Cupcakes, Butterflies & Dead Guys (Gianna Mancini Mysteries Book 3) Page 7

  "Surprise."

  She longingly stares at the box, grabs my sleeve, and yanks me inside. "That smells amazing. You didn't get pepperoni, did you? It gives me horrendous heartburn, and Paulie keeps forgetting. I want to punch him because that means I can't eat any or I'm up all night."

  "Wow, vicious much, sis?"

  She takes the box from me and scrambles down the hall into the kitchen. I follow.

  "I won't actually hurt him. No worries. Maybe only a daydream or two. I love him." She looks at me with seriousness on her face, as if she needs me to know that last part.

  I nod and smile. "I never doubted it."

  They were having problems when she found out she was pregnant, and I wondered if she'd divorce him, but they're in counseling and working it out. Some may think the baby held them together, but I know she loves the big oaf.

  "What's in the bag?" she asks while grabbing paper plates.

  "Ms. Coconut Tropics, Across the Line, and Bloody Mary: The Resurrection. Raina Stone's three movies."

  "Are we having a moviethon?"

  "Yep."

  She chuckles. "Okay, let me use the bathroom first. Grab drinks and that." She points to the ginormous bag of pre-popped popcorn on the counter. It has to be at least five pounds.

  "Are you sure that's enough?" I shout as she runs upstairs.

  "For me it is."

  I set up the coffee table with all of the food, turn on the necessary electronics, put in the DVD, and plop down on the sofa with the remote.

  By the time Izzie comes down, I've already downed a slice and a handful of popcorn. I haven't eaten since a half a cup of sausage and peppers at the deli for lunch.

  "Why are we doing this?" Izzie asks and takes her seat.

  I fill her in on what Raina's manager told me, including using my boots as payment.

  She frowns and grabs the popcorn. "What kind of name is Van Ford?"

  "Right?"

  "I thought Raina accidentally fell and hit her head."

  "I don't know. I can't get ahold of Enzo to find out what the police know, but according to Michael, they're doing an autopsy. That has to mean they suspect something."

  Izzie's smile is blinding.

  "What's wrong with your face?" I ask.

  "You saw Michael again?"

  "Yeah and?"

  She raises her shoulders and lowers them slowly. "It's twice in three days."

  "Actually, three times. We went to Lindy's after the shower, remember?"

  She giggles. "That's right. My pregnancy brain. How does Julian feel about that?"

  I roll my eyes at her drama. "It's not like that, and you know it. We unexpectedly saw one another at the shower and simply went to catch up. Today was all about Raina. I pumped him for info."

  "Right. And Julian doesn't know?"

  "There's nothing to know."

  "Okay, I won't push. Just remember that he may not see this as innocent."

  I don't want to think about that, especially not after our argument last night. I grab another slice and play the first movie. "We'll start with Ms. Coconut Tropics. It's her first movie."

  "I liked this one, right? About her losing her job and finding out her boyfriend cheated on her."

  "Yep, classic chick lit."

  "Then she goes on vacation with her best friend, and they enter that local beauty contest."

  "Good thing I already saw it."

  Izzie sticks her tongue out at me. "Why are we watching them though? Do you think we'll see her go…" She makes air quotes with her fingers. "…'crazy'?"

  "I don't know. Van Ford probably wanted to make a quick buck, but I want to at least look."

  She shakes her head. "I can't believe you gave him your boots."

  I groan. "Don't remind me."

  We spend the next five and a half hours watching back-to-back movies. By time the credits roll on Bloody Mary: The Resurrection, my butt is numb.

  I get up and pace the length of her living room, between the coffee table and television. "Did you notice anything?"

  She shrugs and rubs her belly, which is not only full of baby but three slices of pizza, a quart of sweet tea, and a ridiculous amount of popcorn. And I think I can eat. Great help she'll be right now in her food coma.

  "It's obvious that she acted differently in all three movies, but she played a bubbly receptionist, a hardened corporate CEO turned badass ninja, and then a librarian trying to escape Bloody Mary. Of course she seemed different."

  "She looked it too. Platinum blonde and brunette."

  I purse my lips and think harder. Was Van simply stealing from me, or is there something to actually see?

  "She was buff as heck in the second movie," Izzie says.

  I nod, still trying to laser focus on what else. Slight physical differences are to be expected since the movies were not only shot a few years apart from one another, but the ninja character got buff to find the microchip and save her friend.

  That movie is my least favorite. I'm not sure why. There's something about it that's off, but I doubt that's an insight to Raina. More like an insight to the writer, producer, and director. Or my taste.

  Suddenly a man with shocking white hair and piercing blue eyes is standing in front of me.

  I yelp like a startled dog.

  Freezer Dude.

  Izzie flinches. "What's wrong with you?"

  "What do you want?" I ask my least favorite ghost.

  Izzie jumps up off the couch, nearly knocking the bag of popcorn onto her carpet. "Are you talking to one of your dead friends? Is there a ghost in my house?"

  "I need your help," he says. Even though I can see the armchair through him, I can also see the tenseness of his jaw. He must really need something if he's coming around me. We swore we would stay away from one another.

  "Gianna, answer me," Izzie screeches.

  I don't want anything to do with him, but I don't want my sister upset even more. "Fine, but not here. Meet me outside."

  He disappears.

  I turn to Izzie and smile. "Sorry, gotta run." I grab another slice and my purse. I'll pick up the movies later.

  She grabs a handful of popcorn and flings it at me.

  A kernel lands in my hair. "Real mature, sis."

  "Tell your dead friends this place is off limits," she shouts as I open the door.

  "I'll get you a sign to hang on your screen door beside the No Solicitors Allowed one."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I drive off several blocks before I park, turn to Freezer Dude, and ask him why he ruined my afternoon. I figure it would be rude to sit in Izzie's driveway while my ghost and I hash things out.

  Freezer Dude, aka Mitchell Young, is a ghost I met the day I died, eighteen years ago. When I started to cross over, I saw him, and he reached out to me. I thought he was trying to pull me over. But a couple of months ago, he found a way to cross back through the freezer wall into our world. Then I realized that grabbing me when I was eight was a way for him to try hitching a ride back here.

  Since he's been back, he's been a pain in the butt. He was jumping into random people's bodies, hoping to find a new one to inhabit, but he kept getting thrown out. He did help me, Julian, and my brother in a deadly jam. While I'm grateful, we promised one another we'd stay out of each other's lives. He won't try jumping into me or anyone I love, and I won't telepathically call him. Yeah, I found out that he and I are somehow mentally connected too. I'm guessing it has something to do with my accident as a kid.

  Too bad this gig didn't come with a manual.

  "What do you want?" I ask with annoyance in my tone. I didn't want to leave Izzie's, but I totally get her "no ghosts in the house" rule. I should ask if that includes Aunt Stella.

  "It's my daughter. I need you to speak to her for me." He sounds defeated, and that freaks me out. He's normally aggressive.

  "Didn't we already try that? She wants nothing to do with you." Since he's not being his normally rude self, I feel bad for rubbin
g it in, so I add, "Sorry" to soften the blow.

  "Well, try again," he shouts, causing me to flinch.

  Ah, there's the monkey butt I know and don't love.

  Instead of arguing, I drive to his daughter's house and park out front. It's a white, narrow, two-story house with a red front door. She has a small front yard and barely any side yards between her and her neighbors.

  "What are you waiting for?" he barks.

  "For you to say please."

  When he stares at me as if I'm speaking a language he doesn't understand, I sigh and roll my eyes. The sooner I do this, the sooner I can get rid of him.

  Deborah Young, his daughter, answers the door with a semi-smile on her face. Her light brown hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and she's dressed in black yoga pants and a gray sweatshirt. She looks nothing like her father. His eyes are icy blue, and hers are dark brown. He has a rounded, full face, and hers is slender and long. She must resemble her mother.

  As soon as she sees it's me, the smile fades. Good thing I don't take it personally. "What do you want?"

  "I'm sorry to bother you."

  She raises her thinly tweezed brows. "But you're doing it anyway."

  Now I see the family resemblance. Snarkiness.

  I clear my throat, ready to find a way to persuade her to listen. "Your father…"

  She holds up her hand and cuts me off. "If this has anything to do with a message of how much he loves me and can't let me go, save it. I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, he's not my father. We haven't had a connection since before I was old enough to form memories. He means nothing to me."

  Ouch, harsh.

  I glance to Freezer Dude whose posture is slumped, and I feel bad for him. I can't believe I'm thinking this 'cause the guy is normally creepy, but no one should hear this.

  "If that's all," Deborah says and shuts the door with a soft click.

  Well, at least she didn't slam it.

  I turn to Freezer Dude. I want to say something to lift his spirits, but he's a fiftysomething-year-old dead guy who spent part of his life in prison. I'm certain I won't find the right words.

  Before I can try though, he disappears.

  I head back to my car. I push the key into the ignition, and Aunt Stella appears beside me. I flinch, and she starts cackling. I seriously wish she made another sound when laughing and tormenting her niece.

  "How can I help you?" I ask, grateful she has no children she'd like to make amends to.

  She sighs quite dramatically. "My sisters are giving me a headache."

  I start my car. "Why? What are they up to?"

  "If I have to listen to Rosa talk about her perfect marriage one more minute, I might find a way to smack her."

  Wow. I know there's not much love loss between Aunt Stella and Ma, but I've never heard Aunt Stella threaten violence.

  "What's going on?" I ask.

  "They were talking about the holidays and how each of them do it with their families. Then they mentioned how they never get to spend the holidays with one another any more. Your mother decided that was the best time to remind Angela about some promise they made our mother about sticking together in life. And that got them on their marriages and how your father is practically a saint. Angela fled to the bathroom crying because she's finally realized what a jerk her husband is. It's only taken her thirty years."

  Aww, poor Aunt Angela. She's always been kind to me. Uncle Franco has too, and I hate the idea that they're having problems. I wonder if their kids know. Claudia wouldn't be handling this well. I can't help in any way, but I want to check in on Aunt Angela and Ma. I doubt Ma's purposely being insensitive to her sister, the way Aunt Stella makes it sound, but Ma may not realize how she's coming across.

  I turn my car around and head to her house.

  Hopefully Ma won't think I'm trying to intrude. Her and Aunt Angela's relationship is none of my business. I don't like it when she tries to come between Izzie and me. Especially when we were teens, and she'd try to fix our arguments. It never worked out, and it usually left us more annoyed than when we started. I have no intention of trying to get in the middle. If neither of them want to talk, I'll leave, but I want to at least go see them.

  The house is quiet when I first step inside. That's good. I hope.

  The further I walk through the living room, though, the more I start to hear. Clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen, the radio softly tuned to the oldies station, and Ma humming. That's great. Humming means she's at peace.

  I step into the kitchen and find her at the stove, putting a pot of water on the front, right burner. It's Monday, and that means meatloaf, which usually accompanies mashed potatoes and carrots, sometimes peas or broccoli. "Ma," I say gently to not scare her.

  She flinches anyway and turns around. "Gianna, I didn't hear you come in. What are you doing here?"

  "I wanted to check on you and Aunt Angela. Where is she?"

  "Upstairs. Why?"

  "Is she still crying?" As soon as I ask, I realize I've made a huge mistake.

  Ma narrows her gaze. "How do you know that?"

  I catch myself before my mouth hangs open too long. I shrug and try to play it off, but really, how is that possible? Am I suddenly psychic too?

  Ma steadily works toward me, not too slow because she's probably afraid I'll hightail it out of here, and not too fast 'cause, well, I don't recall the last time I saw Ma run. When she reaches me, she grabs my upper arm and uses her superhuman mother strength to pin me down. "Gianna Rose Mancini, spill. How do you know Aunt Angela was crying? Did she call you?"

  Suddenly Aunt Stella appears, and I spot her over Ma's left shoulder. She's snickering. How much of the conversation has she heard? Ghosts should be obligated to show themselves at all times. How can a girl have a private chat with ghosts eavesdropping?

  "Gianna?"

  "Okay, okay. Aunt Stella is here."

  Ma lets me go and recoils as if my skin is made of lava. "What? Where? How?"

  Aunt Stella cackles.

  Ma lightly shakes her head. "Is she here now?"

  "Yes. She's behind you."

  Ma whips around.

  Aunt Stella wiggles her fingers. "Hello, sis."

  "She says hello."

  Ma sighs heavily. "How long has she been here?"

  "Since Aunt Angela arrived. She came in with her."

  Ma's eyes get huge, and a deep frown settles above them. "And you waited until now to mention it? Why? Did she tell you not to?"

  It's my turn to frown. "No. I didn't want to upset you. She's not exactly your favorite person."

  "Ha," shouts Aunt Stella. She floats to the stove and looks into Ma's pot.

  "I'd still like to know that my dead sister is visiting."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't purposefully keep it from you. I know that you and Pop don't like to talk about the ghosts I see."

  Annoyance still masks Ma's face. "Yes, when they're strangers, but this is my sister."

  She has a point. I wish I thought of it that way. "I'm sorry, Ma. Truly."

  Her frown disappears. "What does she want?"

  Should I mention Aunt Stella's intuitive feeling—the reason she wanted to visit? Since I'm not sure how to explain it or if it's even real, I decide not to. I don't think that's the wrong choice.

  "Nothing. She came with Aunt Angela. But maybe this is the time for you two to clear things up, forgive one another for whatever happened." And totally spill. I'd like to end my curiosity.

  They both make a throaty sound in unison.

  But instead of that being the end of it, Aunt Stella says, "Because Rosa can't mind her own business."

  Oooh, this is interesting.

  I repeat her words.

  Ma practically growls. "I was only looking out for her. Tell her that."

  "She can hear you," I whisper.

  "I could handle myself," Aunt Stella says. "I didn't need my big sister butting her nose in and deciding who I could and couldn't see." With
a huff, she disappears.

  Whoa. Their decades-long feud is about a boy?

  * * *

  When I enter my apartment, my stomach growls like a ferocious bear. Darn, I didn't get to stay and eat at Ma's. She makes awesome meatloaf. After Aunt Stella disappeared though, I didn't want to linger. Ma scolded me again for not telling her and then went back to preparing dinner. She turned off the radio, no longer humming, and her jaw was clenched. I gave her a cheery good-bye and hightailed it out of there.

  My desire to check in on them only made things worse. Way to go, Gianna.

  I head to my fridge and open it. Nothing jumps out at me. Which is a good thing since I'd then have to kill it. Okay, I get corny and punny when hungry.

  I shut the door and pick up my cell. I instinctively call Julian. Yes, we're still in a semi-argument, but I don't like to eat alone. Is that the excuse I'm going with? Truth is, I don't want to be mad at him, even if I can't seem to move past his job.

  "Hey, what are you up to?" he asks.

  His liquid gold voice melts part of my soul. It's hard being mad at someone when they sound like James Earl Jones.

  "I'm starving and wondering what you're up to." I hope I sound casual. I don't want to argue tonight.

  "I'm sorry. I'm working, and I don't know what time I'll be done."

  I inwardly groan. Of course. "Okay, maybe another time."

  "Absolutely. I'll call you tomorrow."

  "Okay, good-night. Be safe."

  We hang up, and I stare at the phone for a minute.

  I heavily sigh and go back to the fridge. I decide on an omelet with Swiss, mushrooms, and spinach. I top it with a spoonful of salsa and half an avocado and then take it and a glass of ice water to the coffee table. I open my laptop and eat while it warms up.

  After my belly is full, I Google Raina Stone and click on the first link, which is her IMDb page. This isn't my first time researching her, but in the past it was solely for fun. Now, I'm looking for something that helps me figure out if she was Jekyll and Hyde like her manager says.

  I read all of the gossip articles that reference she was dating or sleeping with various other actors simply because they were seen sharing a meal or attending a party together. Even when they were interviewed and stated that they were only friends. None of it seems important. The men she actually dated were few and far between and in the beginning of her career. There wasn't anyone recently.