why do they always make these things brain puzzles?”

  I scratched my forehead absently. “I think we’re okay. It’s after six p.m., not between the hours of four and seven in the morning, and it’s definitely not Tuesday between any of the eight and ten o’clock hours.”

  “Or we can just do this…” Meg’s voice trailed off as she opened the car door and reached into my glove compartment.

  “I don’t have anything useful in there. If you’re looking for my stash of Rolos, I told you already that I finished them. I have some Smarties in the back.”

  “Smarties are the devil’s candy,” Meg said. “Eating them is like sucking chalk through a straw.”

  I wrinkled my nose at her description. My disgust quickly turned into confusion, as she slipped a handicapped hanger on my rearview mirror.

  “Where’d you get that?” I asked in shock. “That’s not mine!”