And she actually believed she could help me land a husband. “Could you just take care of him while I look for Luigi?”
“Of course, dear.” My mom stepped aside.
“Lock the door.” I helped Bradley to the closest bed. “Where’s Glenda?”
“We couldn’t get her out of that champagne glass, so she went to Bruno’s room to see if he could help.”
I was positive that wasn’t all she’d gone there for.
My mom and nonna gathered around Bradley and examined his wound.
“I’m going to the library.” I volleyed a warning look at both of them. “Don’t try to manipulate him while he’s got a head injury.”
“Honestly, Francesca. What makes you think we would do such a thing?”
“Uhhhh, all the times you’ve done such things?”
She averted her eyes and entered the bathroom.
Nonna grabbed her handbag from the nightstand.
“By the way, did you hit Sullivan with your purse and tie him up?”
“Sì. What’s-a the problem?”
My mom exited the bathroom with a wet washcloth. “After what he did to Bradley, dear, he deserved that. It’s clear he’s up to no good.”
Not anymore, but I wasn’t ready to tell them that. I turned the lock. “Don’t open this door unless it’s me, understood?”
“You mean ‘me’ as in ‘Francesca’?”
I grabbed the door handle and squeezed.
“Franki, wait.” Bradley rose on woozy legs. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, you need to rest.”
“I’ll-a go,” Nonna said. “I found-a the lever for the secret-a room back-a-stage. I’ll-a find one in-a the library too.”
My mother pressed the cloth to Bradley’s head. “It’s probably an old book you pull down, like in the movies.”
Bradley’s face tightened in concentration. “Look for Life on the Mississippi. When I helped the captain get the steamboat loan, he said it was the Twain novel that inspired him to buy the Galliano.”
I smiled, relieved. He, and his memory, were going to be fine.
As long as we survived the steamboat.
Nonna speed-shuffled to the library, and I was happy to follow. My nose injury was messing with my head, so the only means of defense we had between us was her handbag—and her.
I surveyed the shelves. Nonna was too short to read the titles on the upper rows. “You keep watch while I look for the book.”
She gripped her handbag and nodded.
On tiptoes, I scanned the top shelves. Even though Nonna was standing guard, I stopped every so often to look over my shoulder. I hadn’t forgotten that Gigi Scalino had ordered Luigi’s cousin in Sicily to be strangled for accepting the winepress—and that he’d had his house burned down too.
I finished the upper shelves and moved to the middle. The book had to be on the shelf somewhere. But there were so many.
I dropped to my knees and checked the bottom shelf.
Life on the Mississippi was the last book.
I pulled it down.
Nothing happened.
I removed the book from the shelf and discovered a light switch on the wall behind it. I flipped it.
A shelf began to open.
Luigi sat bound and gagged in the dark suit he’d worn to Nick’s funeral five days before. His eyes were closed, and his head drooped low onto his chest.
“Oddio,” Nonna whispered. “Luigi!”
He didn’t budge.
Were we too late?
The bookshelf opened enough for me to slip inside the secret room.
“Luigi. It’s me, as in Francesca.” I blamed my mother for that odd clarification. I tugged at the knot on the handkerchief gagging his mouth.
His eyes opened, and he raised his head.
Nonna crossed herself. “Grazie a Dio.”
I untied the knot, and the gag dropped into Luigi’s lap.
“My glasses.” His voice was hoarse. “In my shirt pocket.”
I pulled them out and slipped them onto his face.
His pupils constricted behind the lenses. “I knew you gals would find me.”
“I’m sorry it took us so long.”
“Eh?”
His hearing aid. I pulled it from my pocket and clipped it onto his ear.
“Thanks, kid. The hoodlum who kidnapped me from the church took my hearing aid so I wouldn’t be able to hear anyone in the library and make noise with my chair.”
“His name is Gerald.” I moved behind him to untie the rope around his wrists. “And he won’t bother you anymore. Neither will Alfredo.”
“Got themselves whacked, did they?”
I freed his arms. “Yes, in the walk-in.”
“I’ll bet it was Gigi Scalino’s doing. He’s on the boat, you know.”
Nonna entered. “That’s-a why we’re trying to get-a you outta here.”
I knelt and worked the knotted rope around his ankles. “Nonna, would you please keep watch for Gigi?”
She waved her hand and faced the hallway.
Luigi rubbed his wrist. “Gigi was going to hold me on this rat trap until I told him where the winepress was. He said if I didn’t, I’d have to walk a plank before we got back to New Orleans. Did you know this steamboat has a plank?”
“I’m familiar with it, yes.” I untied one foot and started on the other. “Did you ever find out why he’s so obsessed with the winepress?”
“He’s retiring to Sicily and wants to take it with him. It reminds him of his mother.”
Nonna looked inside. “Was his-a mamma shaped like a wine-a barrel?”
I got a vision of Pat with black hair and a mustache.
“Nah.” Luigi swept a stray gray tuft over his scalp. “She made her own wine with it.”
If Gigi and Alfredo had been my sons, I would’ve made my own wine too. “The only thing I don’t understand is how a man who has eyes and ears all over town wouldn’t know that his brother was dealing drugs behind his back.”
“Alfredo told him he was on the steamboat to find Captain Galliano’s gold, and Gigi bought it hook, line, and sinker. I think that’s why he’s retiring.” He tapped his temple. “He’s slipping.”
I freed his other foot.
“You’re my saving angel.” He tried to stand and fell onto the chair seat.
Nonna shuffle-rushed to his side. “What’s-a the matter?”
“I can’t feel my feet.”
I dropped to my knees and removed Luigi’s shoes. “Nonna, how are you going to watch for Gigi with your back to the hallway?”
“There’s-a no one out-a there. I just-a looked-a.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way.” I rubbed Luigi’s ankles to get the circulation moving.
“That feels better, kid. I think I can make it now.”
I looked to my left to grab his shoes.
And I jerked like the steamboat had hit a pothole.
Because unless Luigi’s shoes had put on the “tiny white dress shirts,” to quote Bit-O-Honey, then I was looking at Gigi Scalino’s spats.
My eyes worked their way from the spats to the black pin stripe suit, lingered on the machine gun, and stopped at the wide, puffy mug beneath the cream fedora. Gigi “The G-Man” Scalino was a reincarnation of Al Capone if he’d made it to old age.
“Look at you, Luigi, surrounded by the ladies.”
He even sounded like a 1920s gangster.
Nonna and Luigi were as stiff as the collar of Gigi’s shirt.
And it was so quiet in the secret room that we could have heard a pin stripe drop.
Gigi propped the machine gun under his arm and peeled a wrapper from a Bit-O-Honey. He popped the candy into his mouth and leaned his head outside the opening to cast his black eyes on the Mark Twain books. “I don’t know how anyone could read this garbage. Most of these books ain’t even got pictures. But if you like readin’, they got a picture book about me down the hall in the gift shop.”
>
The spider veins on Luigi’s nose turned purple. “Does it list all the crimes you committed?”
“Don’t be fooled by the non-fiction label. All them stories they tell about me being a heartless hitman ain’t true. I’m a businessman.” His fleshy mouth stretched into a still-lippy smile. “And I’m very generous, as long as you don’t double-cross me.”
Double-cross? The guy wasn’t a fiction character, he was a cartoon.
“Hmph-a.” Nonna crossed her arms. “Now that’s-a fiction.”
I shot her a zip-it look. Her handbag was deadly, but it was no match for Gigi Scalino’s machine gun.
“Speakin’ of fiction, Luigi here tells me my father’s winepress is somewhere I’ll never find it.”
Luigi rose on unsteady legs. “I’m an old man, Gigi. I’ve lived a good life. I’d rather go to my grave early than see you with that winepress.”
“Being the stand-up guy that I am, I can accommodate that.” He raised his gun, but his face contorted, and he clutched his abdomen.
The incision from his appendicitis surgery. “You might’ve popped your stiches. You should see a doctor.”
“Ah, the PI.”
I blinked, wondering what else Gigi knew about me.
“That’s some good sleuthin’ to know about my operation. Maybe you could use that honker of yours to sniff out where my winepress is.”
He was one to talk. And I wasn’t stupid enough to give away my only bargaining chip. “I can take you to it if you let Luigi and my nonna go.”
“Don’t-a do it, Franki.” Nonna pointed a knobby finger at Gigi. “This-a scum-a-bag don’t deserve-a the fruits of his-a padre’s hard-a work.” She stepped forward.
And she spat on his spats.
Gigi bowed his head.
My stomach sunk as though it had been torpedoed. Would he mow her down with his machine gun?
After a moment, he raised his head. But instead of a face contorted with rage, it was streaked with tears. “You’re right, and so was my father. I don’t deserve the winepress.”
The G-Man wasn’t just slipping—he’d gone soft.
He wiped his eyes. Then he stiffened and aimed the gun at her. “But that won’t stop me from takin’ it back to Sicily."
Luigi raised a shaky finger. “If you hurt either these women, you won’t make it back to Sicily.”
“That’s-a right.” Nonna pointed at me. “My nipote, Franki, she won’t-a let-a you get away with-a this.”
Gigi smacked his Bit-O-Honey and shifted his aim to my forehead.
Honestly, the woman really needed to rethink her sales pitches where I was concerned.
Luigi stuck out his bony chest. “Shoot me, Gigi. I’m the one you’ve got a beef with.”
He shifted his aim to Luigi. “I’m gonna countdown from three.”
Luigi closed his eyes and swayed.
“Three.”
“You’re a ruffiano, Gigi.”
I had to get Nonna away from him before she spat again, and I had to stop him from slaughtering Luigi. I scanned the room, looking for something, anything I could use as a weapon.
But what?
“Two.”
Luigi’s shoes? If I threw them at Gigi, he’d riddle me with with enough holes to turn me into a human spaghetti attachment for a pasta maker. But it was my only option, so I stretched my arm and grabbed a shoe.
“Miss Franki!”
Glenda?
Gigi dipped inside the room and lowered the machine gun.
“Your mother said I’d find you here.” Glenda squeezed inside in nothing but Bruno’s white Saturday Night Fever jacket and a thong. She saw the gun and raised her arms, and her Mardi Gras decorations popped out.
Gigi’s eyes followed suit.
I grabbed the gun and jammed it into his incision.
He doubled over and collapsed onto the floor.
I aimed the gun at him while Nonna and Glenda helped Luigi out. Then I backed out myself. “Glenda, flip the switch and get Luigi to your room.”
The bookshelf slowly began to move.
I aimed at the opening until it snapped shut.
For the first time in a minute, I breathed.
I lowered the gun—but kept my eyes raised—as I turned to look at Glenda. “Thank God you came when you did. Gigi was about to kill us all. Now let’s get to the pilothouse and pull your Saturday Night Fever move on the captain.”
“No need, sugar. That’s what I came to tell you.”
“Why not? We need him to stop the boat.”
“It’s already in the works. Come on. I’ll show you.”
I glanced at the bookshelf. Gigi wasn’t going anywhere, and I still had the gun, so I followed her outside to the deck.
And I uttered silent thanks to Kate.
At least twenty crawdad-emblazoned Cajun Navy vessels surged toward the Galliano. Leading the fleet was the flat boat of my French Quarter flood rescuers, Jean-Thibault and Jean-Toussaint Froiquingont.
Glenda whipped off Bruno’s jacket and waved it like a surrender flag. “Hooyah, chers!”
23
“Where have you been?” Veronica gave me the evil-employer eye from her fuchsia office chair. “I asked you to be here at ten a.m. sharp, and it’s almost eleven.”
“Sorry.” I eyed her gold party dress and wished she’d chosen another color. “I had to run an errand.”
“On Mardi Gras day?”
“A few places are open.” I threw my bag on the armchair in front of her desk to pre-punctuate my next point. “Like Private Chicks?”
“I told you, this staff meeting is important. Now what was this errand?” Her powdered brows narrowed. “You have that look about you.”
“You mean, the look of a person with a cracked nose and bruised back?”
“You’re stalling. Out with it.”
I raised my swollen nose in an attempt to look dignified and smoothed my purple skirt before I took a seat. “If you must know, I took the winepress to the Galliano.”
“You didn’t,” she breathed.
“I did. Gigi Scalino’s in jail now, but he’ll get out. Mafia bosses usually find a way to evade hard time. And when he comes looking for the winepress, I’ll figure out something. But in the meantime, I don’t want the whack-worthy thing in my house.”
She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Luigi was held captive for five days because he wanted you to have that winepress. What are you going to tell him?”
“Nothing. The only ones who know are you and Marv from Where Dat Tours. He helped me carry it to the secret room backstage while the captain was at the police station.”
“Oh, Franki. This is bad.”
“Why? Luigi will never know, and if anyone on the Galliano ever finds it, they’ll just think it’s an old prop.” I crossed my legs and leaned back—gingerly. “And Marv isn’t going to tell anyone because the threat of Gigi returning with a machine gun would jeopardize the Galliano’s ticket sales. He said they’re selling like gangbusters since the news broke last night.”
“I’ll bet.” Veronica picked up a pen and twirled it between her fingers. “A throw-back captain, mob murders, and a Cajun Navy rescue are big attractions.”
“Marv said the biggest draws are the plank, which they’re repairing, and the calliope.”
She wrinkled her lips. “Why the calliope?”
“Because some reporter dug up the story about the ghost of that cook, Rose, being lynched after Agnes Frump and the crewman burned. And he ended his news report by theorizing that Rose had turned on the calliope to save me from an unjust death like the one she suffered.”
Veronica stole a glance at me from the corner of her eye. “It is weird that the calliope came on when it did.”
I shrugged. “Snoozin’ Ruth could have turned it on and off from the switch in the captain’s bedroom. If not, then it was a mechanical problem.” At least, those were the explanations I was going with. “Regardless of how it happened, Marian woul
d be furious at all of the so-called ‘curious onlookers’ the story is attracting.”
“I still can’t fathom how she made it out of that river alive, especially with third-degree burns on her scalp.”
I looked at her under my lashes. “What about Tim? He broke his arm on that paddlewheel and swam to shore.”
“That’s different. He’s a young man.” She fell silent and stared at the pen.
And I knew why. I didn’t know what to say about Sullivan either. “Got any plans with Dirk tonight?”
“Actually, yes. We’re planning our engagement party.”
“What? Oh my gosh. Congratulations.” I got up and threw my arms around her. And we hugged for what seemed like a minute. “When did this happen?”
“The night of that special dinner.” She pulled back and took a ring box from her desk drawer. “I didn’t want to tell you since Bradley was in jail.”
I felt awful that our drama had spoiled her excitement. “I wish you hadn’t done that. You know I would’ve been happy for you.”
“I do know that. But that night Bradley got arrested, and then I found you crying in Glenda’s champagne glass because you thought it was over between you two. And to top it all off, there was your nonna’s investigation into your zitellahood and the whole lemon tradition.”
“Just a normal day in my life.”
She smirked and opened the box to reveal a huge marquise diamond.
“It’s stunning.”
She sparkled like the ring. “Isn’t it?”
“When’s the wedding?”
“We don’t have a date, but it’s in Venice. Will you be my maid of honor?”
“Do you even have to ask?” I hugged her again and shed a few tears. Then I raised my arms and shook my hips. “We’re going to Italy.”
“And we’re going early to have some girl time.”
The lobby bell sounded, and the door slammed in classic David style.
We shared a smile. Our moment had ended, but we’d be best friends forever.
Veronica picked up a file from her desk. “Let’s get this meeting started so we’re not late for Bradley’s lunch.”
I came crashing down from the wedding-in-Venice high. “I told him that he shouldn’t be hosting this thing with a concussion.”
Galliano Gold (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 5) Page 26