Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) (29 page)

"
Do both of us need to do the stakeout?"

"
Yeah, it's my company policy to have backup in a situation like that. It's one thing to go undercover to talk to a sales girl at LaMarca, but it's another thing altogether to try to entrap a man committing a crime. For all we know, this Harry Upton could be dangerous."

"
I'm sure that Mr. Orlansky would be only too willing to work some really late nights with you," I said with a wink, fervently hoping that she wouldn't ask me to go with her. Although I'd been doing my best to keep my chin up in the workplace, I was still really down about Bradley. All I wanted to do was go home and curl up in my bed.

"
I don't want to be there alone with him after the store closes." She chewed her lip for a moment. "Maybe David could go through the tape with him?"

As much as it pained me, I responded truthfully,
"Veronica, you know as well as I do that Mr. Orlansky isn't going to work late with the likes of David."

"
You're right. So…"

Here it comes
, I thought with dread.

"
Any chance you could go with me after the stakeout? If it comes to that, of course."

"
Actually, I don't have any plans for the weekend," I said looking down at the floor.

"
How are you feeling about the whole Bradley situation?"

"
Not so good." I sighed. "But my main worry right now is my
nonna
. She's been suspiciously quiet after hanging up on me."

"
You think she's up to something?"

"
Of course she is!" I exclaimed, gesticulating Veronica-style. "She's busy scaring up some more Sicilians for me. And based on the ones I've encountered so far, I can honestly say that Harry Upton
is
a 'catch' by comparison. So is Ed Orlansky, for that matter."

Before Veronica could respond, the office bell sounded. She rose to her feet.
"That must be Concetta."

I followed her into the lobby. Indeed, Concetta was standing there, looking uncertain. She was dressed almost exactly as she had been the day before, in the same sensible shoes and white shirt, only this time her ankle-length skirt was a muted brown instead of gray.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." Her close-set eyes had a worried look about them, and she was fingering the cross at her neck.

"
No, not at all," Veronica reassured.

"
Oh, good. This case is so personal to me. I'd really rather not talk about it over the phone."

"
I understand completely," Veronica said. "Why don't we go over to our conference room so we can talk?"

Concetta shook her head.
"Oh, no. This won't take long. It's just that I remembered something about Angie and Stewart, but I'm not sure whether it's important."

"
We certainly appreciate all the information you can provide," Veronica said as she walked over to David's desk for a pad of paper and pen.
              Concetta tugged at the cross around her neck. "Well, not too long after Imma's murder, the police called and told us we could come and get Imma's things. So, my father and I flew to London a few weeks later, um, under the radar, so to speak."

"
Under the radar?" I asked.

"
I mean we didn't tell Angie we were coming." There was a remorseful tone in her voice as she added, "My father didn't want to give her time to prepare for our visit."
              Veronica's head snapped up from her notepad. "Why not? Did he think Angelica had something to do with Imma's death?"

"
It's not that he believed Angie killed her," Concetta said. "But he did think she knew something about her murder. And after I told him what I'd seen, he was convinced of it."

"
What did you see?" I asked, captivated.

"
Well, I went into Angie and Imma's room first, while my father was downstairs talking to the dorm manager. The manager had given me a key so that I could get in. When I walked into the room, Angie was there with Stewart."

"
Really?" I was shocked that Stewart would be bold enough to return to the scene of the crime when he was under suspicion for the murder.

"
Yeah, and I could tell that they'd been deep in conversation," she explained, her eyes open wide. "In fact, when Angie saw me, she jumped up and started babbling, as though she felt nervous. Or guilty."

"
Did you hear anything they were saying to each other?" Veronica asked.

"
No, nothing." She looked down at the floor.

"
And what did they say to you?" I interjected.             

Concetta turned to me.
"Stewart never said a word. He lowered his head and then walked past me and left. But Angie said the usual things. You know, like 'What a surprise!' and 'Why didn't you tell me you were coming?'"

"
Did you ask her what Stewart was doing there?" I noticed that Concetta was gripping the cross on her necklace so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

"
Of course!" she exclaimed. "But she never answered because my father walked in right at that moment."

"
And you didn't tell him what was going on," Veronica deduced.

"
No, not until we got back to New Orleans." She looked shame-faced.

"
Did you ask Angelica again later what Stewart was doing there?" I asked.

"
I never got a chance to," Concetta replied softly. "She never spoke to me again after that trip."

"
Why didn't you tell your father that Stewart had been there?" I pressed.
              She looked at Veronica and me. "My father was a stereotypical, hot-blooded Italian male. I was afraid that if I'd told him what I'd just witnessed, he would have done something awful. To Angie or Stewart or both. I'd already lost my sister, and my mother was ill…I couldn't lose my father too."

"
Of course not," Veronica soothed.

Concetta
's eyes filled with tears, and then she looked directly into Veronica's eyes as though searching for something. "But I lost him anyway."

"
I think we have all the information we need." Veronica placed her hand on Concetta's back. "Can I get you a glass of water? Or maybe some chamomile tea?"

"
No, no." She shook her head as though coming out of a stupor. "I need to get back to the church." Then she headed for the door. "I'll let you know if I remember anything else."

"
Please do," I replied, and I shut the door behind her.

I turned to Veronica.
"What do you make of that?"

"
I think it confirms what we already suspect—that Jessica and Stewart had some sort of illicit relationship."

"
It also confirms that Stewart is every bit as arrogant as he looks in that picture of him after he'd been acquitted."

"
That reminds me," Veronica began. "Have you tried calling his parents again?"

"
No. I'll go do that now."

When I got back to my office, I checked my recent call list and then pressed the
Preston number. I waited for a couple of rings.

"
Preston's rezidens," a husky female voice responded.

"
Mrs. Preston?" I wasn't sure whether it was her, but I thought whoever it was might be drunk. Or Hungarian.

"
No, I maid," the voice responded in broken English.

"
Oh, hello," I said, relieved. "May I please speak to Stewart Preston, IV?"

"
He not here."

"
Okay, well—"

"
Who zis?" she interrupted. "Zsuzsanna?"

I hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond.

"Vat you vant?" she continued.

"
Um, his cell phone number?" I asked.

"
I tell you before," she said in a whisper, "I sink he bad man. But, you vant number, I give. You vait."

"
Thank you." I was shocked at my unexpected success. I grabbed a nearby scrap of paper on my desk—a receipt for tampons, gelato, and red wine—and prepared to jot down the number.

A minute later, the maid returned to the phone and recited Stewart
's contact information.

I repeated it back to her, after which she commanded,
"You no call again!" Then she hung up the phone.

I shook my head, momentarily marveling at the less-than-stellar phone manners of the
Preston household, and then my text message tone sounded. I looked at the display and saw that it was my dad reminding me to check the oil on my car. I rolled my eyes. But before I put the phone down, I got another text. I felt my heart skip a beat when I saw that this one was from Bradley:

In b
ack-to-back meetings. But we need to talk. Call you later, B.

Veronica entered my office.
"Did you call the Prestons?"

I jumped as though I
'd been caught cheating on a test. "You're not going to believe this, but I actually got his cell number."

She clapped her hands.
"Have you called him?"

"
I was just about to," I said as I tapped the message icon and fired off an angry one-word reply in Italian to Bradley. Even though he didn't speak the language, I was fairly certain he'd know what it meant.

"
Great, let's put it on speaker." Veronica pulled up a chair.

"
Sure." I smiled devilishly to myself as I tapped send. Then I typed Stewart's number on the keypad and pressed call. The phone rang only three times before going to voicemail. There was no message, just a beep.

"Hello, Stewart. My name is Gina Mazzucco." I shot Veronica a nasty look as she, in turn, flashed me a wicked smile. "I'm calling about an urgent matter regarding Angelica Evangelista. Please call me back at your earliest convenience." I recited my number and hung up.

Veronica crossed her arms and gave a satisfied smile.
"Now we sit back and let him stew."

"
I just hope he takes the bait," I replied, right as my phone started to ring.

Veronica looked at me questioningly.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I glanced at the display. "Ugh! It's my parents! They know better than to call me while I'm at work!"

"
You should take it. It could be important."

"
I suppose." I tapped answer. "Hello?"

"
Francesca," my mother began, her voice unusually shrill. "This is your mother."

"
Mom, I'm in a meeting, so I don't have much time. What's up?"

"
Well, your father says he texted you about your car, and you replied '
vaffanculo
.' We're just wondering what in the heck is going on down there in New Orleans."

I instantly felt a
knot in the pit of my stomach. I'd told my dad to go screw himself, albeit in slightly more scathing terms, instead of Bradley!

The only thing to do was take the easy way out.
"Mom, like I said, I really can't talk now."

"
Now Francesca, your father is waiting for an explanation," she chided.

"
Just tell him that I meant to send that message to Bradley, okay?"

"
I don't think that's going to make him feel any better, dear. You know we didn't raise you to use language like that. Not in Italian or English."

"
Mom, I've really
got
to go." I quickly hung up the phone and dropped it on my desk, as though it had scalded my hand.

Veronica raised an eyebrow.

"Don't ask!" I put my head in my hands. That text message wasn't going to help the already tense situation with my parents. On the positive side, though, it would probably put a stop to those annoying car reminders from my dad.

* * *

At 6:30 p.m. I was just getting ready to call it a day when a sullen David popped his head into my office. Veronica warned me that he was lovesick for a girl in his Brazilian dance class who unfortunately only had eyes for the Samba instructor. His opinion on the matter was painfully apparent from his mopey disposition.

"
You got a minute?" he asked, his usually bright eyes uncharacteristically dark and expressionless.

"
I've always got time for you, David," I said in an attempt to lift his spirits. "What's up?"