“Well, then what happened, Francesca?”
“Bradley took me to a party, but after we got there my lips began to swell because—”
The phone slammed to the counter again. “Her lips swelled during the date.”
“Oh, Lord,” a customer half-shouted. “Franki’s got herpes.”
“Lip swelling’s also a sign of hand, foot, and mouth disease,” another bellowed.
I cringed as I listened to the customers, who continued to theorize about the source of my unfortunate lip mishap.
My mother returned to the phone. “Francesca, was it herpes? Or foot and mouth? Or something even more terrible?”
I mentally counted to ten. “Mom, I don’t have a disease. I went to the hospital, and the doctor said it was an allergic reaction to crawfish.”
Down went the receiver. “She’s allergic to crawfish, Rosalie.” My mother wailed, as though my chances of ever finding another man were now even further diminished in light of my new shellfish affliction. “What are we going to do?”
I put my head on the desk and heard what sounded like the phone hitting the floor followed by a scuffle.
“It’s-a not-a the crawfish-a, Franki. It’s-a Bradley.” Nonna’s doom-and-gloom voice boomed through the speaker. “I told-a you that you should-a go out-a with only Italian boys, but don’t-a you worry. I find-a you a nice Sicilian.”
Oh, sweet Gesù, no. I had to discourage a second round of the Sicilian Dating Game. “Nonna, it’s not possible to be allergic to a person. And besides, I don’t have time to go out with anyone right now. After all, I’ve got a killer to track down.”
“If-a you got-a the time to find a killer, you got-a the time to find a husband.”
The line went dead.
In a shocking tactical maneuver, my nonna had hung up on me.
To keep my mind off the whole Bradley affair—or rather, marriage—I buried myself in work. After spending several hours sifting through British and American websites for details about the Di Salvo murder trial, I pondered a disturbing picture of Stewart Preston. It was taken on the steps of the courthouse after he’d been acquitted for murder. He sneered with his fist raised in a sign of victory. Everything about the guy oozed sleaze, from his distasteful gesture to the gold chain link necklace and dark chunky watchband he’d selected to accessorize his designer suit. And that was how he looked and behaved after his attorneys had undoubtedly worked overtime to get him to clean up his image.
The image of an arrogant Stewart did nothing to calm my already upset stomach. I pulled the seventh or eighth Tums tablet from the roll in my desk drawer and put it between my back-to-normal lips.
What is wrong with me? I pressed my hand to my burning belly. Of course, my heartburn could’ve had something to do with the four slices of sausage and garlic pizza I’d eaten for lunch at Nizza. It also might’ve been caused by the threat of a renewed surge of Sicilian suitors looming on the horizon. But the most likely culprit was the fact that I’d fallen yet again for a cheater, and a married one to boot.
The lobby bell interrupted my personal pity party.
I rose from my desk and headed down the hallway.
A young, dark-haired woman stood in the middle of the lobby with her hand on a large crucifix hanging from her neck. She wore sensible black shoes and a plain white cotton shirt with a full, ankle-length gray skirt, which accentuated her thick waist and chubby thighs. “May I help you?”
“Yes.” Her voice was soft, soothing. “I’m here about the Jessica Evans case. I’m Concetta Di Salvo.”
I realized that I recognized her from the photos I’d seen at her mother’s house.
“I’m Franki Amato. My partner, Veronica Maggio, and I spoke with your mother and sister yesterday.”
She grasped my hand rather than shaking it. “That’s why I’m here. May I sit down?”
“Of course. Let me show you to our conference room, and then I’ll have Veronica join us.”
“That would be nice.” She gave a pleasant smile. “Thank you.”
After I’d settled her at our conference table with a glass of water, I closed the door and ran from the room to Veronica’s office. And I understood why she hadn’t responded to the bell.
She stared at her computer with her hot pink headphones on, which could only mean one thing—she was communing with the goddesses—The Spice Girls.
I waved my arms SOS-style in front of her desk. “Concetta Di Salvo is here.”
“She is?” Her lips went into yikes-mode as she rose to her feet. “But I haven’t prepared any questions for her yet.”
“We’ll have to wing it.” I waited for her to gather her laptop and pushed her toward the conference room.
We entered, and I let Veronica take the lead.
“Thank you for the unexpected visit, Concetta.”
She squeezed a rosary. “I loved Angie like a sister, so I want to help with the investigation in any way I can.”
She had a calming presence about her. No wonder she’d become a nun.
Veronica opened her laptop. “Your mother told us that Angelica was like one of the family.”
“Oh, absolutely. In fact, Imma, Angie, and I used to joke that we were actually triplets.”
I glanced at the rosary. “But your mom also said that your family lost touch with Angelica after Imma died.”
“Yeah. Things were never the same after we lost Imma.” She took a sip of her water. “My whole family was in mourning, of course, and then there was the emotion and stress of the investigation and later the trial. After it was all finally over, we never heard from Angie again. But I’m sure she felt uncomfortable after everything that happened.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, because my family was in ruins, for one thing. We weren’t the same big happy family that Angie had known before.” She paused and looked at her rosary. “You see, Imma was the beautiful, extroverted one. And she had so much energy and enthusiasm for life. Without her we all just…fell apart. But I also think Angie cut off contact with us because she felt bad that she didn’t help us at the trial.”
Veronica furrowed her brow. “Your mother told us she testified.”
“Well, she took the stand, but she said she didn’t know anything about Stewart or his relationship with Imma.”
I pursed my lips. “And you didn’t believe her.”
“I wanted to.” Her eyes were earnest, like her tone. “It’s just that Imma died so violently. I felt that Angie must have noticed something, like some sort of abusive behavior. And…”
I leaned in. “What?”
“Well, I’m sure Imma told me that Angie had been the one to introduce her to Stewart when they met at London Fashion Week.”
Veronica straightened in her chair. “So Angie knew Stewart before Imma did?”
“Yes, I’m positive that Imma said Angie had met Stewart at Mardi Gras before she and Imma ever went to the London College of Fashion. I remember because she said that Stewart had pulled Angie from the crowd onto his float in the Krewe de Eros parade.”
My eyes went wide. “He had his own parade float?”
Concetta nodded. “Yes, he’s very active in Mardi Gras.”
Veronica typed a note on her laptop. “Why do you think Angie would have lied in court about knowing him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because she was scared?”
I glanced at Veronica. “Of what? Stewart?”
Concetta harrumphed. “Angie wasn’t the type to be intimidated by anyone. If anything, she was worried about her reputation. She was very driven to succeed. In fact, Imma said that as soon as Angie got to London, she would only associate with people who could help her career in some way.”
That certainly jives with the way Ryan and Annabella described her.
Veronica resumed typing. “Did you see Angie again after the trial?”
“No, never.” She sighed. “The last we knew she was in London. We had no idea that she’d come back to New Orle
ans, and we certainly didn’t know she’d changed her name.”
Veronica tapped a finger to her cheek. “Do you have any idea why she would’ve used the name Jessica Evans?”
Concetta looked at her hands. “The name specifically? No. But my guess is that she wanted to disassociate herself from Imma’s murder.”
I scratched my head. “Why would she want to do that? Do you think she had something to do with your sister’s murder?”
“No, not at all.” Concetta’s eyes filled with tears. “Angie could never have killed Imma. I’m sure of that.”
Not wanting to upset her further, I changed the subject. “You joined the convent after the trial, right?”
“No, I entered aspirancy about six months after Imma died, before the trial. God called me to service after I lost her.” Her voice was soft, distant. “It’s funny, when Imma was thousands of miles away in London, I still felt like she was with me. But then when she was really gone…well…let’s just say that I could never have gone back to the life I led before.”
I felt terrible for her, and I hoped that her decision to become a nun was truly the right one, and not a choice made solely based on her loss.
Veronica placed a hand on Concetta’s back. “I’ve always heard that the bond between twins is so powerful.”
“It is,” she whispered. Then she cleared her throat. “And I’m sure my mother told you about my father.”
I nodded. “Yes, we were so sorry to learn of his passing, especially under the circumstances.”
Concetta’s lips tightened, and she touched the crucifix at her neck. “Imma’s death killed my father. And it killed my mother too, even though she’s physically still with us. The person she used to be died a long time ago.”
I thought of her Goth sister. “What about Domenica? How has all of this affected her?”
She inhaled. “Domenica was only thirteen when Imma died. Then she lost her father—and her mother, for all intents and purposes. She’s had an awful time coping.”
Veronica closed her laptop. “That’s certainly understandable.”
“Yes, and even though I haven’t always agreed with the way she’s handled her grief, I know she still has faith in God, so she’ll be all right.”
I wondered whether she was referring to Domenica’s dark look and demeanor. “What haven’t you agreed with?”
“Well, her dropping out of school, mainly. But I also disapprove of her Goth makeup and clothes.”
“So, she became a Goth after Imma’s death?”
“Yes, I think she felt isolated, but she also wanted to be left alone. The Goth persona was like a mask for her to hide behind.”
Veronica’s lips thinned. “I’m sure it’s just a phase.”
“I think so too.”
I wasn’t so sure I agreed with them, but I knew I shouldn’t press the issue. “What about Stewart Preston? Did you or anyone in your family ever have any interaction with him before Imma died?”
“No. My family doesn’t have much money, so we weren’t able to visit Imma in London while she was seeing Stewart.”
“And she never came back to New Orleans with him after they began seeing each other?”
Concetta looked at her rosary. “Like I said, we didn’t have the money. The annual tuition at the London College of Fashion was around sixteen thousand dollars, not including the cost of living. So Imma took out student and private loans, got scholarships, and worked to pay her way through school. My parents helped as much as they could, but I can tell you for sure that she had nothing left over for an international plane flight.”
My mind wandered to Angelica’s flight home for her mother’s funeral. If Imma couldn’t afford a plane ticket with her parents’ assistance, then how had Angelica managed to pay for one? “Do you know anything about Angie’s finances during school?”
She shrugged. “In the beginning, she had a harder time paying for school than Imma did because she didn’t have any help from her parents. But then she came into some money at the end of her senior year.”
Veronica’s chin lowered. “You mean, when her mother died.”
Concetta reached for her crucifix. “Yes, but she didn’t inherit any money from her mother, if that’s what you mean. Angie always said that she and her mom lived paycheck to paycheck. She also told me that her father had stopped sending child support when she was only two or three.”
I sat up, intrigued. “Then, where do you think the money came from?”
“We never knew, but my mother thought it must have been an advance from a company. You know, like a signing bonus.”
“Do you know whether it was a large sum of money?”
“I have no idea. I just know that around the time of the investigation, money no longer seemed to be an issue. Plus, she started wearing the occasional piece of pricey jewelry or an expensive blouse. She would tell people that these things had belonged to her mother, but I knew better.”
Veronica and I exchanged a look.
“Let’s go back to Stewart,” Veronica said. “Did you talk to him during the investigation or at the trial?”
“Definitely not.” Her hand went to her crucifix. “The police warned us that if we had any contact with him, we could jeopardize the case. And of course, our attorneys wouldn’t let us speak to him during the trial, either.” The corners of her mouth tightened. “But he wouldn’t have talked to us anyway, even if we’d tried. In fact, he never so much as looked at any of us at the trial. Not even after he was acquitted.”
Veronica licked her lips. “Are you convinced that he’s guilty of Imma’s murder?”
Concetta looked her in the eyes. “I am, yes.”
I leaned forward. “And what about Angie’s murder?”
“What about it?” she asked, surprised.
“Well, you know that Imma and Angie were murdered the same way, right?”
Concetta winced. “Yes, they were both strangled.”
I met and held her teary gaze. “With scarves.”
She nodded, seemingly unable to speak.
“So, do you think it’s possible that Stewart had anything to do with Angie’s murder?”
“I couldn’t possibly speculate on something like that.” She spoke as though winded. “It wouldn’t be right.”
Veronica put a hand on her shoulder. “Of course not.”
Concetta placed her rosary on the table. “I pray for Stewart every day, and I’ve forgiven him for what he did to Imma. I hope that one day he confesses his sin and asks the Lord for forgiveness, but I don’t think he will.”
I would’ve expected a nun to hold out hope that a sinner would repent.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, if what I’ve seen in the society pages is true, then it seems unlikely. He was known around New Orleans to be a partying playboy when he met Imma, and it appears he still is.”
Veronica opened her laptop.
“Plus…” Concetta pressed her lips together. “I doubt he would seek counsel from the Church since I’ve heard he practices voodoo.”
My brow shot up. “Voodoo?”
I barely heard her when she replied, “Of course, that could just be a rumor.” I was too preoccupied with thoughts of the skull bead I’d found at the murder scene.
15
“Can you believe the bomb Concetta dropped?” I asked after I’d watched her exit the building from the conference room window. “Stewart was involved in voodoo.”
“She also said that might not be true.” Veronica picked up her laptop and headed out the door to her office.
I followed close on her heels. “But even you have to admit that the skull bead I found takes on a whole new meaning in light of this news.”
“It is intriguing.” She spoke over her shoulder as we walked down the hall. “But we need proof of Stewart’s association with voodoo. And then we have to connect that bead to him, which could be next to impossible considering that this town is full of people who buy th
at stuff.”
“That’s where Odette Malveaux comes in. If Stewart does practice voodoo, then she might know him. That would explain how she knew about this case.”
“Talk to Odette.” Veronica entered her office and took a seat behind the desk. “But take whatever she says with a grain of salt.”
“Sure.” I leaned casually against the doorjamb, even though I was cheering inside. “Apparently, she only goes to Marie Laveau’s on weekends, but I’d be willing to go there on my day off if it meant getting a lead on this case.” And asking her about Bradley. “But first I’ll do some research on Stewart to see if I can find anything connecting him to voodoo.”
Veronica gave a dismissive wave. “Enough of this voodoo nonsense. What did you think about the revelation that Jessica came into money right around the time of Imma’s murder?”
I took a seat in front of her desk. “Honestly, it made me wonder if someone was paying her off.”
“I thought the same thing.” She tapped a pen on her chin.
“I mean, even Ryan Hunter said Jessica had a suspiciously large amount of money, which is odd for a woman who, by all accounts, didn’t inherit anything from her mother and should’ve been strapped with student loan debt.”
“Good point.” Veronica leaned back in her chair and propped a resplendent pair of beige and gold Louis Vuitton pumps on her desk.
“So, I have this theory.” I held up my hands. “Suppose Concetta was right, and Jessica did know something about Imma and Stewart’s relationship, or maybe even about—”
“Imma’s murder,” she interrupted with a flourish of her pen.
“Precisely.”
“Then Stewart could have been paying her to keep quiet.”
I nodded and crossed my arms. “That would also explain Jessica’s reluctance to testify at the trial. Of course, it’s pure supposition at this point, but this could be the link between the cases that we’ve been looking for.”
“True.” Veronica pressed the pen to her lips.
“That reminds me. Have you looked at the picture of Stewart at the courthouse after his acquittal?”
“I have. And judging from his demeanor, I wouldn’t put bribery past him.”
Franki Amato Mysteries Box Set Page 17