Page 21 of The Killer Cupcake
“Leave her out of it, Janey,” Debbie pleaded. “Whatever you’re planning. Leave her be.”
Janey’s sculpted eyebrows arched high. “Leave her out? You just sat there and confessed thatyouand Matteo are neck-deep in dragging her into it and making her pour over her mama’s private thoughts like some… sometreasure map! Diaries full of things that childdoesn’t understand! Like who her daddy is, and what her Mama did to keep that secret!” Janey’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “I’d bet my last dime she’s gonna find out, reading those ‘stupid books’ Kathy put her soul into and it’s gonna snap what little sense she does have.”
Debbie deflated, sinking back onto the edge of the chair. “I… I have aplan, Janey. A way to handle this. I check on Sandy every day. Weneedher to remember, naturally. The goodandthe bad. The past. Weneedthose memories back. Butyou can’t force them! It doesn’t work like that! That’s not what the doctors told Kathy after… after the accident, the seizures, the surgeries, the medication. This… the diaries, familiar things… It’ssupposedto be the way. Gentle. Natural. Kathy always told me that if something happened to her, to give Sandy those diaries. I swore to her I would.”
Janey moved like lightning. Before Debbie could react, Janey’s hand shot out, fingers like steel vices gripped Debbie’s chin, forced her head up. Debbie gasped at the strength and the sudden intimacy of the assault. Janey’s face was inches from hers, eyes burning with decades-old resentment, her irises golden like flames.
“I told Kathy,” Janey said each word slow, her voice trembling with suppressed rage, “thatyouwere the real poison in this family. Not me. Not Willa. Not Izzy.Not Mae.You. I never forgot, Debbie. Never forgot how you covered for that Wolf when he married thatputtanaMaria Romero. Smiling and encouraging Kathy to believe in her fantasy love while he slunk down to New Orleans, playing the dutiful boyfriend, filling her head with lies until her belly swelled with a baby like yours, except you got your prince and my Kathy only got shame!” Janey’s grip tightened. “Ihad to show her the truthyouknew about all along. You were a lying bitch then, Debbie. And you’re a lying bitch now.”
Debbie wrenched her chin free with a sob, dropping back into the chair. Hot tears welled, threatening to ruin her carefully applied mascara. “Get out!” Debbie choked, pointing a trembling finger towards the door. “Get out of my salon!”
Janey didn’t hurry. She smoothed the front of her elegant black silk suit, walked back to her styling chair, and picked up her hat and purse with deliberate calm. She placed the hat precisely back on her head, the veil casting a slight shadow overher fierce eyes. She paused at the door, turning back for a final shot.
“I’ll be staying with Sandy,” she announced again, her voice regaining its chilling composure. “Whatever secrets you and Matteo think are buried in my sweet sugar-baby’s broken mind,I’mgoing to find them first. And when I do,” she unlocked the deadbolt with a decisive click, “I’ll bring Kathy home myself.”
The bell above the door jingled with obscene cheerfulness as Janey stepped out into the Harlem morning sun, sashaying towards the waiting Cadillac like a queen returning from battle. Debbie stood frozen for a second, then the dam broke. Sobs wracked her body as she crumpled inside. Janey’s words were knives, twisting the oldest, deepest wound. Kathyhadforgiven her for that sin, for the betrayal over Carmelo’s marriage. But Debbie had never forgiven herself. Every kind word, every shared struggle in the hard years since, felt like ashes now after Janey’s lashing.
The sudden, shrill ringing of the salon phone shattered her tears. It rang and rang, insistent, demanding. Wiping furiously at her smearing mascara with the back of her hand, Debbie walked towards the cluttered reception desk near the front. She snatched up the receiver.
“Why the hell aren’t you answering? My guys called – said some woman showed up at the salon! I already have Junior bringing Sandy to my penthouse….”
“What? You have Sandy?” she said with relief.
“Of course! We’re getting married. You forget? You were just supposed to grab your damn appointment book and come straight back!” Matteo’s voice was a furious rasp on the line.
Of course, he had men watching, Debbie thought with a fresh wave of exhaustion.Always watching her.The tears came harder, uncontrollable gasps escaping her.
Matteo’s tirade stopped abruptly. He heard the raw distress. “Debbie? Debbie! What happened? Who was there?”
She couldn’t form words; only harsh, shuddering breaths crackled down the line.
A beat of silence, then Matteo’s voice, lower, harder: “Stay there. Don’t move. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m on my way.” The line went dead.
Debbie slowly replaced the receiver. The silence of the overlit salon pressed in again, now charged with a different kind of dread. She turned, her gaze sweeping over the empty chairs, the gleaming mirrors reflecting her own shattered reflection, the lingering scent of Janey’s gardenias mixed with the acrid smell of her own fear. Mechanically, she walked past the silent hairdryers, through the archway leading to her small back office. She didn’t turn on the light. She dropped onto the worn velvet sofa in the dark, pulled her knees to her chest, and waited for the next storm to arrive. The mysteries of Kathy and Carmelo's disappearance now had two ruthless, opposing forces digging – and Sandy, fragile and unaware, was caught squarely in the middle.
CHAPTER 10
LA REINE NOIRE - 1950
The humid breeze off the Mississippi clung to Kathy's skin and dampened her carefully styled hair as Carmelo guided her down moss-covered stone stairs through a crumbling courtyard off Bourbon Street. Somewhere above, the clip-clop of a mule cart and the distant wail of a trumpet spoke of the segregated city that existed in daylight. But here, behind an unmarked iron door, jazz pulsated like a living heartbeat. This was where another South breathed—underground, alive, and unapologetically free.
Aunt Janey swept in first, a regal silhouette in emerald silk that made the massive Sicilian bouncer snap to attention like a soldier before his general. "Evenin', Miss Janey," he murmured, his eyes darting nervously to her companion, Capo Carmine Boanno, whose diamond cufflinks caught the amber light. The bouncer didn't speak to Carmelo, who gently pushed Kathy and Willa forward to enter before him, but gave the young fighter a nod of unmistakable respect.
Then came the assault on the senses—the heat, the noise, the intoxicating aliveness of it all.
The speakeasy was a cathedral of sin and smoke, where morality came to die and be reborn as something more honest.Ceiling lighting dripped golden luminance onto a swirling dance floor, where Black musicians tore into a hypnotic mix of Zydeco, South Louisiana Creole-infused rhythm and blues, and swing music that had evolved from jazz. Their horns wept and soared with the passion of the truly free. Creole women in bias-cut gowns that cost more than most people's yearly wages laughed intimately with their men, who all looked to be of wealth and prominence. Sicilian men had several of their ladies on their arms. These men in sharply tailored suits, gold crucifixes glinting against black and curly chest hair, gazed at you no matter where you stepped. At the bar, a stunning light-skinned beauty passed aged whiskey to a mob captain with a scar carved through his left eyebrow like a badge of honor.
There were no "White Only" signs here. No segregated corners or apologetic glances. Just the mob's iron law, more absolute than any government decree: Money outranks color, always.
Kathy felt Carmelo's hand tighten possessively at her hip, his touch burning through the silk of her dress. "This is my world now," he bragged, his voice low and intense. "I want you to see it. All of it."
She glanced back over her shoulder at him, and without warning, he boldly brushed his lips across hers in a kiss that tasted of defiance. Kathy's eyes fluttered in shock—it was the first kiss he'd ever dared give her in public, around his people. She would rather die than kiss him in front of her father, yet here he was, claiming her openly.
The acceptance rendered her speechless, her heart hammering against her ribs as her gaze swept over the mobsters around the room, his tongue delving deeper. A few gave her sly smiles and appreciative looks, their eyes holding nothing but interest. None seemed angered or disgusted by their obvious affection.
Carmelo's smile was triumphant, almost boyish in its pride when their lips parted.
Then a gasp next to them made her snap out of it.
