Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster (16 page)

"I can't believe this," I say out loud. I glare at Georgina until she looks me in the eyes. She runs her fingers through her blonde locks with a puzzled look on her face. "And since you're probably going to murder me too, let me just say how completely disgusted I am…" I look from her to Leo.
Or should I now refer to him as "Uncle" Leo?
"…with the both of you."

"What are you talking about?" Georgina responds.

"She thinks you killed Gino," Leo answers, understanding my frustration.

"Seriously?" She smirks. "You think
I
took your knife at the farmers' market and murdered a guy who's basically family?" I shrug. "You don't know me at all."

"Then who did?" I look to Leo for more information. Georgina stares at him for a minute and then rolls her eyes.

"Oh, Leo." She shakes her head. "Don't tell me it was you all along? Why?"

"It wasn't me," Leo replies. "I assure you, my dear. Gino and I were good friends. I've killed in the past, but Gino Milani was not one of my targets. I was never ordered to do such a thing."

"Then who was it?" I go on. "Who could've known what Gino was up to, stolen my chef's knife, and then done the deed without anyone noticing?"

The floor creaks in the hallway, and the three of us look at each other.

There is someone who could've done those things.

Someone who sees
everything
and walks the halls unnoticed.

"I think I just answered my own question," I say quietly. Leo stands up and moves toward the living room. My hands tremble as I watch him glance down the hallway and turn on the light. The shadows in the corner of the room disappear, and the living room and hallway remain empty. Georgina pulls me aside, keeping an eye on Leo.

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" she whispers.

"It all makes sense."

"No," Georgina responds. "No. No way. Ingrid would
never
do that."

"You said yourself that she has a talent for cleaning a room without anyone noticing."

"But then that would mean…" Georgina glances down at her bare feet.

"Yeah," I respond quietly. "She knows who your real father is, which means your parents do too."

"No—"

Georgina and I are interrupted by a loud howl. Leo stumbles toward the door, but a petite (yet strong) hand is gripping his injured shoulder. A kitchen knife is pressed to his throat, but this time it doesn't belong to me. It belongs to the set of knives in Georgina's kitchen. Behind Leo is an older woman with dark hair and wide, sinister eyes.

"I should've done this in Louisiana," Ingrid comments in a raspy voice. Georgina's jaw hangs open, and her complexion looks like confectioner's sugar.

"Ingrid," Georgina finally yells. "What are you doing? Stop that!"

"Georgina honey, this man is absolute filth." She tightens her grip on the knife. Leo grimaces as she purposely pushes down on his shoulder to keep him from maneuvering free from her hold. They are both small people, but I have no doubt that Leo can eventually turn the tables. Leo glances down at his belt where a handgun rests on his hip.

"Then we'll call the police," Georgina pleads.

"Police don't do justice to men like these." Ingrid clenches her jaw, glaring at her victim like he's nothing more than a birthday cake waiting to be sliced into. My heart pounds, and my muscles feel frozen. I don't know what to do. Run. Scream. Turn my head.

"Ingrid, you'll be put in prison." Georgina holds up her hands in an attempt to show her housekeeper that she means no harm.

"I'm headed there anyway for what I did to the first one of these slimeballs that rolled into town," Ingrid responds.

"So you did steal my knife," I say quietly.

"And I would've gotten away with it too if you weren't so chummy with the detective," Ingrid sneers. "I took it from your bag the evening before the farmers' market when you came over to practice fondant bows. It was easy." Leo moves slightly, and she immediately digs her fingers deeper into his shoulder. Leo winces from the pain.

"Ingrid, put the knife down." Georgina takes a step toward her.

"Georgina honey, this man isn't your family." Ingrid makes eye contact with Georgina just as a tear rolls down her cheek. "
I
am your family.
Your parents
are your family. We've worked so hard to keep you from this awful fate."

"So you all knew?" Georgina stops and crosses her arms. "You, Mom, and Daddy all knew who my real father was?"

"They found out years after they adopted you," Ingrid confesses. "That's when your father put the agency out of business and destroyed all of your adoption papers."

"And my biological mother?" Georgina sniffles.

"She was already gone by then." Another tear rolls down her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"I can't believe this," Georgina mutters, staring down at the floor.

"You are a Bianco by blood," Leo adds. "The many talents of your father run through your veins. Don't forget that."

"She's not going anywhere with you," Ingrid practically growls. She digs her fingers even further into Leo's shoulder wound until he cries out in agony. "She belongs to the Levens family, and she has a bright future ahead of her. One that I will not let you delinquent bunch of criminals ruin!"

"Ingrid, put the knife down." Georgina walks forward again. Her voice is steady, and she looks at her former nanny sternly. She raises her eyebrows and takes another step. "Please, Ingrid. This rug is brand new, and blood stains are impossible to clean."

Leo chuckles.

"We'll buy a new one," she suggests, keeping a firm hold on Leo.

"I mean it, Ingrid." Georgina raises her voice. "No one is being murdered here today. Not if I can help it."

"Just like her father," Leo mutters.

A look of disgust crosses Ingrid's face. Her eyes are wild with disdain, and she focuses on her target.

"Ingrid," Georgina says even louder. "Let the police handle him."

"I'm already in too deep, honey," Ingrid replies.

Georgina rubs her forehead. Ingrid seems to have already made up her mind. She is going to finish the job she started the second she arrived in Georgia—keeping Georgina from her dirty heritage. I gulp, glancing at the front door.

I could run.

I could run out of the apartment right now and not be a part of this. I feel like I'm back in Paris watching Detective Casey hanging from the balcony at the Palais Garnier. I don't know who to root for or who to save. I despise Leo Bianco for what he did to Karl and the pain he caused Bree. I'm also shocked that Ingrid resorted to murder…and with
my
chef's knife. Maybe the two of them should duel it out between themselves?

I don't want to be here for that.

"It's never too late," Georgina goes on. A look of disappointment is still spread across her face, but her voice softens. She must be torn inside like I am. "Let him go, and we'll figure this out."

"I can't," Ingrid barks back, her eyes welling up with tears. The wrinkles on her forehead become more prominent as she fights to keep her composure. "I can't let you go with him. I raised you. I raised you to be a Levens,
not
a Bianco!"

"I appreciate all that you've done for me, Ingrid." Georgina focuses on her and only her. "I'm sorry that I haven't said that enough. You've helped me through some difficult times. When I almost failed the fifth grade. Getting a date for prom. Mom's drinking problem. Now, let
me
help
you
."

"You can't help me." Ingrid braces herself for what she's about to do next. Leo glances down at his belt again, still grimacing from the pain in his shoulder. "Not anymore."

"What if I promise never to contact my biological family," Georgina quickly blurts out.

"
Never
?" Ingrid repeats.

"Never," Georgina promises. She glances at Leo. He takes a deep breath and doesn't say anything. Ingrid pauses for a moment and processes Georgina's request. She slowly lowers her knife and takes a step back, loosening her hold on Leo's shoulder. The look in Leo's eyes flickers. My eyes widen, and I bolt for the door just as he reaches down for the weapon hiding on his hip.

"Get back here!" Leo shouts after me. I brace myself for the loud pop of a gunshot to pierce the sky. The night air is warm and humid. Street lamps in the distance illuminate the path in front of me.
I have to get out of here!

There's screaming behind me.

I can't tell from whom. Ingrid? Leo? Georgina?

All I know is I need to get help, and I need to get out of here before Leo decides to kill all witnesses minus his new mafia princess. I don't have to run very far before my road to freedom is blocked by a familiar figure with rolled up sleeves and bags under his eyes. Detective Reid sees me as his cue to move in. He runs past me and into Georgina's apartment. A team of officers follows him. Some of them take positions on both sides of the door as if they've rehearsed this countless times.

"Put the gun down!" Detective Reid enters the room to find Leo with his gun pointed at Ingrid. I stop just behind him, terrified that Leo might take his chances and shoot Ingrid anyway. Georgina's face turns bright red as she looks from Ingrid to Leo. She shifts uncomfortably from side to side and rubs the side of her cheek. "I'll say this one more time, Leo. Put the gun down!" Detective Reid practically screams at him. His voice booms through the room—loud enough to wake the entire complex.

"Or you'll what?" Leo taunts him. "You've got nothin' on me."

"I've got plenty on you, Leo," he informs him. "I've been waiting for you all night."

"I'll never confess to a single thing." Leo chuckles.
He thinks he's untouchable
.

"That's all right, Leo." Detective Reid takes a step closer. "Your gun will do all the talking once I send it to forensics."

Leo frowns, looking from Detective Reid to Ingrid. Georgina continues to rub the side of her face. The color of her cheeks hasn't changed. She blinks a few times before her legs start to wobble. She grabs the side of her nightgown and collapses to the floor. Her blonde hair flying in a mess of curls over her face. Ingrid immediately rushes to her aid, and Leo lowers his gun.

"She's okay," Ingrid says, out of breath. "Just fainted from all the stress."

Detective Reid seizes his opportunity to snatch Leo's gun and force his hands behind his back. Without his gun, Leo is powerless to stop him. Detective Reid is younger, quicker, and much larger. He towers over Leo's thin frame. When Leo is handcuffed, I run to Georgina who is unconscious on the floor.

"Georgina," I say. "Georgina!" I squeeze her cheeks and shake her face. She doesn't open an eye. "Georgina, come on. We have finals coming up. You want to graduate, don't you?" I shake her again, and it's enough to rouse her from her deep sleep. She opens her mouth just enough to mumble something. "What?"

Georgina mumbles again.

"Royal wedding," she manages to force out. "Royal…wedding."

I roll my eyes.

"Georgina, honey." Ingrid waves her arms in a panic. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

"Oh, yeah," I inform her. "She's fine."

"You're free to go," Detective Reid says after taking my statement.

"Until next time?" I joke. He glares at me. This is the first time I've seen him at his desk—nameplate and everything. "I'm kidding."

"Let's hope there isn't a next time," he responds, glancing back down at the paperwork in front of him. "Of course, we've had this discussion before, but it didn't seem to do anything."

"Well, I'll be graduating soon, so…" I stand up. "I guess this is good-bye." I don't expect more than a polite nod from him, but he quickly looks up. In his eyes, I see our first meeting my first semester when he came to investigate the death of one of my instructors.

What a ride it's been since then.

"You're leaving Georgia?" he asks.

"Don't tell me you're going to miss me?" I grin, eyeing the photo next to his computer—the one personal piece of information he's allowed me to see. A picture of him and a woman his same age.

"It was just a question. It's my job to ask them."

"I don't know yet," I answer. "I haven't decided what I want to do."

"Well, good luck." He continues to look through papers.

"And good luck to you and your…" I glance at the photo. "Girlfriend? Wife?"

"Sister," he corrects me. "That's my twin sister."

I stare at the photo more closely.

"Oh, I see the resemblance."

"We're not identical," he points out.

"Okay." I can't help but laugh. "I get the message. See you around, Derek." He looks up. "Detective." As soon as I correct myself he gives me the polite nod I was waiting for. I turn to leave, exiting his office space and heading back toward reception where Bree and Cole are waiting for me. I pass Georgina sitting across from another police officer, regaling her with accounts of last night. She's dressed more like herself in khakis and diamond earrings that compliment her neatly tied-back ponytail.

In the lobby, Bree is pacing back and forth, talking on her cell phone, and Cole is sitting quietly. He looks up when I enter the room—my heart leaping when our eyes meet. He immediately jumps to his feet and walks toward me. His eyes look minty green this morning. An entrancing color that reminds me of a mint cookie covered in chocolate.

"What did he say?" Cole asks. "Is everything okay? Are you officially off the hook?"

"For what?" I try to pull my eyes away from his because they make my thoughts spin to the point where I feel light-headed. "Murder?"

"You know what I mean, Poppy."

"Yes," I reply. "Turns out Detective Reid figured out what the Biancos were up to right after I gave him Karl's address. Except he figured out that the adopted child was Georgina, not Chef Otto."

"We were close," Cole comments. "I should've guessed when I saw that article in Gino Milani's apartment. The woman in the picture was blonde like Georgina."

"Don't be too hard on yourself." I place a hand on his shoulder. A friendly gesture that sparks something deep in my torso. I pull my hand away. "The picture was in black and white. You would have had to know what you were looking for."

"Sure." He puts his hands in his pockets. Bree starts to yell into her cell phone. She stamps her foot before hanging up. Her cheeks match the shade of her strawberry blonde hair, and she immediately covers her face.

"Bree?" I head toward her. "Bree, what's wrong?" She drops into the nearest chair and holds the bridge of her nose. Cole and I look at each other and shrug.
Please, don't tell me she was on the phone with Todd.

"That was Marjorie," Bree says, sniffling.

"Who's Marjorie?" Cole whispers.

"Her boss," I mutter.

"She sold the cupcake shop," Bree continues.

"That's great?" Cole nods. I hit his arm. "I mean, that's terrible?"

"Shush," I scold him. Bree dabs beneath her eyes to prevent her makeup from smearing.

"The new owner is cleaning house," Bree says, folding her arms. "Which means…which means…" She dabs her eyes again. "Oh heavens, I can't even say it."

"You've been fired?" I guess.

"They're letting me go," Bree confirms with another sniffle. "After everything I've done for that shop. I've
never
been let go before, Poppy. My employment record is spotless."

"It's not your fault." I sit next to her. "This type of crap happens all the time."

"Has it happened to you?" she asks.

"Once." I tilt my head, remembering the day I was cut from my very first dance company. They were having budgeting problems, and apparently I was just a tad too tall for their tastes. "I felt like such a loser, but little did I know that something better was out there waiting for me."

"What's better than a cupcake shop?" Bree mumbles to herself.

"Look on the bright side. Now you can open up your own." I smile widely until she's forced to smile back.

"And where am I supposed to get the money to do something like that?" she argues. "I don't have enough saved up."

"Umm…" I look to Cole for an answer. Bree slumps even further in her chair and hangs her head. It's like a giant storm cloud is hovering right above her, and I can't seem to push it away.

"Georgina is loaded," Cole suggests.

"Favors from Georgina come with strings attached," I point out.

"Thanks for trying, but it looks like I'll have to go back to the drawing board." Bree clasps her hands together and begins cracking her knuckles. "I haven't job searched in forever. It terrifies me."

"But now you can add Calle Pastry Academy to your resume," I respond. "That counts for something, right? I mean, this school is all I have going for me. My past work experience involves pirouettes and lots of yoga. I have more to worry about than you do."

"I'd hire you," Cole adds. He grins, but I shy away from his compliment.

"You're a great pastry chef, and someone will notice that."

"Yeah," Cole adds. He shrugs when he looks at me. "Plus, you've got some time to look."

"Right." I try to comfort her by forcing my voice to sound more upbeat. "We can start tonight. I'll help you."

Bree stares at me curiously and stands up to leave.

"Are you okay, Poppy?" she asks.

"Yep," I respond, realizing that loud and peppy just isn't me. It's more suited to Bree. When she's in a good mood.

"Anyway, I can't tonight."

"How come?"
She's going to go on a baking spree
. "Are we going shopping for ingredients? Should I starve myself until then?"

"No," Bree answers. "Tonight's that thing, remember?" Bree glances at Cole and waits for him to walk through the front doors and into the parking lot.

"What thing?"

"My date with Jeff," she whispers.

"Oh." I look ahead at Cole. "I forgot about that."

"Oh please." Bree shakes her head. "One date. That's all I agreed to. I already know it's going to be a total disaster."

"Sometimes life throws you curveballs. Or in our case…Georgia peaches."

*   *   *

Chef Otto stands in front of our class with his usual flashy grin. His teeth look extra white, like he spent his weekend getting them bleached. After Leo was captured, Chef Otto gradually morphed back into his showy self—cruising through town in his cherry red Ferrari and standing outside the freshmen kitchens signing autographs. Our final days as pastry students are fast approaching, and my parents are flying in to see me graduate.

"Okay, remember I need your menus by the end of class today," Chef Otto announces. "So, take some time to fine-tune all the details with your partners and hand them in please."

I glance back at Bree who has been keeping her main showpiece, the only thing she's required to do for her final project, a secret. But it's no secret that Georgina and I aren't in agreement with any sort of theme. I've sketched out nine samples, and she's hated them all. We can't seem to mix our styles together.

"Let's start with the wedding cake," Georgina says. She's been distant ever since Ingrid was taken into custody. Not as chatty. Not as rude. "We just need to pick something and make it perfect."

"I agree with that," I answer.

"Since we can't agree on a particular style, I say we go with a color instead."

"Not pink," I respond.

"Not black," she adds. "What about white?"

"White?" I shrug. It's not the best color to choose, but it is an elegant one. "I guess, but it's so…plain."

"We're out of options here, Poppy." She opens her notebook, hurriedly flipping through a few drawings. My eye catches one with a tower of some sort of circular pastry. It's unusual looking and unexpected for someone like Georgina.

"Wait," I blurt out, grabbing her notebook. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

I snatch the book away from her and flip through her sketches until I find it. I can't help but smile when I realize what the tower is made of.

"Cannolis?" I say out loud. Georgina blushes.

"It's just an experiment," she responds, reaching for the book. I lunge back to stop her from taking it. "
Poppy
."

"
Zeppole
?" I continue.
Zeppole
are the Italian's version of a cream puff. "
Panna cotta
? I'm sure that would be a first for the judges."

"Give that back." Georgina succeeds in grabbing her notebook. She slams it shut and shoves it into her tote bag.

"I don't see what the problem is." I raise my eyebrows at her odd behavior. "That's the sort of thing we need to do. Something creative, not a plain white wedding cake with standard pastries on the side. I mean, we might as well serve glazed doughnuts."

"Glazed doughnuts," she repeats, writing it down on our form.

"No." I grab the paper from her the same way I did her notebook. She clenches her jaw. "Don't write that."

"Ugh." Georgina glances up at the ceiling, flaring her nostrils. "At this point I just want to get this all over with."

"But I love the Italian theme." I wait for her to nod in agreement, but instead she scowls.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks.

"No need to get all defensive. I'm being serious." I watch as her eyes drift back to her tote bag. "What?"

"Nothing," Georgina snaps. "Are we done here?"

She's got something on her mind. I do the same thing when I'm being eaten inside by frustration, anger, and life in general. I push people away. Bree retreats to her happy place—the kitchen. And Cole…I guess he makes out with people.

"It's okay to wonder, you know." I put the thought out there. Maybe she'll latch onto it.

"What do you mean?"

"Your dad," I clarify. "If I were you, I'd be curious."

Georgina's shoulders sink as she glances around the classroom to make sure no one is paying attention to us.

"Keep your voice down," she scolds me.

"Or what? You'll bump me off?" I chuckle to myself.

"Don't tempt me." Georgina brushes aside a strand of her hair.

"You don't have to be so hostile about it," I say. "You're not the only one on this planet who was adopted."

"Are you finished?" She rolls her eyes and takes back our form. I glance at the time. We need to figure this out and fast.

"I think we should mix together our interests. My midnight dance with your Italian roots. How about using midnight in Italy for our theme?"

Georgina opens her mouth to criticize my suggestion, but she stops herself.

"You mean we keep the cannoli towers and
zeppole
?"

"Add a little dark chocolate, and you've got a deal," I respond.

"What about the cake?"

"Keep the white, but add a delicate piece of black fondant lace over the top," I suggest.

"Black?"

"Let's call it the color midnight," I clarify.

"Fine," she agrees. Georgina begins writing down my ideas on our form.

It's a pastry miracle.

"Wow," I comment. "That felt too easy."

Georgina continues writing. She pauses to collect her thoughts and then looks at me. Her hair shining in the light. It's hard to look at her the same after finding out that she secretly belongs to the baddest of the bad crime families around. At first glance she doesn't look the least bit Italian. I think it's the blonde hair. A trait she must've inherited from her mother. But her personality matches that of a feisty Lady of the Mob.

"Poppy, can I ask you something?"

I look over my shoulder.

"You're talking to me, right?"

"Don't be stupid," she responds. "I'm only asking you this because I have no else to talk to about it."