Prosecco Pink

by Traci Angrighetti

  The mention of Adam surprised me so much that I almost jerked my gun. "He came out here?"

  "A couple of times. He wanted access to the plantation for himself and his attorney. When I denied his request, he came out after hours, smashed a window, and let himself in."

  I was stunned to hear that Adam had broken in to Oleander Place. I guess he'd meant what he said when he vowed to find Ivanna's killer. "How did you know it was him?"

  "He set off the alarm. I'd left a few minutes before, so I rushed back in time to see a car speeding away. I had Officer Quincy run a check on his plates. I was about to press charges, but then he left belladonna in his lab and got himself arrested." She gave an incredulous laugh. "Men are such idiots."

  So I was right—Delta hadn't framed Adam. Liam had.

  "Speaking of idiots," she continued. "How did you manage to figure out it was me?"

  I returned her insult with one of my own. "Well, besides your deplorable character, it was your reference to the belladonna. The medical examiner concluded that Ivanna had ingested it. You were the only one who suggested that it might have been put in her eyes."

  She smiled. "Thanks to Troy's exceptional thesis, I knew exactly what to do."

  I stole a glance at Troy. He was once again staring enrapt at Evangeline's portrait, oblivious to our predicament. Meanwhile, my arms were growing weaker. "But how did you pull it off?"

  "It was easy," she said with a shrug. "The day before Ivanna's death, I sent Troy on a wild goose chase to a conference in Nashville. I told him that I'd made an appointment for the following morning for him to meet with one of the attendees, a history professor who'd discovered a letter from an ex-slave detailing Evangeline's death. When Troy heard the news, he was only too happy to go."

  So he'd told the truth about attending the graduate student conference on the day Ivanna died, but he'd lied to me about the date of his return.

  "Obviously, there was no such professor," she continued. "And poor Troy had no idea that John would be waiting to pull him over on false charges when he tried to come back for his rendezvous with Ivanna."

  My jaw dropped to the floor, but luckily my gun didn't. "Officer Quincy is in on this too?"

  "I should say so," she said in a haughty tone. "He's my lover. We tell each other everything."

  My already shaky arms got even shakier as the skin practically crawled off my body. "What happened when Ivanna arrived?"

  "I'd planned to knock her out with chloroform and then douse her eyes with the belladonna. But when she saw me here instead of Troy, she fainted." She giggled. "I couldn't have planned it any better myself."

  Bile rose into my throat, but I had to keep my stomach—and my arms—in check. I took a deep breath and said, "So, you put the poison into her eyes and then you positioned her on the bed, just like Evangeline."

  Delta pursed her lips. "Not exactly. As I'm sure you know from Troy's thesis, belladonna causes a violent death—confusion, hallucinations, seizures. So, I had to wait that out and try to minimize the damage Ivanna did to the pink room. The torn sheer was no big deal, but I'm still upset about that priceless perfume bottle."

  I was sickened by her account of Ivanna's death. I couldn't imagine the terror and the pain Ivanna had experienced, and it was particularly appalling to hear that Delta's only regret was the loss of an antique. "There's one thing I don't understand about all of this."

  She lowered her eyelids, as though bored by my curiosity. "Oh?"

  "Why would you intentionally drive your family legacy and your business into the ground with these murders?"

  "Isn't it obvious?" she asked, surprised by my question. "Haunted plantations are passé. There are lots of us in Louisiana, and we're all struggling to keep the tourists coming. In the meantime, we're competing with haunted houses that spend tens of thousands of dollars every year to create new themes and props, while we're stuck showing the same old things. And those places aren't just for Halloween anymore—they're becoming trendy year around, especially for Valentine's Day."

  I looked at her open-mouthed as I tried to comprehend how the murders of Ivanna, Scarlett, and Miles would bring big bucks to Oleander Place.

  "There's a haunted house near here that made twelve thousand dollars in one day with their "My Bloody Valentine" attraction. Do you know how much alligator jerky I'd need to sell down at the gift shop to make that kind of money?"

  I shook my head.

  "Three years' worth."

  I was starting to think that Delta was more unstable than Troy because none of this was making sense. "But you've lost all your customers thanks to these grisly crimes. How do you expect to attract them now?"

  She smiled like a Cheshire cat. "With the big finale."

  I didn't want to ask, but I had to. Because I had the distinct feeling that Troy's life—if not mine too—depended on it. "What does that involve?"

  Delta face seemed to light up with excitement. "Troy poisoning himself at Evangeline's shrine. Can't you just see it?" she asked. "A handsome young man becomes obsessed with the portrait of Evangeline, a beautiful plantation owner's wife who was poisoned with a cup of oleander tea. He transfers his obsession onto her gorgeous lookalike relative, but then he kills her when he realizes that she can never live up to his beloved. In despair, he drinks a cup of oleander tea to join his unrequited love." Her eyes flashed. "Now that's what I call a Greek tragedy."

  More like a horror story, I thought. I glanced at Troy hoping that her gruesome plan had snapped him out of his trance, but he continued his adoration of Evangeline.

  "Of course, those fools Scarlett and Miles got in the way, but I did what I could to minimize the damage. I put Scarlett in her red crinoline dress to make for a more striking image, and then John and I threw Miles into the sugar kettle to sweeten the pot." She let out a raucous laugh. "Get it? To sweeten the sugar cane pot?"

  I got it, all right, and it nauseated me.

  "But once the dust has settled, people will only remember Evangeline, Ivanna, and Troy. Business will boom, and everyone in the country will know about Oleander Place."

  I shook my head. "They'll know it as a place where unspeakable things happened. No one will come here."

  "What do you know?" she shouted. "Contemporary murders have a mystique about them. They draw huge crowds year around."

  She had me there. I could think of lots of places where people gathered to seek pleasure from others' tragedies. It was a vile business—one that a vile person like Delta was perfectly suited for. There was no point in arguing further, and I knew I couldn't hold up my arms much longer. I sighed and said, "We can't keep this up all night. It's time for you to surrender."

  "Surrender?" she asked, taken aback. "Why would I want to do that?

  "Because I called the police before I came. They'll be here any minute."

  "Oh, I know that," she said with a gleeful twinkle in her eye. "John got an automated phone message about your 9-1-1 call."

  My heart sank, and my stomach fell. Some police departments had a system that enabled officers to receive phone alerts about 9-1-1 calls regarding specific locations. Apparently, the New Orleans PD was one of them.

  "In fact, he's on his way right now to help me stage the poisoning. But I told him to take his time." She smiled. "I said that you and I had a lot of catching up to do."

  By this point, I wasn't sure whether my arms were trembling from exhaustion or fear. "Don't do this, Delta. You'll never get away with this many murders."

  "You're forgetting that I have police connections," she said. "Besides, you won't have to watch, if that's what you're worried about. Because Troy's going to kill you first."

  I stared at her as I processed the news that I was part of the Oleander Place murder plot.

  She frowned. "It's a shame you're not blonde, because everyone knows that dead blondes make for a better story. But that can't be helped." She squinted as she sized me up. "The real issue is what to dress you in. Not even a hoop skirt wi
ll fit over those hips."

  I promised myself that if I survived, I'd make her pay for that last crack. But at the moment, I had bigger problems than my hips to deal with. I'd been following standard police procedure for standoffs—talking the perpetrator down. But that had gotten me nowhere fast. Trying to buy time, I said, "Then I guess you'll have to let me go."

  "Sorry, but I warned you." She smirked. "Twice."

  As I desperately tried to think of something to say or do, I saw the glow of headlights through the window—but no flashing lights. That could only mean one thing.

  Officer Quincy.

  Risky or not, I had to take the shot before he entered the house. Otherwise, Troy and I could kiss this world goodbye.

  "Too bad I don't respond well to threats," I said. Then I pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Instead of gunfire there was silence.

  I broke out in a cold sweat as the reality of what had happened dawned on me like a nuclear bomb. My gun had jammed.

  I looked from the barrel to Delta.

  Her face was as black as her Baron Samedi brooch. "I should blow you away for that stunt," she seethed. "But I'm not going to let the likes of you ruin my plan."

  I swallowed hard, trying to choke down the growing fear that I was destined to become part of the plantation's lurid lore.

  "Now drop the gun and walk over to Troy," she said, motioning with her pearl-handled pistol.

  I let my Ruger fall to the floor and went to his side.

  "Go on upstairs." She looked at Troy. "Both of you."

  Troy exited the parlor first, and I followed with Delta at my back. As we climbed the stairs, I inched close to him and whispered, "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I couldn't lose Evangeline."

  "Silence!" Delta commanded, jabbing the gun between my shoulders.

  Troy was worse off than I'd thought. If there was any chance of us making it out alive, it was going to have to come from me. The only thing I could think of was to try to push Delta down the stairs when I reached the second floor.

  A door slammed below.

  "Delta?" Officer Quincy called.

  A fresh wave of fear coursed through my veins. There was no escape now. He'd shoot me if I so much as blinked.

  "Up here, John," she replied in a lackadaisical tone. "Franki and I just finished with our girl talk."

  I followed Troy onto the landing, fighting the urge to faint. There was no need to ask where we were going. I lowered my head and entered the pink room.

  "Franki, sit on the bed," Delta said. "But for heaven's sake, be careful. Antique beds weren't made for people your size."

  Too numb to react to her jab, I did as I was told.

  Officer Quincy burst into the room. "We need to get this over with quick," he said, handing Delta a pair of latex gloves. "I've been monitoring the St. James Parish PD on my police radio, and our little friend here made a second 9-1-1 call."

  Delta sneered. "It's not going to do her any good. I've got the belladonna ready. All I need is for you to hold her arms."

  Officer Quincy shoved me backward onto the bed and pinned my torso with his arms and chest.

  "Wait!" I shouted, stalling. "Why belladonna?"

  She put her hand on her hip. "Because you're Italian like Ivanna. Of course, the beautiful woman meaning doesn't apply in your case, but no one will question it when they learn your heritage," she said, slipping on the gloves. "Plus, I want you to die a horrible death."

  I was seriously considering bum-rushing her for that first comment, but the horrible death one took the wind out of my sails.

  "Hurry, Delta," Officer Quincy said. "If they're not dead before the police get here, we'll have a hard time proving Troy acted alone."

  "Give me a minute," she snapped, reaching into her Louis Vuitton. She pulled out a small bottle and unscrewed the cap. As she leaned in toward me with the poison, I squeezed my eyes shut and started thrashing.

  "Hold her still, John!" Delta yelled.

  "I'm trying," he rasped, his voice tense from the struggle. "But she's as strong as a horse."

  "The size of one too," she observed.

  After hearing their horse comments, I started bucking like a bronco.

  "It's no use," he ground out. "I've gotta knock her out."

  I kept my eyes closed, waiting for the blow. I heard a thwack, a dull thud, and another thwack. But I felt no pain. In fact, the only thing I felt was Officer Quincy's weight sliding off my body. Then I heard another dull thud.

  I opened one eye and saw Chandra high-fiving a balding, beer-bellied man in an island shirt.

  "Boston strong!" she cried as they each raised a copper pipe in triumph.

  I shot up from the bed and saw Delta and Officer Quincy unconscious on the floor. Woozy from shock, I asked, "What are you doing here, Chandra? I told you not to come!"

  "I said I'd trust you, but I didn't say I'd listen to you," she explained as she pulled down her zodiac-themed miniskirt.

  I glanced at Troy standing motionless in the corner. "I'm glad you didn't."

  "By the way," Chandra began, "this is my husband, Luigi Toccato."

  "Call me 'Lou,'" he said, giving my hand—actually, my entire arm—a hearty shake.

  "So nice to meet you," I breathed. "You two saved our lives. But how did you do it?"

  "Ah, we drove out in my plumber's van," Lou said, kicking Delta's gun out of her reach with his toe shoes. "Then Chandra got one of her visions. She said you were in danger, so we grabbed a couple of pipes from my supplies and came in around back."

  I stared at Chandra in awe, remembering how scared she was the last time she came to the plantation. "How did you get up the courage to do this?"

  She gazed at her husband. "When Lou's by my side, I can do anything."

  "Aw, you," he said, turning as red as a tomato. He leaned over and gave her a smooch.

  "Besides," she added, her tone now as hard as the pipe in her hand, "I'm afraid of ghosts, not bitches."

  Police sirens screamed up the drive.

  Chandra took that as her cue to slip her and Lou's pipes into her super Chanel bag. "Now if you three will excuse me," she began, fluffing her big bouffant bob, "I have a psychic matter to attend to."

  * * *

  Lou and I watched from the back porch as the police led Delta and Officer Quincy in handcuffs to the parking lot.

  "Take your hands off me, you ingrate!" Delta shouted at the twenty-something male officer trying to help her into the back of the squad car. "I'm the widow of the late Chief of Police, Jackson Dupré."

  "We know who you are, ma'am," the officer replied in a tired voice.

  "Then you will treat me with respect, or you'll answer to my attorney," she snarled. "Do you understand me?"

  Lou yawned and scratched his belly. "Why doesn't he just shove her into the car already?"

  "My thoughts exactly," I replied.

  The back door opened and Chandra stepped onto the porch. "Where's Troy?"

  "They took him to the station," I replied. "He'll undergo a psychiatric evaluation and get the treatment he needs."

  Chandra frowned at the sight of Delta and crossed her arms.

  "What's the matter?" I asked. "Aren't you happy to see the diabolical one get her due?"

  "It's not that." She sighed. "That spirit's turning the doorknob again."

  "Maybe she wants to come outside to see Delta being taken to jail," I joked. "You know having her around the plantation had to be a living hell for those ghosts."

  "That's the problem," Chandra said. "The spirit's standing in front of French doors, but she's not in the house."

  My smile faded. "How do you know?"

  "Because there's a vase on the floor to the left of her. But when I stood in the corner between the French doors and the pink room a few minutes ago, I realized that there was no vase there."

  I rubbed the back of my neck. "I don't think I've ever seen a vase by the French doors. But
maybe one used to be there."

  Chandra shook her head, jingling her jewelry. "This isn't a vision from the past. The spirit's turning the handle in the present."

  "Then maybe she's not at Oleander Place," I suggested.

  "Or, maybe she is," Chandra countered, "but she's turning the handle of a different French door."

  As soon as she'd spoken the words, I knew where that door was. "The little mill!" I exclaimed. "Miles told me that the windows and French doors were replaced, and the originals are stored there."

  "What are we waiting for?" Chandra yelled.

  The three of us ran across the grounds. I arrived at the mill first, for obvious reasons.

  It didn't take long to find the French doors. They were propped up against a wall in the back corner—beside a large blue vase.

  I grasped the knob of the door on the right. It was exactly like the one I'd repaired the day Chandra and I got trapped inside the parlor. "We need to remove the handle."

  "I (huff) got (puff) this," Lou said, pulling a pipe wrench from the pocket of his cargo shorts. He bent down in front of the handle.

  I fixed my gaze on the back of his head to avoid seeing his… Well, he's a plumber.

  Lou stuck out his tongue, gave a couple of tugs with the wrench, and the handle fell into his hand. Battling his belly, he rose to his feet. "Here (huff) you (puff) go."

  Like Lou, I was breathless—but with excitement. I shook the base of the handle over my palm, and out tumbled the Lacour diamond.

  Chandra gasped and clasped her face. "All this time the spirit was trying to show us where the diamond was!"

  "Exactly." I stared with wonder at the coral-pink gem.

  She put a hand on my arm. "That means the spirit was probably Evangeline, not Ivanna."

  I bit my lip. "I have a feeling it was both of them."

  "Well, it sure is a beaut," Lou said, pulling up his sagging shorts. "What're you gonna do with it?"

  "Oh, I can't keep it," I said. "It belongs to the plantation."

  Chandra's lips formed a tiny pout. "But Delta's going to prison. Surely you don't plan to give it to her?"