Campari Crimson

by Traci Andrighetti

We locked eyes, perhaps thinking the same thing.

  He walked toward me, handed me the rose, and then turned and made his way through the crowd.

  “Bradley, don’t leave.” I went after him and got caught between two French doublewides.

  By the time I broke free and exited the ballroom, he was nowhere in sight. I took the stairs to the lobby and hurried to the street, which was oddly empty for a Saturday night.

  Bradley was gone as he had been for so much of the time we’d been together. I knew I should feel sad, but all I felt was numb. Probably because I was so used to his absence.

  Nevertheless, I leveled a silent accusation at Saint Anthony.

  Thanks to a spotlight at the base of his statue, he cast a looming shadow on the white wall of the cathedral. But in the red light of the blood moon, he no longer seemed to beckon to his flock. Rather, he looked like a man about to be crucified.

  My hand throbbed, and I looked down. I was gripping the rose, and its thorns had pierced and bloodied my palm.

  I backed toward the hotel entrance.

  Because I sensed that my relationship with Bradley wasn’t the only thing that would die that Halloween night.

  I just hoped it wasn’t my brother.

  15

  “Franki, get out of that glass.”

  Veronica’s tone was insistent, but I was in no mood to be pushed. I’d spent the night in Glenda’s giant champagne glass in her all white living room. The glass wasn’t the traditional flute shape, more like a martini. Either way, it had become my sanctuary in dark times. And it was a great place to reflect over drinks. “Go away. It’s Sunday. A day of rest?”

  “This is important.” She tugged my arm, which dangled from the rim. “Would you wake up?”

  I opened my eyes expecting to see the ceiling, but a black blanket covered my face.

  Wait. That was no blanket. It was…some kind of animal?

  “Get it off!” I kicked and flailed, but it was wrapped around my hung-over head. “What the hell is it? A land octopus?”

  “Calm down, okay? I think it’s a wig.”

  Anger surged through my veins. Dracula Cher strikes again. I gripped the longhaired hive and heaved it across the room.

  It hit the wall with a thud.

  “Good thing there’s no furniture in here,” Veronica said. “That thing could break something.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.” I massaged my trapezius muscles. “That wig took out my relationship with Bradley, not to mention my neck.”

  She sighed, stalwart. “When Glenda let me in, she told me what happened with Detective Sullivan. I asked her to leave us alone for a few minutes so I could tell you how sorry I am.”

  I was sorry too, but I didn’t want to dwell. Otherwise, the tears would start, and the only thing I wanted to see pouring was another drink. “I’m going to drop by his apartment today to talk to him.”

  “Tell me something.”

  I sat up from my reclining position, and an empty Prosecco bottle rolled off my belly. Even worse, I was still in the Elvira dress. “What?”

  “How did you feel about that kiss?”

  I slithered down the side of the glass, so she wouldn’t spot the lie I was about to tell. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you enjoy it?” Her tone told me that she could see through the glass—and through me as well.

  I sunk to the bottom. “Um, it was all right, I guess.”

  “You sound undecided,” she said, completely convinced. “So if I were you, I would figure out exactly how I felt about Sullivan before I went to Bradley’s.”

  Veronica wasn’t going to let this go, and I was getting annoyed. But I was more irritated with me than I was with her. Because the truth was that kiss was amazing, and I was coming around to the notion that Sullivan might be pretty great too. We had things in common, like our snarky sarcasm and our careers in solving crime. Ever since Anthony had told me about his ex-wife, I’d started to see him as a human—more importantly, as a man. And if I compared him to Bradley, one thing stood out. Sullivan was around when Bradley couldn’t find the time. And even though I loved him, I wasn’t going to wait anymore.

  A random thought emerged from the depths of my brain like a bubble from a glass of champagne. Was Sullivan the suitor who would eventually propose to me per the lemon tradition?

  I pressed my temples. The lemon legend was the invention of desperate nonne, like mine. So what was I thinking? Did I get brain damage from that heavy wig?

  “What’s going on in there?” Veronica asked.

  “Oh, just wrestling with my Elvira dress.” I adjusted the cleavage area for effect and peered over the rim. “What time is it, anyway?”

  “Eight thirty. By the way, I knocked on your door earlier, and no one answered. Is your nonna at church?”

  “Probably. But I sent her to Santina’s for the night because I didn’t want her home alone if the lunatic vampire showed up. God only knows where my brother is.”

  “Why don’t you come down?” Veronica extended a hand.

  It finally hit me that she was still in her nightgown. And she never left the apartment until she was put together. My gut lurched, but not from the booze. “Is Anthony okay?”

  Her head moved backward. “As far as I know.”

  “Then until you tell me what this is about, I’m thinking I’m safer up here.”

  She crossed her arms. “This morning I got a call from the detective—”

  “I told him to call me next time.” My affection for Sullivan turned to anger.

  “He tried, but you didn’t answer. You were asleep?”

  “Whatever he said, I don’t want to hear it.” I hung my torso over the side and pointed the empty Prosecco bottle at her. “Did Glenda tell you that when I went back inside after Bradley left, he actually tried to kiss me again?”

  “Look, he didn’t call about you, okay?” she huffed. “It’s about Raven.”

  I retreated back to the bottom. She didn’t have to say it like I was being selfish, or anything. “What about her?”

  “Sullivan went to her apartment this morning to ask what she was doing with Josh at the cotillion. She wasn’t there, but her front door was wide open, and the bedroom and living room had been turned inside out.”

  My gut contracted. Was this what I’d sensed when I saw Saint Anthony’s shadow? The looming specter of Raven’s death? “No, that’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not ridiculous. It’s real.”

  “Sorry, I’m not all awake,” I said, embarrassed that I’d chastised myself out loud. “Did Sullivan go to Josh’s? Maybe she slept at his place.”

  “I thought you said he didn’t have any furniture?”

  “He has a coffin. And she’s a vampire?”

  Veronica’s lips curled. “Well, Josh wasn’t home, and apparently he’s not answering his calls. Sullivan thinks that either someone ransacked her apartment while she was out somewhere, or she was there and attempted to fight the person off.” She bit her lip. “And lost.”

  “Let me guess, he thinks that someone is Josh.”

  “He was the last person seen with Raven. But I can’t believe that nice young man is the killer.” She gasped and touched the glass. “What if both of them are in danger?”

  “If so, that leaves Thomas Van Scyoc. And maybe Craig. Just because he’s missing doesn’t mean he’s lost.”

  “I was thinking that too.”

  Something vibrated beneath my bottom, like Glenda’s glass bed had Magic Fingers. I reached below me and pulled out my cell.

  The display showed an unmarked number.

  I flashed the phone at Veronica and tapped Answer. “Hello?”

  “It’s Josh.” The statement wasn’t a greeting—it was an act of force. “Don’t put me on speaker. Be quiet and listen.”

  The glass lost its safe-haven quality, and I felt exposed.

  Was Josh Santo about to confess?

  “Here’s your mimosa, sugar.” Gl
enda placed a flute of champagne before me on her glass-top kitchen table. “It’ll soothe your nerves and kick that hangover to neutral ground.”

  Neutral ground was New Orleanian for the median, and in the case of a hangover, the expression was more fitting than the curb. “Thanks, but I don’t see the orange juice.”

  She dragged off her cigarette holder. “I refuse to sully my bubbly with fruit.”

  “Just take a gulp,” Veronica prodded from a pink fuzzy dining chair. “And then tell us what Josh said.”

  I drained half the glass and coughed, but it wasn’t because the bubbles had tickled my nose.

  The executioner had entered the kitchen still wearing his hood.

  Glenda pressed a hand to the bosom of her red string negligee. “Miss Ronnie, this is Hermann, our hangman friend. I asked him to drop by after his shift. With that vampire after Miss Franki, we needed a bodyguard in the house.”

  He bowed as though happy to be of service, but I was sure that serving me hadn’t been on his mind when he’d spent the night.

  “No hoods at the table, Hermann honey.” Glenda blew a stream of smoke at his package, where her gaze was directed. “It’s rude.”

  The name fit him. At six-foot-five or so, the guy was a monster.

  “I must go, Miss Glenda,” he said in his French accent. “But first I will keep my promise.”

  I glanced at Veronica. “Uh, what promise is that?”

  “It’s the strangest thing.” Glenda felt him up as she spoke. “Hermann saw Josh put Raven in a cab at the end of the evening.”

  “That confirms what he told me on the phone a few minutes ago. But what’s so strange about it?”

  “They were on a date, sugar. Why didn’t they go home together?”

  I rolled my eyes. In her world, a date meant a sleepover. Going out and getting to know one another weren’t included in the deal. “Maybe fangs aren’t his thing.” I turned to Hermann. “How do you know it was them?”

  “Miss Glenda asked if I had seen a guy in a top hat and cape with one of the Marie Antoinettes. I saw them when I was leaving at around three a.m.”

  “Out of curiosity, how many Marie Antoinettes were there?” Veronica asked.

  He rubbed his hood. “Maybe two?”

  Since it was a French Revolution party, I was surprised there hadn’t been more. “You’ve been very helpful, Hang—…uh…Hermann.”

  He bowed again.

  “I’ll just show him out.” Glenda took him by the bicep, but from the way she’d been checking out his behind, she would have rather grabbed a glute.

  “It’s great that he was able to corroborate Josh’s story,” Veronica said.

  “Not all of it.” I looked over my shoulder to make sure Glenda and her hangman were gone. “Josh took breakfast to Raven’s apartment this morning and saw that the place had been trashed. He was sitting in his car contemplating calling the police when Sullivan pulled up.”

  “What? The detective didn’t mention that when he called me this morning.”

  “Because Josh spotted him first. Then he drove home, dropped off his phone, and took off.”

  Veronica put her face in her hands.

  “I know he’s young, but he’s not the sharpest canine in the vampire mouth, is he?”

  She placed her palms on the table. “It looks bad, but I still don’t think he’s the killer.”

  “Actually, I think you’re right.”

  Her eyes widened in mock shock, and she tossed back her drink.

  “You’re hilarious,” I said, but I wasn’t laughing. “I’ll tell you what changed my mind. Not only did he hire us, he contracted at least one other PI and then started doing some investigative work of his own.” I paused. “And it’s looking like Raven didn’t have anything to do with the murders, either. I just hope she hasn’t become one of the victims.”

  We fell silent, like an execution had gone down.

  “What about the drink samples?” Veronica asked. “Did Carnie get them?”

  “You mean Count Drunkula?”

  “I thought she was Countess Dragula.”

  “She was until she finished off every drink she took a sample from.”

  She lowered her eyelids, unamused. “Please tell me she got the vials?”

  “They’re in my bag in the living room.”

  “Good. I’m going to have them tested at a private lab, along with a sample of Campari. If we can get an ingredient list, things might start to make sense.”

  I swirled the liquid in my flute, glad it wasn’t red. “We should also look into the details of Raven’s firing from Belleville House. Since she’s disappeared, it’s the next logical step.”

  “I agree. But I’m a little confused about Thomas’s role.” Veronica leaned onto her elbows. “I know you’re suspicious of him for not telling you that Raven was a nurse at the retirement home. But according to Linda at Pharmanew, he’s the one who fired her for stealing the blood bags. Why would he do that if he was involved in the killings?”

  “Because he needed a scapegoat when the family of that blood-drained grandpa hired an attorney. And maybe he killed her last night to stop her from turning him in.” I tipped my flute at her. “Remember, I saw him meeting with Craig right before I found those blood bags at Delta Upsilon Delta. So Raven, Thomas, and Craig could all be connected.”

  “This is scary.”

  “I’ll say.” I flashed back to the coffin. “So who do we send inside?”

  “I’ve got a woman to play the part of an elder relative.”

  I drained my champagne. “What about the PI?”

  Glenda sashayed into the kitchen, and based on the lopsidedness of her lingerie, she’d shown Hermann more than the door. “Miss Ronnie and I talked about that before she woke you. Instead of a PI, you need an actor-actress type to question that Thomas character.”

  For a moment I’d thought she was referring to herself, but the last part threw me. “Like who?”

  “Isn’t it obvious, sugar? Miss Carnie. She’s perfect to go undercover.”

  Those champagne bubbles had clearly gone to my brain. “Did you say perfect?”

  She struck a pose with her cigarette holder. “Look at what a good job she did collecting those drink samples.”

  “If sobriety was any indicator, I’d say she failed.”

  Veronica leaned in. “This assignment doesn’t involve alcohol, Franki. And we need someone in the retirement home who’s tough and smart, on the off chance something goes wrong.”

  I pressed into the pink fuzzy chair back and crossed my arms. “Well, I’m done working with her. That queen is damn difficult.”

  “You won’t deal with her directly. We’ll set up a spy app on her smartphone so we can listen in.”

  Carnie would find a way to make the assignment backfire on me, that much I knew. But I had no proof, so I resorted to the only thing I had left. I poured another so-called mimosa and chugged the whole thing.

  Then I stood and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going, Miss Franki?”

  “To find that executioner. I need him to chop off my head.”

  “Aiutami Dio.” I closed the front door behind me and hoped God had heard my appeal for assistance. Because two FIATs had pulled into my driveway, and I didn’t want to be stalled out. After a shower and a change of clothes, it was ten thirty, and I had to get to Bradley’s before he went anywhere.

  The FIAT doors opened, and nine nonne piled out. In their black mourning dresses and matching veils, they looked like someone had died.

  I tensed for a split second in light of my premonition from the previous night, but I reminded myself that they always looked funereal. “Did you ladies go to mass?”

  Nonna gripped her purse. “We had-a more serious matters to address-a.”

  Words escaped me, and so did my calm. What could a group of Italian Catholic women take more seriously than a sermon?

  A possible answer came to me that could ha
ve spelled my doom. The grave air they had about them probably meant they’d caught wind of the demise of my relationship. “So, what have you been doing?”

  “We come from-a the archbishop.”

  Mary stepped forward. “He’s got the pope’s ear.”

  Holy crap. Were they trying to convene the Third Vatican Council to stage a marriage intervention?

  Nonna produced a black velvet bag from the depths of her purse. “Open. And-a tell-a me what you see.”

  I held my breath and peered inside. “Um, a miniature Bible, a rosary, a compact, and”—I looked at my nonna—“a toy gun?”

  “It’s-a full of holy water.”

  “O-kay. But why?”

  Mary nodded. “One squirt of that will lay a vampire out flat.”

  My sigh of relief was so deep it was almost my last breath. They had consulted with the archbishop to make me some sort of vampire protection kit. “What’s the compact for?”

  Nonna’s eyes assumed a sly slant. “To make-a sure the suspect has a reflection.”

  A woman I didn’t know stepped forward and pressed two garlic bulbs into my hand. They had been made into earrings that would have gone great with my Amy Winehouse–inspired Elvira costume. “Grazie. I’ll, uh, wear them when I’m investigating.”

  My nonna wagged her finger. “You keep-a the bag-a with you too, eh?”

  “I’ll take it everywhere.” And it was true too. I could use that holy water for all kinds of situations.

  A familiar black BMW rounded the corner, and the sight of it made me feel like a hit-and-run victim.

  “It’s-a Bradley.” Nonna vice-gripped my forearm. “Get-a the holy gun.”

  I wrested my arm free. “He’s not a vampire.”

  “No, eh? Then why he suck-a the life outta you?”

  I stared at her, stunned. She was so desperate to get me married that I had never listened to her criticism of my boyfriends. But where Bradley was concerned, she’d just hit the coffin nail on the head. As of late, our relationship had left me drained.

  Nausea set in. Was this really the end? “Nonna, I need to speak to him alone.”

  She patted the black bag in my hand and motioned for the nonne to follow her inside—to spy from the window.