Rags to Witches Read online

  I wanted Tyler, not Rocco, but that wasn’t happening until I left Las Vegas. I flashed back to Tyler when he pulled us over on the highway. His brilliant smile, looking handsome in his uniform.

  It suddenly dawned on me that Aunt Pearl probably had an inkling of my secret attraction to Tyler. Maybe she had kidnapped me not just to help Rocco, but to keep me from Tyler. As sheriff, he was the bane of her existence. She was forever testing the limits of the law and getting into trouble. She would be horrified at the thought of me dating him. But we had gone to great lengths to keep our secret from everyone including Aunt Pearl, so it was possible that she didn’t know a thing.

  Or maybe she knew everything. I shivered.

  “Oh, Cen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did I mention that you’re a pallbearer? Better take your place behind Rocco.” She pointed towards Rocco, who stood with four elderly men. I wondered if they were Racatelli relatives, roped into action. If they were, they looked a lot older than Carla had been.

  “What? No!” Suddenly everyone went silent and all eyes were on me. Even the traffic on the nearby street seemed to have come to a standstill.

  “Cendrine West, get your butt in gear and get in line.” Aunt Pearl shooed me towards the men. For the first time, I noticed the coffin on a stand behind them.

  And everyone noticed me. I slinked over towards the men and, since I had no choice, took my place.

  I jumped at a low whistle.

  “Psst!” Aunt Pearl gave me a thumbs up.

  That attracted the attention of two swarthy-looking men built like NFL linebackers. I recognized them immediately as Rocco’s security guys and wondered why I was a pallbearer instead of one or both of the two muscle men.

  Of course.

  They needed to keep their hands free, in case they had to pull their guns to protect Rocco.

  I shuddered. Anyone shooting at Rocco would be aiming towards me too. I would be standing a few feet directly behind him as pallbearer.

  This was too much to ask of anyone, and I wasn’t willing to put my life in mortal danger by carrying a crime boss’s coffin. I walked towards Aunt Pearl. Her back was turned as she talked with Mom, so she didn’t see me until I tapped her elbow.

  “Cendrine West, get back in your place.” Aunt Pearl’s eyes widened. “Hurry!”

  I shook my head. “No, Aunt Pearl. I don’t belong here, and I want to go home.” With no car and with no money for a plane ticket, my options were limited. I looked helplessly at Mom. Couldn’t she do something?

  Mom shook her head ever so slightly, hoping her sister wouldn’t notice.

  “No, you have to stay, Cen.” Aunt Pearl pursed her lips. “The procession needs you as pallbearer. I desperately need your help too.”

  “Why me?” I felt guilty making waves at such a solemn occasion, but I also felt trouble brewing. Whatever Aunt Pearl had up her sleeve was bound to be dangerous, embarrassing, or both.

  “You’re a distraction.” She tucked a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. “You know, eye candy. To hold the attention of those trigger-happy young guns while Ruby and I work our magic.”

  “I don’t see why—”

  “Don’t argue with me. Remember, I sprained my ankle, so you’re taking my place as pallbearer.” Aunt Pearl’s bottom lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout as a walker magically appeared in front of her. “That’s the story. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  I frowned. “I don’t remember you hurting yourself. You looked pretty spry earlier today.”

  “That was just an act, Cen. Look at me, I can barely walk.” Aunt Pearl’s bottom lip quivered. “If you don’t take my place you’ll ruin Carla’s funeral.”

  “I doubt she will notice.”

  “Just help me out of this jam,” Aunt Pearl said. “You only have to walk a few feet and it will be over.”

  Arguing with Aunt Pearl was futile. She always won an argument, and I was too tired to put up much of a fight.

  The other pallbearers stared pointedly at me. Apparently, I was holding up the show.

  I didn’t know what was more horrifying—carrying a corpse at a mob funeral, or my seemingly uncontrollable attraction to Rocco. What I did know was that Aunt Pearl would make waves if I didn’t follow her wishes.

  The last thing I wanted was closer ties with someone who operated on the fringes of society. Because if there was one thing I knew about the Racatelli family, it was that they were connected to some very powerful people in the crime world. People I didn’t want to know that I even existed.

  More troubling was Aunt Pearl’s apparent tie to the Racatelli family. She hadn’t mentioned Carla even once since the Racatelli family’s sudden move from Westwick Corners over a decade ago, and she wasn’t one for long distance communications. Something else was up, I felt sure of it.

  Chapter 17

  The funeral finally got underway an hour late, with no explanation given for the delay. While Rocco and his entourage waited in his air-conditioned limo, Aunt Pearl, Mom, and I stood on the hot asphalt with the rest of the mourners, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, and I already felt sunburnt. I wiped sweat from my brow and shifted my weight from one uncomfortable shoe to another.

  Rocco stepped out of his limo, flanked by four beefy bodyguards. Two I recognized from earlier, and two I hadn’t seen before. We waited as Rocco and his entourage walked slowly up the asphalt road to where we stood outside the building.

  It was a day meant more for tank tops and shorts than winter-weight wool suits, and I felt faint from the heat. I couldn’t wait until the service was over.

  The undertaker slid the coffin from the hearse and directed the pallbearers to our places. Rather than being behind Rocco as planned, I was sandwiched between two frail-looking men in their seventies. Both had hunched backs and looked even more ready to collapse from the heat than I was.

  I had never been a pallbearer before and was extremely nervous. It wasn’t really the kind of thing you could do a dry run on. Luckily I had one of the middle spots, so I would simply take cues from the other pallbearers. They were all decades older than me, so I assumed that they had probably done this sort of thing before.

  I took my place and grasped the metal handhold. The casket was on my right. I had no confidence whatsoever in any of my fellow pallbearers, who all looked like they’d have trouble carrying a bag of groceries further than a city block. I just hoped we were collectively strong enough. The distance to the gravesite was only fifty yards, but plenty could go wrong.

  It seemed strange that I was the only female pallbearer, particularly as I was a last minute substitute for Aunt Pearl. She was a shade under five feet tall and there was no way she could have pulled it off without resorting to witchcraft. She was an odd choice to begin with. We all were, considering all the young, sturdy-looking men around. There were probably a hundred people present, any one of which were probably closer to Carla or Rocco than I was. I could see why the bodyguards were given a pass, but what about the other able-bodied guests? Why weren’t they chosen as pallbearers?

  I wiped sweat from my brow with my free hand as I realized Aunt Pearl had planned my pallbearer duties all along. As usual, she had a plan. I just wished I knew what it was.

  I grew more exhausted with each step. I struggled to keep Carla’s coffin level with the other pallbearers who, though frail, were quite a bit taller than I was. I held my arms uncomfortably high just to keep in alignment with the others.

  Carla’s coffin was heavy beyond belief, and I felt as though I would collapse at any moment. Judging by our slow gait, the other pallbearers had problems balancing the weight too.

  We continued our glacial pace over the uneven asphalt. I counted every step as we lurched and then steadied ourselves, over and over again. We trudged towards the burial site, still a good forty yards away. I grew hotter and sweatier as the coffin’s sharp metal handle dug into my hand. We were about halfway ther
e, but the pain in my hand had become unbearable.

  At this rate, I might pass out before we reached the gravesite. I glanced at my frail, elderly male companions and wondered about our ability to pull this thing off.

  One, two, three...

  I silently counted my steps, thinking I had a hundred at the most before I could put the heavy wooden box down.

  Fourteen, fifteen...

  The man in front of me tripped over a crack in the asphalt and lurched forwards and sideways. He fell to his knees, still grasping the casket with one hand.

  My knees strained under the weight, and it was all I could do not to trip on top of him. I instantly regretted my lapsed weightlifting workouts. My right leg buckled as I lunged forward. That put me out of sync with my fellow pallbearers and their shuffling pace. I teetered for a moment and then regained my balance. We all paused for a moment as the coffin’s weight shifted precariously.

  Someone helped the fallen man back to his feet. To my surprise, he resumed his place in front of me. I had expected someone to take his place, but no one did.

  “Wow, this is heavy,” I said under my breath. “Carla must have gained a lot of weight.” If any of the other pallbearers heard me, they didn’t acknowledge it.

  “Ready? One, two, three.” The man in front spoke just loud enough for me to hear. “Let’s go slower this time.”

  I groaned. If anything, I thought we should speed up before we lost momentum. I didn’t dare say anything, though.

  We obeyed and shuffled down the asphalt towards the undertaker like a geriatric military column in slow motion. The undertaker directed us to turn right off the asphalt and onto the grass. We trudged along the uneven ground down a row of gravestones. It was becoming harder and harder to stay in formation, maintain my balance and hold the casket level all at the same time.

  I focused on my footsteps, putting one foot in front of the other.

  We managed a few more feet onto the grass when my balance shifted. The casket handle dug even further into my hand, cutting off all circulation. My hand went numb and I could no longer feel the casket’s metal handle. I willed myself to go forward. Just a few more steps and I would be done.

  It had been a long time since I last saw Carla Racatelli, but even allowing for ten years of Las Vegas-sized meal portions, the casket was heavy beyond belief.

  Which seemed odd, because the Carla I remembered was a lightweight like Aunt Pearl who barely weighed a hundred pounds. Any weight gain would be dispersed amongst all six of us, so it shouldn’t require superhuman strength. Once again my knees buckled under the weight.

  My hand throbbed in pain as I focused on the ground, counting the last few steps and the seconds until we reached Carla’s final resting place where I could finally release my aching hand.

  A small group of men and women dressed in dark clothing gathered around the open gravesite, with the rest of the procession following behind us. We gained momentum as we grew closer.

  Less than ten feet until I could release my hand.

  The next few moments were a blur as the casket bottom cracked and something broke through. I froze in my tracks as the weight shifted.

  A woman screamed and pointed in our direction.

  I glanced at the casket and my mouth dropped open in horror.

  A set of legs protruded from the bottom of the casket right beside me.

  I screamed.

  Hairy legs. Definitely male calves protruding from pushed up trouser legs. The legs were attached to a body that was undeniably male, with a potbelly barely constrained under a black pinstriped suit.

  Not Carla.

  The corpse thudded on the ground like a crash test dummy afflicted with advanced rigor mortis.

  The coffin lurched skyward from the sudden decrease in weight. I tried to right myself. This time it was too little, too late. The coffin flew from our hands as it dropped forward headfirst onto the grass and tilted sideways. It landed with a thud on top of the corpse.

  Mom screamed and pointed to the casket. “That’s not Carla.”

  It sure wasn’t, unless Carla Racatelli had turned into an overweight man.

  Aunt Pearl swooned and fell backwards into the crowd of people huddled around the coffin. Two burly thirty-something men in black suits caught her and helped her to the back of the hearse, where she rested against the tailgate.

  A hinge squeaked as the casket cover swung open. Tiny Carla Racatelli smiled serenely at the crowd, her arms folded neatly across her rigid body. She had somehow remained inside the casket, and for that I was grateful.

  A couple of teenage boys snapped pictures with their cell phones. I shuddered to think of what they would be posting on Facebook, Instagram, or some other social media site. It had taken death, but Carla and her uninvited guest were about to go viral.

  “Hey, put your phones away and help us right the casket!” I pointed at the boys and directed them to pick up the casket and carry it to the gravesite.

  They were so shocked at my outburst that they reluctantly slipped their phones into their pockets and complied.

  “Serves her right,” muttered a hunchbacked man dressed all in black. “She got what was coming to her.”

  An argument broke out between two men standing behind him, while still others speculated on who would be hit next. The somber funeral had turned into an Italian shouting match, and I wondered when they would start throwing things at each other.

  Or worse, I thought as I spotted Rocco’s bodyguards all reaching under their suit jackets.

  “What the hell is going on?” Rocco Racatelli stepped in front of the mortician, blocking his path. “What have you done to my grandma?”

  “I—I don’t understand. I put Mrs. Racatelli in the coffin myself.” The mortician flushed and broke into a sweat as he knelt on the grass. He took a deep breath and closed the casket lid. “All good. She’s still in there.”

  “My grandma prepaid for a funeral with all the works,” Rocco said. “Not some two-for-one Groupon deal with a half-assed casket. You’re going to regret this.”

  The two men who had helped Aunt Pearl suddenly stepped closer to the mortician. He trembled, visibly afraid.

  “Not now, boys.” Rocco waved them away.

  Aunt Pearl suddenly materialized at my side. “Carla would be mortified. She never flew economy class. She would never do something cheap like a shared coffin.”

  The mortician paled. “Someone has tampered with the coffin. It’s got a false bottom.”

  “You mean like a double-decker coffin?” That explained the heavy casket. Together, Carla and the mystery man probably weighed over three hundred pounds.

  It was certainly an ingenious way to get rid of a body, and it had only worked because of Carla’s tiny stature.

  At least, it had almost worked.

  Carla’s body was on top, so if not for the coffin fiasco, no one would have known that two bodies shared the casket. Rarely did anyone search for missing persons in a graveyard.

  But just who was the unidentified corpse? Someone had to be missing him. “Anyone know who this guy is?”

  Everyone stared at me like I was an idiot.

  “You don’t know?” Rocco hesitated before answering. “Danny ‘Bones’ Battilana.”

  “Bones?” I gasped. This pot-bellied man looked nothing like his nickname, and I couldn’t believe he was the one who had broken Mom’s heart. I stole a glance at Mom, who sniffled into a Kleenex.

  “Oh. I just assumed you knew him.” Rocco’s brows arched in surprise.

  I shook my head, a bit miffed that I was apparently the only one who didn’t know of Mom’s secret affair. “I’ve uh, heard of him.”

  Death gave Bones an ironclad alibi. Judging by the condition of his corpse, he had been dead longer than Carla. The bullet hole in the middle of his forehead also implied that his death wasn’t from natural causes.

  If Bones didn’t kill Carla, then who did? Maybe the same person had killed both of them. T
hey were both the heads of their respective crime families, so clearly someone was vying for power.

  I scanned the crowd, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Whoever the killer was, he or she was probably here at the graveside. I stepped away from Rocco, just in case he was the next target.

  I jumped as someone touched my elbow. I yanked it away. “What the—”

  “Cen, stop acting so jumpy.” Mom clutched my arm. Tears streamed down her face, and she was clearly distraught. She leaned against me. “Who would do something like this?”

  Should I pretend not to know about Bones? I looked to Aunt Pearl for guidance but she was too busy talking to Rocco to notice. I decided now wasn’t the time or place to question her about her secret lover. “Somebody wanting to cover up a murder, I guess.”

  “Why hide him in Carla’s casket, of all places?” Mom’s brows furrowed together. “They look like they’re sleeping together.”

  “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t my place to tell her, but Mom had no idea how right she was. I hoped nobody would, just to spare her the hurt. “You seem to be handling it okay.”

  “Huh? Well, these things happen.” Mom shrugged. “Not much we can do about it.”

  I was dying to get the lowdown on Mom’s relationship with Bones Battilana, but I didn’t dare ask, in case someone overheard. Whoever knew of Mom’s relationship with Bones might come after her, assuming she was privy to his secrets. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that a tit-for-tat mob vendetta would only escalate things. I had to figure out a way to stop the turf war before it claimed more victims.

  Chapter 18

  Rocco had spared no expense for Carla’s funeral. There was enough gourmet food to feed an army of mourners, and mobster mourners seemed to have especially hearty appetites. A steady stream of guests trickled in and out of the banquet room to pay their respects to Rocco. He stood by the doors, chatting with three women who looked to be about Carla’s age.

  Another dozen or so people milled around a large buffet table laden with canapés, fancy finger sandwiches, French pastries, and exotic fruits. But most of the crowd gathered at the bar, where a bartender poured liberal shots of whiskey, brandy, and Italian liqueurs. The conversations grew louder with each pour, most focussed on the Bones Battilana coffin fiasco, and speculation on how exactly he came to his dramatic end.