Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) (30 page)

"
Well, I've got to get to the library to study for an exam, but Veronica's on the phone. Can I fill you in on my research real fast?"

"
Absolutely. What've you got?"

He sat in front of my desk and leaned over with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him.
"Not much," he said, looking even more defeated than he had moments before. "I ran the background checks on the Di Salvos, and they're all clean."

"
Even the Diva of Darkness?" I was kind of expecting some sort of run-in with the law to surface—a public menace charge, at the very least.

"
Yeah, her too." He looked down at his hands.

"
What about Bill Evangelista?"

David sighed in frustration.
"Nothing. It's like the dude dropped off the face of the earth."               "That's so odd. You know, I just keep wondering whether he or his family could be connected to this case in some way."
              "You mean like his daughter, right?"

I nodded.

"Yeah, she definitely could have been jealous of Jessica, and maybe she wanted to eliminate the competition, you know? Women are ruthless like that." And then, his face turning as red as an apple, he held up one spindly fingered hand. "But not
you
or Veronica, or anything."

I smiled.
"Of course not. Anything else you want to talk to me about?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but Veronica burst into the room with a strange look on her face.
"Come to my office. Quick!"

David and I exchanged looks and hurried out after her.

"I just got off the phone with Betty down at the police station," Veronica explained in a somber tone. "Domenica Di Salvo has been arrested."

David and I looked at each other, stunned, and then back at Veronica.

"For Jessica's murder," I breathed. "I
knew
it."

"
No, not for Jessica's murder," Veronica corrected. "For grave dancing."

David yelled
"Holy shit!" as I simultaneously shouted, "Say what?"

Veronica inhaled deeply.
"According to Betty, Domenica was arrested at around 4:45 p.m. today. Apparently, she belongs to a group that dances on graves, and they've been charged with defacing a tombstone."

After I recovered from the initial shock, I exclaimed in a vindicated tone,
"I
told
you that girl was creepy! What normal person would
ever
want to hang out in a cemetery, much less freakin' dance a jig there?"

"
I know, right?" David chimed in, nodding vigorously.

"
And where, exactly, have they been doing this?" I asked, outraged. "No, don't tell me. Let me guess: where Marie Laveau is buried."

"
Wrong," Veronica said. "In Slidell. In the cemetery where
Immacolata
is buried."

I stared at her, momentarily speechless. Then I recovered.
"No way."

"
Yes way," she replied. "From what I've been told, that's the only place they've been doing this. And that's not even all there is to the story."

"
No?" I wasn't sure how much more of this story I could take.

"
No. The police are also investigating whether this group had any involvement in the murder of a man named Henry Withers." Veronica paused and then added, "He was the cemetery's caretaker, and he was hacked to death with an ax in the cemetery last Halloween night."

David stood openmouthed as I gasped and collapsed into a nearby chair. I
'd certainly been suspicious of Domenica and her deviant demeanor, but I hadn't expected anything like this.

"
So, it looks like we're going to have to pay Domenica yet another visit," Veronica continued.

"
How are we going to do that now that she's in jail?" I asked. "You know her mother isn't going to have the money to bail her out."

"
I'm a criminal attorney, Franki," Veronica reminded me. "I have a right to speak with my client."

"
Veronica!" I admonished. "You're not seriously thinking of representing her, are you?"

"
Definitely not," she replied. "But that'll just be our little secret, now won't it?"

In my hazy dream state, it seemed perfectly normal that I would be at an Elvis Presley concert. But something in the back of my mind was telling me that The King wasn
't singing "Burning Love" to me in person, no matter how appealing the thought may be. Did I mention that it was the sexy, black leather–clad Elvis from the '68 Comeback Special, not the sparkly cape-wearing, bell-bottomed Vegas version? Yummy. Then it hit me: That was my "Burning Love" ringtone I was hearing.

I opened my eyes and immediately cringed from the harsh glare of daylight. The ringing was coming from somewhere below me, so I peered over the edge of the chaise lounge where I had apparently spent the night. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. On the floor next to my phone were a bag of potato chips, a tub of sour cream and chive dip, a container of Ben & Jerry
's Dublin Mudslide, a box of chocolate-covered cherries, and a bottle of red wine, all of which were empty. I whispered a silent prayer that Napoleon had eaten all that food while I was sleeping—it was clear by now that I had been the one to drink the wine. But given that he was sitting beside the empty packages with his plastic food bowl in his mouth, I knew the chances of that were slim to none.

I rooted out my phone from underneath the potato chip bag and saw that Corinne was calling.
"Hello?" I croaked, sounding a lot like my mouth was full of gravel. Or chips.

"
Bonjour
, Franki! It is Corinne."

"
Hi, Corinne." I briefly pulled the phone away from my ear to check the time: 7 a.m.

"
I have some information for you," she replied in a hushed tone. "But I am at ze bank, so I must hurry before ze osers come to work."

"
Okay." I flopped down onto my back. "Have you found out anything about Jessica's monthly deposits?"

"
Oui
. Ze deposits she make each mons were checks."

"
Her LaMarca paychecks?" I held my breath in anticipation.

"
Non
, for her paychecks she have ze direct deposit," she explained. "Zese checks were from a life insurance company."

I exhaled loudly. So they weren
't payoffs from the Prestons, after all. "A life insurance company? Is there any way to tell who the policy holder was?" It was a long shot, but I had to ask.

"
Non
, but ze policy is from an oil company in Baton Rouge."

"
Really?" I asked, surprised. "How big were the checks?"

"
Zey were small. One hundred dollars."

It was looking like the bank lead was a bust.
"I guess the policy was from a relative or family friend. It's obviously not a bribe."

"
Wait, Franki. I save ze best for last."

I felt a surge of excitement.
"What?"

"
Jessica receive other PPD deposits, besides her paycheck."

"
What do you mean by 'PPD deposits'?" I asked just as Napoleon put his food bowl down and gave a high-pitched bark in my direction.

"
Ah, 'PPD' is an SEC code, so it tell ze bank ze transaction type. A code of PPD means 'Prearranged Payment and Deposit.' It is a repeat deposit, like for a paycheck or pension or somesing."

"
How much were these deposits for?" I switched the phone to my left ear so that I could pet Napoleon with my right hand to keep him from barking.

"
Ten sousand dollars!"

I sat straight up on the chaise lounge.
"Ten
thousand
dollars?"

"
Oui
."

"
How often did she receive them?" I was reeling from the amount of those deposits.

"
Every mons."

It looked like I had just hit pay dirt. As, apparently, had Jessica.
"Is there any way to tell who these direct deposits were from?"

"
Ze registry shows zey are from ze Vautier Group."

"
Could you spell that?" I ran and grabbed a pen from the kitchen counter. For me, French might as well be Sanskrit. Using the box of chocolate-covered cherries as a note pad, I hastily scribbled the company name.

"
Do you have any idea what this company does?"

"
Non
, I never hear of it."

"
Corinne, this is very important. Can you tell me how long Jessica has been receiving these deposits?"

"
Since she open ze account with us in 2012. I do not know if she receive ze money before zat."

If only she
'd been with the same bank since Immacolata's murder!
"Did you see any other activity in her account that looked unusual?"
              "
Non
, zat is all."
              "Well, if these payments are what I think they are, this could be a
huge
break in the case. I can't thank you enough for your help."

"
It is my pleasure. But now I really must go.
Au revoir!
""

"
Ciao
, Corinne."

The second I hung up I saw yet another awful sight: Bradley
had called last night. And I needed to talk to him—just to tell him to stop calling me, of course. I flopped back down onto the chaise lounge in an instant funk. I'd fallen asleep early because of the wine, which I'd only drunk because I'd been disturbed by Domenica, a.k.a. the Dame of Demise, and her deathly antics. That girl was definitely getting on my last nerve. Or maybe I should say she was dancing on it.

Speaking of Domenica, I had to be ready in half an hour to go to the police station with Veronica to question her. I sent a quick text to David asking him to find out the names of the owners and board of directors of The Vautier Group. Then I walked and fed a very testy Napoleon before heading off to my closet to find something that looked attorney-like.

* * *

"So, what am I supposed to do when we get inside?" I asked as Veronica made a right turn into the parking lot of the Slidell City Jail.

"
I'm going to introduce you as my paralegal." She scanned the rows of parked cars for an empty space. "That way, the police will direct all the questions to me."

"
That's good." I glanced at Veronica's smart gray suit and raspberry silk blouse. In comparison, the Forever 21 black blazer and leopard-print dress I'd thrown together made me look more like I was ready for a night of fist pumping at the Jersey Shore than a day of representing incarcerated clients.

Veronica maneuvered her Audi into a parking space right next to an old pink
Toyota that was completely covered with Barbie doll parts.

I was mesmerized by all those dismembered dolls.
"Wow, I wonder if the driver of that car is in the slammer. If so, it's got to be for Barbiecide."

"
Killing Barbies isn't a crime, but bad taste in car décor should be." Veronica put her sunglasses in her bag. "We'd better get going. Domenica will go before a judge first thing this morning, and we have to talk to her before that happens."

"
Why?" I reached for my purse. "Aren't we allowed to talk to her after that?"

"
No, the judge is going to ask her who's representing her. So we need to meet with her before she names her attorney or before the court appoints one to her. Because at that point, it'll be too late for me to pose as her legal counsel."

Suddenly, I heard
"I'm just a hunk, a hunk of burnin' love" coming from my purse. I pulled out my phone. "It's Bradley!"

"
Are you going to answer?"

A wave of anxiety swept through my
chest. "I have to talk to him sooner or later."

"
Okay, but try to stay calm," Veronica said.

I nodded and did my best
not to sound nervous. "H-Hello?" I responded unsuccessfully.

"
Franki, it's Bradley," he said in an unexpectedly neutral tone.

"
Oh?" I feigned a surprise that I instantly regretted. In the smartphone era, it was obvious that you knew who was calling.