Prosecco Pink

by Traci Angrighetti

  "Right." The more I talked to Chandra, the more surprised I was that she actually managed to earn money as a medium. "Is there any chance the woman was an older spirit, like from the early 1800s?"

  She cocked an eyebrow. "Do you really think that a female spirit who doesn't want to tell me her name would reveal her age?"

  I sighed. These spirits were driving me crazy with their vanity. "How about this," I said, folding my arms on the table. "Could you look in your crystal ball there and tell me if you see a female spirit at the Oleander Place plantation on River Road?"

  "That's going to cost you twenty dollars." She placed her hands in her lap and looked at me expectantly.

  "Fine," I muttered, as I pulled a twenty from my wallet.

  In a move reminiscent of Glenda, Chandra took the money and shoved it down the neck of her sweater into her ample bra. Then she began waving her plump hands over the ball. As she moved, her charm bracelet jingled so loudly that it sounded like a wind chime.

  "Well?" I asked, after several minutes had passed.

  "I see a woman."

  "Interesting," I said, thinking that I could so do her job for a living. "What's she doing?"

  "She's pulling at the handle of a French door."

  "I guess she wants out," I theorized. "What does she look like?"

  Chandra squinted and leaned closer to the crystal ball. "She's blonde."

  I rolled my eyes. I'd heard that psychics conned their customers by speaking in vague generalities, but this was ridiculous.

  "Oh, and she's wearing a pink crinoline dress," Chandra continued.

  I sat up straight in my chair. That was no generic detail. "What else can you tell me?"

  "Nothing. Everything went black."

  "Would it help if I took you to the plantation?" I offered. "I'm going out there in a couple of hours."

  She frowned and leaned back in her chair. "I don't do onsite readings. I told you before, ghosts scare me."

  I put my head down for a moment, and then I looked her straight in the eyes. "No offense or anything, but you need to get over your fear of ghosts if you're going to work in this profession."

  She jerked her head backward an inch. "I've done very well for myself, thank you."

  "Okay, but will you please think about it? This is really important. I've been assigned a case at Oleander Place, and it's looking like it involves a murder."

  Chandra gasped as she drew her paddle-shaped fingernails to her mouth. "Murder? Oh, no. I couldn't!"

  The spiritual angle was looking like a dead end. But since she'd hit on the color of Evangeline's dress, I did have one more pressing question for her. "Just for curiosity's sake, could you look into your crystal ball and tell me what my boyfriend Bradley's new secretary is up to?"

  "You need a tarot card reading for that," she explained, folding her hands back into her lap. "That's an extra twenty bucks."

  "Of course," I grumbled, reaching back into my nearly empty wallet. I handed her the cash.

  She stuffed the money into her bra and then handed me the cards. "Shuffle and cut the deck."

  I followed her instructions and then watched as she laid out three cards. I felt instant anxiety when I noticed that one of them was upside down. "What does that card mean?"

  Chandra's lips tightened into a thin line. "It's the Three of Cups. As the middle card, it represents your present. When it's upright it means that friendships and relationships with loved ones are in harmony. But when it's reversed, it usually indicates that you've had a falling out with your friends or that there's a third person in your relationship."

  Everything was fine with Veronica, so that could only mean one thing. Pauline was trying to turn my circle of love with Bradley into a love triangle. I knew it! I jumped up and threw my hobo bag over my right shoulder.

  Chandra looked up at me with wide eyes. "Don't you want me to read the other two cards? They're your past and future."

  "Uh-uh. I definitely don't want to revisit my past, and I already know that I'm woefully unprepared for the future." I turned and opened the door. "I'll be in touch."

  I left Chandra's office feeling a weight in the pit of my stomach. It was one thing to suspect Pauline of trying to steal my boyfriend, but it was quite another to have my worst fear confirmed, even if it was by a pseudo psychic.

  As I rushed past the merchandise, I bumped into the cashier, who was on his knees putting black and gold "Geaux Saints!" scarves onto a low-hanging rack.

  "Hey, now," he said. "Watch where you're goin'."

  I turned and read his nametag. "Sorry, Xavier. I just got some surprising news during my reading, and I was trying to figure out what to do about it."

  He rose to his feet and began to break down the empty scarf box. "Well, whatever you decide, remember one thang. This ain't Disneyland, this is Noo Awlins. And it's a war zone out there."

  "I'll keep that in mind." I pushed open the door and headed out onto Bourbon Street, steeling myself for the battle to come.

  * * *

  "You still haven't told me what you found out from the Psychic Friends Network," Veronica said as she steered her Audi onto River Road.

  I snorted. "You know, Chandra's not part of any clairvoyant company. She's just an ordinary woman working from an office."

  "Precisely. You remember that before you get all worked up about something she says."

  "It's not like I'm buying in to this whole psychic thing,'" I said, scratching my nose and visualizing Pinocchio. "But I am paying attention to the fact that she knows things about me and this case."

  "Okay, but this is the information age," Veronica said with a pointed look. "She can go online and find out pretty much anything she wants to know, starting by looking at your meticulously maintained Facebook page."

  My text message tone chimed.

  Saved by the bell, I thought as I reached into my bag for my phone. When I read the display, I got a fluttery feeling in my chest.

  Back in town tomorrow. Dinner at 7? Missing you, Bradley.

  I smiled. Maybe I'd overreacted to my tarot card reading just a smidge. After all, Bradley did tell me in no uncertain terms that Pauline was just his secretary. And one person didn't make a love triangle, right? I texted him an enthusiastic "It's a date!" and tossed the phone into my bag. "Speaking of information, do we have background checks on the Oleander Place employees?"

  "David finished them late yesterday. Everyone was clean except for one of the tour guides, Scarlett Heinz. Last year she was charged with assaulting a woman."

  "I wonder if it was because the woman teased her about her name," I said. "I mean, it's essentially 'Red Ketchup.'"

  Veronica shot me a look. "I seriously doubt it."

  I looked out the passenger window and mused, "So Miss Scarlett has a colored past…"

  "If you're thinking about moving on to Clue jokes, don't," Veronica said, leaning menacingly toward me.

  I moved closer to the passenger door, just to be safe. "Did you have David run a check on Delta too?"

  "Yeah. Nothing."

  "So, assuming Ivanna was murdered, do you think there's any chance that Delta's involved? She seems kind of proud of the fact that her plantation has a murderous history."

  Veronica shook her head. "When your business is weddings, charity dinners, and craft fairs, you don't want this kind of publicity. You heard Delta say that the media coverage is costing her clients, and she practically threatened us if we went to the press."

  "True," I said, again glancing out the window. We were approaching Oleander Place, and the view was spectacular. Oleander bushes dotted the grounds like pink flamingos, and there were two rows of centuries-old Southern live oak trees that dutifully lined the walkway leading to the plantation like soldiers standing at attention. Now that I was focusing on the house instead of the back of Bradley's BMW, I realized that it was painted the palest shade of pink, as was the colonnade that wrapped around the three-story home. I shifted my gaze uneasily to the b
alcony, and to my relief there was no sign of Evangeline.

  Veronica pulled into a long driveway and parked in a lot in the back of the house that was conveniently located next to a ticket booth. Directly in front of the parking lot were the slaves' quarters and a gift shop with a restaurant. Beyond the gift shop were two old sugar mills and the sugar cane fields.

  "Any special instructions, capo?" Veronica asked.

  I got a little thrill from being called "boss," but I acted casual. "Yeah, look for any evidence that Ivanna's death was actually a murder."

  "On it."

  As I stepped out of the car, I saw Delta and an older Southern gentleman in a seersucker suit standing on the back porch beside a magnolia tree. I felt like I was on the set of the Murder, She Wrote episode where Seth Hazlitt's plantation-owner cousin is battling a perfume company over the scent of the flowers from his secret magnolia tree. But I was quickly reminded that Delta was no Jessica Fletcher when I saw her shake her fist at the man, who cowered and held up his straw hat like a shield.

  "You leave this property at once, Floyd Buford!" she shouted. "I don't want to see your face around here again."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way, Delta," he said with a slight warble in his voice. He placed his hat on his head. "But if that's what you want, then good-day."

  Veronica and I ambled toward the porch as Delta watched the man hurry away.

  "Is everything okay?" I asked.

  "That was the president of the Antebellum Plantation Historical and Preservation Society," Delta replied. "He just canceled a luncheon they'd scheduled here for next week."

  "I'm sorry," Veronica said.

  "I'm not," she snapped. "Believe you me, it's no picnic catering to a bunch of snobbish geriatrics with digestive issues."

  Veronica and I exchanged a look.

  Delta turned and opened the door. "You girls come on in. I'll show you around."

  "I'd love to," Veronica said as we entered a wide hallway with gleaming hardwood floors.

  I was less enthusiastic about seeing the house. It was beautiful, but the tarnished history of plantation homes—specifically the fact that they were operated on slave labor—made me uncomfortable.

  "This place is gorgeous!" Veronica exclaimed.

  Delta stopped and turned to face her. "It is now. Knox designed the home in the Greek Revival style to make that nitwit Evangeline happy. But thankfully one of his descendants had the good sense to strip the house of the garish cornices, crown moldings, and ceiling medallions to bring it in line with the Federal style."

  "What happened to those things?" I asked.

  "They're stored in the little mill," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Now, my office is here on the left. And on the right is the kitchen, which used to be the house-slaves' quarters. The original kitchen was located in a separate building to keep the odors and the heat to a minimum."

  I nodded and followed Delta to the front of the house.

  "This is the parlor," she said, gesturing to the left. "And across the hall is the dining room."

  Veronica and I peered into the parlor, which was protected by a cordon. A gold-plated crystal chandelier, a large gilt mirror, and several bronze candelabra gave the room a sumptuous look. In front of the fireplace was a courting area with Empire-period seating covered in blue velvet. Above the black marble mantel was an enormous oil painting of a beautiful blonde woman with delicate features. She was dressed in coral pink and painted against a dark background of bluish black.

  "Is that Evangeline?" Veronica asked, as though reading my mind.

  "Yes," Delta said drily, clutching her pearls.

  "She was lovely," I enthused. "Like a real-life Disney princess."

  Delta scowled. "I'll take you up to her room."

  We climbed a tall wooden staircase to the second floor.

  "On either side of the hallway are the guest bedrooms," Delta said, "and the children's bedroom is in the middle. In keeping with the custom of the era, Evangeline and Knox had separate bedrooms in the front of the house." She turned to Veronica and me. "I don't know why we ever did away with that tradition."

  I flashed a wry smile at Veronica as we followed Delta the length of the hallway to the master bedrooms.

  "Those French doors lead to the front balcony," she explained, pulling a set of keys from her pocket. She unlocked the door to the left. "And this is Evangeline's bedroom, otherwise known as 'the pink room.'"

  Veronica, a connoisseur of pink décor, gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "It's pink perfection."

  I had to agree that it was a beautiful room, but I'd always been partial to purple. "Can we go past the cordon?"

  Delta raised an eyebrow. "Just don't touch anything."

  I smirked and entered the spacious bedroom with Veronica in tow. On the right was a seating area with a pink armchair and matching chaise lounge. Between the windows was an imposing armoire with decorative wood inlay and a white marble bust on the top. But the most impressive piece of furniture in the room was a canopied bed covered with pink pillows and draped in sheer pink netting.

  "Is this the original furniture?" Veronica asked.

  Delta nodded. "Evangeline died in that bed."

  "It's awfully small," I remarked. It reminded me of the dainty Princess furniture Veronica used to have before she redecorated her apartment like Elvis Presley's Jungle Room at Graceland.

  "People were smaller back then," Delta said, eyeing my 5' 10" frame with evident disapproval.

  I made a point of turning my back to her and began inspecting the area to the right of the bed, next to the windows, while Veronica searched the area to the left. On a white marble–covered night table beside the bed sat a stunning bronze snuff box adorned with a picture of Marie Antoinette.

  "Is this box an original too?" I asked.

  "Yes, it's from France. So is the trio of perfume bottles."

  I looked at the delicate pink glass bottles with gold filigree. "I only see two."

  Delta frowned and rushed to my side. "I don't understand," she muttered. "Where's the other bottle?"

  "Could someone have moved it?" Veronica asked.

  "That's impossible. I have the only key to this room, and no one has been allowed in here since the body was found." She knelt and looked under the bed.

  I stared at the night table, deep in thought. "Are you sure the bottle was here that night?"

  Delta stood up and brushed some dust off her navy blue dress. "I think so."

  "Hold on," Veronica said, reaching into her beige and leopard-print Furla tote. "I have the police photos with me. There's one of the nightstand, remember?"

  "That's right!" I said.

  Veronica began flipping through the pictures with Delta looking on.

  Meanwhile, I glanced beneath the table but didn't see anything. Then I pulled back one of the heavy, pink silk damask drapes and noticed a two-inch tear in the white sheer curtain underneath.

  "It's not in the picture," Veronica said. "There are only two bottles on the nightstand."

  "Wait a second!" Delta said, snapping her fingers. "That bottle was here on the day of the murder. I know it for a fact."

  "How?" I asked.

  "Because a French antique dealer on the same tour as Miss Jones made a comment about the trio. He said he'd never seen the full set intact."

  I chewed my lip. I was starting to think there was a connection between Ivanna's death and the missing perfume bottle. "What about this?" I asked, pulling aside the drape to reveal the tear in the sheer curtain. "Did you know it was torn?"

  "No, I didn't," Delta replied, her eyes smoldering with anger.

  I stepped aside as she stomped up to the drapes and jerked them away from the window, causing a small object to propel across the floor.

  Veronica bent down and retrieved the item. "It's a piece of pink glass!"

  "That's part of the perfume bottle," Delta said, her pale skin blanching as white as the curtain.

 
; "Was the room cleaned after the tour?" Veronica asked.

  "No, the cleaning crew came the morning after I found the body, but the police had me send them away." Delta lowered her head. "I suppose it's possible that a member of my staff could have broken it, but I don't know what reason they would have had to go into the room after a tour, and especially to go behind the cordon."

  I thought about the torn curtain and the broken bottle, and in my mind they added up to one thing. "I don't think that's what happened," I said. "There was a struggle in this room the night Ivanna Jones died, which means that your hunch about this being a murder is probably right."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Delta crossed her arms and curled her lips. "Of course I'm right. Like I told you, that girl was murdered in this house. The only thing you two need to worry about is finding out who did it."

  "We're just covering our bases," Veronica explained.

  "This isn't a damn baseball game," she snapped. "This is my business, and I'm paying you to find the killer. No more no less."

  I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth to reply, but Veronica silenced me with a shut-it look.

  "And you'll do it soon," Delta added. "I'm losing money by the minute thanks to this disaster."

  I'd had enough of Delta and her demanding demeanor. Mentally repeating the customer is always right with the intensity of Dorothy when she was trying to will herself and Toto back to Kansas, I exited the room and opened one of the French doors to take in some desperately needed fresh air. As I stepped onto the balcony, I saw on old rocking chair to my right. I took a seat and let my gaze follow the striking tree-lined walkway straight to the waters of the mighty Mississippi River. I wondered how many times Evangeline had done the same as she held her pink diamond and waited for Beau.

  The door flung open giving me a start, and Delta popped her head around the side. "Sorry to intrude on your quiet time, but we have a tour starting in half an hour. So, if you're going to question my tour guide, you'd better get started."

  I bit my lip to keep from saying something I would only partially regret and rose from my chair. Once inside, I glanced at the narrow flight of stairs leading to the third floor. "What's upstairs?"