Road Trips, Blue Skies & Dead Guys

By Jennifer Fischetto

From USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Fischetto comes a ghost whisperer on the road...

Reluctant ghost whisperer Gianna Mancini’s mother loves collecting murderabilia–objects once belonging to murder victims. It’s become quite a hobby, to the point where she has a basement full of items. When Gianna discovers there’s a ghost living down there—attached to the dead woman’s handbag—Gianna asks the departed to move on. But the senior citizen, Betty, is determined to first get revenge on the person who pushed her down a flight of stairs. And she knows exactly who it is. Her best friend.

In an effort to help Betty go to the light, Gianna, Ma, Betty, and Gianna’s detective brother, Enzo, decide to take a road trip to Betty's hometown of Chance, MA to poke around to see if they can find clues to lead the police to this supposedly guilty best friend.

But the more they dig, the more secrets stumble at their feet, and before long, they realize there’s a list of suspects who could’ve killed Betty for her handbag. The local police don’t appreciate out-of-towners nosing around any more than the people in Betty's former life. Before long Gianna finds herself being chased, kidnapped, and threatened. Can she get to the truth before this road trip takes a deadly turn?

What critics are saying about the Gianna Mancini Mysteries:

"Brilliant! Jennifer Fischetto has spun an entertaining tale."
~ Kings River Life Magazine

"Quirky but oh so fun cozy mystery. If you like your cozy mysteries on the humorous side, then look no further!"
~ Fresh Fiction

"Jennifer Fischetto serves up a delicious cozy mystery with this fun ghost story. If you are a fan of the genre this is a fun read that will leave you with a smile."
~ Night Owl Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
• Release date: May 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224832750

Jennifer Fischetto

Jennifer Fischetto is the USA TODAY Bestselling author of the Gianna Mancini paranormal cozy mystery series, as well as a dozen other titles. She writes family-centric murder mysteries and things that go bump in the night.A lover of rainstorms and snow, she prefers fiction over reality and longs to live in a world where French fries grow on trees, chocolate appears whenever desired, and every day is October. She watches too much television and movies, which fuel her never-ending supply of plot ideas, and is a rabid fan of suspense, horror, and everything supernatural.You can learn about her next book by subscribing to her newsletter at https://jenniferfischetto.com/newsletter/

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Gathering at Ma and Pop's every week for Sunday dinner, which is technically lunchtime, is mandatory in my family, but no one actually minds. Most of the time. Today is definitely a happy day, with the sun shining, laughter circling the table, and a feast of al dente spaghetti and savory meatballs smothered in my parents' homemade marinara, crisp garden salad dressed in a vinaigrette, and warm Italian bread—bakery bought but heated up in our oven just before slicing. Simple but hearty and delicious.

We're in the dining room, the only table that will hold all of us comfortably, and the front window is open. A slight breeze ruffles the sheers, and neighboring lilac bushes add a floral scent to our dinner. It's surprisingly cool for this time of year, and everyone is enjoying it.

Halfway through our meal, and we've already gone around with our weekly news. There isn't any this week, like most, and that makes for a more relaxing time. At the moment, there are three conversations going on at once. That happens when nine people sit around a large table and catch up.

I quickly pull out of my own discussion and tune in to the other two around me for a second. My brother Enzo and my fiancé Julian are talking about fishing. It's the activity they share, the one that first got them hanging out and becoming close. It's cute, and I'm glad they have each other for it because Julian's not getting me to bait a hook and sit on the mosquito-infested docks waiting for some gullible fish to end up on my plate. Nope, I'd rather walk into the grocery store and pretend the salmon and haddock just ended up there by divine intervention.

Pop, my niece Alice, and my brother-in-law Paulie are talking about our family owned deli, Alice working there on Saturdays and school vacations, and her heading off to college in two years. She has her heart set on going away and living in a dorm, maybe even joining a sorority. She definitely doesn't take after me or her mother on that front. I went local and lived at home, and Izzie didn't go at all due to, well, Alice.

I can't believe my niece is already a junior in high school. Wasn't I just helping her learn how to walk? Now, she's practically grown in a soft pink dress that hugs her teen figure and her naturally blonde hair bleached to appear platinum. Izzie wasn't fond of that, but Alice had been begging for almost a year, and my sister finally caved. She had one caveat, though. Alice had to have it done professionally. No, spray on Sun In or over-the-counter bleaches from CVS. Of course the girl was ecstatic.

And speaking of growing up fast, my two-year-old nephew, Giovanni, sits in his highchair, between his parents, smushing the small chunk of meatball Paulie gave him between his fat fingers. There's a ring of sauce around his mouth, with more on his chin and the tip of his nose. It looks like there's some in his wavy brown hair too. He's giggling in his own little meatball world, and it's hard to not join in.

They already fed him a variety of baby foods. Spaghetti and salad isn't easy on someone so little. But to make him feel like he's a part of our meal, they also gave him the meatball chunk, some chopped-up pasta—and I mean cut up so small I wouldn't know what it is if I didn't see Izzie attack it with her fork—and a slice of bread torn into toddler bite-size pieces. There's a large, plastic mat beneath his chair for the inevitable food droppings. Ma invested in it as soon as the little bugger learned to sit up on his own.

Gianna, are you listening? Ma asks, interrupting my thoughts.

I stare at Ma with her brown hair in big, bouncy curls framing her face. She still sets it on Saturday nights in curlers. The soft red lipstick she wore has faded due to eating and wiping her mouth, but just enough remains to give her mouth a glow. Or is that tomato sauce?

Yes, sorry. Go on, I say.

The third conversation consists of Ma, Izzie, and me talking about my upcoming wedding. Well, they're talking about their weddings and the great and not so great memories. Izzie's cake didn't taste as good as the sample. Ma's two sisters argued over who was the senior maid-of-honor since Ma couldn't decide between them and made them both MOH. This was when the oldest sister, Stella, was still alive. Ma says the role should've gone to Aunt Stella by default, being the eldest and all, but Ma was closer to the youngest, Aunt Angela.

Ma touches my hand. Izzie and I are seated across the table from each other, with Ma at the head, to our side. Just remember that the actual wedding isn't as important as you think it is.

Izzie's nodding as if she knows. She and Paulie got hitched in the backyard. She didn't have to worry about seating arrangements or even who to invite.

What matters is the life you two share in the future, Ma says.

Izzie continues nodding and adds in a smile. Should I tell her there's a piece of lettuce in between her front teeth? I should, but I just grin back.

Ma, however, notices it and motions to her eldest daughter. Izzie rolls her eyes at me, knowing I saw it and decided to keep quiet. What are younger sisters for? I would've immediately said something if we were out in public. I'm not completely coldhearted, just having a moment of fun.

When Julian first proposed, he had some preconceived ideas about our big day. I did not. In fact, it wasn't something I've been planning in my head since childhood like some other women. We had to sit down one evening and not only listen to each other but list our must-haves. This took place a month after we became engaged, and I was afraid he'd insist on a big to-do. I was surprised when his must-have was simply marrying me. He's so great! And what a turnaround from his initial ideas of a church ceremony with a harp or some musical number. That is not my style, and I'm grateful he realized it's not his either.

My list, however, isn't nonexistent. It isn't long either.

I don't want anything traditional and nothing too pretentious. I already picked out the white dress that lands somewhere between casual and fancy. A simple, sleeveless, V-neck gown with a chiffon overlay at the skirt that cinches at the waist, five buttons on the back, and white vines, leaves, and flowers with tiny pearl centers sewn all over the bosom. It's quite stunning, and I can't believe I found it on discount.

Julian says there's no price limit on my dress or the festivities, and my parents said they'd spring for the dress, but I don't want any of them paying for it. I'm an adult. Granted, Izzie's and my public relations business is still new, but we're making enough money that I can afford actual groceries and I don't have a fridge full of deli items anymore. That's progress. And the bridal store has a payment plan. They have to make a few adjustments on the fit, so it's not like I was taking it home that day anyway. No, this is my day and my dress. I'm paying for it.

As for everything else, I won't say no to Julian handing over his credit card, but I'm being mindful of overall cost too. Like Ma just said, I'd rather be concerned about finding a place to live that we both love more than one lavish party.

We already booked a venue out east. They specialize in weddings, so we have a choice between an intimate ceremony in their flower garden or a larger one on the lawn overlooking the Sound, and then there are three different size banquet rooms, depending on how many guests. This is where I'm stuck. I'm happy with it just being the nine of us as well as my friend and Enzo's girlfriend (yes, they finally made their relationship official), Fiona, and Ma's and my—mostly Ma's—friend, Winnie.

But Julian wonders how Ma's family will feel. Aunt Angela, my cousin Claudia who just got divorced, and the rest of them. I met Julian due to my cousin, and I did live with her for a few years in Connecticut. He feels we owe them. I disagree, but I understand the sentiment. I think he wants as many people as possible because he doesn't have any family at all. I feel bad about that, and if filling the place with my family will help him, I'm all for that on one hand. On the other, if we invite Ma's side, then shouldn't we invite Pop's side? And they're, well, weird.

So while Julian doesn't have any absolutes, he wants to hire a planner. Someone to help us iron out the details with the wedding venue. We've set the date for next spring, a year from now, and time is running out. The invites need to go out soon.

I tried telling him that I was a wedding planner, but he reminded me I did that for just a few months, and hiring someone else takes the pressure off us, even though a second opinion won't help me decide on the guest list. We're meeting with a few planners in a couple of weeks. I guess he has a must-have list, in a way, after all.

I haven't told the family about hiring anyone. Ma is too excited about helping set up my big day. I don't want to take that away from her just yet. Let's see if we like someone first, and then Julian can let Ma down.

Hey. It is his idea.

Did you hear that? Ma whispers and widens her eyes.

Izzie and I glance around, as if that helps with our hearing. Apparently no one else heard anything, because they're still chatting about fishing and college majors. And now the top front of Giovanni's hair stands upright due to some meatball marinara gel.

I can't help but giggle this time. That boy is going to need a full bath before dessert.

Before Izzie turns to her son to see what I'm laughing at, there's a loud clunk.

I frown and ask, What was that?

Ma stares at me. You finally heard it. It's been happening all week.

Now everyone is silent, listening to Ma. They all must've heard it too.

Pop softly sighs. If we all weren't talking or eating, I doubt I would've heard him. It hasn't been constant. It's just the pipes. The house is getting old. Like us.

Six heads turn toward Ma to see her reaction to that bold statement.

Ha! She tosses her napkin beside her plate and winks at her husband. Speak for yourself, old man.

Pop's chest rumbles with laughter, and all of us join in. Even Giovanni.

Izzie finally looks at him and nearly shrieks. Okay, I'm being dramatic, but the sound that emits from her causes everyone to stop chuckling and stare. Of course, his appearance makes Alice and Enzo laugh even harder.

Paulie takes several napkins and wipes off the tot's hands and then pulls some gunk from his hair.

Giovanni's face turns almost as red as the sauce, and a wail exits his mouth with fury. He's no longer having fun. No!

Now everyone is laughing again, and the tyke looks up in surprise.

Izzie pushes her chair back and lifts her son from the seat. It's a good thing I brought an extra pair of clothes.

The bubbles are under the sink in the upstairs bathroom, Ma says as Izzie carefully swings Giovanni onto her hip and grabs the diaper bag by the front door before heading up.

There's another clunk, and I consider joking about there being a ghost in the house, but since I've spent most of my life seeing and communicating with them and my family had to deal with that not-so-fun ability of mine, I keep my mouth shut.

Instead I ask, Have you called someone to look at it?

Pop, Paulie, Enzo, and even non-handyman Julian all stare at me as if I just announced I'm calling off the engagement to join the circus to eat fire.

Ma's sigh is audible.

It's just the pipes, Pop says. Houses settle. It's what they do.

I glance at Ma, and her head is down as she stares at her mostly eaten dinner. If she's not partaking in this concern, it means she either agrees with Pop or has tried discussing it in the past with the same result. My bet is on the latter.

What if something is actually wrong though? I ask.

Enzo shakes his head. We'll take a look after we're done eating.

Pop seems okay with that idea, and they go back to discussing fish and the dangers of hazing.

Ma pats my hand and whispers, Thank you for trying.

Apparently she and Pop have discussed it and he dismissed it. I haven't seen Ma back down to something she wants often in my life, so this must be important to Pop. I imagine she doesn't want to stomp on his authority in the house. She was the discipliner when we were growing up, and I watched him give in to her desires and fears numerous times. I can't recall many times when it was reversed like this. Relationships are about balance and compromise. I get that. Pop is usually so calm that most things aren't confrontational for him. This feels more important though. I don't know anything about pipes, but what if one blows? Can't that be dangerous?

Izzie returns with a clean little boy just as we're finishing our meal. She sets him in the playpen in the living room and goes about cleaning off the highchair and mat, while Alice, Ma, and I clear off the table.

The usual next step is the men plopping themselves down in front of the TV while us womenfolk wash up and make coffee. But today, the four of them head down to the basement first.

Do any of them know what they're doing? Izzie asks as she holds the highchair's tray over the trash can, pushing the bits of meat and bread into the bag.

The men's voices travel upstairs, but what they're saying isn't clear.

Talking to the pipes won't help, Ma shouts from the top of the stairs with a load of dirty dishes in her hands. She walks to the sink and whispers, Why do men always think they can fix things themselves and don't just call a professional?

Izzie and I exchange grins. We're not going to answer her, but I'm fairly certain my sister would agree. Luckily I don't know this side of Julian. Sure we lived together for a while back in Connecticut, but that was in an apartment. If there was anything broken or making weird sounds, he called the landlord and didn't worry about it getting fixed.

I have to see if standing around talking about the pipes is all they're doing, so I head down, careful to hold on to the wall and the banister on the steps. As a kid, I was frequently afraid a monster was hiding under the stairs and it would grab my ankles. Now, as an adult, the idea only skitters across my mind every once in a while, but I'm wearing heels and don't want to slip. Yeah, that's a new development for me. The shoes.

Normally I'm all about the chunky-heeled boots, and while that weather is nowhere in sight, today felt like a day to wear something different. With the new business, I'm more into dressing up. Not gowns and diamonds or even suits and pearls. More business-casual skirts and blouses. And since I'll likely wear heels for the wedding—I'm five-two to Julian's five-ten—I figure I should get used to walking in them. So I'll put them on when I won't be doing a lot of walking, like at the office and here for Sunday dinners.

When I reach the bottom, sure enough the four of them are near the back of the room by the furnace, pointing and talking about the snake of metal pipes along the ceiling above the washer and dryer and Ma's old covered, standing sewing machine.

They're not too close to my collection, are they? Ma asks from upstairs.

No. They're a good three feet from Ma's shelves of murderabilia, which stands on the opposite side of the basement.

Each metal shelving unit is five shelves high, standing well above my head. There are no backs, so they're positioned four together in a cube, with enough space to walk between them, and the last one, the newest one, is pressed against the wall.

Ma said she'd recently received something new. A purse. I haven't seen it yet. I'm surprised she didn't follow me down to show me. She's quite proud of her collection. I don't blame her. She's been collecting for years. A wrench that once belonged to a mechanic who was bludgeoned by his ex-business partner. The red nose of the clown who died when I first moved back to South Shore Beach. An umbrella used in the death of a subway rider. And even a lipstick from a woman who poisoned her husband. Plus countless more. Some of these items are from legit crime cases. Some can't be proven. We're sure some are fake. Ma loves them all though.

Pop, Enzo, Paulie, and Izzie think it's macabre. Julian probably agrees, but he's kind enough to keep his opinion to himself. Alice and I think it's fascinating.

My gaze passes a compact that supposedly belonged to an actress who was strangled many years ago in California and lands on something I haven't seen before. A small, Tiffany blue bowler bag with white stitching, two sturdy, upright handles, and a long strap coiled around it. It's plain, simple, and stunning.

I walk over and pick it up by the handles to get a better look.

Back off. It's mine, someone shouts in my ear.

I jump and spin to my right, dropping the purse back onto the shelf in the process. It makes a light thud like my racing heart.

Hovering beside me is a short, elderly woman with white hair, bright-blue eyes, and a nasty-looking gash on her left temple. She's dressed in a short-sleeved, red floral dress with tiny blue and yellow flowers and green leaves. It reaches just below her knees, displaying two pale, skinny legs with varicose veins, and her feet are covered in a pair of navy slip-on, orthopedic sneakers. And through her, I can make out Pop.

I've seen maybe close to a thousand ghosts in my lifetime, mostly from afar at cemeteries and around hospitals, but this time, I do the unusual. I let out a blood-curdling scream.

CHAPTER TWO

It wasn't my intention. I mean, it's so embarrassing. Screaming over a ghost. Who am I? What is this? A horror movie?

I'm standing in the basement, in heels, and I scream like I'm trying to win an Academy Award. I'm so ashamed, I want to run home and hide under my covers.

What's going on? Ma shouts and rushes down with Alice right behind her.

Pop, Paulie, and Julian are a shade paler than normal, but none of them have moved yet. I think my scream stunned them into place, and I'm not sure if I should be offended that they aren't rushing over to see what's wrong, or if I should start laughing at the fear on their faces.

Are you hurt? Pop asks. Is it a cramp? Did you cut yourself on something?

I have a sneaky suspicion that they are aware of what's going on, at least on a deep level, because they're still frozen, as if they're afraid to get close to me. Clearly I didn't scream because I'm contagious and I'm not gushing blood. Maybe they think I dislike one of Ma's collectibles. Surely