“Yeah, that promise is out the window,” I mutter. “I’m going to tell him I don’t feel well, make it clear that I’m not interested in seeing him again, and get back to my bungalow as fast as possible. I’ve got an excursion planned tomorrow, so I won’t be at the resort. I doubt Mafia guys go on excursions.”
“Unless they’re trying to find a place to hide a body,” Sarah jokes.
“Sarah!” I shake my head angrily. “Don’t say that! I’m just going to treat him like any other guy.”
“Then it should be easy to turn him down if he asks for a second date,” she says, still trying to joke with me. “You never go on second dates.”
“Exactly!” I nod, although I’m not happy that she used that as a frame of reference. “I’ll let him down—gently. Then I’ll never talk to him again. Never even think about him again!”
“I’ll keep looking into the Morandi Crime Family and the Dirty Vegas Mafia. If I find anything interesting, I’ll text you,” Sarah offers.
“Thank you,” I say. “Now I need to get ready for my date…”
Sarah and I say our goodbyes and I end the call. I sink into the couch and stare at the ceiling. This is why I don’t take drinks from strangers. This is why I don’t agree to go out with guys I just met. This is why I stay away from guys covered in tattoos—they’re always bad news. I should have listened to my gut. Maybe I sensed danger and that’s why I was seasick to begin with.
“Okay.” I take a few deep breaths and try to gather what is left of my composure. “I can do this.”
Dwelling on my regrets and what I should have done won’t get me through this evening. I’ll treat it like any other first date. I’m an expert at terrible first dates. Granted, they usually aren’t my fault.
I walk over to my bags and open my suitcase. I brought several dresses with me. I put them all on the bed and take a step back. I’d normally wear the black dress my grandmother bought me. That’s my every-first-date dress. But that’s what I wear when I want to impress the guy across the table. I don’t want to impress Massimo. The exact opposite, actually.
“Massimo probably wants some sweet, submissive girl who fawns over him,” I say, picking up my red dress. “That’s what guys like him usually want. I think. I’ll be the exact opposite.”
Sassy red, as my grandmother used to call it. I wish she was here. I don’t have any sassiness in me right now. My grandmother would march right up to Massimo, grab him by the ear, andthrow him in the Pacific. Then again, maybe it’s best that she’s not here. That might get both of us killed.
“Sarah better do a podcast about me if I go missing tonight,” I mutter, taking a deep breath as I sit down to do my makeup. “And she better not let me turn into another cold case!”
My facade of bravery sounds hollow, even to me, but I’m better at turning guys off than turning them on. It should be easy enough to convince Massimo I’m not worth the effort. He’s not going to murder someone because they were a terrible date. I hope. I wish I wasn’t thinking about that right now.
I mentally and physically stumble my way through getting ready. Despite my nervousness, my reflection doesn’t look half bad. Under different circumstances, I’d be happy walking into a restaurant looking like this for a date.
As soon as I leave the bungalow, I get a message from Sarah.
Sarah: Hey, so I’m looking into the murder of Layla Morandi. Nobody has ever gotten so much as a statement from the family about it, except for the one their lawyer released. It’s extremely vague.
Lea: If there was a confession, he’d be in prison right now instead of waiting for me, right?
Sarah: Yeah, but I think you’re missing the point. You’re having dinner with him. It might come up in in conversation.
Lea: I don’t plan on staying long enough to get into any conversations like that.
Sarah: You should ask him about her. He might let his guard down and say something useful. I could have you on mypodcast after you get back. All the Mafia fans will go crazy for that kind of content!
Lea: You want me to ask him if he killed his wife? So you can get some hits on your podcast? Are you crazy?
Sarah: Well, no, don’t ask him if he did it! Just ask what happened! Do it casually, like normal conversation. Anything he says will be more information than anyone else has. It’ll basically be an exclusive.
“Ugh!” I say angrily, squeezing my phone so hard the case bends before I start typing again.
Lea: If it comes up in conversation. I love you, but I’m more worried about staying alive than getting an exclusive for your podcast.
Sarah: You’re the best! Love you, too!
My best friend.
Of course she’s already figured out how to turn my misfortune into content for her podcast. And she knows I’ll do it, because I’d do anything for her. I’d like to believe that goes both ways. But maybe I can use this to my advantage. I doubt anyone wants to spend their first date with someone new talking about their dead wife.
I’m probably foolish for thinking this, but I don’t believe Massimo killed his wife. That wasn’t self-inflicted pain I saw on his face. Why would he have worn his wedding band for so long if he killed her? The outline is still on his finger. Sarah said it’s a cold case now, so it’s not like anyone is investigating it.Well, except for true crime podcasters like Sarah. She’s probably salivating right now.
