CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

"Hello?" I called from the foyer. "Anyone home?"

"In the kitchen, bella donna," my father answered.

I walked through the living room and entered the large, sunny yellow kitchen with Ralph two paces behind me. My father was seated at the table, chowing down on a piece—or maybe it was three—of Grandma Rosa's sumptuous zucchini bread. My mouth watered. Grandma added chocolate chips to her version, and the effect was delicious. The bread had a rich soft texture and tasted even better than cake. I snitched a small piece off the plate on the counter.

My father looked up at me and then nodded to Ralph. "Is this the guy Mike hired to watch your back because he's too busy to do it himself?"

I wanted to pound my head against a wall. "Dad, please. Mike's been working around the clock to finish the jobs he's contracted for."

My father liked Mike well enough, or at least I assumed he did most of the time. Still, he was an old-school Italian who didn't think there would ever be a man good enough for me or Gianna. I think Johnny might have been winning the potential son-in-law contest, though. After all, he was Italian, while Mike was of Irish descent. That alone earned my sister's beau several stars in my father's book.

"Sir," Ralph extended his hand to my father. "Ralph Chang, R.C. Investigations. A pleasure to meet you. Mr. Donovan is not trained in security like I am. He wanted your daughter to have the best, and that would be me."

My father scraped his plate with his fork and snorted. "You're modest, too. Want some zucchini bread?"

Ralph shook his head. "No thank you." He turned to me. "I'll have a quick look around the house, and then I'll be out in the driveway, whenever you're ready to go."

"There's no one here," my father protested, but Ralph ignored him and opened the screen door that led into my parents' backyard. Dad turned back to me. "Your grandmother is next door at Nicoletta's, and your mother is upstairs taking a nap. Where does he think this person is hiding—on the roof? Some security. Yeah, I'll bet you feel safe, huh?"

"Come on, Dad. Ralph's only trying to do what he was hired for." I took a step in the direction of the living room. "How's the blog going?"

He puffed out his chest with pride. "I made a new post this morning, and it's already got over a thousand hits. I've called it 'Weddings and Funerals—They're All the Same.'"

"Gee, thanks for that, Dad."

He lowered his eyes to the floor. "Oops. I forgot about that, bella donna."

Okay, time to lie again. "Well, I'd still love to read your latest post, Dad. Is your computer opened up to your blog page?"

My father's face brightened. "Sure is. Take all the time you want. I'm going upstairs to take a shower." He rose from his seat and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Your mother canceled the reception for the country club this morning. She was real upset about it too."

"Mike and I will pay you back," I insisted.

He waved his hand in the air. "No worries. Besides, they had a last minute request for a graduation party. Guess the people waited too long to plan the darn thing and asked to be put on a waiting list if anything came up. So it looks like we won't lose much money after all."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, I'm so glad."

We walked out into the living room together. "You take your time and enjoy the post, baby girl. Maybe I could come to the bakery sometime and give a talk to your customers. I am famous now, after all."

"Um, I'll mention it to Josie." Yeah, like that was going to happen.

He started up the stairs, whistling, while I sat down in his office chair and stared at his blog. According to the information on the side of the page, he had 989 followers. There were tiny pictures of these people in the corner, and they looked like respectable, normal individuals. What gives? A few morticians had posted entries asking my father if he was accepting paid advertisements for the blog. Yes, it appeared that my father and his infamous death blog were a hit. Has the entire world gone mad?

I clicked the button to publish a new post and stared at the screen, my fingers poised on the keyboard. What the heck could I say to attract the attention of a possible killer?

I glanced at my father's previous post from this morning and winced. Weddings and funerals are the two most popular events you will ever see your loved ones at. There's a wedding in my future this weekend. At least I hope there still is.

Ugh. Seriously, what was the matter with both of my parents? Why could they not keep anything a freaking secret? Yes, they meant well. They truly did. Perhaps they didn't understand how serious the circumstance was. My father had suggested that maybe someone had shot at Josie because she'd been rude to them in the bakery. He also thought that the messages on his blog might have been from someone playing a bad joke. My mother was probably upstairs crying because I wouldn't be able to show my wedding gown off to 200 people on Saturday. They just didn't get it.

I sighed in frustration and tried to get into my father's unique mind-set, which was not an easy task. Then all of a sudden, my fingers began to fly.

Hey, readers. Father Death here. Some special news to share. As I said earlier, there's a wedding in my near future. My daughter is getting married on Saturday. I'm all excited about the good food I'm going to eat, especially that delicious wedding cake. Well, I hope there will be wedding cake. My daughter owns a bakery, and her coworker was supposed to make the cake, but now she's ill, so my poor girl has to stay late tonight to make it herself. Can you believe it? What do you think? Is it bad luck for her to make her own cake? Yes or no?

My fingers were shaking so badly that I had to stop and correct a few misspelled words before I plodded on.

My family is expected at a viewing tonight for an old friend. Like I said, those weddings and funerals go hand in hand! My daughter has to miss it. I offered to pick her up at 8:00, but she said she'll only be getting started about then. The poor thing will be working all night, and alone too! Her fiancé won't even be around because he'll be finishing a job across town. What do you think? Wouldn't you rather go to a viewing than make a cake?

Okay, it was risky, and to me it sounded like a really idiotic post. My stalker might not fall for this scheme, but it was all that I had.

I held my breath and hit send. A tiny message popped up that said Your post has been published.

"What the heck are you doing?"

I must have jumped about three feet in the air. Startled, I turned around to see Gianna standing there watching me, hands on hips.

"Hey." My hands were shaking violently, and I noticed her looking down at them. "Ah, I was reading Dad's posts. When did you come in? What are you doing here? No work today?"

"I took today and tomorrow off because of the wedding and to move my stuff into the apartment," she said. "I pulled into the driveway, and your bodyguard was all over me. He wouldn't let me walk into the house until I had identified myself."

It was impossible for me to look her in the eyes. Gianna always knew when I was lying, so I was done for. Call it a sister's intuition, or perhaps it was one of those things that made her an excellent attorney. Unlike my parents, she could not be fooled easily. I started to close the laptop, but she placed her hand over mine. "Not so fast, Sal."

"Let's go out into the kitchen and have some zucchini bread." Hey, it was worth a shot.

Gianna refused to loosen her grip. "I came in through the kitchen. You were so wrapped up in whatever you were typing that you didn't even hear me." She narrowed her eyes. "Level with me. What's going on?"

"I told you. I was reading Dad's blog. That's all."

She snickered. "Give it up, girl. I know you too well."

Defeated, I let go of the laptop. "Okay, but you can't tell anyone. I'm trying to set a trap for the killer."

Gianna leaned over my shoulder and read the post, which already had a few comments, much to my surprise.

Her jaw dropped. "Are you nuts? This is not a game. Someone is trying to kill you."

"Don't you think I know that?" I snapped. "They shot Josie, and I won't let them continue to hurt people I care about. No more living my life in fear. This maniac will be stopped and by me, if necessary."

Gianna's lovely face was pale. "No. Let the police catch them. This is far too dangerous."

"It may not even work," I said. "Do you honestly think they'd fall for it? I may need to come up with something else."

She glanced through the responses that were popping up on the screen. "No way. People are actually replying to this dumb thing."

"Apparently our father is good at what he does," I said.

Gianna kept staring at the screen in disbelief. "I don't get it. These people need a hobby, like checkers or needlepoint."

We started reading the responses that were pouring in. Most were well wishes for me. One suggested we have death by chocolate cake. Another recommended that we get married in a funeral home.

"Cripes," Gianna muttered. "These people are twisted. They're like—Dad!"

At that moment a new message popped up on the page under the title Miscellaneous. My heart stuttered in my chest as I read the one-line post.

I hope her wedding dress is black so she can be buried in it.

A chill spread from the top of my spine to my toes in a matter of seconds. "Well, it looks like they've seen the post. The question is—did they fall for it?"

"There's no way I'm going to let you do this by yourself," Gianna announced.

"What you do?" a voice called out.

We both let out a small squeak and turned around. Grandma Rosa and Mrs. Gavelli were standing in the doorway of the living room, watching us.

"N-nothing," Gianna stammered. "I'm going to help Sal finish making the wedding cake."

Grandma Rosa looked sharply from me to Gianna but said nothing.

"Hmmph," Mrs. Gavelli snorted and shook her fist at me. "It bad luck to make your own cake. And I hear you have enough of that lately, missy."

"Come," Grandma Rosa said. "We will go into the kitchen for zucchini bread."

"None for me," Mrs. Gavelli announced as Gianna and I followed them into the kitchen. "I see your car, so I come over special." She placed a fortune cookie in my hand. "You need this more. No one want to kill me."

Grandma Rosa wiggled her hand back and forth. "I do not know about that. Some days, maybe yes."

Mrs. Gavelli shot my grandmother a dirty look then turned to me. "You open. Now."

Cripes. "Where did this come from?" I asked.

"Johnny get them from your shop the other day," Mrs. Gavelli announced. "When I hear a person want you dead, I save one for you. It tell you what to do."

This was all I needed. "Thanks, but you keep it, Mrs. G."

"You no argue with me," she grunted.

With a sigh I snapped the cookie in two and nearly fell over when I read the message.

Things might not always go as you planned, but they'll always end up as they should.

Gianna read the message over my shoulder and spoke low in my ear. "You are so not going alone."

Great. What the heck did this mean—that I'd wind up dead instead? "These fortunes are silly." I flung the message into the garbage and hoped no one could hear my heart thundering inside my chest.

Mrs. Gavelli nodded. "See? Now maybe you make sure I always get good fortunes." She came closer and grabbed my face between her hands. "You be good girl, and be careful. And make sure you no wear white on Saturday."

"Nicoletta," Grandma Rosa growled. "I think it is time for your nap."

Mrs. Gavelli scowled. "What, I a child now?"

"Yes" Grandma Rosa said. "The doctor said you need to rest."

"I rest when I dead."

"Okay," Grandma Rosa agreed. "That can be arranged."

Mrs. Gavelli slammed the screen door behind her in fury. "I get you for that, Rosa!"

"And your little dog too," Gianna mumbled.

Grandma Rosa watched Mrs. Gavelli stomping toward her house and then turned to face us. "You two are planning something, and I am afraid that it is dangerous."

Gianna and I exchanged a look. How did she always know these things?

"Everything's fine, Grandma," I said. "I am worried about Mom, though. How's she doing?"

Grandma Rosa gave me a suspicious look that let me know I wasn't fooling her. "Your mama," she sighed. "Even when she was a little girl, I knew that there was something not right about her. She liked to play dress up all the time and carry on with the baby dolls. It was all she thought about then."

"What does that have to do with her acting like a psychotic mother-of-the-bride?" Gianna asked.

Grandma Rosa went to the doorway, peered into the living room and toward the staircase. When she was assured that my parents were nowhere in sight, she settled herself at the kitchen table and gestured for us to sit as well. "She canceled the country club after what happened to Josie last night. Your mama was crying when she talked to the manager."

The color rose in Gianna's cheeks. "She should be ashamed of herself. It's Sal's day, not hers."

Grandma Rosa wagged a finger in Gianna's face. "I know your mama is a nutsy cookie, but she has her reasons for what she does. Once upon a time, she wanted a big wedding."

"But they eloped," Gianna said calmly. "She told us that before."

Grandma Rosa folded her hands on the table in front of her. "Yes, but she did not tell you why they eloped. I had a talk with your mama last night. I told her the time had come and that you both needed to know the truth."

Gianna and I exchanged confused glances.

I wasn't sure how much more I could handle at this moment. "Grandma, please tell us what's going on."

She gave me a somber look. "Your mama was pregnant when your parents got married."

Gianna stared from Grandma Rosa to me with unabashed curiosity. My face immediately heated, and I pointed a trembling finger at my chest. "Me? I was the reason?"

I'd seen my parents' marriage certificate before, and of course I remembered the date and year. For a moment it felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.

"Oh my God!" I shrieked. "They lied about my age. How old am I really? That would make me, what, thirty-one?" Mike would get a kick out of it when I told him he was marrying an older woman, but I didn't find this amusing. I had aged two years in a matter of minutes!

Grandma Rosa smiled sadly. "No, cara mia. The baby I mentioned was not you. Your mama was pregnant with your brother."

We both stared at her in frozen fascination.

"What brother?" Gianna asked, and then she sucked in some air.

The realization hit me at the same moment, like a sledgehammer between the eyes.

"You had a brother," Grandma Rosa said again, her large brown eyes somber. "We believe that he died during labor. He was stillborn."