Franki Amato Mysteries Box Set

by Traci Andrighetti

  I broke off a piece of waffle for him and added a dash of syrup. He was the one constant in my life right now, so he deserved a special treat. I ruffled the fur on his head and handed him the bite. "There you go, boy."

  Next, I squeezed a cup or two of syrup onto my waffles and grabbed a spoon. Yes, a spoon. It's the only way to eat waffles swimming in syrup. Then I flopped down at the kitchen table.

  As I spooned the waffle-syrup soup into my mouth, I expected the warm gooey sweetness to soothe the ache in my soul. But it didn't. And I knew it had nothing to do with feeling sorry for myself—it was because there was something important I still had to do.

  I grabbed my phone and pressed Bradley's number, taking deep breaths between rings. My stomach lurched when I heard him pick up.

  "Franki." His voice was soft but practically screamed surprise.

  Drawing courage from his docile demeanor, I announced, "This is a business call, so I'd appreciate it if you kept our personal affairs out of this." Oh, and I made sure to stress the word affairs, the lousy cheat.

  "Listen," he began in a remorseful tone, "if this about me banning you from the bank—"

  "It's not," I interrupted. I wished I could tell him that I was working for Corinne. But Bradley wasn't the man I'd thought he was, so I couldn't take the chance that he'd fire her for hiring me.

  "Okay." He paused. "What's this about?"

  "I can't go into the details of why I have this information, but Pauline omitted her real last name from the résumé she submitted to you, not to mention a bank she worked for in New York."

  "How'd you get her resume?" he asked, bewildered.

  "That's beside the point," I snapped. "What matters is that Ms. Pauline Violette Malaspina got off scot-free after embezzling from a charity managed by Brehman Bank, and you've put her in charge of a charity for children."

  A stony silence ensued.

  "Now, I expect you to put your, uh, feelings for Pauline aside and look into the probability that she's stealing from your bank. Because if you don't, I'll have to take the evidence I've acquired to the police," I bluffed.

  "Franki, what goes on at Pontchartrain Bank is none of your concern," he said through clenched teeth. "Stay out of this."

  I was taken aback by his command. "You lost the right to have a say in my life when you hooked up with the embezzler."

  He let out a long sigh. "Look, I can't get into the specifics right now, but things aren't what they seem. You've got to trust me on this."

  I gave a laugh that was somewhere between incredulous and outraged. "You've got some nerve, Bradley Hartmann."

  I hung up and angrily wiped a tear from my cheek. I refused to cry over a bum like that.

  My phone rang, and I was positive it was Bradley calling me back. I responded with a resounding, "Go to hell!"

  "I'd really rather not," a surprised-sounding male replied.

  I gasped. "I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else."

  "Well, that's a relief." He chuckled. "The clergy are often unpopular, but that was a little harsh."

  Oh God, did I just tell a priest to go to hell? I gulped. "Um, you're with the Church?"

  "Yes, my name is Father Roman," he boomed. "I'm a neophyte at Holy Rosary Church."

  Did he just say nymphet? I wondered as I nervously scratched my neck and ran down a mental list of the sins I'd committed since the last time I'd set foot in a church. "The name of your church sounds familiar, but I can't place it."

  "We're located in downtown Houston."

  Now I knew where I'd heard the name before—my mother. "Does this have anything to do with marriage classes, Father?"

  "Actually, I've been asked to speak to you about another matter—your plans to cohabitate with your boyfriend?"

  "Nonna!" I exclaimed Seinfeld-style.

  "Your grandmother's not the only one who's worried about you," he clarified.

  "Oh, I'm quite sure my parents are in on this too," I said, squirming with embarrassment.

  "And some of the regulars here at the deli," he added. "You have a whole community of people here who love you, Francesca."

  I rested my forehead on the kitchen table. From the sound of things, my nonna had told everyone at Amato's Deli that I was planning to shack up in sin. "I appreciate your concern, Father. But I only told my nonna that I was going to live with a man to get her to stop pre-planning my wedding. And the fact is, my boyfriend has started seeing another woman."

  "Madonna santa!" my nonna exclaimed from out of nowhere.

  I bolted from my chair. "Father, is my nonna on this call too?"

  "I'm afraid she leaned in to the receiver just now," he replied. "Excuse me for a moment."

  He covered the phone with his hand, and then I heard the muffled sounds of his speech and my nonna's shrieks. I was sure he was trying to calm her down from a conniption fit she was having over the news that I was single again.

  Father Roman uncovered the receiver. "I'm afraid we have a little misunderstanding here about your living situation."

  "What is it?" I asked. But I didn't have to wait for an answer.

  "Franki's-a living with-a Bradley and another woman!" my nonna shouted a squarciagola, an Italian phrase which is often translated as "at the top of one's lungs" but actually means that someone is screaming so loudly that it's ripping their throat.

  "Are you saying Franki's a polygamist, Carmela?" a scandalized-sounding customer asked.

  "Well it sure sounds like an episode of Sister Wives to me!" another exclaimed.

  "But don't you worry, Francesca," Father Roman continued in a harried tone, "I'll set everyone straight."

  "Thank you, Father," I whispered. Then I hung up and took a much-needed swig of syrup.

  When I let the door to Private Chicks slam shut behind me, David's head shot up from his desk.

  "Whoa!" He wiped drool from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. "I can't believe I fell asleep."

  I smirked. "I guess you're finally coming down from all that game fuel you drank at the vassal's."

  Veronica entered the lobby in a smart-looking navy blazer and white skirt. "I was hoping that was you, Franki. Delta is on her way here to settle up what she owes us. Can you give me the total number of hours you've worked?"

  "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that," I said, shoving my sunglasses into my purse. "What time's she coming?"

  "Ten o'clock." She looked at her watch. "And it's five till, so you'd better make it quick."

  "Okay," I said with a nod. "Will you come with me while I grab a cup of coffee?"

  "Sure," she replied as she followed me down the hallway.

  When I entered the kitchen, I was thrilled to see a fresh pot of French Press. I pulled my mug from the cabinet and got straight to the point. "Veronica, I don't believe that Adam committed the murders."

  She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. "Well, the police certainly do. Why don't you think he's guilty?"

  I grabbed the carafe and poured some coffee into my cup. "Because I know he wouldn't have been stupid enough to leave belladonna in his lab."

  She frowned. "That's hardly proof of innocence."

  "There's more," I said, pulling my Baileys Sweet Italian Biscotti Coffee Creamer from the fridge. "Ruth Walker told me that Liam was at Lickalicious Lips right before the police came and searched the premises."

  "So?"

  "So," I began, pouring a cup of the creamer into my mug, "he could have planted the belladonna on the premises to frame Adam."

  "Hold on a second," she said, holding up her hand. "You can't possibly think that a nice man like Liam Jones killed his own daughter."

  "His daughter, no. But I can't rule out the others." I said, stirring my cookie-creamer coffee. "Think about it. We don't know for certain that he was out of the country when they were murdered. I mean, we haven’t checked the flight records."

  "True." She twirled a lock of blonde hair around her finger. "But what motive would
he have had to kill Scarlett and Miles?"

  I shrugged and took a sip of my coffee. "Maybe he thought they killed Ivanna."

  "And then he framed Adam for his crimes?" She tossed the lock of hair over her shoulder. "This is too far-fetched."

  "Just hear me out, okay?" I took a seat at the table. "I don't believe that Liam killed anyone either. But I have this nagging feeling that he's behind Adam's arrest. I mean, Adam told us himself that Liam doesn't like him, so much so that he had his secretary tell Adam to clear out before he came to town. Remember?"

  She nodded, staring down at her shoes.

  "So obviously there's bad blood there, and it has to have something to do with Adam's belligerent relationship with Ivanna."

  She pursed her lips. "Apparently, he does have some harsh feelings toward Adam, but that's a far cry from framing him for murder."

  "It gives him a motive, though," I said, raising my index finger. "And if Liam thinks that Adam killed Ivanna, he could have planted the belladonna to make sure that he went to prison for the crime."

  Veronica pulled out a chair and took a seat. "You know this is all highly speculative. Without any evidence, I can't ask Delta to let you continue investigating the case."

  "Yes, you can!" I pressed my hands together in a pleading gesture. "All I need is a few more days."

  She shook her head. "Based on my conversation with her this morning, she's convinced that the police have the right person in custody. So as of right now, the case is closed."

  The lobby bell sounded before I could say another word.

  "That must be Delta," Veronica said as she stood up and adjusted the white belt around her blazer. "I'm sorry, Franki."

  I hung my head as she headed for the lobby. I was disappointed, but I understood her point. She couldn't ask clients to pay us without proof.

  David popped his head into the doorway. "Uh, mind if I hide out in your office?"

  "Be my guest." I was tempted to hide out with him and avoid the inevitable dressing-down from Delta, but I knew that Veronica expected me to be professional, regardless of how unprofessional the client. I took a gulp from my mug, fervently wishing that the Baileys' creamer line wasn't non-alcoholic. Then I dragged myself down the hallway to my doom.

  Despite the fact that it was seventy-five degrees outside, Delta was sitting on the couch in a full-length red fox coat. She tore a check from her checkbook and handed it to Veronica. "This should more than cover Ms. Amaro's investigative efforts."

  I suppressed a snort—not because of her emphasis on my so-called "efforts," but because of the particular way she butchered my last name. Amaro was Italian for "bitter," and I was definitely that.

  "Hello, Delta," I said as I made my entrance.

  She sniffed and looked down her nose. "Nice of you to say hello considering that you couldn't be bothered when you came to the plantation yesterday. But then I guess you had investigating to do, what with a third murder and all."

  "Now, Delta," Veronica intervened, "Franki did her best to find the culprit. And don't forget that the police were on the case too."

  "Thank goodness they were!" she exclaimed with her hand on her chest. "Otherwise, that belladonna might not have been found, and I could've been next on Adam's list."

  I rolled my eyes. She hadn't been at all pleased with the police the day she'd come to Private Chicks looking for a PI. "Actually, I have a few questions about Adam's arrest."

  Delta stared at me through half-lidded eyes. "Don't you think it's a little late for questions? The case is solved."

  "I'm not so sure," I said as I eased onto the couch across from her.

  Delta's eyes widened—then she turned to Veronica. "What's going on here?"

  Veronica angled an annoyed glance in my direction. "Well, Franki was just telling me that she thinks the police may have rushed to judgment where Adam is concerned."

  "That's preposterous," she declared with a shooing motion of her hand. "The police found the murder weapon in his laboratory."

  I leveled a glare at Delta. "Someone could have planted it there."

  She clutched her pearls and began to laugh. "My, you're quite the sleuth, aren't you?"

  My Italian blood was getting hot, but I couldn't let it reach the boiling point. If I did, it could cost Veronica that check she was holding, and we needed to get paid. "One thing I am is cautious," I replied with a pointed look. "Because I know that if the wrong man is behind bars, someone else could be killed. And since I'm the only one who's received a bona fide death threat in this case, that someone would most likely be me."

  Delta sighed. "What do you want to know?"

  I repressed a satisfied smile. "Has Adam actually confessed to the murders?"

  "He's lawyered up, which says to me he's guilty."

  "It says to me he's smart," I retorted. "Especially if he's being set up, which brings me to my next question. Do you know where, exactly, the police found the belladonna?"

  Delta crossed her arms. "I'm not privy to that information."

  I found that hard to believe since she'd been privy to every detail of the case until now. She was either really eager to see an end to this case, or she was hiding something. "Did they ever determine how the belladonna got in Ivanna's system?"

  "No idea," she said with a shrug. "Maybe the killer made her drink it or put it in her eyes or something."

  "Put it in her eyes?" I repeated. That was an awfully specific answer from someone who claimed to have no inside knowledge of the manner of death. "Why would you say that?"

  "I must've read it somewhere," she said, grabbing the handle of her Louis Vuitton. "Now, are you almost through? Because I have an appointment with a public relations firm in less than an hour."

  I glanced at Veronica, who was willing me to put a lid on it with her eyes. "Just one more question," I replied, since I'd never been good at keeping my mouth shut, not even when explicitly asked to do so. "Were you aware that Ivanna was descended from the Lacour family?"

  She narrowed her eyes and fingered her Baron Samedi brooch. "Like I said to her father," she began in a soft but defiant tone, "I didn't have the faintest idea."

  I could tell that I'd upset her, and I didn't think it was because I'd offended her Southern honor.

  "If you don't mind, I'll be on my way." Delta rose to her feet. "I've got a company to rebuild."

  "Thank you for so much doing business with us," Veronica said, following her to the door.

  Delta grasped the doorknob and locked eyes with me. "I'd like to say it was a pleasure," she drawled, "but it wasn't."

  I leapt off the couch as she exited in a swirl of red fur.

  Veronica blocked the doorway, extending her arms to either side of the frame. "No you don't, Franki."

  "Just give me one minute in the parking lot with her," I breathed. "That's all I need."

  "Sit," she ordered, pointing to the couch. "You know she'd have you arrested if you so much as looked at her the wrong way."

  I slunk back to my seat with Veronica running defense behind me. "I'm so sick of her hateful attitude that it would almost be worth a trip to the slammer."

  "Well, you don't have to deal with her ever again," she said, hands on hips. "Now why don't you take the rest of the day off? I can handle things around here."

  Some time to decompress did sound nice. "Are you sure? I know you need help with your caseload."

  "I am." She patted my arm. "Now scram."

  I looked up at her. "I'm sorry about the way this case turned out."

  "Don't be. There are going to be lots of other cases we can't solve. It's the nature of the business." She smiled. "See you tomorrow."

  I watched her walk down the hallway and noticed David poking his head out of my office.

  "Is the coast clear?" he asked.

  Even though I was miserable, I had to laugh. "Yes, the pestilence has passed."

  He wrapped his arms around his chest and shuddered. "That lady freaks me out, man."

>   "Don't I know it," I muttered. "But thankfully, we've seen the last of her."

  "Yeah," he said, returning to his workstation, "Veronica said that Adam guy had belladonna at his lab."

  The mention of belladonna reminded me of Delta's bizarre comment. "David, I'm curious about something. Would you do me a favor and google belladonna and eyes"?

  He nodded and keyed in the search. "Okay, so that pulled up atropa belladonna. Is that right?"

  "I guess that's the scientific name," I replied, thinking it sounded familiar. "Do you see anything about using it in the eyes?"

  He scanned the page. "Well, ophthalmologists dilate eyes with it."

  I chewed my fingernail. "Anything else?"

  "Hang on." He paused. "It says the ladies of the Venetian Court, whatever that is, used a tincture of belladonna eye drops because they thought dilated pupils made them look seductive."

  My stomach contracted like someone had attached a vice grip to it. I rushed to his computer. "Where did you read that?"

  "It's toward the end of the second paragraph," he said, pointing to the text on the screen.

  The second I looked at the passage, one sentence jumped out at me as though it had been highlighted in boldface.

  The genus name Atropa comes from Atropos, one of the three Fates in Greek mythology.

  Finally, all the pieces fell into place—the belladonna, the Venetian Court, the three Fates. And the whole horrible reality of what had happened at Oleander Place came crashing down on me like a grande sugar cane kettle.

  "Oh my God." I whispered, putting my hand on David's shoulder for support.

  "Troy!"

  22

  David looked up at me, his forehead wrinkled with concern. "What about Troy?"

  "Oh, I just remembered that I promised to read his master's thesis," I fibbed. I hated lying to David, but Veronica had taken me off the Jones case in no uncertain terms. If I was going to go rogue, I couldn't drag him into it. "That reminds me, do you know whether Tulane publishes its students' theses online?"

  He tapped his fingers on his mouth. "Let me check the library catalog."

  While David clicked away on his keyboard, I thought back to my various interactions with Troy. Things I hadn't thought about at the time took on new meaning for me now. In some ways, he fit the obsessive profile. There weren't many people who loved plantation clothes so much that they planned to devote their entire careers to them. Plus, I'd noticed that he was extremely meticulous—in the careful way he'd wrapped the pirate clothes, straightened the silverware in the dining room, placed his mug in the exact center of the coaster—a quality that would lend itself well to the staging of a dead body. But on the other hand, he was a personable, down-to-earth guy, and I hadn't seen any signs of mental instability.