Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) (24 page)

As I approached the table, I
was annoyed to see that Sheilah and Bradley were huddled together in conversation. "Here you go," I said, slamming the beer loudly on the table.

Brad
ley and Sheilah jumped like two necking teens who'd been caught by the cops.

"
Be right back," I continued. And, looking right at Bradley, I added, "Don't forget about me while I'm gone."

I rushed bac
k over to the bar. I couldn't leave those two alone for another minute.

T
he bartender had just extracted the cork from the Pinot Grigio. He poured a glassful and handed it to me.

"
Thanks." I pulled a dollar from my wallet and put it in his tip jar.

He looked at me wide-eyed.
"Sure."

I wasn
't sure why he would look so surprised by a dollar tip, but I just assumed that most people didn't tip at backyard parties.

I turned and
headed back toward the table. My feet were aching from the high heels and from having to walk on the balls of my feet. And my mouth was feeling strangely numb. I briefly wondered what kind of spices were in Cajun seasoning and then made a mental note to lay off the mudbug heads and stick to the tails.

This time,
I snuck up behind Bradley and Sheilah to do a little eavesdropping, which was more than justifiable given their suspicious behavior.

Bradley took a sip of his beer and muttered something incomprehensible to Sheilah.

"Now Bradley," she protested, giving him a playful shove, "is that any way to talk to your wife?"

Wife
?
The wine glass slipped from my hands and shattered on the tiled patio.

Bradley
spun around and gave a start, and Sheilah spit out the sip of wine she had just taken.

Craig, clearly not one for discretion, stood up
from a nearby table. "Ho-ly smokes, Franki! Your lips are all fat!"

"
Bwhat?" No sooner than I had uttered the word than my hand went to my mouth. My lips felt unusually full, which would have been great if it weren't for the speech impediment.

Everyone at the party stopped what they were doing and stared at me.

Bradley turned to Craig. "She's having an allergic reaction. I need to get her to the hospital."

"
Let's give her some Benadryl first so her throat doesn't close up," Craig replied not-so-soothingly. "I've got some in the bathroom next to the kitchen."

Bradley rushed me into the house with Craig close behind.

I wanted to confront him about Sheilah's stunning revelation, but my tongue had gone completely numb.

Taking me by the arm, Bradley led me to a small room off the kitchen.
"There's the bathroom, Franki."

I entered the bathroom first and turned on the light. As Craig searched a cabinet for the Benadryl, I looked into the mirror. But instead of my regular semi-full lips, I saw inflated pillow lips—almost twice the size of those of Angelina Jolie.

"
Oh, Franki! You can't be serious!" Veronica stood, hands on her hips, in front of my desk.

"
I told you, I'm convinced," I said through still semi-swollen lips. "Mambo Odette told me to stay away from the bayou. I didn't, and look what happened. I ended up on a date with a married man. And to punish me, some voodoo loa puffed me up like a blowfish."

Veronica
rolled her eyes. "I told you before, I'm sorry about Bradley. But really! You're as superstitious as your
nonna
. Deep down, you know this whole lip thing has nothing to do with voodoo. It's just a coincidence."

"
Here's what I know." I snapped the cover of my laptop shut for dramatic effect. "I've been eating shrimp from the Gulf of Mexico all my life, and I've never had a problem. I suck the head of one lousy mudbug, or crawfish, or whatever they call the stupid things down here, and my lips plump up like two Ball Park Franks."

"
So what? Crawfish are more closely related to lobster than shrimp. Just because you can eat one doesn't mean you can eat the other."

"
I don't need a lecture in marine biology to know what's going on here, Veronica! Don't you see? Mambo Odette has some kind of psychic voodoo power. She knew that the bayou and I wouldn't mix. So now I need to find her and ask her about Bradley."

Veronica furrowed her brow
. "Why? You're not thinking about seeing him again, are you?"

"
Certainly not," I huffed. "It's just that Odette told me he was a 'good man,' and now I want to know why she would say that if she knew he was married."

"
Maybe she didn't know."

"
Oh, she knows, Veronica. She knows," I said with a nod. "In fact, I think we should consult with her on the Evans case."

She
folded her arms across her chest. "You've got to be kidding."

"
No, I'm not. Odette's omniscient, and my lips are the proof." I puckered the evidence dramatically.

At that moment, the main door of the office slammed loudly, and Veronica jumped.
"David's here." She sighed as we listened to his footsteps bounding down the hallway toward my office.

"
G'day, la—" David began in a faux Australian accent as he popped his head into the doorway. He recoiled like a turtle pulling its head back into its shell when he caught sight of my mouth. "Whoa, Franki! Did you get into a throw down or somethin'?"

"
Yeah, with an overzealous crawfish," I mumbled through my aching lips.

David shot Veronica a questioning look.

"Don't ask," she said under her breath.

David looked at me then back at Veronica.
"That's cool." Then he stood silently, looking at the floor.

Veronica was the first to speak.
"David, I'm about to call Ryan Hunter with a case update. Were you able to find out anything about Bill or Barbara Evangelista?"

"
Oh." He stood up straight and pulled back his shoulders to assume his professional stance. "So, I couldn't find any record of the Evangelistas owning the house in Slidell, but I did find an obituary for Barbara. The problem is that it doesn't tell us anything we don't already know."

"
What about Bill?" I asked. "Did you find anything on him?"

"
Nope, not yet." David was staring somewhere to the left of me, apparently to avoid looking at my lips.

"
Keep digging," I instructed. "And don't forget about his wife and child. They could factor into this case too."

Veronica nodded.
"And while you're working on that, I need you to run background checks on the Di Salvos: Maria, Concetta, and Domenica."

I shivered at the mention of Domenica
's name and then noticed that my phone had begun to vibrate. I looked at the display and saw the number of my parents' deli.

"
Sorry guys. I need to take this call. It could be important."

As Veronica and David filed out of my office, I answered the call in speakerphone mode.
"Hello?"

"
Francesca?" my mother asked shrilly, as though she were unsure whether she was speaking to me or to some random woman who sounded exactly like me and had my same phone number.

"
Yes, Mom, it's me. Is something wrong?"

"
Why would something be wrong, dear?" she asked in a bewildered tone.

"
Because you don't normally call me from work." I was already irritated with this call.

"
Well, your date with Bradley is a special occasion."

I put my face in my hands. This wasn
't going to go well.

"
And your
nonna
and I are calling to find out how it went," she continued.

"
Nonna
? What's she doing at the deli?" My
nonna
never
left the house, not even for mandatory hurricane evacuations.

"
Well, your father and I made her promise not to call you to ask about your date until we came home tonight. She refused to keep that promise, dear, so your father made her come to work with us."

"
Wait. Dad's in on this call too?" Now I was really surprised.

"
Yes, dear, we've all been talking about it this morning: Rosalie Artusi, Larry from the drycleaner's, Mr. Giangiulio from the bakery, Marjorie—"

"
Mom," I interrupted through clenched teeth. "I've asked you a thousand times not to discuss my personal life with the customers."

"
But you know we've always thought of our customers as family, Francesca, so it wouldn't be right not to share good news about our children. Besides, everyone has been worried about your problem with long-term relationships."

As she spoke, I focused on resisting the overwhelming urge to curl up in the fetal position under my desk. Then I inhaled deeply.
"Mom, about that good news…"

"
Yes?"

"
Let's just say that the date didn't go perfectly," I replied in my best vague speak.

My mother slammed the phone receiver down on the counter.
"Joe! The date was a disaster!"

I gasped.
"Mom!"

Then
I heard my dad groan. "Not again, Brenda!"

My mother put the receiver back to her ear.
"Yes, dear?"

"
I didn't say it was a disaster!"

"
Well, then what happened, Francesca?"             

"
Bradley took me to a party, but after we got there my lips began to swell because—"

The phone slammed to the counter again.
"Her lips swelled up during the date!"

"
Oh, Lord!" a customer exclaimed. "Franki's got herpes!"

"
Lip swelling's also a sign of hand, foot, and mouth disease!" another bellowed.

I cringed as I listened helplessly to the comments of the customers, who continued to theorize about the source of my unfortunate lip mishap.

My mother returned to the phone. "Francesca, was it herpes? Or foot and mouth? Or something even more terrible?"

I mentally counted to ten before I spoke.
"Mom, I don't have a disease. I went to the hospital, and the doctor said it was just an allergic reaction to crawfish."

Down went the receiver.
"She's allergic to crawfish, Rosalie!" my mother wailed, as though my chances of ever finding another man were now even further diminished in light of my new shellfish affliction.

Suddenly, I heard what sounded like the phone hitting the floor followed by a scuffle, and then my
nonna
proclaimed somberly on the other end, "It's-a not-a the crawfish-a, Franki! It's-a Bradley. I told-a you that you should-a go out-a with only Italian boys! But don't-a you worry! I find a nice-a Sicilian boy for you."

Oh, sweet
Gesù
, no!
"
Nonna
, it's not possible to be allergic to a person. And besides," I added in a desperate attempt to discourage a second round of the Sicilian Dating Game, "I really don't have time to go out with anyone right now. After all, I've got a killer to track down."

"
If-a you got-a the time to find a killer, you got-a the time to find a husband." And then in a shocking tactical maneuver, my
nonna
hung up the phone on
me
.

* * *

To keep my mind off the whole Bradley affair, so to speak, I buried myself in work. After spending several hours sifting through British and American websites for details about the Di Salvo murder trial, I pondered a disturbing picture of Stewart Preston. It was taken on the steps of the courthouse after he'd been acquitted for murder. In the photo, he was sneering defiantly with his fist raised in a sign of victory. Everything about the guy oozed sleaze, from his distasteful gesture to the gold chain link necklace and dark chunky watchband he'd selected to accessorize his designer suit. And to think that this is how he looked and behaved after his attorneys had undoubtedly worked overtime to get him to clean up his image.

The
image of an arrogant Stewart was doing nothing to calm my already upset stomach. I pulled the seventh or eighth Tums tablet from the roll in my desk drawer and put it reluctantly into my mouth.
What is
wrong
with me?
I wondered as I pressed my right hand to my burning belly. Of course, my heartburn could have had something to do with the four slices of sausage and garlic pizza I'd eaten for lunch at Nizza. It also might have been caused by the threat of a renewed surge of Sicilian suitors looming on the horizon. But the most likely culprit was the fact that I'd fallen yet again for a cheater, and a married one to boot.

Luckily, the sound of the
lobby bell interrupted what was about to become my personal pity party. I stood up unwillingly from my desk and headed down the hallway. As I approached the waiting area, I saw a young, dark-haired woman standing in the middle of the room with her right hand on a large crucifix necklace hanging from her neck. She was wearing sensible black shoes and a plain white cotton shirt with a full, ankle-length gray skirt, which accentuated her thick waist and chubby thighs.

"
May I help you?"

"
Yes," she said in a soft, soothing voice. "I'm here about the Jessica Evans case. I'm Concetta Di Salvo." As soon as she said it, I realized that I recognized her from the photos I'd seen at her mother's house.

"
I'm Franki Amato. My partner, Veronica Maggio, and I spoke with your mother and sister yesterday."

She delicately shook my hand.
"Yes, that's why I'm here. May I sit down?"

I nodded.
"Of course. Let me show you to our conference room, and then I'll have Veronica join us."

"
That would be nice." She smiled pleasantly. "Thank you."

After I
'd settled her at our conference table with a glass of water, I closed the door and practically ran from the room to Veronica's office.

When I saw Veronica behind her desk, I understood why she hadn
't responded to the bell. She was staring at her computer with her hot pink headphones on, which could only mean one thing: she was communing with the goddesses—The Spice Girls.

"
Veronica." I waved my arms SOS-style in front of her desk. "Concetta Di Salvo is here."

"
She is?" She looked mildly panicked as she rose to her feet. "But I haven't prepared any questions for her yet."

"
We'll just have to improvise." I pushed her toward the doorway.

A minute later, after greeting Veronica, Concetta dove into her reason for coming to see us.
"I loved Angie like a sister, so I'd like to help with the investigation in any way I can."

I noticed that Concetta had a naturally calming presence about her. No wonder she
'd become a nun.

"
I understand," Veronica replied. "Your mother told us that Angelica was like one of the family."

"
Oh, absolutely! In fact, Imma, Angie, and I used to joke that we were actually triplets." She smiled nostalgically.

I glanced at the rosary in Concetta
's lap. "But your mom also said that your family lost touch with Angelica after Imma died."

"
Yeah. Things were never the same after we lost Imma." She took a sip of her water. "My whole family was in mourning, of course, and then there was the emotion and stress of the investigation and later the trial. After it was all finally over, we never heard from Angie again. But I'm sure she felt uncomfortable after everything that happened."
              "Why do you say that?" I asked.