Lacey Luzzi: Sliced (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 13) Read online

  “I see,” I said. “Were you worried about Amelia competing?”

  “Worried?” Nellie frowned. “No. Why should I be? Like I said, we wish her the best. It’s just a silly competition. It’s just supposed to be fun and games. Not... deadly.”

  “Wished,” Meg corrected. “You keep saying you wish her the best, but seeing as she’s dead now...”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Nellie said sadly. “Anyway, I think Meg’s onto something. There was a quadruple homicide last night that the mayor wants closed. Most police resources will be focused there. While that’s obviously important, so is Amelia. She deserves justice.”

  “I agree,” I said. “It’s just that—”

  “If they wait to tackle her case until they solve this other mess, it will be too late,” Nellie said. “The leads will all be cold. The bake-off will be over.”

  “Why don’t you poke around into the case?” I proposed. “If you’re so into true crime.”

  “I’ve got no resources—real resources,” Nellie said. “We need someone undercover. Someone nobody would expect. Someone with skills like yours.”

  I sighed. “I’d love to help, but this sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

  “High five,” Meg said. “You’re getting on the baking analogy train too.”

  I gave Meg a weak high five. “I just don’t have the time. I have a young daughter and a husband who needs attention. They both need to eat, and—”

  “Who are you kidding?” Meg interrupted. “You don’t cook. Nora feeds you all, or Uber Eats does, at least. And Anthony is happy if you do that special thing he likes now and again. I really wish he’d tell me what that is, but he says that’s personal information. As for Bella, she doesn’t even talk yet. You’ve got time if you want to help.”

  My face reflected rosy red off my fork. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. Speaking of my daughter, I should get back to her.”

  “What if I told you I had a way to pay you for your services?” Nellie offered. “And before you ask, it’s not money.”

  “But I like money,” Meg said. “You can offer me money.”

  “I know you don’t work for the money,” Nellie continued, her eyes narrowing on me. “You married Anthony Luzzi who is, like, chief of staff for Carlos. You guys are probably loaded. This is better. Yes, I have researched your family. It makes for good bedtime reading.”

  “I’m intrigued.” Meg leaned an elbow on the table. “As Lacey’s business manager, I’d like to hear more about your offer.”

  “If you can find Amelia’s killer, The Sugarloaf will happily provide you with a Gold Card in her memory.”

  I blinked. “You can’t do that. Those don’t exist; you guys retired them in 1984.”

  “We did publicly,” she said, “but you forget, we own this shop. We have a hidden stash of precious few Gold Cards left.”

  “A Gold Card,” Meg said. “I’m not even sure why Lacey’s pretending to think about it. The answer is one big, fat yes.”

  The legendary Gold Card at The Sugarloaf was talked about by residents across the state of Minnesota. While I hadn’t been alive during their heyday, I’d heard stories about them. Only ten existed in any given year. They were bought, sold, traded for big money and other favors. A Gold Card got its owner a year’s worth of The Forbidden Slice. As much as they wanted. As often as they wanted. Free of charge.

  “I’ll throw in ice cream,” Nellie wheedled. “Every time you come in and flash your card, it’s free. Plus, with a Gold Card, we do special birthday cakes, favors, parties, and more. You get the first tastes for new flavors and a stakeholder vote as to which cakes and ice creams we introduce to The Sugarloaf. It’s more than free cake,” Nellie said with the practiced speech of a great salesperson. “You become part of the Davis family.”

  I swallowed hard. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek into the situation.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Meg said. “Plus, there are lots of bakers looking for taste testers, so that will be an added perk of the investigation.”

  “I’m going to need all the information you have on Amelia Rapport,” I said. “Who she was working with, talking to, personal life... anything.”

  “Absolutely,” Nellie agreed. “I’ll help with whatever you need. Thank you, Lacey Luzzi. Your generosity will not be forgotten by The Sugarloaf. Amelia would have appreciated it.”

  “Me too,” Meg said. “I also appreciate the Gold Card. When does that make its appearance, by the way?”

  “When the bake-off concludes, and we wrap this case,” Nellie said with a smile. “Thank you on behalf of The Sugarloaf.”

  “What a deal,” Meg said as I extended my hand to shake Nellie’s. “Does that Gold Card come with a plus one?”

  Chapter 3

  “Come on, honey. Let go.” I gently pried my daughter’s hand from a floral spatula I’d adopted earlier that afternoon from Nora’s kitchen. “Mama needs to finish the cookies.”

  I shifted Bella higher on my hip and moved across the kitchen to where my cookie sheet sat with parchment paper spread across the top. I estimated that somewhere around one quarter of the batter had made it onto the baking sheet. The other three quarters had ended up on my hair, my face, or in my belly. I thought the ratio wasn’t too shabby considering the fact that I was working with a seven-month-old on my hip. And also the fact that I had eaten most of the batter.

  “Ready, sweetie?” I plopped a few more balls of dough unceremoniously on the pan. “We’ll just pop this in the oven, and it’ll be ready for dessert by the time your papa is home.”

  Bella giggled and clapped her hands. She leaned over and swiped at the edge of the bowl before I could blink. I reached for her hand, but she was faster than me with those super-speed baby reflexes. I just managed to catch her batter-covered hand before it went into her mouth.

  “Hey now,” I warned. “While I admire the effort, you can’t eat that.”

  “Wah,” Bella spat.

  “I know, I know,” I agreed. “It’s not my fault. Daddy said no sugar until you’re a year old. It’s a silly rule in my mind, but we’ve got to listen to him. Or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  I spun around and found Anthony standing in the doorway to the kitchen, one eyebrow raised as he studied me from head to toe. I swallowed awkwardly, both because I was eating my own words, and because Anthony was looking really, really handsome.

  “Did you do something to your hair?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “You look nice.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Anthony said. “I heard you throwing me under the bus to our daughter.”

  “What? Who? Me?” I washed Bella’s hand in the sink. “Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “I mean, I would maybe dream of it, but...”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Anthony said. “I don’t mind you throwing me under the bus so long as you make it up to me.”

  I gulped harder. “And how would you like me to do that?”

  “You’re off to a good start.” Anthony nodded toward my apron. “I like the looks of this.”

  “Oh, this old thing?” I twirled my apron playfully. It was so unused I wasn’t sure if it was dust or flour that came out in a cloud around me as I moved. I sneezed very attractively.

  “What’ve you got under there?”

  I blushed at Anthony’s tone. “I’ve got Bella with me, mister. But I’m sure Nora would be up for a few hours of—”

  “I meant in the oven,” Anthony said. He sniffed for emphasis. “Something smells burnt.”

  “Crap!” I whirled around. Then whirled back and handed Bella off. “Hold her for a sec, will you? I forgot to set the timer for the first batch.”

  “I thought baking was a science?”

  “Isn’t science really more of an art?” I pulled the cookies out of the oven and waved the
thin curl of smoke off the top and wished my baking attempt looked more appetizing than a tray of charred turds. “I really think we put too many rules into cooking. It’s just food.”

  “That’s not food.” Anthony nodded toward my concoction. “Food is edible.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “I’d like to see you cook.”

  “Okay.”

  I grumbled some more because Anthony really could cook. He didn’t do it often, but once in a while—a birthday or special occasion, or if he really wanted that one special thing from me—he pulled out all the stops. It was unfair how talented he was at everything.

  “What’s all this about, anyway?”

  “Why are you so skeptical? Can’t a wife cook a treat for her husband?”

  “Some can,” Anthony said.

  “Again with the whole edible business,” I said. “You are so picky.”

  Anthony chuckled, though the sound was muffled because Bella had reached out and secured her fingers around Anthony’s lip. Her grip was tighter than a fishhook.

  “Does there have to be a reason I’m making my family dessert?” I continued. “It just so happens I got in the baking mood.”

  “Last time you baked I had to call my dentist to schedule an emergency appointment for a chipped tooth.” Anthony smiled freakishly large to demonstrate. “Our insurance went up because of your cooking.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “No, but it did go up after you set the house on fire with that sponge cake.”

  “Fair,” I agreed. “But let’s not dwell on the past.”

  “Lacey, you don’t have all that much to do with food. Cooking, baking...” He paused. “Sugar, you’ve got many talents. You just prefer not to exercise them in the kitchen.”

  “That’s false. I have a lot to do with food. Eating it,” I clarified. “I’m good at that.”

  “Exceptionally.”

  “Watch it,” I growled. “What’s your point?”

  Anthony crossed the room. Bella was squeezing his cheeks, and the sight was so adorable it was impossible for me to stay grumpy. Watching Anthony become a father had been one of the most incredible transformations I’d been lucky enough to witness.

  Somehow, he managed to slide an arm behind my back. He pulled me close. His breath brushed over my neck. He smelled fresh and delicious as always. I inhaled deep and grinned.

  “You’re telling me there’s nothing on your mind besides cooking a meal for your family?” Anthony murmured against my ear. “Nothing at all?”

  “Dang it!” I thwacked my spatula against the counter in frustration. “And here I thought you were flirting with me.”

  “Can’t I do both?”

  “You knew I’d crack,” I said. “I can’t lie to you.”

  “Nobody can,” he said.

  I believed it. My husband could be a scary man when he pulled out all the stops. I shivered under his touch before gently setting the spatula between the tray of raw cookie dough and the over-crisped batch.

  “I took a job,” I said. “I’m Meg’s assistant in that huge baking competition.”

  “The Great Minnessota Bake-Off?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I know everything.”

  “Huh.”

  “What else?”

  “What do you mean?” I didn’t meet his gaze. “She’s a contestant, and she’s up against some stiff competition.”

  “The Sugarloaf?”

  “How do you know about that, too?” I pointed the spatula at him like a weapon. “That’s my secret.”

  “Your Forbidden Slice secret, you mean?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Lacey, we all know about your black hole getaway days.”

  “So, you let me think I was getting away with it?”

  “Pretty much,” he said. “Mostly, we just get out of your way. No offense, but...”

  “But what?”

  “Sometimes you’re a little cranky on those days.”

  “I can’t believe this. You knew all along?”

  “I know everything, honey. I’ve told you that a million times.”

  “It’s hard to be married to you.”

  Anthony pulled me closer. “Maybe I can make it up to you? Surely there are some perks to being married to me, too.”

  “I’m not done making up to you,” I said sadly. “You’re right. You always are.”

  “I know.” Anthony paused, and then asked, “What am I right about this time?”

  “I took a job. A real job.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “You already guessed that too?”

  “Sorry.”

  “There are no such things as secrets in this family!”

  “Well, technically—”

  “Now is not a good time to argue,” I said. “It is a black hole day, don’t forget.”

  Anthony raised his free hand in surrender and stepped back. “What sort of job?”

  “Amelia Rapport was found face down in a pool of royal icing, but I’m sure you already know that.”

  Anthony didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

  “I have to help.”

  “What happened to waiting until the first of the year to decide what you wanted to do for work?” Anthony reached around me, brushed close. But instead of planting a kiss on my neck like I thought he might, he reached a finger into the batter and tasted it. “Not bad.”

  I frowned. He kissed me. I stopped frowning.

  “What’d they offer you?” he asked. “You must have a reason for wanting to help.”

  “Can’t I want to help out of the goodness of my heart?”

  “Sure, you could. But did you?”

  “They offered me a Gold Card to the bakery,” I said with the biggest sigh of all. “How could I pass that up?”

  “How could you?” Anthony echoed. “What’s a Gold Card?”

  “I guess you don’t know everything.” I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand. But trust me, it’s a big deal.”

  “I hope it’s worth it.”

  “That’s not the only reason,” I added. “I really do want to help. Apparently, the cops are super busy with another homicide case. Nellie Davis—of The Sugarloaf—was friends with Amelia. She asked me look into it.”

  “So, you’re going undercover as Meg’s assistant?”

  “Yes,” I said. “She’s worried she’ll end up dead. You know, if it’s a baker serial killer or something.”

  A look crossed Anthony’s face that told me he was wondering how bad that would actually be. I smacked him, and he looked sheepish.

  “I have to protect my friends.”

  “Of course,” he said mildly. “So, where are you going to start?”

  “Nellie sent me an email with some information on Amelia, so I’m going to have a look at that later. Are you around tomorrow? Could you watch Bella for a couple of hours while I get started?”

  Anthony wiggled a finger into Bella’s tummy. She clutched at it with her chunky fingers and laughed. “I’d be happy to hang with this one.”

  I pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you. And maybe just for a few minutes now while I finish reading the information on Amelia?”

  “Lacey—”

  “Thank you!” I already had my apron shrugged off and laid over the table and was halfway out the door. “Oh, and can you turn the oven off? Or bake the other cookies? Or maybe throw them out... I think I counted wrong on the cups of sugar. Not sure if I added butter or margarine. Shortening? Or lard? What is lard?”

  “Lace—”

  I spun around. “Yeah?”

  “Promise me you’ll be careful,” Anthony said. “We talked about this already. You have a family. You’re a mother. There’s no more gallivanting freely around solving crimes—your work has consequences.”

  “I am a professional,” I said. “I know what I’m doing. Sometimes. And if I don’t, I figure it out.”

  “I know. We jus
t worry.”

  I softened at the look on Anthony’s face. “Come on, Anthony. It’s a bake-off! How awful can it be?”

  “Enough to warrant a murder?”

  “Besides that.”

  He grinned. “I’m just saying, watch out. You’ve chipped my tooth and set the house on fire trying to bake. If it’s not murder, it’s something else.”

  “I won’t touch the stove,” I promised. “I’m just the official taste tester. That’s my undercover story.”

  “Wonderful,” Anthony said. “Just wonderful. I hope the killer’s not trying to poison his other competitors.”

  I paled. “Do you think he’d do that?”

  Anthony shrugged. “You’re the professional. Now, get to work before it’s bath time, Boss Lady.”

  Chapter 4

  I decided to leave the baking to the professionals, and once we’d gotten Bella bathed, fed, and put to bed, I cozied up in front of the fireplace with my computer.

  I started my research with a quick Google search, thinking even as I did so that it’d be more effective to call Clay and offer him money, but I didn’t want to poke that bear. Clay’s official job title was nerd, tech genius, and now husband to my best friend. His help also came with a warning label.

  Next, I pulled up the files that Nellie and Meg had sent my way and matched the information there to the information I’d gleaned from my quick internet search. I’d found Amelia’s social media sites and focused on perusing through the photos and information she’d made public. There were no initial suspects I could see, but that was hardly a surprise. Amelia probably wouldn’t be posting who’d killed her on social media. She probably wouldn’t be posting at all anytime soon.

  “Probably?” Anthony echoed.

  I hadn’t realized I’d been muttering aloud. I looked over, confused.

  “You’ve been mumbling to yourself this whole time,” Anthony said in explanation. “It’s been quite a dialogue.”