Frankly, My Detective

by Mary Keeley

  The house was dark and she instinctively reached in her purse and closed

  her hand over her gun.

  “It’s me,” she called out as she put her hand up to feel for the wall switch.

  “It’s Scarlett. Meet me in the kitchen.”

  She stood in the living room and waited. The house had a small door

  leading from the living room to a hallway. A door at the far end of the hallway

  opened up shining a small shaft of light on the old telephone niche in the

  wall beside the bathroom. The door was open, but no one came out. “Seriously, it’s okay. Are you hungry? I’m starved. How about some pasta

  with broccoli, garlic and Romano cheese, maybe some red pepper flakes?

  Sounds good, huh? Come on, you set the table and I’ll cook.” Scarlett walked

  through the arched opening to the dining room, shedding jacket and purse.

  Shoving her gun into the back waistband of her jeans, she winced at the pain

  in her bruised shoulder.

  The spare bedroom door opened all the way and a small figure walked

  slowly from the hallway into the kitchen. She hugged her arms about her as

  if she were freezing, despite the warmth of the late summer night. “Do you have some wine to go with the pasta?” she asked. “Red or white. Which one do you prefer?”

  “I think white tonight.”

  “Got a great Pinot Grigio right here for you.” Scarlett reached in the

  refrigerator, pulled out the bottle, opened it quickly and poured it into two

  juice glasses sitting on the drop-leaf kitchen table. She held one out to her

  guest. Scarlett did have nice wine glasses, but using juice glasses was

  something her Sicilian Dad had always done and she liked remembering him

  that way. The two women sipped quietly for a moment.

  Scarlett went to the stove, turned up the heat on the pasta water and

  said, “So, dear, how was your day?”

  “Did you get him?”

  “Not today, but I will, soon.”

  “I hope you’re right,” the trophy wife said and drained her glass.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Scarlett ran the last piece of rigatoni around the inside of her pasta bowl, soaking up the last bit of olive oil and melted Romano cheese. She popped the bite in her mouth, closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure. A mirthless laugh from her dinner companion caused her to open her eyes and frown.

  “What’s up? Want dessert? I’ve got some great gelato from the place out in Little Italy. You know, Pappalecco’s out there off India on State. Best gelato outside of Florence.”

  “Good God, no! Bad enough you’ve got me eating carbs again, now you want to feed me sugar and dairy?” With that, Lizette Tangerine Yokum Di Stefano pushed back her bowl as if it were a live, crawling thing and grabbed the wine bottle. She filled her glass for the third time, leaving a scant trickle for her hostess.

  “Oh, I see, pasta and gelato bad; alcohol good?” Scarlett raised an eyebrow at Lizette’s bowl. The broccoli was gone but most of the delicious pasta remained. Looking down at her own empty bowl, she sighed.

  “Yeah, well, being Italian, I never met a carb I didn’t like, unfortunately.” She silently reminded herself to not get on the scale after a pasta dinner and to check in her closet for clean workout clothes. Putting the wine bottle neck up to her eye, she squinted at the meager contents before she shook the last drops of the Pinot Grigio into her own glass. They drank in stony silence for a while. Scarlett spoke first.

  “Look, Lizzie, I gotta move you, the cops know I’m on the case and they’ll be watching me now.”

  “Where’m I supposed to go? And stop calling me Lizzie—it’s Lizette or maybe even Mrs. Di Stefano to you. You work for me, remember?” Her heavily black-lined grass-green eyes flashed with anger. Not for the first time Scarlett looked at her charge and thought with those eyes and that deeply dyed black hair Lizette seriously looked like a deranged Halloween cat.

  “Hey, don’t get your skinny little back up. I’m protecting you, remember? The cops think you’re a prime suspect in dear old Sebastiano’s demise. And since you and I are the only ones who think we know who did the deed you’d best do as I say until I catch the bastard, or whoever got hired to do the hit, right? You should know me by now. ‘I’ve always wanted to fight a desperate battle against incredible odds.’”

  Lizette gave her a look that said, “What the hell?”

  Scarlett exhaled, with intent. “It’s a quote from a movie, The Last Starfighter. Honestly, have you ever seen anything besides those cheesy vampire movies? Just be patient a bit longer, my pretty, and you’ll soon be the rich-bitch widow you’ve every right to be. Capito? Now go pack your beauty trunk while I do the dishes and we’ll be outta here in no time. Clear your place, will ya?”

  Ignoring Scarlett’s reproof, Lizette picked up her bowl and glass and put them on the counter next to the sink with a careless “clink.”

  “Look, I just don’t want to end up like one of Cosmo’s little slaves, ya know? I mean his whole operation, it’s so messed up. I hired you to protect me, and get what’s mine, so I gotta be sure, get it?”

  “You’ll be safe, Lizzie. I mean, have I ever lied to you before, huh?”

  “Is that some other kinda movie quote or are you for real this time; it’s hard to tell.” With that, she left the room in a huff, her slim hips moving in an angry sway made perfect with practice. She’d been a model, if you want to call working shopping mall fashion shows and posing next to new cars on turntables at fairs and car shows modeling. At her moderate height, she really didn’t qualify for the big time. But she looked fantastic in a bikini, thanks to her saving all through her waitressing teen years for a great boob job.

  It all paid off when she was seen at one of the infamous car shows, lounging sexily on the hood of a red Ferrari by none other than Sebastiano Andrea Di Stefano, successful import/export business owner.

  Yano, as he was called, liked fast cars and dark-haired women who were blissfully endowed. And so, the match made in heaven, or at least in the Presidential suite of the historic Hotel Del Coronado, was made legal and binding, oh so binding, just two short years before Yano’s unfortunate demise. Sadly, for Yano anyway, besides liking women, he also had a distinct affection for muscular, blond, long-legged young men.

  Yes, Scarlett thought now as she rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, Yano had lots of likes and even yens when it came to both sexes. But something he never seemed to have, despite his money and the power that came with it was: trust. Yano had not trusted Lizette and he had trusted his boyfriend, Jordan Blakely even less.

  Scarlett had seen this so many times when it came to romance, lust, whatever you called it. Whether the relationship was totally legal or miserably clandestine, nobody trusted anybody.

  “And that’s why you are still single, Scarlett, baby,” she said out loud to herself as she put the clean pasta pot away. “And that’s why you’re gonna stay that way, and that’s why business is good. Let’m live, love and betray each other. What the hell, it pays my bills!”

  She turned out the lights in the kitchen, took out her gun, made sure the safety was off and grabbed her purse and keys.

  “Come on, Lizzie. Shake a tail feather, we’re outta here!”

  The drive didn’t take long. It was a quiet night on Hwy 8 West, for a change.

  “We’re going to the beach?” Lizette asked warily peering out the car window and ducking her head when a car passed.

  “Near the beach. Not the snooty one you’re used to, Lizzie. We’re headed to one of the best beach towns in San Diego, maybe in all of California, in my humble opinion, of course.” Scarlett gave a short laugh as she saw the frown barely forming on Lizette’s Botoxed forehead. “No worries, it’s not a dump or anything where I’m taking you. The neighborhood’s old and slightly funky, but you’ll like the pla
ce. The owner is a real class act and the best cook in the world. Again, just my opinion and nothing humble about it this time.” She stopped at the light on Sunset Cliffs Boulevard and looked up and down the side streets lined with old stately palm trees. She pointed to the stucco building set deeply into the west corner of Santa Monica Ave.

  “That’s the most charming of the San Diego Public Libraries. Not huge, but so cozy and welcoming. Ever been in a library, Lizzie?” Her voice was gently teasing.

  “Humph! Of course I have! Had to get through high school somehow didn’t I? Certainly weren’t any fashion or movie magazines around our crummy house, let alone books.”

  “Well, all righty then. It’s been established, you done been educated, after a fashion. Pun intended, Lizzie.” The light changed and Scarlett turned left and they drove up the steep hill in chilly silence.

  The driveway was nice and wide and the only light in the house was shining dimly through the heavy, drawn drapes of the large front window. Scarlett blinked her headlights twice as she pulled the car up close to the hedge beneath the window. Within minutes, the porch light came on, went off and came on again. The signal was an old one, but known only to Scarlett and the woman inside and always reliable. Scarlett got out first, gun in hand, and checked the darkened street before she signaled Lizette to get out and follow her. As soon as her foot hit the small stoop, the front door opened and they were inside, door locked and porch light out. It took all of less than 15 seconds.

  “Get in, get in, you’re making me miss my stories!” The small whitehaired woman in the rose-colored robe and matching slippers fairly pushed them from the entryway into the dimly lit living room. A large television in an old console cabinet bore the scene of an impossibly handsome man and a stunningly beautiful woman engaged in a heated argument that soon melted into a soggy embrace accompanied with slurpy kissing sounds.

  “Oh, now, see, I’m missing this!” The woman shuffled over to the console, putting on the glasses she held. “Now, wait, wait, I think I know how to turn this off or is it ‘pause’ I want? Oh, Honey, help me!”

  “It’s ‘pause’. Here, I’ve got it.” Scarlett was across the room in an instant and pushed the button on the old VCR atop the console. The little woman straightened and sighed.

  “Oh, good, now I can catch up.” She turned to Scarlett. “You’re here late. I thought you’d be here earlier. I’ve made Cannoli.”

  “Sorry, couldn’t be helped. Here, let me introduce you to your new caregiver.”

  “Now Scarlett, you know I don’t need anyone like that!” The woman drew herself up to her full five-foot height and shook her finger under Scarlett’s nose.

  “I know, but that’s what we gotta say for now, o.k.? Just play along like usual, right?”

  The older woman smiled and took Scarlett’s face in her two small but pretty hands and patted both cheeks. “All right, my little snoopy pants, all right, I’ll cooperate, like usual.”

  They both laughed as Scarlett took the hands from her face and still holding them turned to a very puzzled Lizette and said, “Lizette Tangerine Yokum Di Stefano, I’d like you to meet Rosa, your patient for the next few days.”

  Rosa freed her hands, came to Lizette and pulled her into a fierce embrace that belied her apparent frailty. She stood back, her hands on Lizette’s stick-thin arms, squeezing them hard, oblivious to Lizette’s wincing.

  “I’m…it’s good to meet you. Shall I call you Rosa?” Lizette stammered.

  “Oh, no, Bella Mia, you just call me what Scarlett does: Mama!” Leading the way into the kitchen, she continued, “Scarlett, Honey, put your nasty gun away and let’s get this thin little girl some Cannoli!”

  “And so, Honey, why the middle moniker ‘Tangerine’? Not that I mind, ya know, love really different names myself.” Rosa winked at Lizette as she busied herself at the kitchen counter filling the Cannoli shells.

  Scarlett leaned against the opposite counter, waiting for the decaf to brew. At Rosa’s last statement she rolled her eyes at Lizette. Clearly uncomfortable, Lizette cleared her throat and replied: “My Dad loved the stupid old song, ‘Tangerine, she is all they claim.’ I remember him coming home with a snoot full and singing it to me and Mom. He’s the one responsible for the weird name. Wanted it for my first name, but Mom won out, one thing I can thank her for, I guess. And Scarlett’s name is from that Civil War old movie, huh. Book, too, I think. See, I know stuff.” She flashed a quick, sharp look at Scarlett, shrugged and sat at the dining room table which Rosa invited her to with a gesture.

  “So, didn’t get along with Mom or Dad, I guess? How sad, huh, Scarlett, Honey. Family is so important; everything really.” Rosa shook her head sadly as she brought the plate of cannoli over to the table. “Now, a little dessert always helps. Right?”

  “MMMMMM.” Scarlett poured the coffee and smiled at the always carefully laid table as Rosa dished up the cannoli. The plastic placemats decorated with grape clusters were placed on the thick table pads that covered the maple tabletop. In the center of the table was a circular crocheted cloth. Scarlett brought it back as a gift for Rosa from her solo trip to Italy after law school. Her mother treasured it. A beautiful Deruta Ceramica bowl sat atop the cloth, an heirloom from Rosa’s own grandmother. Scarlett and her sister Cat had often remarked they could count on their eyeballs the times they’d seen the lovely table top without its protective pad. Rosa would dismiss their good natured teasing with the same statement: “Your daddy worked hard to give us nice things. Gotta work to keep ’em that way.”

  “Don’t be shy, Lizette, dig in,” Scarlett said. “Um, what’s in the filling, can I ask?” Lizette eyed the powdered and filled pastry tube on her plate as if it were about to attack her.

  “Oh, my usual. Ricotta, a little mascarpone, almond flavoring, some chopped up chocolate and almonds, a little cinnamon. Try it.”

  “Sugar?” Lizette asked timidly?

  “Oh no! Never. It would make the whole filling grainy and much too sweet.”

  Lizette smiled gratefully, cut a small piece and took a bite. Her eyes opened wide as combination of flavors and textures caressed her taste buds.

  “My God this is so good! Are you sure there’s no sugar? It’s so rich.”

  “Oh no, Dear, just a little honey to help it along. Makes the filling so much more smooth, don’t you think?” She took a generous bite of her own cannoli.

  Scarlett herself was chewing her cannoli with relish, her eyes closed in rapture. Lizette’s choking brought her back to reality. Rosa was up out of her chair, clapping the young woman on the back with such force, Lizette’s face was nearly in her plate.

  “What’s up, Lizzie, go down the wrong pipe?”

  Lizette wiped her eyes with her napkin. “Honey? And the Ricotta, that’s dairy, right?” She croaked, turning to glare at Scarlett.

  “Relax, Lizzie, just give in to life’s little pleasures won’t ya? You know, it isn’t only the big ticket items in life that make you happy. ‘Leave the gun. Take the Cannoli.’ Good advice, right, Mama?”

  Rosa smiled and nodded, “Sure, Bella Mia, can’t argue with that.”

  Lizette sat with her hands gripping the edges of the table, looking from Scarlett to Rosa who continued to chat and eat as if she wasn’t there. Finally, she sighed loudly, looked down at her plate, picked up her fork, cut a goodsized bite and said, “What the hell?” Her eyes closed as she slowly surrendered herself to the joy of a great cannoli.

  Later, while Scarlett washed the dishes, Rosa showed Lizette the rest of the house ending up in the frilly blue and white bedroom that Scarlett and Catherine had shared. “So Sweetie, any questions for me?” Rosa tilted her head and asked with a warm smile.

  Lizette took a deep breath before asking. “So how come you help Scarlett and for how long? I mean, she good at it and nice and all, but being a PI is a creepy business isn’t it? Do you like what she does?”

  Rosa sighed and sat down on one of the perfectly made twin
beds and gestured for Lizette to sit opposite her on the other. “Five years ago Scarlett came over and showed me her brand new private investigator’s license. I looked at the piece of paper in her hand for a long time, saying nothing. When I finally looked up at my daughter I was in tears.” Spreading her small hands and raising her shoulders, she continued with her narrative.

  “‘Ah, Bella Mia’,” I said, “‘why this, huh? Why do you want to meddle in other people’s business?’ And you know what she said?”

  Lizette shook her head, waiting. Rosa smiled and continued.

  “Well, first, Scarlett laughed so hard we both ended up crying! But she explained to me that her vision of the job was more helping than meddling and the money could be good. Well, I have to admit it took a few months of talking over many dinners. You know how it’s always easier to talk when there was food around, right?” She ignored Lizette’s shrug and continued.