Prosecco Pink

by Traci Angrighetti

  I was mulling over this possibility as I pulled into the Oleander Place parking lot. The second I shut off the engine, Chandra shot up in her seat.

  "Oh God, are we at the plantation?" she shouted, already in the clutches of her phasmophobia. Then she grabbed her head. "Owww. I shouldn't have let Lou talk me into that third beer sampler last night at the Crescent City Brewhouse."

  My first thought was, Does Chandra ever go anywhere or do anything that doesn't have a moon-related theme? Next I wondered whether bringing a hungover psychic with a fear of ghosts to a haunted plantation was a good idea. I was about to suggest that she stay in the car when I saw Miles heading toward the parking lot from the direction of the little mill. "I need to talk to this guy real quick," I said, motioning toward him. "I'll be right back."

  Chandra followed my gesture and perked right up when she saw Miles. "I'll come with you," she offered as she smoothed her hair, which was shaped like a cone after being pressed against the window. "I need to stretch my legs."

  I gave her a sidelong glance. It figured that a Boston native would be attracted to a big Irishman. When I turned to exit the car, I found Miles looking into my window. I rolled it down a crack. "Hi, Miles."

  "Mornin', Miss Franki," he said.

  Chandra practically threw herself across my lap. "I'm Chandra Toccato, the Crescent City Medium."

  I gripped the steering wheel and moved forward in my seat in an effort to block her from his view. "Do you have a minute?"

  "I was fixin' to run to de hardware store, but I always have time to talk to two beautiful ladies," he said staring at Chandra, who was batting her eyelashes so fast she looked like a crazed cupie doll.

  "Great," I said in a flat tone, trying to discourage any further flattery. "Listen, have you noticed anything unusual on the grounds in recent weeks? Like, any changes in the plants?"

  "De plants?" he repeated, scratching his head.

  "Well, the oleander bushes," I clarified.

  Chandra sighed. "I just adore oleanders."

  I spun around and shot her a cool-it look.

  "All de oleanders are doin' jus' fine, Miss Franki." He looked at the sky. "Dey're sure lovin' dis rain."

  "I wasn't talking about their health. What I need to know is whether any of the bushes have been altered. You know, like maybe someone picked a bunch of flowers or cut off some branches?"

  His nostrils flared, and I knew that something about my question had angered him.

  He forced a smile. "I can't say as dey have."

  I looked into his eyes to see whether he would avoid my gaze, but he met it straight on. I knew there was no point in pressing him further. "Interesting," I said in an intentionally suspicious tone. "Have you seen Scarlett today?"

  His face relaxed. "I saw her goin' into de main house dis mornin', but I haven't seen her since."

  "Thanks," I said, still scrutinizing his face.

  "Anytime, Miss Franki." He nodded at Chandra. "You ladies have a lovely day at Oleander Place."

  "Oh, we will," Chandra replied before kicking off another round of eyelash batting. "I've just been dying to see the house."

  I rolled my eyes and rolled up the window before their coquetry could continue. Then I watched in my rearview mirror as Miles got into his car. He was looking in our direction, which meant that either Chandra had made an impression on him or my question had. Something told me it was the latter. I was positive he was hiding something. What I didn't know was whether it concerned only the oleanders or Ivanna's murder too.

  Chandra sighed. "It looks like the rain is letting up. I guess it's time to get this reading over with."

  "Yeah, let's make a run for it," I said, grabbing my keys.

  As we ran to the back entrance, I outpaced her three-to-one—not so much because of the difference in our strides but because of the difference in our shoes. Ever since Delta's dog-sharks had feasted on my feet, I'd worn riding boots to the plantation. But Chandra was in four-inch platform stilettos with lace ankle socks. Definitely not standard Ghostbusters issue, I thought as I watched her hop like a bumbling bunny across the soaked lawn.

  When she reached the porch, she followed me inside with eyes as big as, well, two moons.

  "First, I'll introduce you to Delta," I said in an effort to steady her nerves. "Then while I'm questioning the tour guide, Scarlett, I'd like for you to do readings in the pink room and on the balcony."

  She didn't respond.

  I turned and saw that she looked kind of green, or maybe lunar blue. Either way, I wasn't sure if it was because of the Oleander Place spirits or those three samplers. "Are you okay?"

  She bobbed her head up and down and began what sounded like a series of sighs.

  "Um, is that a psychic technique?" I asked, more than a little concerned about her mental state.

  "It's a stress-reliever," she replied, staring at me like I was the crazy one.

  I shrugged and tried the handle of the office door. It was locked. "Delta must have stepped out. I'll take you to see the painting of Evangeline before we go upstairs."

  We'd just started down the hallway when Chandra began making suction noises.

  I stopped and stared at her. "What are you doing now?"

  "Nothing," she said defensively. "My socks got wet."

  I took a deep breath and headed for the parlor as she sighed and squished along behind me. Apart from the racket she was making and the intermittent rumbling of thunder, the house was ominously silent. And dark.

  "Sweet Jesus!" Chandra shrieked as her hands clamped onto my triceps like lobster pinschers. "Is that a ghost?"

  I clenched my teeth and wrenched free of her grip. Then I looked down the hallway and saw a flickering light coming from the parlor. The courter's candle!

  I rushed into the room with Chandra practically attached to my back. The entire parlor had been turned into a shrine to Evangeline. Coral-pink tulle was draped over her painting, and dozens of oleander bouquets filled the room. The courter's candle, which was once again alight on the mantle, cast an eerie glow over the scene. Even more haunting, all the windows were open, causing the white sheers to flail like frenzied spirits in the storm winds.

  I stood there open-mouthed until a crash of thunder shook me from my stupor. I went to close the windows, and as I latched the last one, the door shut behind me.

  "Someone locked us in!" Chandra shrieked. Then she leapt on me, piggyback-style.

  "Get off me," I ground out as I pried her legs one-by-one from my waist.

  "We've got to get out of this place," she wailed.

  "You've got to stay calm," I snapped as I walked to the door. I grasped the doorknob, and it fell into my hand. The part of the knob that attached to the door had a round opening, and the knob itself was hollow inside. I got down on my knees and inspected the doorplate. There was a rod protruding that was connected to the doorknob on the opposite side. After I'd reinserted the rod into the knob, the door opened on its own. "See?" I turned to Chandra, who was standing all of two inches from me. "No one locked us in."

  "Do you think the wind closed it?" she whispered.

  "Maybe," I replied. Although I wasn't convinced since the door opened into the hallway. The more likely scenario was that Scarlett had closed the door so that she could slip past me.

  I walked to the window. Her truck was in the parking lot, so I knew she was around somewhere.

  "What's the matter?" Chandra asked, raising her hands to her mouth.

  "Scarlett's avoiding me, but I have to question her before she leaves today," I explained. "Do you want to go wait in the car while I look for her?"

  She scowled and put her hands on her hips. "Oh, no. You're not leaving me alone on this ghost trap of a plantation!"

  Things psychics should never say, I thought.

  We searched the first floor, but Scarlett was nowhere to be seen. Chandra stuck to me like glue until I headed up the stairs, and then she started to drop back. She was no longer sighing and
squishing, just huffing and puffing. As I approached the second-floor landing, she'd only made it halfway up the staircase. I looked back at her. "Are you sensing any spirit activity yet?"

  She shook her head. "They're (huff) laying (puff) like (huff) broccoli (puff)."

  "You mean, being still like vegetables?" I joked, paraphrasing from Pretty Woman.

  She didn't laugh.

  She's probably saving her breath, I thought. Because that was funny.

  When I reached the second floor and looked in the direction of the pink room, I jumped from fright. There was a tall figure looming in front of the French doors. I couldn't make out who it was in the semi-darkness, but I could see the outline of a crinoline dress. It was a woman, and she was moving slightly—actually, floating. Like a ghost.

  "H-hello?" I stammered. I felt my knees start to buckle and grabbed the stair rail for support. Was I seeing the spirit of Evangeline Lacour?

  Chandra arrived at the top of the stairs. "Did (huff) you (puff) find (huff) Scarlett (puff)?"

  A flash of lightening illuminated the figure, and I immediately recognized the red fabric of the dress.

  "Yes, I did," I whispered as Chandra let out a hair-raising scream and fell to the floor.

  I knelt down and checked her pulse. Then I looked up at Scarlett.

  And I wondered how long she'd been hanging.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I sat on one of the canopied beds in the children's room and put my head between my legs. Six hours had passed since I'd found Scarlett's lifeless body, but I still felt dizzy and nauseated. I was convinced that she hadn't committed suicide, because there was nothing on the floor below that she could have used to reach the noose. Someone had hanged her like she was a worthless rag doll, and I couldn't stop wondering whether there was something I could've done to save her. Maybe I should have insisted that she go to the authorities or at least tell me what she knew.

  Overwhelmed by a wave of guilt, I sat up and looked enviously at Chandra dozing on the opposite bed. When she'd regained consciousness and learned that the looming figure in front of the French doors hadn't been a ghoulish ghost but rather a mundane murder victim, she'd returned to her serene, sleepy self. In fact, after the St. James Parish PD had asked us to wait in the children's bedroom while they completed their preliminary investigation, she'd flopped onto the two-hundred-something-year-old bed and started snoring.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs as the responding officers returned from the makeshift command post they'd set up outside.

  The sound awoke Chandra, who sat up and stretched. "I'm sheets!"

  "Where'd you find liquor?" I asked. Now I was really envious.

  She fluffed her bed-head hair with her fingernails. "Who said anything about alcohol?"

  "You said you were 'sheets.' You know, as in 'three sheets to the wind?'" I mimicked a drunk chugging a drink.

  She gave an exasperated sigh. "'I'm sheets' is a Boston expression for 'I'm tired.'"

  "Too bad." I walked over to the window. "I could use a drink."

  "Right?" She stood up and tugged at her miniskirt. "We've already told the police everything we know. When are they going to let us go?"

  I pulled the curtain to one side and saw the CSI unit van in the parking lot. "After they've secured the crime scene and questioned the staff."

  The door opened and Delta entered. Her hair was spikier than usual, and with her black jeans, smudged white work shirt, and red neckerchief, she looked like a cowgirl Cruella. She furrowed her brow and gave Chandra the once over. "Are you one of those police psychics?"

  Chandra put her hand to her chest. "I am a medium. How did you know?"

  "Just a lucky guess," Delta drawled.

  I repressed a laugh. It didn't take a psychic to figure out that Chandra was a psychic. She was covered in stars and moons, and her T-shirt said, "I talk to dead people." I cleared my throat. "Sorry, Delta. I didn't even think to introduce you after what happened. This is Chandra Toccato."

  "Charmed, I'm sure," Delta replied dryly.

  Chandra's face beamed like a full moon. "I believe you are."

  "Well, apparently you're not, because you didn't look into your crystal ball and see this disaster coming," Delta snapped.

  The glow on Chandra's face waned as Delta's dubious charm wore off.

  "For that matter," Delta continued, "neither did you, Miss PI."

  I sighed. "No one saw this coming, not even the police."

  "Well, that's why I hired you, isn't it?" she asked, pointing her finger at my chest like a gun. "To figure out the things the police couldn't?"

  I held up my hands in surrender. "Scarlett refused to cooperate with me, so there was nothing I could do. But speaking of doing my job, I have a few questions for you, starting with where you, Miles, and Troy were when Scarlett was killed."

  Delta glared at me and began pacing, as though agitated by the mention of Scarlett's death. "We were in the little mill pulling artifacts for a photo shoot. Southern Living magazine contacted me last month about doing a feature on plantation life in the Old South. It's scheduled for tomorrow—that is, if it's still going to happen."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chandra handling items in a curio cabinet. I moved to block her from Delta's view. "How long had you been there?"

  "Since eight this morning," she said, massaging the back of her neck as she paced.

  "Did any of you leave the mill?"

  She stopped and put her hand on her cheek. "Just Miles, when I sent him to the hardware store for rust remover. That was around ten forty-five or eleven."

  Fifteen minutes could have been enough time for Miles to go to the house and kill Scarlet before I saw him in the parking lot at eleven. But he'd been coming from the little mill, and I wasn't sure that he could have committed a murder and then returned to the mill in that time frame. Also, I couldn't understand why he wouldn't have gone straight from the house to the hardware store. "Did Miles come back to the mill for any reason before he left?"

  Delta shrugged. "He may have, but Troy and I didn't see him. We were in the back of the mill."

  I chewed my thumbnail. I couldn't rule Miles out as Scarlett's killer. But if he wasn't the culprit, then the only other suspect I knew of was Adam. The problem was that I had no way to connect him to her. "Do you know what Scarlett was doing in the house?"

  "She had a tour booked for one o'clock, but she came early to do her cleaning," she replied, twisting the tips of her neckerchief. "Miles saw her arrive at around nine thirty."

  "Wait." I scratched my head. "How did he see her if none of you left the mill?"

  She wrinkled her mouth into a smirk. "One of the mill windows overlooks the parking lot. That Miles is always watching the goings-on at the plantation."

  "Oh, right." I remembered her mentioning that before. I was also reminded of the day Scarlett had seen him looking in the window when she was cleaning in her corset and petticoat, and then a thought occurred to me. "Did Scarlett usually clean in her costume?"

  "Of course not," she said with a wave of her hand. "Corsets and crinoline dresses are uncomfortable as hell, and they're expensive too. Even if she'd wanted to wear her costume to clean, I wouldn't have allowed it."

  "And yet she was hanged in her red crinoline dress," I observed.

  "Odd, isn't it?" she asked. "You might want to talk to Troy about those dresses. He's spent a lot of time studying them, from what I understand."

  I nodded. Delta had a point. It was possible that the killer attached some sort of significance to Scarlett's red dress, as with Ivanna's pink one, and Troy's historical knowledge of plantation chic might offer some clues.

  Chandra gave a sonorous yawn and plopped down on the bed.

  Delta spun around to face her. "What do you think you're doing? That bed is almost three hundred years old."

  "Someone has a brown aura," Chandra muttered. Then she shielded her lips from Delta's eyes and mouthed the word greedy to me.

&n
bsp; Delta grabbed a giant rolling pin from the foot of the other bed. "Well, someone is going to have a black and blue aura if they don't get off my antique furniture."

  "There's no need for violence," I said, extending my hand to stop her. "Why don't you give that to me, and I'll take it down to the kitchen?"

  "It doesn't belong there," she snapped. "In the Old South, it was used for smoothing moss mattresses." She looked pointedly at Chandra. "But nowadays it's used for smacking mouthy mediums."

  Chandra slid her "aura" off the bed and rushed to my side, just in case.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Delta threw the rolling pin onto the mattress. "Come in."

  I stifled a gasp when the policeman entered. It was Officer Quincy from the bank.

  "Oh, John. Thank God you're here!" Delta exclaimed. "It's so nice to have a friend from the New Orleans PD by my side at a time like this."

  "I came as soon as I heard," he said, smoothing his gray-blond comb over.

  At the sound of his voice, Delta forgot all about her furniture and collapsed onto a pink cushioned armchair near an antique crib. "I'm ruined, John!" She buried her face in her hands. "Over two centuries of my family's legacy down the drain."

  "Now calm down, Delta." He placed a hand on her shoulder.

  "How can I?" she wailed. "I was planning to turn the plantation into a bed and breakfast, but no one will stay here now."

  "You're right about that," Chandra agreed, taking cover behind my back.

  I turned and gave her a dirty look. "You never know," I said, feigning an optimism I didn't feel. "The guests may return in time."

  Officer Quincy lowered his glasses on his hawk-like nose and narrowed his piercing blue eyes at me. Then he looked down at Delta. "Do you know this woman?"

  She looked at me and frowned. "This is Franki Amato, the private investigator I hired to look into the Jones murder. A lot of damn good it did."

  "Oh, I know Miss Amato." He sneered. "I had the pleasure of making her acquaintance the night before last."