No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't understand why Ivanna would have been killed with belladonna when she had oleander-laced lip gloss in her hand. But I was starting to think that she'd known about the poison in the lip gloss. And if she had, I figured that she'd been coming to the plantation either to get the oleander or to give the lip gloss to an enemy. Of course, she could have been making trips to Oleander Place for some other reason. But what?
Once again my thoughts drifted to the pink diamond.
15
The busty blonde waitress literally bounced up to the table with a pot of coffee in hand. "Can I get y'all anything else this mornin'?"
"I'm good," I said from beneath her bulky breasts. Then I realized how that sounded under the, um, circumstances. "I mean, nothing for me thanks."
Veronica gave a wan smile and shook her head.
The waitress flashed a toothy grin. "Be right back with your check."
"Sorry if I've been a boring brunch date," Veronica said, staring at her mimosa glass as she twisted it in circles on the wooden table. "I just can't believe Scarlett's dead."
"I know." I looked at my half-eaten plate of Eggs Louisianne. "I woke up this morning thinking that it had all been a nightmare, but then reality hit me like a baseball bat. I can't help but feel partly responsible."
She glanced up at me. "You shouldn't, Franki. Scarlett was either involved in the murder or she knew who did it, and it was her responsibility to do the right thing. You reached out to her, but she made it clear she didn't want your help."
"I guess," I said, picking at my poached eggs with my fork.
"Do you think she was poisoned too?" she asked and then tossed a popcorn crawfish into her mouth.
"I doubt it." I rested my elbows on the table and clasped my hands. "This wasn't like Ivanna's murder. Whoever killed Scarlett did it to shut her up."
"Are you sure it wasn't some sort of ritualistic thing? After all, you did see that shrine."
"Yeah," I began, shifting in my chair, "but because the shrine was to Evangeline, it tells me that Obsessive Love Disorder was a factor in Ivanna's killing. My guess is that when Scarlett went to work early yesterday, she surprised the killer while he was worshipping Evangeline."
"That's so disturbing." She drained the last of her drink. "Who do you think did it?"
"Well, Miles might have had time to kill her before he left for the hardware store." I glanced at the wall of old wooden window frames that separated the dining area of Atchafalaya from the lobby. "But if I'm right about my altar theory, he couldn't have been inside the house when Scarlett came to work because he was looking out a window in the sugar mill when she arrived. And now that we know about the belladonna, I think Adam is a possibility. As a chemist, he'd have access to all kinds of poison."
She drummed her fingers on the table. "I still don't get why the killer would've put Scarlett in her crinoline."
"Remember, we don't know why she was wearing that dress." I popped the last of my crab cake into my mouth and licked creole hollandaise sauce from my fingers. "She could have put it on herself for some reason."
"But if she didn't?" She took a bite of her Eggs Treme.
"Then I might know why she was wearing it," I said, wiping my hands. "Ivanna too, for that matter."
"Why?" she pressed, leaning forward in anticipation.
"Troy said that crinoline literally gave women a larger presence in Victorian society and that it had an erotic aspect. And if you think about it, all of that fits with Obsessive Love Disorder. The killer transferred his obsession for Evangeline and her pink crinoline dress to Ivanna. But at some point, Ivanna crossed a line, so he put her in her place. As for Scarlett, she overstepped her bounds, so she got her comeuppance too."
Veronica nodded. "It makes sense, I suppose. But why the belladonna?"
I shrugged. "That's the part I don't get."
"Do you think the name is significant?" She cut into a boudin cake. "It does mean 'beautiful woman.'"
"I thought about that," I replied, stirring my green tomato bloody mary with the pickled green bean garnish. "My laptop is at the office, but I used my phone to look up belladonna on a poison control website. It didn't mention anything about the origin or history of the drug, but it listed some fascinating symptoms."
"Such as?" Veronica smiled at the waitress as she placed the check on our table.
I took a sip of my drink. "Well, it causes respiratory failure, for one thing. But it also causes blurred vision, blindness, and hallucinations."
"Well, aside from the respiratory failure, we don't have any evidence that Ivanna experienced those other symptoms," she said as she examined the bill.
"No, but if she was going blind or hallucinating, she might have been thrashing around the room, and that could account for the torn curtain and the broken perfume bottle." I sucked down the last of my bloody mary. "But then again, maybe she was in a fight for her life with the killer."
Veronica shuddered. "Let's change the subject. Have you heard from Bradley?"
At the mention of Bradley's name, I was filled with longing for another make-your-own-bloody-mary. "I texted him this morning, but he hasn't answered."
"It's only been a couple of days," she said, reaching for her billfold. "Give him a little more time."
"And let Pauline move in for the kill? Uh-uh, no way." I bit angrily into my alligator sausage as I flashed back to that dark day at the swamp. As far as I was concerned, those gators were partially responsible for my current relationship predicament.
Veronica rolled her eyes. "You don't have any proof that Pauline is after Bradley."
I started to tell her about the Three of Cups card, but I bit my tongue. Even I knew that a tarot card didn't exactly constitute hard evidence.
"Besides," she continued, "deep down you know she's not his type."
"I never underestimate the power of an enemy, Veronica, especially not one as pernicious as Pauline." I glanced at my watch and realized that it was almost eleven a.m. "I'm going to call him later, but first I need to find an elusive chemist, and after that I've got a frat party to attend."
"I'll go with you," she said. Then she held up her hand. "But only to Lickalicious Lips."
I looked at her in surprise. "I thought you had something to do."
"It can wait," she said, laying four twenties on the tip tray. "I don't think you should be alone when you question Adam about the belladonna."
I smiled. I was glad to have my partner back. As we left Atchafalaya, I joked, "I can't believe you'd miss the vassal's party. I mean, besides the Rex Ball at Mardi Gras, it's the social event of the season."
By the time Veronica and I drove from Uptown to the French Quarter, located a parking spot, and made our way through the throngs of Saturday tourists, it was almost noon when we arrived at Lickalicious Lips. As I'd suspected, Adam was there. In fact, he was in the process of locking the front door as he balanced a large cardboard box on his hip.
Given that he'd never bothered to return any of my calls, I dispensed with the friendly greeting and went straight to the point. "Did you resign or something?"
Adam stiffened and then threw his head back and sighed. "If you must know, I've been relieved of my services."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "Does that mean Ivanna's father is in town?"
"Not yet," he said pulling the key from the door and turning to face us. "But his secretary called to let me know that he'll be arriving in New Orleans tomorrow to make funeral arrangements and put the business up for sale."
"Could you please let him know that we'd like to speak with him?" Veronica asked.
He gave a caustic laugh. "His secretary also let me know that the good Dr. Jones would rather not see me—since I'm a suspect in his daughter's death and all."
I could see that Adam was in no mood for questions. But he'd been avoiding me, and I wanted to know why. I also felt now might be my only opportunity to get some answers. So I decided to press. "Sp
eaking of the investigation, I'm sure the police have contacted you about the death of Scarlett Heinz."
"They have indeed," he said as he stepped around Veronica and me and opened the trunk of an orange Corvette parked on the street.
I crossed my arms and shifted my weight to my hip. "Do you mind if I ask whether you have an alibi for yesterday morning?"
"Actually, I do mind." He loaded the box into the trunk and slammed the hood. "But if it'll get you to stop calling me," he began, dusting his hands on his faded jeans, "then I'll gladly tell you that I don't have an alibi because I was here yesterday morning packing up my things."
"No one can vouch for you?" Veronica asked. "You didn't see anyone or make any calls?"
"Look, I said I don't have an alibi, all right?" he yelled.
Adam was starting to try my patience. "Listen, we're just trying to get to the bottom of this case before anyone else is killed. Obviously, you don't have to talk to us because we're not the police. But I can tell you that refusal to cooperate only makes you look like a more appealing suspect."
"That's odd," he said in mock bemusement. "Because I have been cooperating, and yet I seem to be everyone's prime suspect." He yanked open his car door.
"Wait," Veronica said, making a clicking sound as she ran around his car in her heels.
He rested his arm on the car door. "I'm kind of in a hurry."
Using her signature manipulation move that I'd nicknamed the bat and twirl, Veronica immediately began batting her eyelashes and twisting a lock of her golden hair around her index finger. "Could we please just ask you one more question?" She stepped closer to him, opened her cornflower-blue eyes extra wide, and gave one last bat. "Pretty please?"
Adam softened like butter on a sweltering summer day. "What do you want to know?"
"Whether you've ever used oleander or belladonna in your products," she replied sweetly.
"Or elsewhere," I hurried to add.
He shook his head in frustration as he looked up at the sky. "They're highly toxic plants that have no use in cosmetics. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."
Before Veronica or I could respond, Adam got into his Corvette and hit the gas. The car spun toward the curb and ran up on the sidewalk—narrowly missing a bodybuilder with a blond brush cut who was carrying a giant frozen margarita and wearing a wife beater that read "Keep Calm and Carry a Go-Cup"—before righting itself and speeding down St. Peter. The bodybuilder kept on walking, either too drunk or too calm to react.
Veronica removed her Gucci sunglasses. "What do you make of that exit?"
"Well, a) the Corvette is too much car for the chemist, and b) he didn't answer the question."
"He didn't, did he?" She rested the tip of her sunglasses on her lower lip. "Do you think he really had somewhere he needed to go?"
"He just wanted to get away from us," I said, as we began walking up St. Peter. "The question is why."
I looked at David out of the corner of my eye and smirked. He had a swagger in his step as he strutted down the musty corridor of Monroe Hall, presumably because he was a sophomore in a freshman dorm and because he had an older woman, i.e., me, at his side.
"Yo, Shor-tay!" David cried as he high-fived a skinny, five-foot-tall kid wearing orthodontic headgear.
I held my bag against my chest as we continued down the hall. "Is this the vassal's floor?"
"Someone's ready to party," he observed with a wink.
"Actually, I'm ready to have some answers about Corinne's case," I replied. But that was only partially true. The fact was that walking past the hormonal teenaged males milling in the hallway made me uneasy. Although I was modestly dressed in white Capri pants and a sleeveless turquoise shirt, you'd have thought I was wearing one of Glenda's stripper costumes. Every time I passed a boy, his beady, sex-starved eyes bore into my exposed flesh like lasers, or, given the context, like Star Trek phasers.
David stopped at an open doorway and gave a chivalrous bow. "After you, Ms. Amato."
When I entered the vassal's room, I expected to see a dorm-sized version of the set of "The Big Bang Theory." But the small space was so jam-packed with electronics that it looked more like the inside of a Best Buy, and it had that same plastic, new technology smell too. I glanced at a group of gamers gathered around a video console. "Where's the vassal?"
No sooner had I asked than the bathroom door opened and the vassal emerged. He was in full party mode—the top button of his plaid shirt was undone, and his bangs were hanging loose on his forehead. "Welcome," he said with a casual nod. "Can I get you a drink from the cooler?"
I eyed a nearby ice chest full of Mountain Dew Game Fuel. "Um, I really don't have much time. I'd rather just get to the video, if you don't mind."
"Not at all." He took a seat in the replica of Emperor Palpatine's throne that was facing his computer. "Give me a minute to pull it up."
While the vassal searched for the file, I studied a silver, crystal-studded sword mounted on the brick wall above his computer. "Is that from Game of Thrones?"
David's jaw dropped.
"Harry Potter," the vassal corrected in a hushed tone. "It's an authentic recreation of Godric Gryffindor's sword."
I rested my hand on his shoulder. "You do know that there was no Godric Gryffindor, don't you?"
The vassal scrutinized me with his slack-jawed stare. Then he turned away and cleared his throat. "So, both of the video files were altered."
I felt like I'd just won the lottery. "How do you know?"
He pointed to the bottom right on the screen. "You can tell by looking at the time stamp." He clicked the play arrow. "But first, just watch this clip from April 12th."
I leaned in and saw Corinne standing at her teller station. She handed a customer some cash and a receipt and then turned to look at the female teller at the next station, which was about three feet to her right. The teller said something, and Corinne walked over to her.
"Is there audio?" David asked.
The vassal shook his head. "But I think the woman is saying that something's wrong with her computer."
I watched as Corinne and the woman knelt down and pulled a tower computer from beneath the counter. Corinne jiggled one of the computer cables, and then she stood up and smiled before returning to her own station.
The vassal clicked pause.
I frowned. "I didn't see anything unusual in that clip."
"That's because whoever edited the video made clean cuts," he explained. "Now I'm going to slow it down, and I want you to watch the last two digits on the time stamp. They represent the seconds."
I nodded. The time stamp read 11:32:01 AM when the vassal clicked play. I kept my eyes glued to the seconds column.
"There!" David shouted. "Dude, it jumped by like thirty seconds."
"I saw it too," I said, struggling to contain my excitement. "At 11:32:19 AM, when Corinne was checking the cable, the time jumped to 11:32:49 AM."
"Right," the vassal said. "So your friend was probably at the woman's computer for another thirty seconds before she got up and walked back to her station."
"Which was enough time for someone to grab some cash from her drawer," I concluded. "What about the video from April 16th?"
"Same thing," the vassal replied. He opened the file and clicked play. "Someone edited out twenty-five seconds."
In the next clip, Corinne again went over to the teller station on her right, this time to see a customer's baby. I watched as she, the other teller, and the proud mother smiled and cooed at the infant. And then I saw another woman appear briefly in the bottom left corner of the screen. "Stop the video!"
The vassal jumped so high that his head hit the curved roof of his throne.
"What did you see?" David asked.
I motioned for him to wait. "Replay that, please, and slowly."
The vassal rubbed his head as he restarted the video.
I held my breath as I squinted at the screen. About thirty seconds into the clip
, I saw Pauline's long, silky hair obscuring her face as she straightened some magazines in a waiting area near the teller stations. She glanced furtively through her hair toward Corinne and the others and then disappeared from view. "Did you see that woman?"
Both David and the vassal nodded, their tongues practically hanging out of their mouths.
"Never mind," I said with an eye roll. There was no point in discussing what I'd seen with the boys. I had what I needed, sort of. I could now go to Corinne and show her when the money was taken from her drawer, I just couldn't identify who did it.
Of course, I knew that Pauline was the culprit, especially after seeing her pretending to tidy up the waiting area in the second clip—something I was quite sure she would never lower herself to do without an ulterior motive. But there was no way I could prove it to anyone, and especially not to Bradley. He didn't want anything to do with me, much less with video I'd stolen from his bank. And even if I did summon up the courage to show him the clips, I wouldn't put it past Pauline to accuse Corinne of altering them to eliminate herself as a suspect.
The time had come to get someone at Brehman Bank to talk to me about Pauline, and by any means necessary. Because I was no longer dealing with a hard-hearted hussy—I had a cold-blooded criminal on my hands.
16
At four o'clock on the dot, I pushed open the door to Private Chicks and marched into my office. It was bad enough that I was working on a Saturday, but because David had driven me to the party, I'd lost precious Pauline investigation time while I waited for him and the vassal to finish a very un-rousing game of Scrabble—played entirely in Klingon, I might add. To add insult to injury, Bradley still hadn't returned my text. So, I was probably going to be working a lot more Saturdays unless I could prove that his super secretary was a stellar stealer, which is precisely what I was going to do.
I woke up my computer and set about tracking down a Brehman Bank manager. I couldn't find the name of a single employee on the website. Then I did a Google search and found several of the managers' profiles on LinkedIn. I wanted to send them an InMail, but I could hardly tell them that I was a PI investigating a possible embezzler. I tapped my Leaning Tower of Pisa necklace charm on my teeth as I pondered how to proceed.
Franki Amato Mysteries Box Set Page 44