Galliano Gold (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 5)

by Traci Andrighetti

  Sullivan’s face was as hard as the metal of his gun.

  I wiped my nose. Pat had told me there were six bags of drugs, so Sullivan must’ve slipped up when he was talking to Bradley.

  Bradley’s gaze returned to Sullivan. “And now he’s on the boat pretending to be a security guard so he can steal a cut of the next deal too.”

  So I hadn’t been his sole target. He was also after the gold bars.

  “Look at you being an amateur sleuth,” Sullivan drawled. “Too bad Franki’s the last one who’ll ever hear your theory.”

  My nose might’ve been swollen, but I could still smell trouble. “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I can’t have your boyfriend telling the Mafia I stole their drugs, now can I, Amato? And since he just snitched to you, it’s time for him to go to sleep with the fishes.”

  I swayed, both from pain and shock.

  Bradley’s eyes met mine, full of sadness and an apology.

  One I couldn’t accept because he’d done nothing wrong by confiding in me. “Don’t add to your crimes, Sullivan. Stop while you’re ahead, and turn yourself in.”

  His hand went to his abs, and he laughed. “No can do, Amato. You know my story. I’ve got two ex-wives to feed, and the money I’ll make off the gold bars will get me early retirement and a fishing boat I’ve had my eye on.”

  I swayed backwards and braced myself on the calliope keys.

  And a thought occurred to me.

  “Now Bradley, old boy,” Sullivan gestured to the railing, “normally I would say ladies first, but I’d like a little time alone with your woman after you’re gone.”

  Bradley growled and lurched forward.

  And I grabbed the back of his jacket. “Don’t fall into his trap. He wants to goad you into hitting him so he can plead self-defense.”

  Bradley slumped, and I moved my hands behind me and pressed the calliope keys. “How are you going to explain his death to your colleagues?”

  “Being the decent guy he is, he jumped overboard to try to valiantly save our dear Tim.”

  My stomach heaved, but I continued to press the keys.

  “Let’s go, Bradley. Otherwise, I’ll have to shoot Franki while you watch.”

  Bradley moved to the rail. His turned, and his eyes sought mine. They glowed in the pitch black—with love.

  My tears could have flooded the river. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” He put one leg over the rail.

  I sobbed and pressed the keys, frantic.

  Bradley sat on the rail and pulled his other leg over.

  I ran my fingers over the keys like Jerry Lee Lewis.

  Then I heard a scream.

  And a splat.

  Sullivan’s mouth opened in shock, and I rushed him like a longhorn at a roundup.

  He and my Ruger went over the rail.

  I waited until I heard him splash.

  Horror rose up in my throat like ash from the smokestack.

  But I didn’t yell man overboard.

  “How did you make that scream and wet splat sound happen?”

  I raised my head from Bradley’s chest and looked at the calliope. “It’s supposed to be a recording of the ghost of a sailor who fell to his death on the paddlewheel. The switch was one of the keys.”

  “Quick thinking, as always.” He gazed into my eyes with the same love I’d seen before he climbed onto the rail. “You literally saved our lives.”

  I returned my head to his chest but turned to face the river, half-expecting Sullivan to rise up like a kraken and take us in his tentacles down to the murky bottom. And even though I knew that was impossible, I felt no relief. Sullivan had met his end at my hand, and that would stay with me for a long time.

  Bradley kissed my hair. “Veronica said you thought I blamed you for my arrest. But I didn’t. I just wanted you to confide in me.”

  Tears clouded my vision. “I will from now on. I promise.”

  He squeezed me and rubbed my back. “I knew Sullivan was bad news the first time I met him, but I never would have thought he was a killer.”

  “He was about to kill us, but he wasn’t responsible for the murders on the Galliano. That was Marian Guidry.”

  He pulled away. “The gift shop lady who looks like Ruth?”

  “The one and, I hope, only. Marian is Gigi Scalino’s consigliera.”

  “And she whacked his brother?”

  I nodded and pulled out my phone. Finally, I had a faint signal. “Gigi is about to retire in Sicily, and we all know what happens when Mafia bosses retire.”

  “A power struggle for control of the family.”

  “Precisely.” I typed a group text.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Alerting staff to what just happened with Sullivan.” I tapped the send arrow and pocketed my phone. “Alfredo made a fatal mistake when he started dealing drugs behind Gigi’s back.”

  “So Gigi looked the other way when Marian killed him?”

  “Yeah, only she had his thug do the actual killing, and then she whacked the thug. Now she’s made her bones, to put it in mobster terms, which clears the way for her to become New Orleans’ first female mob boss.”

  He grimaced. “Well, if she’s anything like Ruth when she was my secretary, she could run this town.”

  Based on Ruth’s cruise director stint, I had my doubts about that.

  Bradley stared at the river. “What about Nick? Why’d Marian kill him?”

  “Alfredo did that.” I followed his gaze, wondering whether he was looking for Sullivan, like me. “Nick came to the Galliano to get some money the captain owed him, not realizing that Alfredo was on the boat in the guise of a chef. My guess is that before he and the captain had the fight that ended with him being thrown overboard, he tried to warn him about Alfredo by telling him that he used to deal drugs for him. So Alfredo fished him out of the river and finished him off in the freezer.”

  “Like he was a giant catfish.”

  I withheld comment. After my experience on Nick’s case, my fried catfish days were over. “The only thing I haven’t figured out is why Alfredo put a queen of spades card in Nick’s hand.” I shivered from the cold and ran my hands over my arms. “Anyway, we’d better go look for Luigi. Marian and Gigi are still onboard, so he’s not out of danger.”

  Bradley reached for my hand, but I went to the railing and took one last look at the paddlewheel. I had a foreboding feeling, like Sullivan was clinging to the back of the boat, waiting to climb onboard and get his revenge.

  A dull thwack sent tremors up my spine, like tiny kraken tentacles tickling my skin.

  I knew Sullivan would come back.

  I spun.

  But it wasn’t him.

  It was Marian in a red square-dancing dress with pettipants, wielding the pistol she’d used to club Bradley.

  My gaze dropped to Bradley’s crumpled body as my heart dropped to the Texas deck.

  Had Marian crushed his skull like Alfredo’s and the thug’s?

  “Hand over your cell phone.”

  I reached into my back pocket and complied.

  She tossed it over the railing, ending my group texts, and with them, probably my life.

  “Well, Miss Franki Rockford—”

  “Amato,” I corrected.

  She sniffed. “You’re a better PI than our not-so-trusty cruise director led me to believe. Incidentally, that playing card was my idea. I told Fredo it would implicate the captain, but I like to think of the queen of spades as me.”

  I gave her square-dancing dress the onceover. “An evil, pettipanted ruler who digs people’s graves?”

  Her eyes narrowed behind her red horned rims. “In Cartomancy, she represents intelligence and practical judgement, something you and your boyfriend don’t have.”

  “Leave Bradley out of this.”

  “I can’t. You just involved him when you told him my plans to take over the Scalino family.”

  I knew w
hat I’d promised Bradley, but if he and I survived the night, we had to stop confiding in one another.

  “Too bad he came on the Galliano after he made bail. A man with sound judgement would have gone straight to his attorney to see about suing you on Couples Court.”

  If Marian wasn’t Ruth’s long-lost twin, she was at least her cousin. “So what’s your practical plan for me?”

  “You’re walking the plank.”

  And I thought Ruth had used a metaphor when she’d threatened to make Sullivan walk the plank. “There’s actually a plank? On a steamboat?”

  She flipped a switch on the calliope, and a board emerged below the railing. “I had it installed at the same time as the sailor ghost recording. It’s another deterrent for curious onlookers…and PIs.”

  Disappointment mixed with dread. The sailor ghost trick wouldn’t work on Marian like it had Sullivan, and I didn’t have anything else in my trick bag—except to hope that Bradley had survived the pistol whipping and woke up.

  I gazed at him, lying on the deck. He didn’t look like he was going to open his beautiful blue eyes again. But if he did, I’d be gone. The thought of losing him so soon after we’d been reunited was too much to bear. I threw back my head and screamed bloody murder for both of our lives.

  Marian slapped me hard, hitting my nose.

  I gasped and fell to my knees.

  “You pull that again and I’ll blow a hole through your throat. The captain’s not going to stop the steamboat, and Cruisin’ Ruth’s not coming to your rescue. I saw to that when I slipped an Ambien into her Galliano.”

  That’s why Ruth was so out of it—a sleeping pill. Well, that and the booze.

  Marian smoothed her poofy skirt. “I did us both a favor by taking care of that insufferable woman.”

  Given my track record with Ruth, she was probably right.

  “All aboard.” She waved the gun toward the plank.

  I glared at her as I pulled myself to my feet and climbed onto the narrow board, thankful the Galliano traveled so slowly that I had a chance at maintaining my balance. “How are you going to explain all of these deaths?”

  “I think they’re fairly self-explanatory, don’t you?”

  I didn’t have to ask what she meant. She could tell the police that Sullivan killed Tim to silence him, Gigi whacked Alfredo and the thug for betraying him, and I murdered Sullivan for framing and killing Bradley. Then, distraught over losing the love of my life, I jumped to my death.

  “Start moving those tootsies.”

  I smirked at the Ruthism. Using my arms like a tight-rope walker, I took a couple of small steps, trying not to look at the river below.

  “Keep going.”

  I swallowed and slid my feet along the plank. The only thing I could do to save myself was jump. People dived off nine-story cliffs all the time, so I ought to be able to handle a three-story steamboat, but I wasn’t as confident about handling the alligators and water moccasins.

  “That’s not fast enough.”

  A bullet whizzed past my head.

  My arms flailed.

  And I fell.

  I grasped at the air, hoping to catch hold of the plank. I landed belly-first onto the board and wrapped my arms around it—and heard a crack.

  “I ssentenced you to prison.” Ruth’s voice rang out like a shot, or a judge in court.

  Slowly, I raised my head and strained to look over my shoulder at the bow of the boat. And I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Ruth held her lantern-weapon in one hand and gripped Marian’s bun with the another. Marian still held her gun—and Ruth’s bun. And the two women were twisting and turning in a square-dance move.

  “Please don’t break.” Carefully, I turned around on the plank and slid toward to the railing, keeping my head low to avoid any bullets.

  Ruth and Marian were still locked in their square-dance battle, moving toward a corner of the boat.

  Music blasted from the calliope.

  I jerked, and the plank cracked again. But after everything I’d been through, I was damned if a possessed carnival instrument would steam-toot me to my death.

  Using my feet, I catapulted myself forward. My hands clamped onto the rail like vice grips

  And the plank gave way.

  I heard a crash as the board hit the paddlewheel and was plowed underwater.

  Like that sailor long ago.

  And Tim.

  And Sullivan.

  But not me.

  With a strength I didn’t know I had, I pulled myself on deck. Then I crouched and approached the square-dancing duo.

  Their heads were pointed down, as they twisted one another’s hair. But Marian spotted me and aimed her gun at the easiest target—Bradley, who lay not two feet from her.

  “Okay. I give.” I backed up and raised my hands.

  “I sure as hell don’t.” Ruth gave Marian’s bun a yank, pulling her aim off target.

  I lunged and grabbed the gun, twisting Marian’s hand like Ruth did her bun. “Ruth, back off. I’ve got this.”

  She showed no sign of hearing me over the creepy carnival music even though I was beside her. She raised her lantern like a weapon and struck Marian in the back of the head, exactly where Marian had hit Alfredo, the thug, and Bradley.

  Glass shattered, spilling kerosene.

  A flame emerged from Marian’s bun, and her eyes went as wide the ship’s wheel as she suffered the fate of Agnes Frump.

  The scream that came from her mouth was like none I’d ever heard—except for maybe my mother’s when she’d learned her one shot at marrying off my nonna had been kidnapped.

  I couldn’t stand by and watch a human being burned to death, regardless of what that person had done. I pulled my turtleneck over my head and ran to Marian.

  She ran to the railing—and hurled herself overboard.

  She didn’t make a sound on the way down.

  Just a splash.

  I rushed to the railing and scanned the black water.

  But the Mississippi had swallowed her, as it had Tim and Sullivan. And almost Bradley and me.

  I knelt beside Bradley but stared up at Ruth. “Why would you do that? I had it under control.”

  “I’m late for court, and I’ve got ssentences to hand down. The ssafety of this ssteamboat depends on me.” She raised her broken lantern and walked away with a mechanical gait.

  And I realized she’d been sleep-walking on Ambien the entire time.

  22

  “Open your eyes, Bradley.” I patted his hand instead of his cheek to avoid moving his injured head. “Please.”

  The moon had emerged from the clouds, and in the blue-white light he looked pale, ghostly.

  And it was terrifying.

  I looked behind me at the calliope, which had shut off as freakily as it had come on, and willed it to blast a spooky steam-whistle song to frighten him awake. I turned to caress his handsome face, and my tears dripped onto his cheeks. “You’ve got to wake up. You’ve just got to. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  His eyelids spasmed.

  And with them, my heart.

  Slowly, they opened.

  A tsunami of emotion swept over me.

  He gazed at me with eyes the color of moonlight. “I don’t remember agreeing to going camping.”

  Okay, so he had a concussion. “We’re on the Galliano, remember?”

  “The liqueur?”

  Maybe partial amnesia. “It’s a steamboat, and you hit your head.”

  “Did you hit your nose?”

  The moment definitely wasn’t playing out like I wanted. “Let’s get you downstairs to bed.”

  He raised his torso, and I helped him to a standing position and wrapped my arm around his waist. I had to get him to a safe place so that I could look for Luigi. Because Gigi Scalino was still onboard, and so was Ruth—doling out “ssentences” on her Ambien.

  We hobbled along the deck, and my anxiety grew with each step. I kept an
eye on the railing and turned every few seconds to look behind us. I felt like that catfish I’d caught in my purse when I fell into the river—trapped in a small space waiting to be shot like a fish in a barrel.

  Bradley grimaced and touched his head. “Where are we going?”

  “My mom and Nonna are staying in a stateroom on the deck below. They’ll take care of you.”

  His eyes enlarged.

  I wasn’t surprised that he’d remember to be afraid of them. “I meant that they’ll take care of you in a good way.”

  “Are you sure? I haven’t always been their favorite.”

  I started to tell him not to worry because Glenda was with them, but that would’ve scared him further, and he hadn’t even heard her memoir stories. “Don’t worry. They won’t try anything since you’re already hurt.”

  “All right. I guess?”

  I knew it was hardly a comforting answer, but if he was looking for comfort, he’d picked the wrong family.

  We reached the mid-ship stairwell, and I shouldered open the door. When I was sure the coast was clear of Gigi and Ruth, I cast a glance at the pilothouse.

  Captain Vandergrift stood at the helm, lost in whatever Mark Twain novel he was living.

  We descended the stairs and walked to my family’s stateroom. I tapped on the door. “It’s me,” I whispered. “Open up.”

  “Francesca?” My mother called as shrill as a steamboat whistle.

  “Yes, Mom,” I hissed. “Who else?”

  “Well everyone can say ‘me,’ dear. And you don’t sound like you.”

  Probably because of my swollen nose. “Would you just open up?”

  The door opened an inch, and my mother peered out. Horror flickered over her face as though the hit from Sullivan’s palm had transformed me into Gigi Scalino. Then she saw Bradley and smoothed her hair. “Why, Bradley. I had no idea you were on the boat.”

  Nonna shuffled toward the door. “Let’s-a hope he’s-a here to propose.”

  I blew an exasperated exhale from my nostrils and instantly regretted it. “He’s got a concussion, Nonna.”

  “It’s-a good-a thing-a. Maybe he won’t-a notice the size of your schnoz-a.”