Gianna Mancini Mysteries Boxed Set 2 (Books 4-6)

by

JENNIFER FISCHETTO

* * * * *

CHAPTER ONE

If we decorate the gazebo as the altar and line the chairs in front of it coming this way… Valentina Vargas, owner of Vargas Events, points along the grassy backyard of our latest client's home. The Prescotts. The affluent orthodontist, Deidre, her cardiothoracic surgeon husband, Robert, and their daughter, Taylor.

Taylor wants the altar there, I say, pointing to a cluster of ferns farthest from the back door and directly opposite the gazebo. Because a knee-high bush, rather than a vine-covered canopy, is every bride-to-be's romantic dream.

Taylor has been insistent on marrying by the ferns. I've yet to discover if they have some personal meaning to the dental student—if she thrives on being edgy and different, which I doubt considering she looks like every other polished young woman I've encountered, or if she simply enjoys annoying her parents. I've a feeling it's the latter. There have been an amazing number of arguments between her and her mother about colors, flowers, and the guest list. Every suggestion Taylor has made has not only been different or odd, but it's been the complete opposite of what her mother insists on. Like white carnations rather than lilies or orchids or a midthigh length ivory sheath that looks more like a slip worn under clothing rather than a gown spun of the finest silks and chiffons that would make the Fairy Godmother weep with pride. So far Deidre hasn't won a single battle. I'm hoping she'll succeed on the ugly slip. I may not be fashion conscious, but that thing is beyond ridiculous.

The actual weird part, however, is that, in the short time I've worked for Valentina, I haven't known her to insist on anything that wouldn't make her clients happy, even if it's a thirtieth birthday party themed around Dora the Explorer or if they want a chocolate fountain shaped like a penis. Yes, that happened last month at a female bank manager's retirement party. So it surprises me that Valentina's been hesitating on Taylor's wishes all week. Maybe it has something to do with Deidre and Robert footing the bill even though Taylor hired us.

Val blinks several times and nods. Yes, of course. She'll walk from the house to the altar, which will be over by that shrub—not the beautifully designed gazebo. Which makes no sense to me. The gazebo is a perfect altar, Gianna.

I agree, but don't reply.

This is my second wedding with Vargas Events. The first one was super easy. The bride loved all of Valentina's suggestions, and I basically just stood around and observed a lot. I'm still in training. I thought I'd be on my own by now. Maybe not with a wedding but something small, like an office party. When Val hired me a few months back, I was her only other employee, and then there were suddenly three more planners, all with experience, and she spent more time showing them how she likes things done than with me.

Even in my personal life, I don't know weddings well. Sure, I've been a maid of honor for my cousin as well as my sister, but both affairs were smaller and not this lavish. I'm not the girl who owns a closet full of pretty shoes or thinks shopping for clothes is fun. I prefer true crime podcasts, eating cold pizza for breakfast, and talking to dead people. Yeah, I can see and communicate with ghosts. Sometimes I wonder if I should work in the morgue, but working as an assistant wedding planner beats scooping macaroni and potato salad into plastic cups and thinly slicing hunks of ham and turkey in the family deli.

I'm hoping I can prove to Valentina that I'm good with clients or that I have a good eye for color, but as it turns out, this wedding has not been as easy as the last. And the element neither of us expected is that instead of getting my first Bridezilla, we have a Momzilla.

There you are. Deidre glides down the back steps with her elbows bent and her hands up, palms facing out. She looks like she's about to shimmy to the right and start dancing. But this woman, with her wheat-colored hair coiffed into a low bun, the string of pearls around her wrinkling neck, and her salmon pink skirt suit, is not a person who gets down.

She crosses the back patio, teetering in the pointiest pair of taupe pumps. I glance to Val's black pumps, which match her black pantsuit, her black, winged eyeliner, and her straight, glossy black hair, and then to my own black ensemble with pants, tunic, and ankle-high, side-zippered boots. According to Val, black is a professional woman's theme.

She commented on my love of chunky-heeled boots a week ago. I guess she didn't think they were a big deal during the winter, but now that we're into spring, she doesn't find them appealing. It's not that high heels aren't pretty. It's just that they're painful, and my balance isn't the greatest. Plus, Ma always complains about her bunions. As a kid, I thought she said Funyuns and got super excited, only to discover it was a growth on the side of her foot and not delicious onion-flavored snacks. I don't want either on my feet.

Gianna, Taylor is looking for you, Deidre says before grabbing Val's arm and pulling her toward the gazebo. I'm going to talk to my daughter again about the altar, but in the meantime… Her voice fades as they walk off.

I look up to the two-story, five-bedroom, seven-bathroom structure the Prescotts call a home and wish Deidre had mentioned which of the house's eighteen rooms Taylor is in.

The double French doors lead into the gourmet kitchen with its state-of-the-art appliances, oak cabinetry, and granite counters. Every time I enter this room, I think of Ma and how thrilled she'd be to cook Sunday dinner in here. The housekeeper, Yolanda, is at the sink washing bell peppers. She doesn't glance my way as I step inside.

I walk past the stainless steel refrigerator and along the hall that leads to the foyer. I stop at the first doorway to my left and raise my hand to knock but think better of it. This is Dr. Prescott's study, which I had learned by accidentally entering it my second day here while he was on an important phone conversation. Needless to say, I am not his favorite person right now. After the study is the dining room to my right and the den to my left, by the wide staircase. The formal living room is past the dining room, by the front door, and there's a conservatory, aka sunroom, off the den. I decide to hit the living room first.

As I round the corner, I spot Felicia Gellar standing by the front windows. She's Deidre's slightly older psychiatrist sister. There are no underachievers in this family.

She has her cell phone up to her ear, and she softly says, Call me later. I love you.

I clear my voice so that I don't startle her, but she whips her head around with a wide-eyed stare and looks guilty as heck. Unlike her sister's love of classic couture, Felicia resides in a lot of stretchy knits. Today is a navy sweater and pants set that fit her loose and relaxed like pajamas.

Hi, Dr. Gellar. I'm looking for Taylor. Have you seen her? I ask.

Felicia shakes her head. No, sorry.

I smile and head across the foyer into the den. Neither this room nor the one I was just in has a television. I can't imagine being home and not watching TV. I grew up on it, from cartoons to teen dramas to crime shows.

Someone is standing in the den, peeking into the conservatory. From the back, it takes me a second, but then I realize it's Lexi, Taylor's best friend and maid of honor.

She must not hear me as I approach because she doesn't make any movements to suggest so, and as I step up right behind her, she flinches and swings around. Her cell phone is in one of her hands, and the other is clenched into a fist. You scared me, she says and looks away.

Sorry. I'm looking for Taylor. Have you seen her? I ask.

Lexi in heels is an inch shorter than me, which is saying a lot since I'm only five-two. She wears her light brown hair down and free. This young woman inherited the wildest-looking mane. I can't tell if it's naturally frizzy or if Lexi purposely teases it out. For some odd reason, it suits her petite stature though.

I gotta go. She runs off into the foyer and out the front door.

What was that about?

I start to leave too but hear a sound from inside the conservatory. I push the door open more and see Taylor in Stefan's embrace. Well, this is, um, interesting.

They sense me immediately and jerk away from one another.

Your mother said you were looking for me, I say when Taylor glances my way.

Yes, I wanted to ask you to come to my bridal shower tonight, Taylor says and flings her super straight, honey blonde hair off her bare shoulders. She's dressed the most casual I've seen since working here, in low-waisted jeans and a white peasant top. Usually her wardrobe consists of dresses and miniskirts.

Stefan curtly excuses himself and brushes past me.

Um, what? I'm confused. Since when do brides invite their planners to their showers?

Yeah, I know. It's last minute. Sorry about that. Owen's mom has been sick, and this is the first time she's able to attend, which is why we held off having the shower until now. Mother is having a cow, saying that tradition dictates the shower is held more than a week from the wedding, but I don't care about that.

Her lack of concern for traditional etiquette is exactly why these two have been bickering for months. Taylor doesn't seem to mind the arguments though. Sometimes she'll walk off with a smirk on her face. Another reason I think she's doing it on purpose.

So will you come? Please. Her already large eyes are wide, and the excitement on her face is undeniable.

How can I say no to that? But just the same, I ask, Why me?

Why not? You're my age, and you seem cool. Her smile doesn't waver as she utters that weird reasoning.

Okay. I'm certain my frown is obvious. I feel my brows pinch together. But Taylor just keeps smiling.

As if it's possible, her grin grows wider. Is that a yes?

Sure, I'll come, I concede. There's no reason to say no, and I fear that Val will be annoyed if I upset a client.

She claps her fingers together and bounces on her red pumps three times. I'm waiting for Toto to run into the room. It starts at six, and since it's last minute, please don't worry about a gift. We really don't want for anything.

She turns on her heel and walks out of the conservatory through the rear door that leads to the backyard.

She may have all she needs, but I wonder how the groom, Owen, would feel about his future wife in the arms of Stefan, his best man.

* * *

Instead of taking a lunch break and returning to the Prescott estate, Val says I can leave for the day. There isn't much to do. Most of the arrangements and other setup won't begin until closer to the following weekend. Today is Friday, and Taylor's wedding is in two Saturdays. I won't be surprised if I'm on part-time days for most of next week.

I head straight to my family's deli and hope Ma is still there. I don't have a lot of knowledge in the bridal shower department either. Yeah, I've been to a couple—the last one is where I met Valentina—but I have no idea what to buy a stranger. Her registry has to include items that are way over my budget. And no matter what she says, I can't attend without a gift. Like the bride, I may not follow traditional etiquette, but I know that's a faux pas Valentina would never forget.

I pull into the gravel-filled parking lot behind the deli and see not only Ma's car but my sister Izzie's too. Good, now I can get two opinions. Ma works the morning shift at the deli, and Pop comes in soon to take over. Izzie and I have worked shifts at various times of the day in the past. I left when Valentina hired me, and Izzie is taking it easy since she's seven months pregnant.

There are two doors back here. I park near the one that leads up to my one-bedroom apartment, above the family store, and head into the back entrance of Mancini Deli through the other one.

I must have startled Izzie because she flinches when I step onto the worn linoleum. I seem to be causing that a lot today.

She has a forkful of lasagna aimed at her face and a chunk of Italian bread in her other hand. A small frown appears on her forehead before she shovels the dripping cheese, pasta, and meat sauce into her mouth and says, You scared me, and why do you look so troubled?

The bride invited me to her bridal shower. It's tonight. I don't know what to buy her or what to wear. These are very rich people. I don't want to look wrong. What do you think?

Izzie sets her fork and bread down on the aluminum table and turns fully toward me. Her baby bump presses against her light blue shirt. Without taking her eyes off me, she swallows and shouts, Ma?

The kitchen door swings, and Ma comes in from the front of the deli. A full-length navy apron, with the name of the store stitched in red in the top left corner, covers her mom jeans and short-sleeve paisley blouse. The aprons are new, and she and Pop are especially proud. They are nice.

She pulls off one disposable glove and scratches her forehead where the edge of a black mesh hair net rests. It flattens her dark, naturally wavy strands. She hates those things, so I wonder if a customer has complained about hair in their food. Then I wonder what else I've missed since working with Valentina.

Gianna, sweetie, are you here for lunch? Ma asks.

Since I don't yet make a lot of money planning events, Mancini Deli has been my go-to lunch spot, my grocery store, and my midnight snack pit stop—all for 50% off. I'm getting sick of deli meat and mayonnaise-soaked salads.

Gianna wants to know how to look like a girl, Izzie says.

Haha, very funny. I look great. I open my arms and glance down at my outfit and notice a tiny grease stain at my collar. It's far from designer wear, and it may not be the most flattering cut on my curvy body, but it's not as casual as I'd like, so there has to be a plus in there.

You're beautiful, Ma says, but she's my mother and is required to think I'm special.

Izzie fills Ma in on the invite.

We'll go shopping when Pop comes in. He'll be here within the hour.

Izzie's eyes light up. Shopping that doesn't involve maternity wear? I'm so in.

I glance down at her feet. Are you sure you're up for it?

She has on a pair of brown flats. Any other time, my five-foot-four sister wouldn't be caught dead standing under five-five, which means there's a one-inch heel on her house slippers. But after almost tripping a few months back, she decided safety is more important. Just never mention how she suddenly looks shorter.

Are you kidding me? she asks. This will be fun.

I cringe.

Normally I'd do anything other than shop for clothes at the mall. My idea of buying new pieces means clicking a few buttons on the internet and having it shipped to me. It's easy when you live in T-shirts and leggings and buy from the same place all the time. This, however, is different. I need help. From the looks on their faces, I know they're going to turn this into an event I didn't organize.

There's no way I'm walking around the mall in these clothes. I want to change into sneakers and my usual attire, so I tell them I'll be back, step outside, and head to my door. My phone rings. I fish it from my purse and see Julian's sexy face smiling up at me. We agreed to take things slow since we'd broken up and gotten back together once already, so a midday call is unusual. He should be at work over at the law firm Carter, Hamilton & Levine.

Hey, I say, inserting my key into the downstairs door's lock.

Where are you? he asks.

I run up the stairs, unlock my main apartment door, and toss my keys onto the breakfast bar. I just walked into my place. What's up?

Go to your front windows and look out.

I cross the small living space and see Julian standing on the sidewalk across the street. Even from this distance, I can make out his toothpaste commercial grin. He stands tall and straight. There's no slouching with this man. He waves up at me and, into the phone, says, Come on over. I want to show you something.

Okay. Let me change. What is he up to?

I toss on my shopping attire—black leggings, a pink T-shirt with sparkly lettering that says Boss Babe—grab my purse and keys, and walk around the building and across the street.

I met Julian Reed, private investigator and fixer, although I didn't know that last bit at the time, two years ago when I was living with my cousin in Connecticut. I moved back home to South Shore Beach, New York last fall, and Julian followed me. We were broken up at the time, so his following didn't sit well with me at first, but I soon grew fond of him being here. Now, I'm downright grateful. We may be taking it slow, but every nerve ending in my body is screaming for me to jump into his arms and kiss him hard.

I refrain though. Partly because I don't want to send him the wrong message, and partly because I'm positive Ma and Izzie are watching us from the deli's front window. And while it would make Ma especially happy if I say I do this moment and instantly birth grandbabies on the curb, I'd feel embarrassed making out with him in front of them. Yes, I am still twelve at times, and double yes, I'm certain one kiss would turn into a smooch fest.

Why are you standing on the street corner? Have you decided to expand your career into prostitution? I cock a brow.

He juts out his hip and tilts his head back so that he's looking down at me. You think this pose will make all the ladies come hither?

I wiggle my finger at his white shirt collar. Maybe if you unbutton a few. Give them something to look at.

He holds back a smile and points to the corner store, which is empty and has been for months. I'm hanging up my shingle.

I don't think prostitutes need a storefront. I purse my lips and tap a finger against them, still playing along.

How about Reed Investigations? he asks.

Wait, what?

Seriously? You're starting your own PI firm? Why? When will you have time for it? I rattle off my questions fast, surprised and thrilled for him. He's been talking about this for a while, but I didn't think he was serious. I know how much he loves working for the law firm.

He walks to the door and holds it open for me. I'm stepping back from the law firm.

You're quitting being a fixer? Now I'm elated.

Not fully, no.

Oh, darn.

At least not until I have enough clients to leave. Mr. Hamilton pays me very well.

As he should, considering what Julian does for the man's clients.

I didn't learn the fixer part of his job description until well after we'd broken up and he had followed me to Long Island last fall. Mr. Hamilton has affluent clients, and when they need something handled, Julian is called in to deal with it. That includes everything—including moving dead bodies from a client's home. As far as I know, that's only happened once, and I don't know if Julian would do it if he thought the client was guilty. Either way, it's the main reason we're taking things slow. It is hard to wrap my head around him tampering with evidence, especially if it leads to possibly hurting someone.

We step inside, and there's a slight stale, musty odor, as if fresh air hadn't entered the space in a while. The office space is empty, clean, and not very large. There are two doors along the far wall. The one to the right has a sign on it that says Restroom.

I haven't been paying much attention since returning home, but growing up, this place had been the home of a tiny pet store that only sold hamsters and gerbils, a place for homemade jewelry, and during high school, it was a candy shop. That had been my favorite merchandise. Pop mentioned how the last renters had a health store that mainly sold vitamins and protein powders. They went out of business right before I returned home.

Look, Julian says and jaunts off to the door on the left. I'm not sure if I want this to be my office and the front to be the waiting area or if I'll just make this storage.

The back room is a tiny space. He could fit a desk and chair and maybe a couple of filing cabinets, but I'd feel claustrophobic in there, even with the single pane window.

It makes more sense to use the front room, unless you plan on hiring a receptionist, I say.

He winks at me. Want a job? I can't pay you yet.

I chuckle and step back into the main room. That's so tempting.

What I don't say is that, other than the money, it actually sounds appealing. I don't know if I'd want to work for him, but lately I've been wondering if the party planning business is actually for me.

I look out the front windows. They're large and wide, and there's a perfect view of Mancini Deli and my apartment windows above. I imagine, at night, you could see inside my living room if I had the blinds up and lights on.

So why did you pick an office on this corner? It can't be a coincidence.

He shrugs but doesn't look at me. I like this spot.

And it has nothing to do with where I live? Yeah, uh-huh.

CHAPTER TWO

Entering the Prescott house as a party guest feels very different than it has as an employee. I feel like I should have brought my clipboard and a pen, ready to take notes. My last bridal shower involved my favorite actress and a death. This one has to go better.

I ended up wearing a just-above-the-knee, sky blue dress with cap sleeves and a pair of two-inch, nude peekaboo pumps. Two whole inches. I feel like I'm standing on stilts. Better not lean or stand still for too long. I'm certain that, before the end of the party, I will fall at least once. Why does walking look easier when other women do it?

I step under the living room doorframe and take a deep breath. The room, which was so quiet earlier today, is now buzzing with chatter, giggles, and perfume. It's like stepping into a pastel department store.

It's decorated with white and turquoise balloons and streamers, which are the colors of the wedding. I would expect more than paper streamers from people with this kind of money, but Lexi is hosting this event, even if it's in the Prescott mini mansion. And from what I've gathered, Lexi does not come from money like her best friend.

Taylor, in a simple yellow dress, is giggling with the bridesmaids—three college friends—Cami, Chloe, and Cori. They're all bleached blonde, blue-eyed with unnatural tans, and dressed more like triplets than friends, each wearing a dress similar to Taylor's but in pastel pink, lavender, and peach. If I stood beside them, we'd look like an Easter basket.

I don't know which is Cami, Chloe, or Cori. During the wedding planning, when they were here, I usually just shouted a name and the appropriate one turned my way. Not that I've had much interaction with them. Val has taken point on this event.

Lexi is off in the corner, sitting in a royal blue wingback chair. Her legs are crossed and the top one is bobbing up and down while she's scrolling on her phone. I haven't picked up animosity between her and Cami, Chloe, and Cori—or C3—but she's obviously not having fun. Her mouth is pressed into a scowl. Maybe she's looking at something disturbing online. Her dress, while short and airy-looking like the rest of ours, is emerald green and doesn't fit our accidental pastel collection. It looks great on her though.

Taylor spots me and practically flies to me, arms waving over her head like she's holding a sign while picking me up at the airport. Gianna, I'm so glad you made it.

Thanks for inviting me. I thrust a neatly wrapped gift toward her. Izzie had pulled up Taylor and Owen's bridal registry in the mall parking lot. As it turns out, the items listed are as weird as everything else with this wedding. I decided on, or my budget decided on, a Mickey Mouse–shaped waffle iron. Ma says it's cheesy, which it is, but everything else listed was equally odd, like a martini set (when I distinctly heard Taylor say neither she nor Owen likes hard liquors), or glass coasters made to look like flat golf balls (when they don't play the sport).

Oh, thank you, but you didn't have to. She takes the gift and sets it on a table by the front windows where several other gifts also rest. When she turns back, I'm still standing in the doorframe, so she waves me in. Come grab a drink. The food should be ready soon.

I take a few more steps inside and hope this isn't everyone 'cause it's easier to not be forced into awkward conversations when there are more people. The doorbell rings. Oh, thank goodness.

In only a few minutes, the living room is crowded with guests. Cousins and aunts I haven't yet met fill the room. I end up near Lexi, who scoffs with each added member.

Taylor's Aunt Felicia and another woman make their way over to us. This is my best friend from college, Dr. Winifred Styles, Felicia says to us.

The woman is Felicia's age, and unlike her knit-loving friend, she's dressed in a navy floral skirt and white blouse. Her dark hair is in cornrows, which are up in a bun, and there's a twinkle in her eye that suggests she's happy to be here. I wish I could say the same.

She holds out her hand. Please call me Winnie.

It's nice to meet you. I'm Gianna Mancini.

As she grips my hand, she begins to frown. She stares so deeply into my eyes that it looks like she's gone into a trance. Then the corners of her mouth lift, and she pats my hand. You are a special young woman, aren't you?

I've no idea what she means, so I just smile back. What kind of doctor are you?

Not a medical one. I'm a psychologist who also dabbles in parapsychology.

That's the supernatural, like ghosts. My stomach churns, and it's not because I feel famished. The stare, the patting…does she know my secret?

She cocks a brow as if she can read my mind.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the shower is in full swing. Food is being served, and I've managed to move into the living room doorway again, grateful to not be stuck in the main room. I don't have claustrophobia, but I'm not comfortable here. Especially after meeting Winnie.

When I didn't comment on her specialty, she and Felicia had moved on. Then Lexi had said, She was staring at you weird. But she went right back to her phone and wasn't expecting a reply.

I'm grateful Winnie didn't push it. I don't know what she thinks she knows, but the last thing I want is for anyone to get wind of the truth. I may be here as a guest now, but this is my job. I can't let Valentina, or anyone, learn that I can communicate with ghosts.

The doorbell rings, and since I'm closest, I answer it.

It's Owen, the groom, with an older woman who has the same doe-like brown eyes as him. In fact, they both share the same flat-tip nose and square jawline too.

Hi, Gianna. I didn't know you'd be here, he says and guides the woman inside.

Neither did I.

Yeah, Taylor invited me at the last minute.

Well, this is my mother, Beverly Fenton.

I shake the woman's strong grip. It's nice to meet you.

The woman's posture is slightly hunched over. She wears a mauve top, gray pants, gray kitten heels (lucky woman), and carries a large white and black paisley tote bag. It bulges in the center, and I'm guessing Taylor's gift is in there. The woman's cheeks are rosy, which could be from blush, but her eyes are clear. I'm not sure what kind of illness she had. I didn't think it would have been polite to ask Taylor earlier today.

Nice to meet you too, dear, Beverly says and turns toward the living room, leaving behind a trail of rosewater perfume. My absolute least favorite.

I wrinkle my nose and take a step out of its path.

Owen helps her inside and then smiles at me as he heads back to the door. I'm just dropping her off.

I nod. This is clearly a female only evening.

When the bell rings again, I answer it, happy to be on door duty.

But this time, when I open the heavy wooden door, I don't see a stranger. I see a six-foot man with long dark bangs that are pushed to the side, icy blue eyes, an asymmetrical nose, and a square-shaped chin. My high school crush and ex–kindergarten husband.

Michael! What are you doing here? I ask.

That's when I notice the camera around his neck.

He gently pats it. Here to take photos. I'm late.

I take a step back to let him in and shut the door behind him.

He takes in my outfit and frowns. What are you doing here? Don't tell me Valentina is having you deal with planning at this time of day.

No, the bride invited me to the shower. Don't ask why. I've no idea.

And you're standing in the foyer? He glances over his shoulder to the ruckus going on in the living room. Must be some party.

I chuckle and shake my head. It's fine. Just a large group of strangers. I'm better now that you're here.

He grins, showing off a smile that tugs at me. I'm not the least bit interested in him romantically, but he certainly is nice to look at.

Maybe we can hang after I get some shots, he says.

Yes, of course. Go do your job. I'm not going anywhere. At least not before I put in a proper appearance. I suspect that, once cake is served, I can finally escape.

I met Michael Sheridan when we were small children. We got married in kindergarten and then grew apart from elementary through junior high. We reconnected in high school, but then in twelfth grade he learned of my ghost-seeing secret through my best friend, after kissing her, and we stopped talking. I stopped talking to both of them actually. But Michael and I ran into each other during the last bridal shower I attended and got close again. He introduced me to Valentina, so I have him to thank for this job. Or not thank. I'm still up in the air about the whole thing.

I return to the living room and try to get involved. It is why I'm here, right?

Two hours later, after cake, Taylor is seated on the loveseat, sandwiched between Cami and Chloe or Chloe and Cori or…whomever, with a disposable plate of stuck-on ribbons and bows on her head and my unwrapped waffle iron on her lap.

I love this. Thank you, she squeals.

The girls giggle and cheer with her.

Michael catches my eye and frowns at the ladies' perkiness. He and I have been doing that a lot tonight.

While C3 have been giggling since I met them, I hadn't noticed Taylor following along as much until now. It must be contagious. Then again, most of the times I've seen Taylor, she's been arguing with her mother.

Speaking of which, I haven't seen Deidre all night. Surely she's here for her own daughter's bridal shower.

I head to the downstairs bathroom just before the kitchen, and when I'm done, I see the study door ajar. I glance into the room and spot Taylor's father, Robert, and Felicia talking.

He steps away from her, and she grabs his arm. His jawline is tense. He starts to turn his head to look in my direction, and I hurry along. I do not want to get caught spying.

I head back to the living room but notice the only guests there are Taylor's cousins, out-of-town aunts, who are her father's sisters, and Beverly Fenton. Where did everyone else go? I really don't want to get into a conversation about who I am and why one of the wedding planners is at the shower, so I stay in the foyer. I've no idea where Michael is, but I doubt he left without saying good-bye.

The bell rings yet again, and since we already had cake, I'm thinking this is a great time to leave too. I'll let this person in, find Taylor to say bye, and text Michael if I can't find him. It's not like he and I can't hang out another time.

I open the door, and Owen's there with a smile.

Have you moved from this spot all night? he asks.

I laugh louder than intended. Yes. A little.

He chuckles and steps inside. I'm here to get Mom.

She's in the living room, I say and notice the tips of his white sneakers have mud on them. Oh, I hope it's not raining. I stick my head out the door, and while it smells like rain, it's dry out.

I shut the door and turn, and as I do, I see Lexi too late. She's standing so close that my only choice is to collide into her. My body tenses, and I brace myself for the impact.

There isn't one.

Suddenly there's a tremendous chill, as if I walked into a snowstorm naked, and before I realize what's happening, I've stepped through her.

I turn back, eyes wide, my brain still not processing it all.

Lexi looks down at herself and then at me with the same confused expression.

But while this is her first time being walked through, this has happened to me many times before.

Shoot.

What's going on? she asks, her voice cracking.

Um, you're dead.

CHAPTER THREE

What is it with bridal showers, dead bodies, and me?

I don't usually blurt out when someone is dead so crudely or callously, but the whole moment took me by surprise.

Before I get a chance to question Lexi, Taylor's father, Robert, comes rushing by me while dialing his phone. His graying hair is flattened on one side and looks as if he spent the party napping in his office. He pays me no attention, even though I'm right in his path, which could feel a bit threatening because he's six feet tall, has a broad chest, and is practically galloping. He rushes out the open front door and down the front steps.

I turn back to Lexi, but she's gone.

Ghosts! Why can't they stand still?

I begin searching the front rooms, hoping to catch sight of her. Unfortunately, she's not in the living room. Owen is helping his mother, Beverly, to her feet, and she is animatedly telling him how great the shower was. Michael's in there zippering up his camera bag.

He catches my eye before I look away. Ten minutes ago, I would've loved to chat and find out what he's been up to since the last time I saw him, which was a week ago at another event Valentina planned. I've been seeing him a lot now that we work in the same arena—something that Julian isn't fond of. He's worried that Michael may have romantic intentions. I told him it doesn't matter because we're just friends. For some reason, that doesn't appease him.

What are you doing now? Michael asks. Want to get a bite?

Food sounds scrumptious. The shower had delicate finger foods—cucumber sandwiches, smoked salmon on crackers, mini quiche, and cheddar and onion tartlets. Plus, there were mini carrot cake and cream cheese cupcakes. It was delicious, but I didn't have a lot, and my stomach is beginning to rumble.

But I can't go off and have a lovely meal while I know Lexi is dead somewhere.

No one has screamed or called the cops, which means she's lying someplace and no one has stumbled upon her yet. She needs me.

That sounds great, but I can't. I, uh, promised Taylor that I'd help her go over some wedding plans.

He runs his fingers through the top of his hair, causing his bangs to fall into his eyes. I hope she's giving you a bonus.

I awkwardly chuckle. Yeah, me too.

I hate lying, period. I especially hate it with people I care about. Most people I'm close with know my secret, but not Michael. At least I don’t think he does. I’m not exactly sure. Even though my ex-best friend told him I could see ghosts, he hasn’t brought it up since we’ve reconnected this year. If I believed it, I’d ask. But we haven’t discussed it yet. The only people in my family who don't know are my brother-in-law, Paulie, and my niece, Alice. Izzie hasn't told her husband and feels her daughter is still too young. The girl turned fourteen several months ago, so I think she's old enough to understand and not blab to friends and social media, but it's Izzie's family and her choice.

Even though they all know the truth, it doesn't mean I rub it in their faces. I understand that it's hard to digest. Seeing ghosts isn't a big deal to me 'cause I'm so used to it, but I sometimes see the surprised expression on their faces when they catch me talking to thin air. And while they've had limited interactions with ghosts moving objects, it's probably still scary to them. So I don't blame anyone for not wanting to acknowledge my gift, and I hope they'd understand my fibs to keep them happy and sane.

Guess I'll see you next weekend, then. Michael slings his bag onto his shoulder and walks to the front door.

Bye, I say and then look in the far corners of the living room. No Lexi.

I step to the side as Owen and Beverly approach, ready to leave. It was nice to meet you, dear, she says.

I take her hand and give a soft squeeze. You too. I'm sure Taylor is thrilled that you came.

She nods, her smile never faltering, but to be honest, I hardly recall Taylor paying Owen's mother much attention, and she isn't here now to say good-bye.

Owen, on the other hand, momentarily frowns when I mention his bride. Then he's guiding Beverly toward the door. Come on, Mom.

After they leave, I head across the hall to the den. Taylor's out-of-town family is relaxing on the brown leather furniture, looking quite comfortable. Deidre and Taylor had only mentioned the cousins and these aunts once in the time I've been working for them, and it was always with disdain. From what I gathered, they were only invited to the shower and the wedding out of familial obligation.

I walk past them with a smile and a polite nod and enter the conservatory. Lexi is standing by the back door, staring into the yard. I shut the French doors that lead to the den and hurry over to her before she disappears again.

I've been looking for you, I whisper.

I can't believe I'm dead. Are you sure this isn't a bad dream? Her expression is blank, and if ghosts could go into shock, I'd be worried.

I'm sorry, but I'm sure. I really dislike delivering bad news. I usually encounter ghosts after they've been dead for a while, but ever since I moved back home, it seems like I keep stepping over dead bodies who have been murdered. Surely this time she just slipped, hit her head, and accidentally died?

Where is your body? I ask.

She stares at me and shrieks. Oh my God, my body. It's just lying there. You have to help me.

I will as soon as you tell me what happened.

I went outside for some fresh air, and I heard a sound behind me. Before I could turn though, I felt this shock of pain at the back of my head. When I woke up, I was back inside and you walked through me. That was awful.

For me too.

So this wasn't an accident. Someone meant to hurt her. Did they mean to kill her though?

Where were you when you were hit on the head?

She raises her arm and points outside.

That's not very helpful.

Show me. I open the back door and follow her along the dark, grassy yard, past the altar bush, and down a set of rock steps to the lower part of the property. The estate has a steep incline to a lower area of lush flowers and trees, hence the steps. I notice dirt on them, shaped almost like a star. I step around it so I don't slip. It's hard enough walking on one type of terrain.

The moon is shining and the trek isn't far, but it's darker in this lower region, and with all of this brush, I don't want to accidentally trip over Lexi's body. There's something unsettling about knowing you could be stepping on a corpse at any moment. I shiver and pull my phone from my mini purse. I turn on the flashlight app and point it to the ground.

I tried talking to Taylor, but she can't hear or see me. Why can you? Lexi asks.

I'm special that way.

She doesn't reply, but I can sense her questions.

I don't know why exactly, but when I was a kid, I fell, hit my head, and died for a minute. When I woke up, I could communicate with ghosts, I say.

She softly gasps. But you seem so normal.

I am normal. My light catches several strands of light brown hair. I suck in a breath and try to not react. So far, Lexi's been cool, but I'm concerned she's going to freak out when she sees herself.

Right on cue, she gasps again, but this time it ends with a sob.

I move the light down her body. From what I can tell, she has no wounds, so she must've died from the blow.

Now what? she asks between sobs.

My heart goes out to her, but I have been around enough dead bodies, and my brother is a cop who wants to be promoted to detective, so I know there's a protocol that must be followed. It would save everyone a lot of heartache, namely me, if I don't screw it up by trampling on the crime scene and leaving my DNA behind.

I also watch a lot of fictional as well as true crime shows.

Now I tell the family and call the cops.

I take a step back and hear movement behind me. Oh, crap. Has the killer returned? I don't have a weapon. With all of the death I've seen, you'd think I'd carry something with me. I make a mental note to invest in pocketknives, pepper spray, a flame torch, or something if I live past this moment.

I whip around, holding up my phone so that the light shines on the person's face, and see Julian.

He grabs my upper arm and pulls me away from Lexi's body. What are you doing here?

I yank my arm free because I'm annoyed that he nearly gave me a heart attack. I've been invited to a party. You?

I know his answer before he says it though.

Who's he? Lexi asks.

I've been invited to… He glances at the spot where Lexi's body is. He can't possibly see her in the dark. To handle things.

I stomp my foot, knowing I was right and hating it. How are we supposed to have a loving, trusting relationship if my skin crawls whenever he has to work?

So if I hadn't gotten here first, I wouldn't have found her there. Her ghost would think she's lost her mind and wouldn't get closure?

The guilt on Julian's face speaks volumes, and I'm suddenly very glad he put up his shingle. That's when I notice that he's wearing a pair of black gloves and is carrying a small, but plump, dark duffel bag. I've never seen it before.

Who called you? Robert? Wait, I remember seeing him hurrying outside while on his phone. He called your boss, who instructed you to come here and fix it. In other words, you're supposed to move Lexi's body someplace off the estate so that when she's found dead it's not tied back to the Prescotts. Am I right?

His guilty expression doesn't change.

Do you want me to leave so you can do your thing? I ask. I need to know his answer. If he says no, my faith in him won't waver. If he says yes, Lexi may have company tonight.

His brow wrinkles. No, I'd never ask you to lie. Pretend you haven't seen me, and I'll call you later.

As much as I'm touched by his compassion, I remember it's aimed at me, the woman he loves, and not the poor dead woman who was very much alive thirty minutes ago.

He steps back into the shadows, and I call 9-1-1.

When the first two police arrive, they are my brother, Enzo, and his partner, Kirby—a fresh from the academy officer. They've been working together for a month, and Enzo hasn't complained.

Enzo's normal light beige coloring looks a little sallow. He either needs a good night's sleep or a vacation. He lives alone, so his only responsibilities consist of his job and caring for himself, and since he still frequently eats at Ma and Pop's, he basically just needs to bathe and do laundry.

Kirby bends down by Lexi's body and takes off his hat, as if paying his respects. He has an unruly head of rich auburn curls, which reminds me of a clown. How did you stumble across her out here?

I glance to Enzo and say, I was going for a walk, trying to get some fresh air after the bridal shower.

Kirby looks up to me with a half smile. Oh yeah? Are you getting married?

No, I was a guest.

This is my sister, Enzo says.

Kirby stands. Yeah, I know. The hot single one. The other is the hot married one.

Enzo makes an aggravated noise. He doesn't like when guys comment sexually about his sisters.

Call me shallow, but my first thought is Kirby thinks I'm hot? Huh. Some guys aren't into the whole curvy girl thing, and you can't tell which ones by the way they look.

Anyway…

Why don't you call this in, and I'll escort my sister inside. When you're done, come help me round up the guests, Enzo says.

I grin at my brother's authority and follow him back to the house.

Why are you smiling? He still sounds annoyed.

Look at you in charge.

He rolls his eyes. So have you seen her ghost yet?

Right. Back to the horrible issue at hand.

Yes. She disappeared when I called you guys. She doesn't know who did it, but she heard footsteps while she was walking down there, and someone hit her from behind.

He nods, taking in the info, but neither of us can use it for the police investigation. Hearsay from a ghost isn't exactly admissible in court or believable by colleagues.

When Enzo and I enter the house, everyone goes silent.

He tells them that the detectives are on the way and that the family and the rest of the guests must remain in the den, where they're all gathered.

They fire questions at him. They want to know what's happened, but he can't say much. He's told me in the past that he likes to leave the details up to the detectives.

Where's Lexi? Taylor asks, looking at the people around her.

There are a few murmured sounds, but no one has an answer.

No one but Enzo and me.

And Robert.

I find him in the crowd and twitch at his death glare. Obviously he doesn't know I can speak with Lexi and that she told me where her body is, but I messed up his plans to have her carted away. What's the likelihood that I'll be welcome on the property after tonight?

The next time the doorbell rings, it's the homicide detectives, Sanchez and, my arch nemesis, Kevin Burton. Of course.

Sanchez is in his forties, with thinning, curly hair and a wide-set nose. He reminds me of Pop, both in looks, although Sanchez is a couple of skin tones darker, and in how they're both quiet, but when they speak, they command attention. I bet Sanchez gives good hugs too.

Unfortunately, Kevin and I go way back. As teenagers, he was over at our house a lot. He is the same age as Izzie, and Kevin's former best friend is my niece's biological father. I haven't liked Kevin since that time in our lives. It has nothing to do with Alice's father ditching Izzie when he found out she was pregnant and everything to do with Kevin being a lewd jerk. He'd make sexual innuendos about me, to my face, knowing I was only twelve at the time. It's also why Enzo can't stand him.

Enzo and Kirby take the detectives out back to show them Lexi's body, and I uncomfortably stand in the den with everyone else. I count down the seconds until they return and put me out of my misery. It's one thing being in a room of strangers, but there's an extra layer of torture when one of them obviously wants me gone. Robert is adding to his wrinkles with all of that frowning.

Sanchez steps back into the room and informs everyone that a dead body has been found on the property.

Deidre, Taylor's mom, gasps and places a hand on her chest. Who is it?

Where was she hiding all evening? She missed the whole shower.

Sanchez glances at me. According to a guest, it is Alexandria Hart.

I nod. I was taking a walk and found her.

Taylor takes a step forward. Why didn't you say something while we were waiting?

Why is that your first response, not tears?

I wasn't sure if I should, I say.

Sanchez clears his throat. We're going to speak to each of you. Please be patient. Miss Mancini and Miss Prescott, you're first.

Taylor and I follow the police and walk into the foyer.

Sanchez points to the living room. Miss Prescott, I will question you in here while my partner speaks with Miss Mancini in the dining room.

Of course. He couldn't interrogate me himself?

I pull out a chair at the back end of the eight-chaired, mahogany dining room table, and Kevin sits beside me at the head of the table. Why were you down at that part of the property?

I shrug to play off the nonchalance of my answer. I went for a walk after the shower died down because I wanted some fresh air. I just wandered down there.

Oooh, did I really just say died down?

I expect him to say something about my unfortunate word choice or utter some snappy comment in a condescending tone, but he just jots down the intel in his little black book.

There's chatter behind me, outside the dining room windows, along the side of the house. The drapery is drawn, so I look back and see several uniformed and plain clothes officers converged. What's going on over there?

Kevin says, You seem to be a murder magnet.

I start to clench my fists and think of some snazzy reply, but then I realize that he's not being a jerk. It's simply a statement. And a very accurate one at that.

So I let my shackles back down. Unfortunately.

He stares at me a moment longer, and I wonder if he's thinking about my secret. His wife is that ex–best friend from high school who told my secret to Michael. That was the worst betrayal. Then several months ago, I learned she also told Kevin that I can see ghosts. Him of all people.

But I don't know if Kevin actually believes I can see dead people. Based on his attitude in the past, I'm thinking he doesn't.

He continues his questions.

No, I didn't see or hear anyone when I found Lexi.

Nothing unusual happened at the party. There was no tension.

Sanchez enters the room and says to his partner, Several of the guests have already gone home.

I nod, and they look at me. Yeah, the groom's mother, Beverly, and the photographer, Michael Sheridan. I don't know if any of Taylor's…the bride's family left. I only met them tonight and didn't count heads.

Michael? Kevin asks.

I forgot that he may know Michael through his wife.

Yes.

Kevin makes another note and then tells me that's all and that I can leave.

Sanchez frowns at his partner, and I assume it's due to the fact that Kevin isn't yelling at me or accusing me of something. That's been his MO in the past, so what's changed?

I want to ask Sanchez if Kevin's had a lobotomy, but I get up and leave, not wanting to risk Kevin's demonic side appearing.

When I reach the front steps, I remember the officers at the side of the house and walk to the corner of the mini mansion. There's only one officer there now, and he's leaving the area, heading toward the back. On the ground are several evidence markers—little yellow tents with numbers on them.

I step as close as possible without trampling on anything and realize there's a patch of dirt without grass. It runs from the living room window to just past the dining room one. These tents are in that dirt-only area, surrounding a lot of footprints. Most of them look indistinguishable—grooves and some small holes, possibly made by high heels or some kind of gardening tool. But then there are several that look like a star pattern, probably made by a sneaker.

Star! Like at the steps near Lexi's body.

I can confirm that not one woman at the party tonight wore anything less dressy than a kitten heel. So who made this star pattern? Maybe one of the caterers. Any chance the gardener was here tonight?

Then it hits me. Owen had mud on his sneakers when he came to pick up his mother. Was he over on the side of the house, and if so, why?

I head to the driveway and settle into my silver Kia, when Lexi appears in my rearview mirror. I flinch and place a hand on my chest, feeling my rapidly beating heart. You scared me. Where have you been?

She shakes her head. I couldn't stand there looking at me. It's so unfair.

I'd like to reach out and stroke her shoulder, but since that's impossible because she's too far away and not solid, I simply say, I'm sorry, Lexi. How can I help?

We're quiet for a moment, and then she leans forward and there's a glint in her eye, like she's thought of something great. I want revenge.

Oh, that's not what I expect.

Excuse me? I ask.

This wasn't an accident. Someone wanted me dead. And I have plenty of enemies.

Now I shift in my seat. My radar antennas perk up, and I need all the juicy bits. Why do you have enemies?

In case you haven't noticed, I'm a bit of a snoop. She smiles as if she's proud of that.

During the time I've been organizing the wedding, I've caught Lexi spying on both Doctors Prescott as well as Taylor. Several times. It wasn't my business to say anything, so I ignored it. I wouldn't be surprised if Valentina has witnessed the same.

Yes, I'm aware.

She giggles. Well, I'm writing a tell-all book, and I haven't been quiet about that.

"Isn't that what you do? You are an author."

Well, yes, but I write erotic romance novels under a pen name. This other book is fiction too, but it's a family saga. A different genre. I'll publish it under my real name, and while all of the characters will have different names than their real-life inspirations, it won't be hard to figure out that the patriarch of my fictional family is also Robert Prescott.

Why don't you change it enough so no one knows? I ask, somewhat confused as to her plan.

Because what fun is that? I considered writing it as nonfiction, but… Her brows furrow, and then she widens her eyes. Oh, now it won't be published at all.

Ouch, that has to hurt.

This knowledge seems to stew her even more because she sets her jaw into a hardened line and says, All of my notes about each member of this family and Taylor's friends, all of their secrets, are at my house. You need to get my laptop before the police find it.

Now I see where she's going with this. Well, not the book part. It seems unnecessary to write a fiction book on real-life people, but what do I know? I'm not a writer.

Have you argued with any of them or anyone lately? I ask. We can't rule out people who weren't at the party tonight, even if that seems unlikely.

Everyone?

That's a long list. What about specifically? Is Owen on it?

Maybe. Let's get my laptop first, and then you can read all about it yourself. Okay? She has a point.

I consider what to do next. You said you live in a house, not an apartment?

Yes, why?

"Because