Campari Crimson

by Traci Andrighetti

  I blinked and watched him head for the exit. I wanted to like the guy, but there was something odd about him.

  He stopped and turned around. “Before I go, I need to get something off my conscience.”

  I shifted on my crutch, steeling myself for something shocking.

  Josh pressed a finger to his bottom lip. “That guy who gave you the yellow rose at the Crimson Cotillion, is he your boyfriend?”

  “It’s complicated. Why do you ask?”

  “Before you got there, Detective Sullivan was talking to him.”

  I stood upright at the news, and my crutch clattered to the floor. “Did you hear what they said?”

  “It was too loud in that ballroom.” He smoothed his mustache. “But after talking to Sullivan, your boyfriend put a ring box back in his pocket.”

  Veronica slipped her arm through mine and held on with all of her weight.

  If she hadn’t, I would’ve gotten life without parole for draining the blood of a detective.

  23

  “What are you doing here?” Veronica asked as I hobbled into Private Chicks the next morning. “I told you to take the rest of the week off.”

  I went to a couch to lie down. It was only nine a.m., but after hop-walking three flights of stairs I was done for the day. “Every nonna in New Orleans is at my apartment right now, so I had to escape.”

  Her eyes went wide. “What about Glenda’s visitor policy? She told you no more than two.”

  “Yeah, they tied her up. And they threatened to feed her actual food if she complained.”

  A crooked smile appeared on her face. “Are they trying to take care of you? Or did something happen to the pope?”

  “It’s way worse than all of that. Last night I told Nonna about Sullivan thwarting Bradley’s proposal, and she sent out an emergency nonne summons.”

  Veronica put both hands to her mouth, and her face looked like mine probably had when I saw Anthony hanging.

  “Before you call me a fool, I wanted her to know what kind of person Sullivan was so she’d stop campaigning for him to be the savior of the lemon tradition.”

  “I get that, but you know there’s going to be fallout.”

  I shrugged. “She’ll pray, meddle, plan some Sicilian vendetta, but she’d do those things even if I hadn’t lost a proposal. The good news is, she’ll be doing them in Houston because she and Anthony are going home this weekend.”

  “Your brother is leaving?”

  “After his encounter with Linda, he decided that living in The Big Easy is hard. And get this, he says he wanted to quit the strip club anyway because there’s no future in it.”

  “I’m not sure what to say to that.”

  “Oh, I am. Bye-bye, brother,” I said with a wave.

  “How did your mom take it?”

  “She’s not happy, but I repeated her words back to her. ‘It won’t be for long. Just until he gets on his feet.’”

  Veronica shot me a warning look. “Don’t mock your mom. She could send him back.”

  “Nah, I told her the next time he shows up at my door, I’ll make sure his blood is actually spilled.” I glanced around the lobby. “Hey, where are David and the vassal?”

  “At the electronics store. Josh wired payment to our bank, and he was nice enough to include bonuses for them too. Speaking of which, I’ll go write your check.”

  Veronica left, and I closed my eyes, grateful to be in a no-nonna zone.

  The lobby buzzer went off, and I crossed my fingers that it wasn’t a client with a homicide case.

  “Sleeping on the job?”

  The accent wasn’t Carnie’s, but the comment was. I opened my eyes.

  Chandra stood before me looking like a space oddity in a purple and silver jumpsuit that said Mercury Made Me Do It and red Ziggy Stardust boots.

  “I’m resting.”

  She fluffed her bob, which was already as big as the sun. “I suppose you’re allowed after catching that killer.”

  I sat up and adjusted my leg. “So how’s Lou?”

  Her tiny mouth was almost swallowed by a scowl. “He’s got third-degree burns on his tongue from all the Bayou Blast in his Crawfish Monica. If I ever see those conniving classmates of his, I’ll give them a Bayou Blast.” She clenched a fist. “Boston style.”

  That sounded like a powerful punch. “They got what they deserved when Chef Mel disqualified them from the competition. And when I Bayou Blasted their dishes.” I couldn’t see my smile, but I knew it was sly. “Just be glad Lou’s getting to ride in that gumbo pot next Mardi Gras.”

  “Oh, I am, and Lou is too. He’s hard at work putting flames on the side of his okra costume.”

  Lou had to be a descendent of the caveman who discovered fire. “How’s that going to work?”

  “He wants to be chargrilled okra, not boiled. By the way, I told him that I’d hired you to go undercover at Bayou Cuisine, and he’s so grateful for what you’ve done that we decided to give you a bonus.”

  She beamed and handed me a check.

  “Fifty dollars,” I said, trying to sound psyched.

  “And that’s not all.” Her tone held the promise of more cash and prizes. “Lou said to stop by the showroom and pick out a custom commode.”

  My apartment looked like a whorehouse, and he wanted to pimp my toilet. “I’d love to take him up on the offer, but my lease forbids me from making changes to the fixtures.”

  “That’s too bad.” She tugged at an earring. “But Lou could make you dinner now that he’s a chef.”

  Given his taste in food, I would’ve rather had the tricked-out toilet.

  “Anyhoo, I need to get back to the office. Now that Halloween is over, I’m slammed.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The holidays are around the corner.”

  “What does that have to do with the psychic business?”

  “You know.” She flicked her wrist, and her charm bracelet jingled. “The Christmas spirit?”

  I wasn’t following her, but I nodded. If there was an actual spirit associated with the season, I didn’t want Chandra to channel it.

  “I’ll call you about that dinner.” She winked and pulled the door closed behind her.

  Veronica returned to the lobby. “Did I hear Chandra?”

  “She paid me.” I held up the check. “There’s an extra fifty bucks in it. And if I didn’t rent from Glenda, I could’ve gotten a free flaming commode.”

  “Gosh, I don’t know if Josh’s bonus can compete with that.”

  “A kid who made fifty million from the sale of his company can’t do better than a john?” I shook my head. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize for getting so mad about you hiring Nonna.”

  She sat on the arm of the couch. “You were being a good granddaughter. I can’t blame you for that.”

  “But it turned out to be the best decision you could’ve made. If we’d sent someone else inside Belleville, they wouldn’t have known Luigi Pescatore. And his information helped solve this case.” I hesitated because what I had to say next was going to hurt. “Carnie did a decent job too.”

  “You should tell her that.”

  “Not even if Linda escaped from jail and held another a cake knife to my throat.”

  Veronica’s hand went to her neck. “Speaking of the case, every station in town wants an interview with you.”

  “I know we could use the free publicity, but I don’t feel up to it yet.”

  She pulled a lock of my hair from my eyes. “Why don’t you call Bradley, Franki? Whatever Sullivan said to him was obviously a lie.”

  I cradled a cushion against my chest. “Until he caught us kissing on the Bourbon Orleans balcony.”

  “Even if it doesn’t change things, you should at least set the record straight.”

  I dropped my chin onto the cushion. “I’ll think about it.”

  “That’s a solid start.” She handed me a check. “Now, go spend some of your hard-earned bonus on something
fun.”

  I glanced at the amount and saw a five and zeroes. “Another fifty dollars. You’re right. I should save part of this.”

  Her brow crinkled. “You’re tired. Look again.”

  I’d never been a numbers person, so I read the spelled-out version. I bolted up on my bad leg.

  “Fifty. Thousand. Dollars?”

  Veronica squealed and clapped.

  And I was out like I’d been whacked with Linda’s Buddha bag.

  When I entered my apartment, nonne were wailing, rosaries were clicking, teeth were gnashing, but I didn’t care. I’d just deposited a check for fifty thousand dollars in an otherwise empty bank account, and the sun was finally shining in New Orleans. I was so jazzed I’d even ditched the crutch.

  Anthony sat at the kitchen table, half awake, in front of a double espresso. There was a mark on his cheek in the shape of my hand from the slap I’d given him at St. Roch’s. It was fairly satisfying.

  He looked up. “What’re you smiling about?”

  I mentally crossed my fingers. “I just found out there was no blood in that Chianti you drank.”

  His head dropped, and he exhaled a breath. “I’ll drink to that. We got any more wine in the house?”

  My head dropped, and I exhaled too. Then I handed him a check. “This is for you.”

  His face turned white, except for the bruised area. “Five. Thousand. Dollars?”

  We were as different as olive oil and balsamic vinegar but definitely related.

  “Yo, is this the dough we inherited from that old Sicilian dude?”

  I started to tell him the truth about that text I’d sent him but thought better of it. If he knew I’d gotten fifty thousand dollars from Josh, he might come back for another check. And I wanted him to stay gone. “Yeah, I wanted you to have all of it. But I made the check out to Mom.”

  His brow went gorilla. “Is this like some ‘o the money I owe her, or sumpthin’?”

  “It’s to get you started at a trade school. When you pick one, mom will pay the tuition.”

  “Whoa.” He stood and gave me a hug. “I’ve been thinking of what you did. You know, going into the police academy?”

  I pictured him crying in the chapel. “I’m not sure that’s right for you. Why don’t you research all the programs out there before you make a decision?”

  “I love you, sis. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do, and I love you back.” I pulled Nutella from the pantry, relieved to find it untouched. “But if you love me so much, why did you text Mom when you were in trouble?”

  “I dunno.” He returned to his seat. “I guess I always go to Ma when there’s a problem.”

  “Precisely. You’re a mammone, a mamma’s boy, and you need to kick that habit.” I pointed the jar at him and regretted using the phrase while holding my one true addiction.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “That’s a solid start,” I said, mimicking what Veronica had said to me about Bradley. And I regretted that too because it reminded me that I should call him. But I didn’t know what to say.

  There was a banging sound outside the house, possibly on the roof.

  The nonne’s heads rose from their rosaries.

  “I’ll go see what it is.” I returned the Nutella to the pantry so as not to tempt Anthony unnecessarily and went outside.

  A fire truck was parked in front of the fourplex, and a firefighter stood on a ladder nailing the gutter to the roof while Glenda looked on in red studded stripper heels and an Italian-flag-adorned chef’s apron with the words How you lika my new apron?

  I knew her answer to that question. “I’m so sorry Anthony never fixed that for you.”

  She took a long, slow drag off her cigarette holder as she admired the fireman’s posterior. “It worked out better this way, Miss Franki.”

  I had to agree. “How’d you get the fire department to come out for this?”

  She loosened her apron strings to give me a peek at the pasties underneath. “I might be retired from dancing, sugar, but I’ve still got pull in the community.”

  I was sure she did. “Anyway, I haven’t forgotten about The Visitor Policy, so I’ll have the nonne out within the hour. They came to help me with a personal issue.”

  “Miss Ronnie told me about you and Bradley.” She exhaled a puff of smoke, and I couldn’t help but think it was symbolic of our relationship. “I can only take men in small doses, but that banker beau of yours is a keeper. That’s why I called him.”

  “You—” I got a mouthful of her smoke and choked.

  “Someone’s got to talk some sense into you two, and I’m the logical person to do it.”

  I kept my mouth shut, both because I didn’t want to inhale any more smoke and because I thought it best not to respond to that comment.

  A male cleared his throat behind me, and I knew it wasn’t the fire chief.

  I turned to see Bradley. In place of his usual suit, a fisherman’s sweater and jeans. He looked so handsome I had to resist the urge to touch him. “Shouldn’t you be in New York?”

  “I never boarded the return flight.”

  I hadn’t expected that.

  “I’m glad to see you’re okay. I heard the news, and I was so proud of you for sticking to the case and catching the killer. You’re a hero in this community, and you deserve the credit you’re getting.”

  My mouth opened, but I couldn’t speak. I was embarrassed by the praise, not to mention caught off guard. Bradley wasn’t a fan of my profession, and yet his tone was positively pleased.

  “Anyway.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a jewelry box.

  It was too big to hold a ring, and I was relieved. The way things stood, I would’ve had to refuse his proposal.

  “I wanted to give you this.” He handed me the box.

  Glenda kicked my bad leg with her studded shoe. “Open it, Miss Franki.”

  I gave her a scram stare.

  Her brows raised, she slipped her cigarette holder into her mouth and resumed watching the fireman’s backside.

  Too curious to resist, I opened the box and stifled a gasp. It was a pair of ruby and diamond earrings to go with a necklace Bradley had given me for my birthday. “These are gorgeous. But…you can’t buy my affection.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s not what this is about. I’d planned to give them to you for Christmas. But in case we don’t make it, I wanted you to have them now.”

  I snapped the box shut. “It used to be that I didn’t trust you, but the situation is reversed. So how could we possibly make it?”

  “I don’t have the answer. But I can promise I’ll have more time for you, so we can try to work things out.”

  I wasn’t ready to believe him. “You always say that.”

  “I resigned from Ponchartrain Bank.”

  I was so floored the vertigo returned for a few seconds. “But you loved your job.”

  “I love you more.” His tone was decisive, firm.

  My heart swooned, and my leg threatened to give out. But I didn’t move. I was still processing the news. “What are you going to do for money?”

  “I’ve got plenty put away for a while. I’ll eventually look for something less demanding, but as of this week I’m taking a year off.”

  I looked at the box. “To do what?”

  “Focus on us, if you’ll let me.”

  I wanted to say yes, but I was still unsure about everything. Instead, I came up with a compromise. “Well, I’m between cases, and you’re between jobs. So why don’t we start with dinner?”

  His gaze never left mine. “I’d like that.”

  The fifty thousand dollars was burning a hole in my bank account. “Okay, but I’m buying.”

  His smile spread to his eyes. He extended an uncertain hand, but I went in for a hug.

  “Carmela,” Santina shouted. “È un miracolo!”

  I turned to see nonne high-fiving in the doorway. Then
I looked at Bradley. His expression was neutral, but I saw hope in his eyes.

  And I’m sure he saw it reflected in mine.

  “Excuse me for a sec.” I went to the porch, and the black dresses parted like the Red Sea to reveal my nonna, holding a lemon and a paper sack.

  I leaned in close, so Bradley wouldn’t hear. “Don’t read anything into this, Nonna. It’s a date, not an engagement.”

  “Eh, there’s still-a six months for the tradition to work.” She tossed the lemon and caught it in the sack. “I got-a this in-a the bag.”

  Call to Action

  Dear reader,

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  Thank you SO MUCH for reading Campari Crimson! Like I said in the Book Backstory, I appreciate your support. Truly. We authors would simply not exist without you.

  To that end, there are other things you can do to help:

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  A presto,

  Traci

  About the Author

  Traci Andrighetti is the USA TODAY bestselling author of the Franki Amato Mysteries and the Danger Cove Hair Salon Mysteries. In her previous life, she was an award-winning literary translator and a Lecturer of Italian at the University of Texas at Austin, where she earned a PhD in Applied Linguistics. But then she got wise and ditched that academic stuff for a life of crime—writing, that is. Her latest capers are teaching mystery for Savvy Authors and taking authors on writing retreats to Italy with LemonLit.

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  To learn more about Traci, check out her websites: www.traciandrighetti.com

  www.lemonlit.com

  Also by Traci Andrighetti