Franki Amato Mysteries Box Set

by Traci Andrighetti

  "Private Chicks, Incorporated," David answered in a clipped, professional voice. "If you give us the time, we'll solve your crime."

  "I'm so glad you're there," I breathed. "Have you been able to do that background check on Pauline?"

  "I just finished it. She's clean."

  I don't know how when she's so dirty, I thought. "Listen, if I bring in some video files from a security camera, will you be able to tell whether they've been tampered with?"

  "Uh, it kinda depends on what they did to the file. My vassal could for sure do it, though. He's a total video pro."

  I vaguely remembered the vassal saying something about wanting to study film. "That's fine with me, but I thought he only had to serve you for one day."

  "For that one entire day," David clarified. "But he gets to do whatever my fraternity brothers and I tell him all year long. It's one of the privileges of rushing a frat."

  "Uh-huh," I agreed skeptically. "So, if I bring the files to the office this morning, could you take them to him?"

  "Sure. I'll see him in algorithms class this afternoon."

  I shuddered. I couldn't think of a more boring way to spend my time. "How fast do you think he could analyze the video?"

  "I dunno, but he's throwing a party for his comp sci buddies at his dorm tomorrow. He could do it then, I bet. Wanna come?"

  Now I could think of a more boring way to spend my time. For me, computer science parties conjured up mental images of Lord of the Rings posters, Star Wars action figures, comic books, and unwashed males unfamiliar with the female gender. But I was willing to do whatever it took to out Pauline to Bradley, even if that meant spending my Saturday night with a bunch of leering freshman nerds playing video games. "Count me in."

  "Solid," he said in college-ese. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at two."

  "In the morning?" I asked, shocked.

  "No, the afternoon. The vassal likes to be in bed by nine," he explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

  That vassal is a real party animal. "Okay. Is Veronica there?"

  "Yeah. One sec."

  As I waited for Veronica to pick up, I saw something move in the backyard. I jumped up and stood to one side of the window. When I peeked out, I spotted Glenda watering her plants in nothing but six-inch heels and a smile (her robe was so sheer it couldn't be considered clothing). I pulled down the blind and closed the curtains.

  "Hey!" Veronica answered. "How'd your date go last night? I'll bet you really wowed Bradley with that racy red dress."

  "I wowed him, all right," I said, collapsing back into my chair. "But it had nothing to do with my dress."

  She paused. "Uh-oh."

  "Look, I'll spare you the undignified details, but last night I snuck into the security room at the bank, and Pauline tipped off the police anonymously."

  An awkward silence followed, and I knew that the attorney in Veronica was running down a mental list of Private Chicks' potential liabilities.

  "Everything is fine," I added to ease her concern. "And I think I've figured out why Pauline didn't seize the opportunity to rat me out personally to Bradley."

  "Why's that?"

  "I can't prove it yet," I began, as I picked up the cake knife and scrutinized it for more sludge, "but I think she's stealing from Pontchartrain Bank."

  "You're talking about the money from Corinne's teller drawer, right?"

  I snorted. "Trust me, Pauline's not the type to content herself with a lousy thousand dollars. I have a hunch she's planning to steal a lot more than that, if she hasn't already. And by taking money from Corinne's drawer, she's setting her up to look like the thief."

  "So, what are you going to do?" she asked, her liability anxiety no doubt approaching a critical level.

  "I'm going to research everything I can about the New York branch of Brehman Bank until I find the name of a manager who knew her." I scratched a speck of sludge from the knife and popped it into my mouth. "I'm telling you, there's a reason she left that bank off her resume."

  Veronica let out a long slow exhale. "Just be careful, Franki. If she is stealing from the bank, it sounds like she could be dangerous if you back her into a corner."

  "Don't worry. I won't fall into one of her traps again," I said, and I meant it. Now that I had an idea of how far Pauline would go to get me out of the picture, I would be sure to keep my guard up. "Speaking of being trapped, I'm taking Chandra to the plantation today, and I could use a buffer during the car ride. In addition to her psychic ability, that woman's also got the gift of gab."

  "Sorry. I have a packed schedule."

  "Oh." I swallowed my disappointment. As much as I loved being the lead on a case, I missed having my best friend fighting crime by my side.

  "I have an idea," she exclaimed. "Since tomorrow's Saturday, why don't we have brunch at Atchafalaya and stuff our faces? My treat."

  I put the knife back into the empty cake box. Between last night and this morning, I'd consumed enough calories to keep a platoon of soldiers alive during a weeklong survival-training course. "I don't know…"

  "They have a make-your-own-bloody-mary bar," she intoned.

  "I'm in," I gushed. After all, empty calories weren't as bad as full ones, right?

  "Good. Then it's a date."

  "Yeah, and let's drop by Lickalicious Lips afterward. Adam won't be expecting us on a weekend."

  She cleared her throat. "I can't. I need to be somewhere at noon."

  "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," I said and closed the call. I wondered whether Veronica was avoiding me, but I dismissed the idea since she'd just invited me out to eat. Whatever was going on, I intended to get to the bottom of it at brunch.

  I switched the windshield wipers to high and strained to see the turnoff to River Road. Even though it was only eleven a.m., the sky was as black as night, and the torrential downpour wasn't helping visibility. I glanced at Chandra snoozing in the passenger seat. Her head was pressed against the window, and drool was dripping from her open mouth.

  As it turns out, I hadn't needed a buffer from her babbling but rather from her snoring. She'd nodded off before we even got to Private Chicks to drop off the flash drive. And she'd snored the entire way to the plantation. In fact, sometimes it was hard to tell whether thunder was rumbling or Chandra was sawing logs.

  Now that I thought about it, I realized that the weather turned every time I was around her. I debated whether this was proof that she really was cosmically connected to the universe. If it was, I decided that it might not be such a swell sign that storms followed her wherever she went. But then it occurred to me that the bad weather might not be a reflection on Chandra but on me. Was I living under a dark cloud—literally and figuratively?

  I was mulling over this possibility as I pulled into the Oleander Place parking lot. The second I shut off the engine, Chandra shot up in her seat.

  "Oh God, are we at the plantation?" she shouted, already in the clutches of her phasmophobia. Then she grabbed her head. "Owww. I shouldn't have let Lou talk me into that third beer sampler last night at the Crescent City Brewhouse."

  My first thought was, Does Chandra ever go anywhere or do anything that doesn't have a moon-related theme? Next I wondered whether bringing a hungover psychic with a fear of ghosts to a haunted plantation was a good idea. I was about to suggest that she stay in the car when I saw Miles heading toward the parking lot from the direction of the little mill. "I need to talk to this guy real quick," I said, motioning toward him. "I'll be right back."

  Chandra followed my gesture and perked right up when she saw Miles. "I'll come with you," she offered as she smoothed her hair, which was shaped like a cone after being pressed against the window. "I need to stretch my legs."

  I gave her a sidelong glance. It figured that a Boston native would be attracted to a big Irishman. When I turned to exit the car, I found Miles looking into my window. I rolled it down a crack. "Hi, Miles."

  "Mornin', Miss Franki," he said.

  Chandra
practically threw herself across my lap. "I'm Chandra Toccato, the Crescent City Medium."

  I gripped the steering wheel and moved forward in my seat in an effort to block her from his view. "Do you have a minute?"

  "I was fixin' to run to de hardware store, but I always have time to talk to two beautiful ladies," he said staring at Chandra, who was batting her eyelashes so fast she looked like a crazed cupie doll.

  "Great," I said in a flat tone, trying to discourage any further flattery. "Listen, have you noticed anything unusual on the grounds in recent weeks? Like, any changes in the plants?"

  "De plants?" he repeated, scratching his head.

  "Well, the oleander bushes," I clarified.

  Chandra sighed. "I just adore oleanders."

  I spun around and shot her a cool-it look.

  "All de oleanders are doin' jus' fine, Miss Franki." He looked at the sky. "Dey're sure lovin' dis rain."

  "I wasn't talking about their health. What I need to know is whether any of the bushes have been altered. You know, like maybe someone picked a bunch of flowers or cut off some branches?"

  His nostrils flared, and I knew that something about my question had angered him.

  He forced a smile. "I can't say as dey have."

  I looked into his eyes to see whether he would avoid my gaze, but he met it straight on. I knew there was no point in pressing him further. "Interesting," I said in an intentionally suspicious tone. "Have you seen Scarlett today?"

  His face relaxed. "I saw her goin' into de main house dis mornin', but I haven't seen her since."

  "Thanks," I said, still scrutinizing his face.

  "Anytime, Miss Franki." He nodded at Chandra. "You ladies have a lovely day at Oleander Place."

  "Oh, we will," Chandra replied before kicking off another round of eyelash batting. "I've just been dying to see the house."

  I rolled my eyes and rolled up the window before their coquetry could continue. Then I watched in my rearview mirror as Miles got into his car. He was looking in our direction, which meant that either Chandra had made an impression on him or my question had. Something told me it was the latter. I was positive he was hiding something. What I didn't know was whether it concerned only the oleanders or Ivanna's murder too.

  Chandra sighed. "It looks like the rain is letting up. I guess it's time to get this reading over with."

  "Yeah, let's make a run for it," I said, grabbing my keys.

  As we ran to the back entrance, I outpaced her three-to-one—not so much because of the difference in our strides but because of the difference in our shoes. Ever since Delta's dog-sharks had feasted on my feet, I'd worn riding boots to the plantation. But Chandra was in four-inch platform stilettos with lace ankle socks. Definitely not standard Ghostbusters issue, I thought as I watched her hop like a bumbling bunny across the soaked lawn.

  When she reached the porch, she followed me inside with eyes as big as, well, two moons.

  "First, I'll introduce you to Delta," I said in an effort to steady her nerves. "Then while I'm questioning the tour guide, Scarlett, I'd like for you to do readings in the pink room and on the balcony."

  She didn't respond.

  I turned and saw that she looked kind of green, or maybe lunar blue. Either way, I wasn't sure if it was because of the Oleander Place spirits or those three samplers. "Are you okay?"

  She bobbed her head up and down and began what sounded like a series of sighs.

  "Um, is that a psychic technique?" I asked, more than a little concerned about her mental state.

  "It's a stress-reliever," she replied, staring at me like I was the crazy one.

  I shrugged and tried the handle of the office door. It was locked. "Delta must have stepped out. I'll take you to see the painting of Evangeline before we go upstairs."

  We'd just started down the hallway when Chandra began making suction noises.

  I stopped and stared at her. "What are you doing now?"

  "Nothing," she said defensively. "My socks got wet."

  I took a deep breath and headed for the parlor as she sighed and squished along behind me. Apart from the racket she was making and the intermittent rumbling of thunder, the house was ominously silent. And dark.

  "Sweet Jesus!" Chandra shrieked as her hands clamped onto my triceps like lobster pinschers. "Is that a ghost?"

  I clenched my teeth and wrenched free of her grip. Then I looked down the hallway and saw a flickering light coming from the parlor. The courter's candle!

  I rushed into the room with Chandra practically attached to my back. The entire parlor had been turned into a shrine to Evangeline. Coral-pink tulle was draped over her painting, and dozens of oleander bouquets filled the room. The courter's candle, which was once again alight on the mantle, cast an eerie glow over the scene. Even more haunting, all the windows were open, causing the white sheers to flail like frenzied spirits in the storm winds.

  I stood there open-mouthed until a crash of thunder shook me from my stupor. I went to close the windows, and as I latched the last one, the door shut behind me.

  "Someone locked us in!" Chandra shrieked. Then she leapt on me, piggyback-style.

  "Get off me," I ground out as I pried her legs one-by-one from my waist.

  "We've got to get out of this place," she wailed.

  "You've got to stay calm," I snapped as I walked to the door. I grasped the doorknob, and it fell into my hand. The part of the knob that attached to the door had a round opening, and the knob itself was hollow inside. I got down on my knees and inspected the doorplate. There was a rod protruding that was connected to the doorknob on the opposite side. After I'd reinserted the rod into the knob, the door opened on its own. "See?" I turned to Chandra, who was standing all of two inches from me. "No one locked us in."

  "Do you think the wind closed it?" she whispered.

  "Maybe," I replied. Although I wasn't convinced since the door opened into the hallway. The more likely scenario was that Scarlett had closed the door so that she could slip past me.

  I walked to the window. Her truck was in the parking lot, so I knew she was around somewhere.

  "What's the matter?" Chandra asked, raising her hands to her mouth.

  "Scarlett's avoiding me, but I have to question her before she leaves today," I explained. "Do you want to go wait in the car while I look for her?"

  She scowled and put her hands on her hips. "Oh, no. You're not leaving me alone on this ghost trap of a plantation!"

  Things psychics should never say, I thought.

  We searched the first floor, but Scarlett was nowhere to be seen. Chandra stuck to me like glue until I headed up the stairs, and then she started to drop back. She was no longer sighing and squishing, just huffing and puffing. As I approached the second-floor landing, she'd only made it halfway up the staircase. I looked back at her. "Are you sensing any spirit activity yet?"

  She shook her head. "They're (huff) laying (puff) like (huff) broccoli (puff)."

  "You mean, being still like vegetables?" I joked, paraphrasing from Pretty Woman.

  She didn't laugh.

  She's probably saving her breath, I thought. Because that was funny.

  When I reached the second floor and looked in the direction of the pink room, I jumped from fright. There was a tall figure looming in front of the French doors. I couldn't make out who it was in the semi-darkness, but I could see the outline of a crinoline dress. It was a woman, and she was moving slightly—actually, floating. Like a ghost.

  "H-hello?" I stammered. I felt my knees start to buckle and grabbed the stair rail for support. Was I seeing the spirit of Evangeline Lacour?

  Chandra arrived at the top of the stairs. "Did (huff) you (puff) find (huff) Scarlett (puff)?"

  A flash of lightening illuminated the figure, and I immediately recognized the red fabric of the dress.

  "Yes, I did," I whispered as Chandra let out a hair-raising scream and fell to the floor.

  I knelt down and checked her pulse. T
hen I looked up at Scarlett.

  And I wondered how long she'd been hanging.

  14

  I sat on one of the canopied beds in the children's room and put my head between my legs. Six hours had passed since I'd found Scarlett's lifeless body, but I still felt dizzy and nauseated. I was convinced that she hadn't committed suicide, because there was nothing on the floor below that she could have used to reach the noose. Someone had hanged her like she was a worthless rag doll, and I couldn't stop wondering whether there was something I could've done to save her. Maybe I should have insisted that she go to the authorities or at least tell me what she knew.

  Overwhelmed by a wave of guilt, I sat up and looked enviously at Chandra dozing on the opposite bed. When she'd regained consciousness and learned that the looming figure in front of the French doors hadn't been a ghoulish ghost but rather a mundane murder victim, she'd returned to her serene, sleepy self. In fact, after the St. James Parish PD had asked us to wait in the children's bedroom while they completed their preliminary investigation, she'd flopped onto the two-hundred-something-year-old bed and started snoring.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs as the responding officers returned from the makeshift command post they'd set up outside.

  The sound awoke Chandra, who sat up and stretched. "I'm sheets!"

  "Where'd you find liquor?" I asked. Now I was really envious.

  She fluffed her bed-head hair with her fingernails. "Who said anything about alcohol?"

  "You said you were 'sheets.' You know, as in 'three sheets to the wind?'" I mimicked a drunk chugging a drink.

  She gave an exasperated sigh. "'I'm sheets' is a Boston expression for 'I'm tired.'"

  "Too bad." I walked over to the window. "I could use a drink."

  "Right?" She stood up and tugged at her miniskirt. "We've already told the police everything we know. When are they going to let us go?"