Campari Crimson

by Traci Andrighetti

  I looked at Saint Roch and prayed for healing.

  Then I lowered my gaze to my thigh.

  A red silk rosette lay on the white marble between my legs.

  I tried to pick it up, but it smeared.

  It was liquid.

  Blood.

  Anthony’s scream sliced through my skin, my bone.

  And bashed my brain.

  I crumpled and rolled to my back.

  The last thing I saw was a Mardi Gras boa and a black handheld face mask.

  22

  “I’m so glad you could come to our party, Franki.”

  The black mask came into focus, and a couple of balloons. Upside down?

  My gaze dropped to the floor, but I saw the vaulted ceiling of the chapel. I turned my head.

  Anthony was beside me, eyes closed, breathing ragged.

  I was hanging.

  For a blood draining.

  “What did you hit me with? A karate chop?”

  A hiss came from behind the mask. “That’s stereotyping.”

  I couldn’t afford to upset her, not in my position. “I just meant that I don’t see a weapon.”

  She pointed to a black Michael Kors bag on a pew. “I used my purse.”

  As the granddaughter of a black-bag nonna, I should have thought of that.

  Linda giggled and tickled my nose with the boa. She took a step back to survey the macabre scene she’d created. In place of her usual pinks and greens, she wore black and red, her Goth Marie Antoinette colors.

  My skull throbbed. Inexplicably, I felt better, probably because of the fear-induced adrenaline and the blood gathered at my head.

  Blood.

  I looked up at my leg. She’d knotted a scarf around my thigh. “Why did you tie off my wound?”

  “Because I’d rather bleed you dry from your throat.”

  I tensed my neck and wished I’d left my trench coat on. “Either you’re insane, or you’re high on your blood transfusions.”

  She pulled off her mask. “Let’s not be rude.”

  “Why not get a vampire facelift like Kim Kardashian instead of stealing blood?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re mixing transfusions of stolen blood and herbs. Campari Crimson?”

  “That sounds like a fun drink.”

  I ignored her odd enthusiasm. “Is the youth elixir for you? Or is it a prototype for a Pharmanew product?”

  She pulled a compact from her purse and checked her makeup. “A woman doesn’t share her beauty secrets.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised by that statement. Linda was the epitome of femininity, except for her killer instinct. “You make real vampires look bad, you know that?”

  “Impossible.” She snapped the compact shut. “I work hard on my appearance.”

  She was too vain to grasp what I’d meant. “Fine. Don’t tell me anything. I’ve figured most of it out. You were getting blood from Sylvia Blaylock at Belleville House until a man died. Then you went to the blood banks, but the police were all over that. So, you had to prey on private citizens, some random like Gregg, and some you wanted to do away with, like Raven.”

  A round of dizziness and nausea hit. I was talking too much. I had to slow down, think of an escape. And distract her while I tried to free my wrists. “The only thing I don’t understand is how Todd Plank factored into this.”

  “Ugh. That man.” She tossed her purse with the compact on a pew. “And they call me a Pollyanna.”

  I’d touched a nerve.

  Her eyelids lowered, and she twisted an end of her boa. “He thought he was going to waltz in from the outside and get the CEO position at Pharmanew, after the years of blood, sweat, and tears I’ve put into that company.”

  Interesting analogy.

  “I’m the one who convinced the good old boys on the board that the future was in pharmaceutical blood products. Then they went behind my back and recruited Todd, and it wasn’t just because of his work at The Blood Center. They had the gall to imply that I was too old to be the face of the business. So they picked a man with a shaved head and a soul patch. Can you imagine?”

  I wasn’t a fan of facial hair, so I really couldn’t.

  “And the insulting part is that Todd looked great. He was only a few years younger than me, but it might as well have been twenty.” She ripped a handful of feathers from the boa. “Men always age better.”

  Except for diehard frat daddies like Gregg.

  “And then Todd came in for an interview. I eavesdropped, and you won’t believe what I heard.” She shot me a complicit look, as though I would share her outrage.

  “He wanted to introduce critical debate and other corporate BS into our office culture.” Her tone was a mix of indignation and incredulity. “But we do things my way at Pharmanew.”

  I’d seen that side of Linda at her office. But I couldn’t have known how dead set she was in her ways. Literally.

  “I was in the lobby when he came out of the interview, and he was wearing a Virginia Tech scarf and backpack. Orange and maroon.” She shuddered and pulled her boa tight. “They would’ve ruined my office color scheme.”

  Linda might’ve been psychotic, but when it came to school colors she knew the score. “Yeah, they’re a tragedy together.”

  Her face brightened. “I knew you’d agree. Let’s celebrate, shall we?” She pulled a bucket of ice with a bottle of Prosecco from beneath a pew. “It’s just as well that your brother passed out. I want us to have a private toast.”

  The woman was determined to have a party. “What’s the occasion?”

  She broke into a cheerleader-style smile. “I got the CEO position.”

  I would’ve been open-mouthed, but gravity and nausea held my jaw down. “This was all about staying young to get a job?”

  “I’m a single mom, and you know the pressure on working women to maintain their looks. Isn’t that why you quit the police force and became a private investigator?”

  There were shades of Carnie in that comment, and I wriggled my wrists harder. But the zip tie held firm, and my skin stung to the bone.

  She removed the foil from the Prosecco bottle and popped the cork.

  Anthony jerked awake. “I lied,” he shouted. “We’re not B Positive, we’re type O.”

  My side-eye could have cut him. “You told her our blood type? Isn’t that a little personal for a first date?”

  “He did.” Linda poured herself some bubbly. “And I’d been planning to use him for info about your investigation until then.” She raised the plastic flute. “Cheers.”

  She took a sip, and I tasted blood.

  I told myself it would be hers, not ours.

  Linda looked around the chapel satisfied with the party she’d put together and put the flute on the floor. And she pulled a cake knife from her purse that could’ve made quick work of Phil’s cemetery salami. “I’m sorry about this, Franki. But the police have their killer, so I need to destroy the remaining evidence.” She ran her fingers over the blade. “It’s just a bonus that you two have my blood type.”

  “We’re not teenagers.” I struggled against the zip tie, swaying slightly. “Their blood is better.”

  She shrugged. “That’s okay. You’re both still pretty young. And my ex-husband is Italian, so I guess you could say I have a taste for you.”

  My nausea threatened to spill. I swung and caught sight of the dog beside Saint Roch. I had to get home to Napoleon, see my Nonna, hang with Veronica and sometimes Glenda, avoid Carnie. Talk to Bradley. “You’ll eventually get caught. I guarantee it.”

  “I doubt that.” She smiled sweetly and flipped her hair. “No one ever suspects nice women like me.”

  She had a point. Two, actually, because she’d pressed the tip of the knife to my neck.

  “Get your hands off my baby sistuh.” Anthony swung and grabbed a handful of Linda’s hair.

  He’d freed his hands. That passed out thing was an
act.

  “Never touch my hairdo.” She ran to her compact and straightened her bangs. Then she raised the knife and moved toward my brother, scowling.

  He held out his hands, and she slashed his palm.

  At the sight of his own blood, he crumbled like Linda’s party cake.

  My protective instinct took over. “Swing, Anthony. Move your body!”

  Arching as best I could, I raised my arms behind me and slammed my wrists against my backside.

  The zip tie broke in a single try.

  Linda screamed, but I didn’t waste one precious second finding out why. Propelled by blind terror, I used my abdomen and hands to climb my legs to the horizontal cable above my feet.

  “I told you not to touch my hair,” she shouted.

  “Move and I’ll rip it out.” Anthony was angry. And sober. “Hurry, sis.”

  Gripping the cable with my left hand, I used my right hand to unbuckle my boots. Then I moved it to the cable, slipped my feet from my shoes, and dropped to the floor.

  Pain jolted from my knees to my hips, but I stayed upright. Our lives depended on it.

  I spun to face Linda.

  Incredibly, she stood as still as the statue of the petite woman beside the altar as Anthony two-fisted the hair on her scalp.

  I yanked the knife from her grasp. “Are you really so vain that you would rather be caught than lose your hair?”

  Her brown eyes darted upward to her forehead. “I don’t want to be bald like Todd.”

  A somber silence filled the chapel.

  I tied her wrists and ankles with the ribbons from the balloons. For the first time, I read their message.

  Congratulations!

  “Linda West had us all fooled, Amato.” Detective Sullivan sat slumped at his desk. And he was so pale that I half-wondered whether Linda had drained his blood during her interrogation.

  But I did nothing to ease his embarrassment. It was eleven a.m., and I’d spent a sleepless night in the hospital getting my thigh stitched. I was beyond exhausted, like I still had one injured leg in the grave, and I couldn’t muster any sympathy for Wesley Sullivan and his wounded ego.

  He gazed at me from beneath his eyelashes. “She paraded around in a cape, made puncture wounds on her victims, and leaked the news of the fake bite marks on Gregg Charalambous to the paper to make sure everyone thought the killer was from the local vampire community.” He pointed a finger at me. “And Mr. Santo’s behavior didn’t help him seem innocent.”

  I didn’t bother to argue that I’d given him plenty of reasons to consider suspects other than Josh. All I wanted was to see him released from jail and get answers to my questions.

  As though reading my mind, Sullivan glanced at the clock. “We got the court order to release your boy’s, I mean, your client’s bond a few hours ago, so he should be out shortly.”

  My stare was half-lidded. “Did you ask Linda about that Campari Crimson message on the crypt wall?”

  His lips protruded. “She apologized to Gregg before she killed him and made the mistake of explaining why she was doing it. After she left, he somehow managed to get down and survive long enough to write it on the wall, despite the blood loss.”

  Maybe a healthy dose of Adderall was behind that. “So what happens to Sylvia Blaylock, the nurse?”

  “She’ll remain in custody. We’ve opened an investigation at Belleville House in light of her alleged involvement.”

  I was relieved to know she could no longer harm the residents. “And Thomas Van Scyoc? Has Linda clarified his role?”

  “According to Ms. West, he didn’t know anything illicit was going on until Craig Rourke’s grandfather died. Sylvia accused Raven, the obvious target, and said she was selling the blood to Linda. He confronted Linda, who convinced him the best solution for everyone was to fire Raven and settle privately with the Rourke family.”

  I shook my head. “That explains why he lied about seeing Raven talking to Gregg at the bar.”

  “It also explains why he was on that vampire tour to begin with. Linda heard that Raven was taking the tour from some friend of hers at a doctor’s office, and she convinced Thomas to go.”

  “To show Raven that they were keeping tabs on her?”

  He nodded. “And to remind her that she shouldn’t go to the police about the blood business at the retirement home.”

  If only Raven had confided in me. “Pam said Thomas went on the tour a second time. Do you know why?”

  “Linda was furious about that. Apparently, he wanted to go back to hear the vampire stories because he was too busy watching Raven to listen to them the first time around.”

  I still think that guy has serial killer tendencies. “And Craig Rourke? Why was he on the tour?”

  “That was the only coincidence. He was telling the truth about being there with Mr. Charalambous and Mr. LaVecchio to get ideas for their Halloween party. But he figured out who Thomas was and told him they needed to meet up to talk about what had happened to his grandfather. Craig wasn’t happy with the settlement his grandmother had agreed to. He thought people should’ve gotten prison time for his grandfather’s death.”

  He was right about that. Because if they had, the other murders wouldn’t have happened. Settling a homicide via attorneys should’ve been against the law.

  Sullivan sat back, and his lips thinned. “There is one surprise that came from Ms. West’s interrogation.”

  My gut tensed. “What’s that?”

  “Turns out she’s a descendent of one of those Casket Girls that the hippie tour guide talked about.”

  I almost slid from the folding chair. “Her assistant told me she was born in Paris, but I never would’ve guessed her French roots went that deep.”

  “Her heritage was the inspiration for the blood cocktail.”

  “Then why name it after an Italian liqueur?”

  “I asked her that. She said the final product looked like Campari, and it was made through a similar process. And, she just liked the crimson color.”

  I did too. It was far superior to maroon.

  “Any other questions?” Sullivan sounded hopeful, like we were on the mend.

  I wanted him to know there was no chance of reconciliation, at least, not that day. “Did Linda do anything to directly frame Josh Santo for the crimes?”

  He looked at his hands, folded on the desk. “No, that was police error.”

  I remained silent, encouraging him to continue.

  His eyes met mine, and they verged on pleading. “My error, to be specific, and I can’t apologize enough.”

  I rubbed the knot on my head to keep from feeling sorry for him. I wasn’t ready to accept his apology after my brother and I had come so close to being a blood fountain of youth. “Any idea what was in that purse she nailed me with?”

  “A jade Buddha.”

  I gasped. “Oh, and asking her if she did karate was a stereotype?”

  Sullivan laughed, and the smile slowly slipped from his face. “I always appreciated your sense of humor, Amato. Now that this is over, I’d like to take you out to dinner. If you’ll let me.”

  Just like that, as though all was forgiven because he’d apologized. “I’m not interested in a personal relationship with you.”

  “Relationship?” He held up his hands in a slow-down gesture. “Hell, I’ve already got that.”

  My head retracted. “Your dinner date from the other night?”

  “My wife.”

  The dizziness returned like I’d been hung upside down all over again. “I thought you were divorced.”

  “That was my first marriage. But this second one isn’t going too well either.”

  I sat still as I processed the revelation that he’d been married the entire time he’d been coming on to me. I felt bad that I’d kissed him back, but only for his wife. Because I didn’t actually care about him. It was the attention I’d responded to, not the man. I reached for the crutch I’d received at the hospital.

>   Sullivan stood. “Let me get the door.”

  “I don’t need your help. I proved that when I solved your case.” I met his stunned gaze as I rose to my feet. “Oh, I almost forgot. Since you referred me to Josh Santo, I owe you a favor.” Resting on my crutch, I pulled the bag of Adderall pills from my purse and tossed it on his desk.

  He shot me a questioning look.

  “Courtesy of Delta Upsilon Delta. They’ll help you focus on your work. And your wife.” I turned and, with a grin as wide as the state of Texas, exited into the hallway and closed the door behind me.

  Veronica stood outside with Josh Santo, who wore the tails, top hat, and cape he’d been arrested in.

  He flashed a mouthful of ivories in the midst of his facial fur. “I was just telling your boss to expect a substantial bonus. If it weren’t for you, I’d be in prison for life.”

  I smiled but kept quiet. It wasn’t modesty so much as the size of his teeth.

  “Franki’s a fighter.” Veronica gave me a one-armed squeeze. “That’s why I had to have her at Private Chicks.”

  “So, what’s next for you?” I asked.

  Josh stroked his beard. “I’ll finish my book about Compte de Saint Germain, but not here in New Orleans. I’ve decided to sell the house and move to Transylvania.”

  I faltered despite my crutch. Either that kid was a vampire, or he made some really bad choices. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “I suppose.” He sounded suspicious.

  “Your resemblance to the count is uncanny. Did you have plastic surgery to look more like him?”

  He smiled, but with his mouth closed. “I didn’t want to mention this during the investigation, but I’m related to Richard Chanfray.”

  Veronica pulled her purse over her shoulder. “Wasn’t he the man in St. Tropez who claimed to be the count?”

  I gave her an uneasy stare. “Yeah, the one who supposedly committed suicide in ’83, and his body was never found.” I cast a wary eye on Josh. “But obviously it’s a freak coincidence that you and your missing relative are both carbon copies of an eighteenth-century vampire.”

  “I guess. But we’ll never know, will we?” He spun, flaring his cape.