She looked at me from the doorway. “The doctor said it was mild, and it’s the perfect day to celebrate having the charges against him dropped.”
“It’s also the perfect day to celebrate my mom and nonna going home to Houston, but now they’re staying because of his Mardi Gras fixation.”
“I would say ‘it’s just one more day,’ but with your mom and nonna...” She left the implication hanging and left the office.
I entered the hallway, pondering the potential fallout. There were two weeks left in the lemon tradition, so Nonna was more desperate than ever. A scenario struck me that was so terrible I had to lean against the wall.
What if she slipped me an Ambien so I’d sleep-walk to the altar and marry Bruno?
“Franki,” Veronica called, “we’re waiting.”
I entered the lobby, and David and The Vassal rose from one of the couches and saluted. I sat across from them next to Veronica. “At ease, men.”
David flipped his bangs and flopped into his seat. “Tell us what happened when the Cajun Navy cruised up.”
I grinned at the memory. “The captain thought they were pirates, so he was delighted to surrender. He grabbed a white jacket Glenda had and jumped up and down like a kid while he waved it.”
The Vassal pushed up his glasses. “I’m not surprised. It’s well documented that Mark Twain fantasized about being a pirate.”
David bounced his leg. “What about the passengers? What were they doing while everything was going down?”
“Kate and Wendell kept them in the casino by giving away free drinks and free future cruises on the Galliano. The captain wasn’t happy when he found out about all the money he’d lost.”
“That is a bummer.” David shrugged. “But it’s awesome that you guys kept everyone safe.”
“Yeah.” I nestled into the couch cushions. “It’s funny, isn’t it? A ragtag group of Louisianans beat the Mafia just like the ragtag army in the Battle of New Orleans that beat the British.”
Veronica opened the file and pulled out some envelopes. “And thanks to you and your army, Luigi Pescatore gave you a generous bonus. Not only that, he’s decided to invest in Private Chicks.”
I took the envelope, more excited about the investment money than the bonus. “That’s terrific. What are you going to do with the money?”
“Purchase some new technology, for starters.”
David looked at The Vassal, and their faces lit up like computer screens. “Yo, we can help with that.”
“I’m counting on it.” Veronica looked at me. “I’m also going to bring on a new PI.”
I wondered whether she was considering Kate, but instead of asking, I shot death rays at David. “Well I hope it’s not someone who’ll investigate their coworker. I still can’t believe you hacked my computer.” I turned to The Vassal since I was sure he’d helped, and the last question I had about the case turned into an exclamation mark. “You! It was you.”
He cowered, and I got up to tower over him.
“Franki,” Veronica’s tone was tense, “what are you doing?”
I spun to face her. “When I first met The Vassal, he told me he wanted to major in Radio, Television, and Film, but his parents wouldn’t let him, so he majored in Computer Science.”
“So?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He put the video camera in the winepress—in my bedroom.”
Veronica looked from him to David. “Someone had better start explaining.”
The Vassal’s slack-jawed stare was unchanging, but his glasses lenses started to fog.
David held up his hands. “Okay, so, I wanted to put a camera in her apartment, but it was The Vassal’s idea to put it in the winepress.”
The Vassal’s lenses were completely opaque. “Because I didn’t want her to suspect us if she found it.”
Given his probable crush on me, I had my doubts about that explanation. “So which one of you came to my apartment, pretending to be an exterminator?”
David pointed to his head. “I borrowed the outfit from a man who worked at our old dorm. Then when your mom and nonna came for the investigation update, I heard your mom yelling about being videotaped, uh, naked and told The Vassal.”
I scowled at The Vassal, even though he couldn’t see me. “And you orchestrated the reconnaissance mission.”
He nodded.
“But why take Glenda’s Mardi Gras decorations?” Veronica asked.
I shot her a smirk. “Remember the strip club case when The Vassal wanted to cash out his college fund to pay for that sugar baby’s boob job?”
Veronica’s jaw mimicked The Vassal’s. “Standish, is this true?”
“I confess, and I apologize.” He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt. “Miss O’Brien’s decorations are hanging at the Gamma Epsilon Epsilon Kappa fraternity house.”
Veronica pressed her lips together to look stern, but I could tell she was stifling a laugh at the thought of Glenda’s boobs hanging at the boys’ Comp Sci frat. “Well, spying on Franki in her bedroom and stealing from Glenda warrant disciplinary action.”
David’s mouth opened, and The Vassal’s closed.
“But I’ve never established a company policy for that sort of thing, so I’ll overlook it this time. In the future, however, you two will discuss any and all investigatory methods with me in advance of implementation, understood?”
Their heads bounced like David’s leg.
She licked her lips. “Good. As for Glenda’s Mardi Gras decorations, you need to return them immediately.”
Their faces drooped, a lot like the decorations.
And so did mine. “Can’t we just leave the boobs at the GEEK frat house? I mean, do you really want them back on our house?”
Veronica looked from the boys to me. “You’re right. Better to leave them where they are. But if any of you ever tell Glenda, you’re fired.”
David, The Vassal, and I exchanged high-fives.
Veronica looked at her watch. “We’d better get going, Franki.”
The four of us rose, and a copy of the Times Picayune fell from The Vassal’s backpack.
I stooped to pick it up and saw the front page.
And my stomach bounced as though I were white-water rafting.
I handed the paper to The Vassal and left the office.
But as I descended the stairs, I could still see the picture of police divers at the river and the headline.
Body of Local Detective Still Missing.
Veronica sipped from her rosé glass and ran her hand over a brick archway in the wine cellar at Brennan’s restaurant. “I read that this was a stable in 1795. It’s fabulous, isn’t it?”
It was, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the fabulous check from Luigi that lay on the cypress-wood table. “Thirty. Thousand. Dollars.”
“One thousand for every year you’ve been alive…for another week, anyway.”
I was so enamored of the check that I didn’t mind the birthday reference or the fact that I was turning thirty-one.
The wooden stairs creaked.
I looked up and saw my mom and Nonna coming down the stairs. My mother wore Mardi Gras colors, but Nonna was back in black, presumably mourning my single status.
My mother pressed a hand to her cheek. “This wine cellar is gorgeous. It looks like something you’d see in Italy, doesn’t it, Carmela?”
Nonna surveyed the room with a face as dark as her dress. “Let’s-a hope they have-a pasta to go with it.”
I rose from the table, reluctantly. “Is Luigi coming? I want to thank him for this amazing gift.”
“He’s on-a bed-a rest.”
“Doctor’s orders,” my mother chimed. “I think she should stay in New Orleans for a couple of weeks to look after him.”
Of course you do.
“I don’t-a have-a time. The lemon tradition is about-a to end.”
I visualized myself asleep at the altar with Bruno, holding a bouquet of Butterfingers.
“It’s Mardi Gras, Nonna. A day to let your cares slip away.”
“Hmphf-a. That-a day will come-a when I die. Until-a then, I’ve got to find-a you a husband and-a mourn your nonnu.”
My mother’s hand hit the table like Judge Judy’s gavel. “But…what about Luigi?”
“What about him?” Nonna turned up her palms. “We’re-a friends.”
My mom looked like Bradley had after Marian pistol-whipped him. Because that engagement party she and her friend Rosalie had been planning was never going to happen.
“Nonna, did your friends guilt you into this with their national prayer request? Or Father John?”
She raised her chin. “I do what I want-a.”
That she did.
Nonna gave a small smile. “There’s just-a one man-a for me. Your nonnu.”
I teared up. “There’s just one man for me too.” I paused and then figured I’d better clarify. “Bradley, not Bruno.”
“Oof-a. I don’t-a blame you. Bruno is-a so annoying with that-a concession stand-a candy.”
I squeezed her hand, and she winked. We’d finally come to an understanding.
Bradley descended the steps in a blue suit with a dozen yellow roses. I flashed back to Sullivan in my cabin with the yellow rose Bradley had left me, and I shook my head. I didn’t have to worry about him anymore. He was gone.
Or was he?
Bradley gave me a peck. “You look worried, babe. Is everything okay?”
I had to come up with an explanation unrelated to Sullivan. “The flowers are beautiful, but I was thinking...about how much you’re spending.”
“Don’t. This is a holiday, and it’s worth every penny.”
A pang of guilt, or maybe hunger, gnawed at my stomach. I shouldn’t have told him the fib so soon after I’d promised to confide in him. On the other hand, sharing every detail hadn’t worked out too well for us on the Galliano.
A waiter emerged from the adjoining cellar. “I’ve informed the chef that you’re ready to begin, Mr. Hartmann. Would you like me to put the flowers in a vase?”
“That would be great, thanks.” Bradley handed him the roses.
“Before you go,”—I put my hand on the waiter’s arm and pointed to my mother—“that woman over there has just gotten some bad news, so could please you bring her something strong, like a Sazerac?”
“I’ll bring it right out.” He exited through an archway to the bar.
Glenda made her grand entrance. Since it was Mardi Gras, she wore less than usual. Her entire outfit consisted of a cigarette holder and a few strands of beads.
My mom and nonna were so absorbed in their problems that they didn’t even notice her nudity.
Glenda sidled up to Bradley. “Thanks for the invite, handsome.”
“My pleasure.”
She licked her lips. “I have no doubt.”
He grinned and put his arm around her, careful to avoid her Mardi Gras decorations. “I hear you’re working on your memoirs.”
“I am, indeed. And some of my wildest escapades happened on this holiday.”
My hand shot up. “No spoilers, please.”
Veronica came over. “Have you decided on a title, Glenda?”
“I thought about Rise and Grind or Stripped Bare, but they’re too cliché. So I settled on Like a Polecat at a Garden Party. Get it? Stripper pole and cat?”
I did. “It’s the essence of you.”
Veronica took Glenda by the arm. “It’s purrfect, and speaking of your essence, let’s get you some champagne.”
They headed for the bar as Ruth bounded down the steps in her cruise director suit.
I blinked and looked at Bradley. “What’s she doing here?”
“I invited her for you.”
“Uh...why?”
Ruth leaned in to my ear. “It’s all right. He knows we’re best friends, but I told him to keep it on the down-low since Veronica’s here.”
I had to set her straight once and for all—not for Veronica’s sake, but for mine. Because the woman was dangerous. “Ruth, Veronica is my best friend. You and I are...members of the same army troop.”
“I understand.” She turned her Fun Meter to Min. “You don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
Bradley cleared his throat. “So what’s next for you, Ruth?”
Pink tinged her cheeks. “Rex asked me to stay on...as the Galliano’s cruise director, of course.”
Bradley and I shared a look. Apparently, the almost king of the Shrimp and Petroleum Festival had found his almost queen.
I took a sip of Chianti. “Well, the steamboat is your home.”
“Pfff! I’m staying for the gold. Captain Galliano’s treasure is on that steamboat, and I’m going find it.”
“But we found both of the hidden rooms on the map, and it wasn’t in them.”
“Rex said those red x’s marked the two secret rooms he’d found. He claims there are more. If not, I’ll move to plan B.”
“What’s that? Win the steamboat in a poker game?”
“I don’t gamble, remember?”
The waiter passed by with the vase, and Ruth flagged him down. “I’ll take a cider.”
And she didn’t drink, either. “What? No Galliano?”
“Listen here, prissy missy, I was sleep-walking the other night, not drunk.”
“Uh-huh.”
Bradley swallowed a grin. “We’re having Bananas Foster for dessert. I thought it was fitting since they light the Galliano on fire.”
I appreciated the symbolism.
Ruth smacked her lips. “Bananas Foster reminds me of poor Pat. She’s taking over the chef position as soon as she recovers from her dollar-hole accident.”
“Her what?” Bradley asked.
I sighed because Pat’s anatomy came to mind again. “After I locked her in the galley, she tried to escape through the garbage chute. She got stuck and cracked a couple of ribs.”
Bradley winced.
Several waiters delivered soup to the table.
“That’s the first course.” Bradley took my hand. “I’m sitting at the head, and you’re to my right. Everyone is having crawfish bisque, but since you’re allergic you’re having lobster bisque.”
I gave him a long kiss.
My mother passed by. “It’s so thoughtful of you to remember her allergy, Bradley.”
Nonna shuffled to the table. “How could he forget-a after their first-a date? Che disastro.”
The disaster was the direction the conversation had taken.
“Why? What happened?” Ruth asked—from the seat next to mine.
Veronica and I shared a look, but I didn’t tell Ruth to move. It was best to have Veronica at the end of the table with Glenda, so she could stave off any Mardi Gras memoir stories.
Nonna took the chair across from Ruth. “Franki’s lips swelled up-a like-a Genoa salami after she sucked the head of a mud-a-bug.”
I took my seat, regretting the conversation and the guest list.
My mom sat beside Bradley. “Before we knew what had caused the swelling, some of our deli customers said she probably had hand, foot, and mouth disease or a bad case of herpes.”
“Mom,”—I raised my spoon—“we’re about to eat?”
Ruth poked her head around. “Why didn’t you tell me that? We are best friends.”
Veronica took a sip of rosé and looked away, and I shoved a spoonful of bisque in my mouth.
Bradley’s eyes twinkled. “We’ve had some adventures, haven’t we, babe?”
“We certainly have. The only thing that could’ve made this last one better would have been finding Captain Galliano’s gold. When I was little, I always wanted to find a treasure chest full of coins and jewels.”
“I think I can help you there.” Bradley reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a Tiffany’s Blue Box.
The size of a ring.
My stomach jumped up and hugged my heart.
And my lips started to tingle, which wa
s odd.
From the corner of my eye, I glanced at my soup.
And spotted a crawfish tail.
Ruth leaned forward. “Consider it payback, for sneaking that mobster’s winepress onto the Galliano.”
My hand went to my mouth. My lips were starting to swell—to match my nose.
Bradley dropped to one knee.
A flush joined the tingling.
He looked up at me, his blue eyes bright. “This is why I told you that Mardi Gras is my favorite day. Because I knew I was going to ask you this question.” He opened the ring box, and it held a gold band with a ruby and diamonds. “Francesca Lucia Amato, will you marry me?”
With my hand still hiding my lips, I tried to say yes.
But my tongue had swollen.
I felt like I was sinking to the murky depths of the Mississippi River. Bradley had finally popped the question, the obvious question, and I couldn’t answer him.
Panicked, I turned to my mother and moved my hand.
“Oh, no.” She leapt from the table. “No, no, no, no. You answer that question this minute, young lady.”
Bradley rushed to my side. “What is it?”
Ruth lowered her horned rims to feign a look of surprise. “She took a bite of my crawfish bisque by mistake.”
I couldn’t speak, so I growled. And bared my teeth.
She pushed up her glasses. “We’d better call an ambulance. The allergy has gone to her brain.”
Bradley put his arm around my waist, guiding me from the chair. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Carmela!” my mother shrieked. “Do something!”
My nonna pulled a lemon wedge from her water glass and shoved it between my lips. “That should cut-a the allergy.”
If I could have spoken, I would have reminded her that a lemon had just landed me a proposal, which was already more than we could’ve expected from a mere citrus fruit.
“Bradley’s-a waiting, Franki. Rispondi.”
I wanted to rispondi so badly I could taste it—that and the lemon.
“Come on, Franki.” Veronica punched the air. “Spit it out so we can plan our weddings together.”
Glenda fingered her Mardi Gras beads. “I’d be happy to answer for her.”
“Time to go.” Bradley scooped me into his arms like a groom about to carry his wife over the threshold and strode to the stairs.
Galliano Gold (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 5) Page 27