The Goddaughter Does Vegas Read online

  “Bye, Shirley! Thank you!” I said.

  “You’re welcome, honey! Gawd, you look like a million bucks.”

  I blew her a kiss from the door.

  FOURTEEN

  We made it to the outdoor chapel. Pete was waiting just inside the entrance, wearing a black tux and a big grin. “Just in time, gorgeous. And you really are gorgeous.” His eyes roved over me.

  “Sorry I’m late. I got detained.” Probably I should leave it at that. He didn’t need to know the why and where of it. “Don’t tell me you were worried.”

  He drew me into a hug. “Babe, I will always worry about you. Comes with the territory.”

  I smothered a giggle on his shoulder. He didn’t know the half of it.

  We were married under an arbor of pink climbing roses and tacky Christmas lights. Lainy stood at my left. Nico was to Pete’s right. The preacher was not an Elvis look-alike. In fact, she looked a lot like a smiling version of Aunt Miriam. This made me stand up straighter.

  I forced myself to act serious and say the right words. Pete did the same. Apparently, we passed the test and were pronounced husband and wife. We passed the kissing part too.

  “Golly shucks, Gina, you’re married!” said Lainy. Nico whooped.

  I could hardly believe it.

  Pete gazed down at me with that look that makes me melt. “Hello, Mrs. Malone.”

  I grinned. “Hey! I can change my name now! Glory be!” Maybe all this identity theft would be behind me now.

  Pete guided me away from the arbor. Then he reached down and wrapped his big arms around me.

  “Aw,” said Lainy. “You guys are so cute.”

  “Gina, I hate to break this up,” said Nico, looking down at his cell phone. “But we should get back to the Necropolis now.”

  “Why?” I said. “What’s the hurry?”

  “Em…” Nico looked away from me and over to Pete. “It was sort of a last-minute plan, but Pete said it would be okay. Frank wanted to do something for you on your wedding day. So Salvo reserved a small dining room off the main one in the Necropolis. I said we’d be there by five o’clock. Don’t want to keep the chef waiting.”

  “Well, that’s a nice surprise,” I said, happily clutching Pete’s arm. “Will Frank be there?” I couldn’t quite call him Dad yet.

  Nico hesitated. “He might put in an appearance.”

  We made our way out of the chapel garden. Lighted angels in a riot of color lined the little laneway that led to the street.

  “I call that dang decent of him,” said Lainy. “Sugar, you gotta admit he’s treating you well. Now that he knows about you.”

  I remembered the Elvis painting and smiled. Just how much would be in that Swiss bank account? And should I tell Pete about it? Maybe not. At least, not until after I talked to Frank. There was too much I didn’t know. Not to mention, the less Pete knew about family business, the happier he would be.

  Nico’s cell phone rang. “Yes, yes,” he said. “Okay.” He clicked off and looked over at me.

  “Frank wants us to take a detour. There’s someone he wants you to meet.”

  I shot a glance to Pete.

  “So we take a detour,” said Pete. “If you think I’m letting you out of my sight…” He reached around my shoulders with one big arm and gave me a side hug.

  Nico hailed a cab, and the four of us piled in.

  We whizzed through the streets of downtown Vegas. At a stoplight, we turned right into a bedroom community that looked as if it had been around since Elvis was in school.

  The cab pulled up in front of a small, shabby bungalow. A black SUV was parked in the driveway. One of Frank’s henchmen—Ricky, I think—stood on the dilapidated front porch. He walked up to our cab as we came to a halt. I rolled down a window.

  “Just Gina and Nico,” he said. “The rest of you stay here.”

  I could feel Pete tense beside me. “It’s okay,” I said. “He’s my father, remember? He won’t let anything happen to me.”

  “Don’t be long,” Pete grumbled.

  I scrambled out as well as I could in the designer wedding dress.

  “Ick, gravel. Pick up the hem, Gina,” said Nico. I did just that, pulling the skirt up to my knees. We scurried along after Ricky. Up the concrete steps, through the front door and then immediately down a narrow flight of stairs to the basement.

  It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Frank was standing next to a steel computer desk. He grinned at me and gestured with his hand. “Meet your impostor,” he said.

  A high-school-age girl sat at the desk. Her eyes went wide when she saw me. “You’re Gina? The real Gina?” Her young face blazed with delight. “You’re so pretty.” She said it breathlessly. Almost with a little hero worship in her voice, if I wasn’t mistaken. Like she knew about my history. I glared at Frank.

  “Thought you’d want to see for yourself,” Frank said. “Your impostor is a sixteen-year-old girl working out of a basement.” He sounded amused.

  “Totally awesome,” said Nico, clapping his hands together. “A mini Mini Mags. Gina, she’s following in your footsteps.”

  I gulped. I didn’t want to be that sort of role model. “What’s your name, honey?” I said.

  “Honey,” she said. She even giggled. “On account of my hair color.”

  Holy cannoli. I’d been scammed by Nancy Drew’s twisted sister.

  “She wanted to meet you. On account of you were the brains who sussed her out,” said Frank.

  “Sixteen?” I shook my head. “So young.” What a talent. That kid had some career ahead of her.

  “Yeah. I thought the same. Shame to let a clever kid like that go to jail,” he said. “So I made a deal. She’s coming to work for us.”

  Nico rolled his eyes. “You made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.”

  “Yeah. To the mutual benefit of all.”

  There was only one thing to do. I invited Honey to join us for the wedding dinner back at the hotel. She could travel with Frank. They liked that idea a lot. In retrospect, I didn’t know if this was a good thing or a bad thing, but I couldn’t stop to think about it. I had something more important to worry about.

  What the heck was I going to tell Pete, who was waiting not so patiently in the car?

  I left the explaining to Nico. He managed to tell a sanitized version that left out the televised news story and our trip to the police station. When Nico got to the Ernie and Jerry part, Pete even laughed out loud. That was a good sign. Of course, actually getting married might have had something to do with Pete’s good mood. It certainly was responsible for mine.

  It was a relief to know the nightmare would soon be over. There remained one potential problem. This deal Frank had worked with Honey was under the radar. The police would still be looking for the other Gina Gallo. Would I be stopped at the airport when I tried to board the plane to Canada?

  That got me thinking about Mario, the doofus cousin who had gotten me into this mess. My hands automatically curled into fists.

  Ten minutes later we were back in the lobby of the Necropolis. Nico led the way to the restaurant, past the zombies and morticians. The place was crowded, but no one seemed to be paying attention to me. I was old news, thank goodness. Of course, Lainy was with us, and she drew every eye. Even zombies seemed to part for her.

  Nico led us into the Crematorium Grill. Never would I get used to that name. He paused in front of a closed door immediately to the right of the entrance, then backed away a bit.

  “You two go first,” he said to me.

  Pete grabbed the gargoyle handle and swung the door open. I took one step into the dining room and stopped dead. Pete made a weird sound beside me.

  The room was not empty. In fact, it was overflowing with bodies. Live ones.

  “Surprise!” yelled Nico behind me.

  There were Rita and Salvo. Uncle Vince and Sammy. Aunt Pinky, Aunt Griz and—gulp—Aunt Miriam. Vera, Vito and the gang from the Holy Ca
nnoli Retirement Villa. Cousin Luca was pouring champagne for cousin Del. The entire Hammer family was there, and a few more besides. All wearing fancy duds and grinning. All talking at once. One voice rose above the crowd.

  “Yay! Gina got married, and he isn’t a putz,” yelled Mad Magda.

  The room erupted into cheers and claps. Nico’s new girlfriend, Danny, ran forward to be with him. My cousin Tiff smothered me with a great big hug. The other aunts crowded in behind.

  Pete did that donkey-snort thing again.

  “Just wanted you to know,” said Tiff, leaning in to speak quietly, “our in-house forger is creating a new passport for you under a different name. It will be delivered to this hotel by Express Post. Nico arranged it all this afternoon. You won’t have any trouble getting back through customs.”

  “Oh, my god! That’s wonderful. This whole party is wonderful!” I said with a grin.

  “Isn’t it?” said Nico, linking arms with Danny. “Lainy and I planned it as soon as I found out where you were going. Uncle Vince chartered a plane. Everyone is here except your mother and Phil, who got caught in that ice storm. But they’ll be here by midnight.”

  “Everyone?” I said to Nico. “Even Mario?”

  “Hi, Gina!” I saw Mario waving madly from the back of the room.

  “Uh-oh,” said Nico. “Pete, you might want to—”

  “Mario, I’m going to kill you!” I yelled. I was going to kill him, all right. I was going to clobber him and bury him right here in the Necropolis. Then I was going to dance on his grave.

  I kicked off my high heels, ready to launch at him. Pete clamped both hands down on my shoulders.

  “Hey, babe. Not until after the reception.”

  “I’ll reception you into the next century!” I yelled after Mario.

  But he was already gone.

  Billed as the “Queen of Comedy” by the Toronto Sun and called “the Canadian literary heir to Donald Westlake” by Ellery Queen Magazine, MELODIE CAMPBELL achieved a personal best when Library Digest compared her to Janet Evanovich. Melodie got her start writing stand-up and has since been a banker, marketing director, college instructor, comedy writer and possibly the worst runway model ever. Winner of ten awards, Melodie has been both a finalist for and a winner of the Derringer and Arthur Ellis awards for crime writing. She has over two hundred publications, including a hundred comedy credits, forty short stories and seven novels. Her work has appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Star Magazine, Flash Fiction Magazine, Canadian Living, the Toronto Star, the Globe and Mail and many more. Melodie lives in Oakville, Ontario. For more information, visit melodiecampbell.com.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This is Gina Gallo’s sixth adventure, and I’m extremely grateful to the people who have provided encouragement and support for the series. Front of the pack are the deadly dames: Cathy Astolfo, Janet Bolin, Alison Bruce, Nancy O’Neill and Joan O’Callaghan, who serve as my beta readers. You rock!

  I couldn’t write comedy without the people who value it. Cheryl Freedman, Don Graves and Jeannette Harrison are always there to cheer me on. Thank you, dear friends.

  I’ve been so lucky to have Ruth Linka and her team at Orca Book Publishers produce these books. They take my manuscript and make it better, every single time. Warm thanks to you all.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I like Pete Malone of the Steeltown Star, especially when he comes bearing drinks.

  “Big crowd at this gig,” he said, handing me a glass. “The art gallery will be pleased. Did you bring the thug from New York?”

  I nearly spilled some really good scotch. “I’m doing a favor for Uncle Vince.”

  Pete nodded. “Figured that. You’re the Goddaughter.”

  I struggled for something smart to say.

  “Does it show?”

  Pete shrugged, then smiled. “Not as much as other things. I like the dress.”

  Bugger. Never buy a wraparound. It won’t.

  We watched the gilded crowd for a while, or at least I did. Pete never took his eyes off me.

  “Where is the Italian Stallion, by the way? I’d like to get a few words for the paper.”

  I shook my head. “You really don’t want to do that. Nope…I don’t recommend it.”

  “Vince wouldn’t like it?”

  It was my turn to smile. “Vince doesn’t read the paper. It’s your tender ears I’m thinking of. They might be shocked.”

  Pete laughed easily. He grabbed my arm and steered me toward the outdoor patio.

  “Where are we going?” I said, with a sideways glance. Pete looked good from any angle. I like a tall man in a dark-gray suit.

  “Somewhere I can speak with you in private. I never get to see you alone.”

  My flirt-alert went off the scale.

  “Why not? Are you philosophically against calling a girl and asking her out?”

  He laughed. “Now, see? That’s what I like about you, Gina. Always a smart-ass.”

  I took a sip of scotch. “I thought you liked the way I dress.”

  “That too.” Pete’s big hand on my arm was hot. I liked his wavy honey-colored hair, and the set of his solid footballer body.

  “So why haven’t you picked up a phone?” I said.

  “Because I’m not suicidal.” He held the glass door open.

  I paused a beat. “Ah. You fear the family connection. It wasn’t my choice, you know. You don’t get to choose your relatives.”

  As our feet touched the terrace, the night exploded.

  “What the—?” Pete grabbed me, and we slammed to the ground. I landed on his arm. Our drinks went flying. More shots rang out. We rolled.

  The air went quiet.

  Seconds later, Pete pushed away from me. He vaulted up, scanning the terrace for damage. I struggled to see through the dust. When I got to my feet, Pete was standing over a dead body.

  “You fond of that guy from New York?” he said.

  I took a breath. “Not so much, now that he’s full of holes.”