Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) (20 page)

Veronica sighed.
"What did I tell you about keeping your personal and professional life separate?"

"
I know, I know."

"
Well, then you'd better get over to Ann Taylor right now and buy that dress."
              "Or what?" I asked, half playfully, half seriously.

"
Or I'm going to have Glenda dress you for your date." There was a firmness to her voice that left no room for doubt.

I had a quick mental image of me opening the door to Bradley in a black leather bustier, a gold lamé miniskirt, purple stripper shoes
, and a green boa, with a long black cigarette holder in my left hand. "I'm on my way."

* * *

At 8:45 p.m., I was strolling through Lenton's at Lakeside Shopping Center listening to the loudspeaker message announcing that the mall would close in fifteen minutes. Incredibly, Ann Taylor had the LBD in a size twelve. The dress had fit to perfection, which did wonders for my mood. I'd even splurged on a pair of black pumps to celebrate the occasion.

Just before I reached the exit, I noticed two large tables piled high with merchandise marked seventy-five percent off. Of course, I
'd already maxed out my meager clothes allowance for the next four months with the purchases I'd just made, but who could pass up the opportunity to buy clothing at a quarter of the price? I mean, it would be financially irresponsible of me not to try to find
something
to buy at those prices.

As I quickly sorted through the piles, I saw the sleeve of what looked like a cute mulberry sweater tangled in a mass of clothes. I put my bags on the floor and began to unravel the knotted items. Suddenly, I caught sight of fabric with a black-and-white checked pattern in the mix. My heart began thumping hard in my chest as I worked to free the item from the other clothes. It was a scarf! And it looked exactly like the one in the crime scene photo, except that it had a mauve border.

With scarf in hand, I picked up my bags and ran to a nearby cash register. A heavyset woman with a nametag that read "Keisha" was busy putting anti-theft devices on a stack of cardigans. "Did you need help findin' somethin'?"

"
Yes, I was wondering if this scarf came in any other colors." I placed it on the counter.

"
One minute while I check." Keisha snapped another device onto a cardigan. She picked up a scan gun, scanned the barcode on the price tag, and proceeded to look at her cash register screen for what seemed like an eternity. Then she furrowed her brow. "Looks like it came in one other color."

By this time, my heart was beating so fast that I thought I might faint.
"Can you tell me which color?"

"
Is says lye-moan-sell-low," she syllabified.

"
What? What color is that?"

She shrugged.
"Beats me. That's all it says."

"
Do you mind if I look?" I asked, not without a hint of frustration.

"
Be my guest."

She stepped to the side as I rushed behind the counter and looked at the screen. After scanning through a seemingly endless series of product names and lengthy codes comprised of letters and numbers, I saw it.
"Style: Limoncello."

I threw my arms around
Keisha. "It's yellow!"

She pulled away and took a step backward.
"O-kaaay."

"
Listen, Keisha, does Lenton's keep records of its sales?"
              "Of course. But you'd have to talk to the store manager about that."

"
Is the manager here now? It's important."

She looked at me for a moment, and then I could see the light dawn in her eyes.
"Hey, you're not a detective are you?"

"
Yes, I am." I was hoping that this would convince her to help me.

"
Is this a cheatin' husband case, or somethin'?"

"
It's much more serious than that."

She opened her eyes wide.
"
Murder?
"

When I didn
't reply, she nodded. "He'll be here tomorrow morning at 9:30. Ask for Ed Orlansky."

"
I'm still so excited that you found the scarf store!" Veronica exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air as we sped down Interstate 10 East toward Slidell in her Audi the next morning.

"
Me too," I said, watching to make sure that she put her hands back on the steering wheel. Luckily, she did.

She abruptly veered into the left lane, cutting off a jacked-up pick-up truck with tractor-trailer tires in the process.
"What time did you say we could call the manager?"

"
Keisha told me he would be in at around 9:30 today." I looked over my left shoulder at the now road-raging truck driver, who promptly hit the gas and swerved into the middle lane. I quickly shrunk down into my seat, but not far enough to miss him unceremoniously saluting us with his middle finger as he roared around us.

Veronica glanced at the clock on the dashboard, completely oblivious to what had just occurred.
"But that was ten minutes ago!"

"
I know. Let's just give him another five minutes to get settled in."

"
But we're going to be at the Di Salvo's house in fifteen minutes!" she said, staring at me for way too long.

"
All right! I'll call him." I straightened up in the seat and pulled my phone from my purse. "You just watch where you're going. Eyes back on the road, missy!"

She rolled
said eyes. "Calm down, Franki. You know I'm a trained racecar driver."

I gave her a look.
"A few hours on the Ferrari racetrack in Italy doesn't make you Mario Andretti." I searched my phone contacts for the number for Ed Orlansky that Keisha had given me. "And honestly, when you get on the highway, you drive like you've had one too many skinny margaritas."

"
Whatever you say,
nonna
."

I i
gnored her, just like my grandmother would do. "Now, what should I say to this guy?"

"
Try to get us on his calendar for today or tomorrow, and don't tell him you're a PI if you can help it. Otherwise, he may not agree to meet with us."

"
Then how, exactly, are we going to convince him to spend hours and hours scrolling through electronic store receipts for all the people who bought that scarf once he finds out we're not with the police?"

"
You leave that to me." She tossed her blonde mane.

"
Gladly." I tapped the number and put the phone to my ear. Veronica ran a charm offensive that would rival that of even the savviest Washington political strategist. It was based on what I called the "bat-and-twirl effect," an irresistibly seductive combination of batting her eyelashes while twirling her dazzling golden locks around her fingers. The one and only time I'd tried it on a guy, he politely told me that I shouldn't tug on my hair because it made my eyes twitch.

"
Is it ringing?"

I shook my head.
"Voicemail."

"
Hang up!"

I pressed end.
"Why?"

"
He's the manager of a huge department store, so if you leave a message saying that you're investigating a local crime, he'll probably contact the police to verify that you work for them."

"
And then he won't call me back when he finds out I'm not a police officer?"

"
Exactly."

"
So, what do we do?"

"
Well, we know he's supposed to be at work today. I think we should just drop in unannounced after we meet with the Di Salvos."

We both jumped at the unexpected sound of my Bootylicious ringtone. On the display was the all-too-familiar
"Unknown."

"
Maybe this is him." I tapped answer. "Hello?"
              "Yes, hello!" a male voice exclaimed a little too animatedly. "Is this Francesca?"

I shook my head at Veronica
's questioning gaze. The caller was definitely not the Lenton's manager, because the only people who called me Francesca were my relatives or my prospective Sicilian dates. And this was no relative. "This is she."

"
Fantastic!" the voice exclaimed. "I'm Bruno Messina, and my mother, Santina, is friends with your
nonna
."

My heart sank, and I could feel myself turning red. I glanced at Veronica and shrank down in my seat a little.
"Yes, my
nonna
told me you'd be calling," I mumbled, getting straight to the point. I wanted to get this call over with fast, but he sounded so excited that I actually felt kind of bad about intending to turn him down.

"
Great! Listen, I'm calling to invite you to my house for dinner tonight."

What is it with these guys asking me out on the day of the date?

"My mamma is making her Sicilian specialty,
arancini
."

The thought of those deep-fried balls of rice, tomato sauce, meat
, and cheese momentarily distracted me from the conversation, but then I shook myself out of my fried food daydream and got back to the unpleasant task at hand.

"
Thanks for the invitation, Bruno, but I already have plans for this evening." Halfway hoping he would think I was a loose woman like Pio had and hang up on me, I added, "A date."

"
Ah," he replied in a decidedly less enthusiastic tone. But to my surprise, he cheerfully rebounded. "Well, we could meet after your date—for a nightcap!"

Seriously?
"That would be disrespectful to the man I'm going out with, don't you think?"

"
Well, maybe he wouldn't have to know?" he said in an exploratory tone. "After all, what we don't know doesn't hurt us, right Franki?" He chuckled.

Clearly, it was time to get down to the business of a brushoff. Borrowing Pio
's infamous line I replied, "I'm sorry, but I just don't think this is going to work out."

"
I see." This time he came back with the Catholic-guilt-inducing, "Mamma will be so disappointed."

"
I'm sorry about that. Goodbye, Bruno."

"
Goodbye?"

The second I heard that uncertain
"goodbye" I pressed end before he could bounce back with an exuberant "What about tomorrow morning?" Then I turned off my phone to be on the safe side.

Veronica raised an eyebrow.
"One of
nonna's
boys?"

"
Yes, but hopefully the last." I sighed. "He just asked me out on a date for tonight at his house with his mother. I mean, how could my
nonna
think I would want to go out with a guy like that?"

"
Well, you know the mentality of our grandmothers, Franki." She made a right-hand turn into a neighborhood with small shotgun-style houses and covered porches. "Back in their day in Sicily, unmarried women our age had no expectations whatsoever of getting married. A warm body was more than
zitelle
like us could hope for."

"
I know, I know. But what is it with men? I told this guy about my date tonight, and he actually suggested that I go out with him afterward on the sly."

"
That's his problem." She slowed down to scan the street addresses.

"
You think? If you ask me, cheating is fairly standard male behavior."

Veronica rolled the car to a stop in front of a modest-looking white house, pulled the keys from the ignition
, and then turned to face me. "Look, you've had some bad luck with men, I agree. But you can't make a blanket generalization like that. Really, Franki, you need to start rethinking your attitude about men, or you could blow it with Bradley before you even get started."

"
I'll see what I can do," I snapped, wondering what had gotten into Veronica. Normally when she was right, she was a lot more gentle about it.

"
Good." She opened the car door. "Now that that's settled, we're here."

I got out of the car and walked behind Veronica up the sidewalk, noting the particulars of the Di Salvo home. It was a small house, no more than
fifteen hundred square feet, with cracked and peeling white paint. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and a few of the windows were broken. I briefly wondered whether the general state of neglect of the house had anything to do with the tragic events this family had endured.