Read Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) Online
Authors: Traci Andrighetti
Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries)
What the people are saying about
Traci Andrighetti
's
Limoncello Yellow
:
“Traci’s writing is sharp and funny; the world she paints leaps off the
page and makes the reader laugh out loud…A thoroughly
enjoyable new voice in fiction!”
- Kristin Harmel, Internationally bestselling novelist (The Sweetness of Forgetting
)
“Traci Andrighetti’s Limoncello Yellow had me tickled pink! Her smart, sassy
heroine, wacky cast of characters, and vividly original settings had me glued to
the page. I can’t wait to read more from this author!”
- Gemma Halliday, New York Times bestselling autho
r
LIMONCELLO YELLOW
by
TRACI ANDRIGHETTI
* * * * *
ebook Edition
Copyright © 2013 by
Traci Andrighetti
Cover design by
Lyndsey Lewellen
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
LIMONCELLO YELLOW
* * * * *
HAPTER ONE
As I surveyed the scene at
what looked eerily like the Bates Motel, I was shaking so badly from the cold and fear that I was afraid the gun in my holster would fire on its own. I longed for the cozy fire and protective embrace of my boyfriend that I'd felt as we'd exchanged Christmas presents just hours before.
"
Folks, you need to go back to your rooms immediately," Officer Stan Stubbs announced to the crowd of curious motel guests that had gathered.
When
the onlookers began to disperse, the woman in room six began moaning again. According to 911 dispatch, she had been in distress for at least half an hour.
I
gave an involuntary shiver and wondered what kind of animal would want to cause a woman pain that produced that sort of moaning.
"Something about this doesn't feel like a regular domestic abuse situation," Stan said, drawing his gun. "We need urgent backup, Franki."
I nodded and
grabbed the radio from my belt. "I have a 10-39 at the Twilight Motel on Manor Road. Request backup."
Stan
began his approach to room six.
I put the device
away and drew my gun. Then I hurried over and took my place on the opposite side of the door from Stan.
"
I'm goin' in on the count of three," he said in a low voice. "I need to get to the john, and quick like."
I gasped.
"
Now
, Stan?"
Stan
was my partner on the Austin PD. As a rookie on the force, I'd been paired with a seasoned veteran of the department. Even though we'd spent the past six months together, I'd learned little from Stan except that he had a "wifey" named Juanita who worshipped the ground he walked on, he valued his handgun collection more than he did his now adult children, and he suffered from chronic gastrointestinal distress. And despite his self-proclaimed "legendary instinct" for cracking cases, he was perpetually baffled by his stomach issues even though the culprit was clear: a steady diet of jelly donuts and chorizo, bean and cheese breakfast tacos that he washed down with a gallon or so of coffee and Gatorade (Did I mention that he was also chronically dehydrated because of the diarrhea?). Needless to say, he spent the better part of every shift visiting the nearest men's room.
Ignoring my concern
, Stan grasped his gun with both hands and slammed his right shoulder into the door. It flew open instantly, and he stormed into the room. "Police! Hands in the air!"
A
s I rushed in behind him, my gun drawn, the woman let out a hair-raising scream.
"
What in the hell?" Stan shouted.
I
followed his gaze to the bed, and a chill went through my body.
"
Why, it's just a couple goin' at it," Stan scoffed.
I blinked hard. Was it my imagination playing tricks on me at 4:30 a.m., or was o
ne member of that couple horribly familiar? As in, exchanging-gifts-by-a-cozy-fire familiar.
"
Vince?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I stared at my boyfriend of over two years.
He
looked at me like a deer caught in the headlights. "Franki?"
Make that
, like a cheating rat caught in the act.
Stan looked from Vince to me.
"You two know each other?"
I nodded
, unable to speak. The chill that I'd felt initially had turned to a dull aching pain, and all I wanted to do was run from the room and cry. But I couldn't because I was on duty.
"
I'll let you take it from here, Franki," Stan said as he rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
No sooner had
he left the room than the woman leapt from the bed—all 6' 5" or so of her—wearing nothing but her outrage. "Zis invazion iz illegal in
Deutschland
."
"
All right Franki," Vince began in a patronizing tone, "no crime has been committed, so why don't you put the gun down? Then we can all talk about this like rational adults."
No crime?
Rational adults?
The dull pain was quickly turning to red-hot anger. Before I could think it through, I shouted, "If you think for one minute that I'm going to sit down to chat with you and your German whore here—"
The furious
fräulein
kicked the gun from my hand, and I watched in what seemed like slow motion as it flew under the bed.
"
Be careful, Franki," Vince warned. "She's here from Munich on a semi-pro wrestling tour."
"
Oh, so
now
you're worried about my well being, Vince?" I asked, backing away from the German giantess. Now that I'd mentioned it, I was a little worried about me too. She was squatting down low with her hands raised, like she was going to make mincemeat of me.
"
For you, ze 'tilt-a-whirl slam,'" she announced as she lunged for my waist.
From over her shoulder
, I saw Vince leap from the bed to try to tackle her. Without even so much as a glance behind her, she laid him out cold with an elbow to the jaw.
"Ze 'discus elbow shmash,'" she explained, raising her chin and jutting out her King Kong–like chest.
By now it was clear that t
he crazed Kraut was a force to be reckoned with. Unfortunately for me, she was refusing to recognize that
I
was a force to be reckoned with too—a member of the
police
force. Before I knew what was happening, she had heaved all 5' 10" and 170 pounds of me over her right shoulder and begun to spin. Then, she let go.
I landed on the floor with a dull thud
and desperately tried to remember what the police academy had taught me to do in situations like this. But the truth was that the trainers hadn't covered how to extricate oneself from a female German wrestler with a serious case of roid rage.
"
Und
now ze 'fist drop,'" she said, falling onto me while driving her fist into my belly.
I writhed on the ground in agony, gasping for breath
. Then I saw the Munich Monster rise up from the floor like Godzilla from the sea. Clutching my stomach, I scrambled to my feet and did my best to mimic her sparring moves.
I dodged a
nother lunge and glanced in the direction of the bathroom. "I really need you out here, Stan!"
"
Just another minute, Franki." I heard the toilet flush.
In an attempt to reason with the raging wrestler, I said,
"Listen, Greta or Helga or whatever your name is—"
"
Mein
name is Petra! Petra ze Pretzelmaker!" Her face contorted with rage as the veins bulged from her thick, manly neck. "It iz not whore!"
"
Well, whoever you are," I wheezed, "you're under arrest."
"
Nein.
You
are under arrest. Prepare for ze 'body avalanche.'" She flew through the air, knocked me flat on my back, and pinned me beneath her hulking frame.
Trying to protect my stomach from another fist drop, I rolled over just as she introduced a
"hair pull" move that jerked me backward into an upward facing dog position.
I frantically tried to visualize what a good cop would do in a situation she hadn
't been trained for when her partner's in the bathroom and she'd already called for backup, but nothing was coming to me. In the meantime, Petra, as her wrestling named implied, was twisting me into a pretzel. I had to buy time until backup arrived, or she was going to turn me into
spaetzle
.
"
Petra, you need to calm down," I explained. "In the U.S., assaulting a police officer is a felony offense. You could go to prison for a long time."
To my relief, she abruptly let go of my hair. But as I fell forward she used her brawn to lift me into the air by my belt loops and sling me over her shoulder
yet again. I heard the distinct sound of the seat of my uniform pants splitting.
Wunderbar
, I thought as I remembered that I'd gone commando that day for lack of clean underwear.
"
Und
now I shpank," Petra announced.
"
Don't you dare!" I felt the full force of her giant paw come down on my bare behind.
I mentally swore at the backup team for taking so long to arrive. Then I cursed my pants for splitting. I
'd spent years avoiding my disproportionately large butt, both visually and mentally. Since it was behind me, I'd never had to look at it or think about it. Ever. And that had been my strategy—until now.
I heard a wet smacking sound as I felt her palm strike my bottom for the second time. My eyes filled with angry tears.
