Amaretto Amber (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 3) (9 page)

Of course, I couldn't see the expression on my own face, but I imagined that it looked a lot like Janet Leigh's did when Norman Bates pulled open the shower curtain dressed like his mother and wielding a knife.

"We had to share your bed since it's the only one in the apartment," she continued as she opened a can of Folgers.

There went the sleep I'd hoped to get
.

"But your nonna kept me up half the night going back and forth to the bathroom, so I had to come out here." She pointed a spoon at me. "Then she woke me up at three a.m. and asked me to get her enema bag from the trunk. You know how backed up she gets before a big trip."

Aaaand there went that bath
. "Yeah, so, what's the occasion for the visit?"

"It's a belated birthday present," she replied, spooning coffee into the filter.

The gift that keeps on giving.

"Also," she began, filling the carafe with water, "it's been a long time since your nonna returned to her old stomping grounds."

My nonna and nonnu had emigrated from Sicily to New Orleans and raised my father and my four uncles there. So, I'd long known that a visit from my nonna was inevitable, but I'd naively assumed that my parents would've given me a heads-up so that I could prepare—i.e., stock the refrigerator, buy an air mattress, attend a few therapy sessions.

"And the timing couldn't have been more perfect," she added, pouring the water into the coffee maker, "because your nonna can help her old church friends make the bread for the St. Joseph's Day table."

This time, instead of hearing the
Psycho
soundtrack, I felt Norman's knife stabbing into my flesh. Now I knew why my nonna was here—it was to make sure that I stole a lemon from that damn altar. "Mom, I'm not going to steal from a church."

She almost dropped the carafe. "Well, you most certainly are not, young lady."

To the world at large, I was now a "ma'am," but to my mother I would forever be a "young lady." Was there no end to the injustices? "Mom, I'm talking about the lift-a-lemon-snag-a-spouse tradition."

"Oh, that," she said, shoving the carafe into the machine. "It hardly counts as stealing, Francesca. After all, that food is there to be eaten. And besides, at this point, what've you got to lose?"

Only my last shred of dignity and possibly my spot in heaven. No biggie.

She flipped the switch to the coffee maker. "I've got to go get your nonna out of that bathroom so I can do my business." She pasted a smile onto her face. "And when I get back, we can all sip our coffee and have a nice mother-daughter-grandmother chat."

As my mother headed toward my bedroom, I visualized Janet Leigh sliding down the wall of the shower, slowly dying from the multiple stab wounds that Norman had inflicted.

"Carmela, come out of that bathroom," my mother demanded.

"It's-a gonna be a while," Nonna shouted.

A surge of adrenaline shot through my veins. I had to get out of my apartment while I still had some lifeblood left in me—and before my nonna opened that door.

I scribbled a quick note to my mom telling her that I just remembered an early morning meeting I needed to attend and snuck out the door. I started for the stairs to Glenda's, but then I got a better idea—I was going to give Veronica a piece of my mind for not warning me about the familial invasion.

Marching over to her door, I raised my hand to knock as a man dressed in black bolted from the side of my house. I spun around and saw that he was wearing a ski mask and gloves just as he jumped into a dark sedan parked in front of the cemetery across the street.

Because he came from the area of the kitchen window, my first thought was that he was a Peeping Tom who'd been checking out my mom in her granny gown.

But I knew that couldn't be right.

As the peeper peeled out and sped down my street, a more sinister thought occurred to me. I'd had the feeling that someone had been following me off and on for the past couple of days. Could he be the perpetrator? If so, who was he, and what did he want from me?

More importantly, he'd been to my house at least once—was he planning on coming back?

As I stumbled half asleep up the stairs to Private Chicks, I was about to curse the old building for not having an elevator when I remembered that weirdo witch's warning. I wasn't sure whether cursing an inanimate object could "boomerang" back on me, but I couldn't take any chances. Because in light of this latest "present" from the family, I now firmly believed that I was cursed.

I pushed open the door and glanced at the clock: five past noon. Instead of going to my office, I headed for the kitchen to make coffee. I'd gotten maybe three hours of sleep thanks in part to Veronica, who'd called the cops after my encounter with the masked man. But Glenda also bore some of the blame because before the officers could write up the report, she came down wearing a teeny stars-and-stripes-themed teddy in a "show of support for our men in uniform"—that turned into an actual show.

"Well, good afternoon," Veronica said as I entered the narrow kitchen. She was sitting at the two-seater table looking minty fresh in a pale green pencil skirt and crisp white blouse while nibbling on a salad.

"You know I worked late last night," I grumbled, feeling like wilted spinach next to her in my green button down shirt. "And are you seriously going to nag me after everything you've put me through?"

"I was just kidding, Franki." She stabbed her fork into a piece of lettuce. "And like I told you this morning, there was no way I was going to ruin your mother's surprise."

Veronica was wise to stay on my mom's good side, because the woman could swing a mean pasta spoon—and those things had spikes. "Did I miss anything this morning?"

She swallowed a bite of salad. "Carnie's on her way here. She's found something that might be relevant to the case, so I called Madame Moiselle's and asked Glenda to stop by."

"I can't believe Glenda's already at the club," I said, pouring some of Veronica's leftover French press coffee into my Italians Brew It Better mug.

"She had rehearsal for the revue. And by the way," she began, her eyes growing wide, "she told me what happened with Iris last night. You must've been pretty frightened to faint like that."

"I was, but then I went home," I said, shooting her an accusatory look. "Iris has nothing on the women in my family."

She giggled, but then her smile faded. "Speaking of scary people, I'm concerned about the man you saw at the house this morning."

"Don't be," I said as I reached into the fridge and pulled out my Baileys Bourbon Vanilla Pound Cake coffee creamer. "I've got bigger things to worry about."

She pointed her fork at the Baileys. "Like breaking Lent?"

"This is creamer, Veronica, not cake." I poured a half a cup of the dessert-like liquid into my mug. "And I was talking about my mom and nonna. Can you imagine what they'll do when I tell them about the masked man, not to mention their reaction when they get a load of Glenda's getups?"

She popped a crouton into her mouth. "I still can't believe they didn't hear the commotion outside this morning."

"I'm sure they couldn't hear it over the commotion inside about the bathroom." I took a sip of my coffee, which suddenly tasted bitter despite the creamer. "I'm also worried about something that's going on at Ponchartrain Bank between Bradley and the manager, Jeff Payne."

Veronica put her fork down. "Whatever it is, I hope you're staying out of it."

"I'm trying," I said, which wasn't really a lie since I was having Ruth look into the issue for me. "But Jeff is practically dragging me into it."

She narrowed her eyes. "How so?"

"Ruth says that he's after Bradley's job," I began, staring into my coffee, "so he's keeping tabs on any trouble I've caused at the bank because he's trying to convince upper management that I'm a liability."

"He sounds like a real jerk," she said as she carried her plate to the sink. "But you can't change the past, Franki. All you can do is make sure that you don't give this guy any new ammunition."

As Veronica washed her dishes, I thought back to my interactions with Jeff. The only thing I could come up with that might look bad was the champagne incident. But I doubted that he could hold that over me since it was a birthday gift from Bradley.

The lobby bell sounded.

"I'll go," Veronica said, drying her hands.

As soon as she'd left the kitchen, I topped off my coffee with more creamer and hurried into the lobby.

Glenda was talking to Veronica by the reception desk while suited up in a New Orleans Saints uniform that made the team's cheerleaders look like real saints. "I can't wait to find out what Carnie has for us." She shimmied like a player who'd just scored. "I hope it's something scandalous."

"That reminds me," I said, trying not to gawk at her fishnet football pants, "why didn't you mention that Carnie was a man?"

She strutted to the couch in her brown pigskin boots and took a seat. "Because I treat my squirrel friends the same way I treat my stripper friends, Miss Franki."

I stared at her over the rim of my coffee cup. "'Squirrel friends?'"

She batted her game-day eyelashes and picked up a copy of
Woman's Day
. "Girlfriends who hide their nuts, sugar."

I was sorry I'd asked but glad I hadn't gone with the Baileys Hazelnut creamer.

"Oh, Franki, I almost forgot," Veronica began as she consulted a calendar on the desk. "I got you an appointment with Amber's dentist, Dr. Lessler. He had a cancelation for eight a.m. tomorrow."

My hand flew to my cheek. "But my tooth isn't hurting anymore."

Veronica scribbled something on the schedule. "Well, you might as well have him look at it since you have to go to his office anyway."

"Miss Ronnie's right, sugar," Glenda said as she flipped through the magazine. "You don't want to end up like The Tooth Fairy."

I was half tempted to ask what she meant, but I refused to bite.

"The Tooth Fairy?" Veronica looked up from the calendar. "I don't get it."

"He's an elderly gentleman who frequents our VIP Rooms," Glenda explained. "The poor man's got a full set of dentures, so he has a bit of an oral fixation. He pays the girls to brush with Crest and tips handsomely for their used dental floss."

I glowered at Glenda. The VIP Room stories were starting to set my teeth on edge.

The door opened, and Carnie paraded inside in a strapless, floor-length yellow-feathered number with a Marie Antoinette-sized wig and a Miss Universe-style crown. David stood behind her looking bewildered, and I could certainly empathize. It was disconcerting to see Big Bird dressed in drag.

"Uh, ladies," David greeted red-faced. He squeezed past Carnie and dashed to his desk.

"Lordy," Glenda exclaimed, fanning herself with the magazine. "Miss Carnie's serving up fish today."

"Fish?" I said, still thinking squirrels. "Are you having a dinner party or something?"

Veronica cleared her throat. "Franki, 'serving fish' refers to a drag queen who looks very feminine."

"And this ain't no trout, honey," Carnie said as she took a seat beside Glenda and frowned at my shirt.

No, more like a barracuda
, I thought as Veronica and I sat on the opposite couch. "So, what have you got for us?"

"Amber's credit card bill." She pulled a sheet of paper from her breast feathers and handed it to Veronica.

I looked over Veronica's shoulder. "Anything interesting?"

"It's mostly groceries and gas," she replied, running her finger down the list of charges. "But there's also a purchase from etsy.com and one for Waxing Salon on Dauphine Street."

Glenda patted Carnie's beefy bicep. "Where'd you find this, Miss Carnie?"

"The mailman delivered it last night."

"And you opened it?" I asked, surprised.

"Of course I did." She adjusted her crown. "Amber's dead, and the bill did come to my house."

I shrugged. "It's still a federal crime."

"So's murder," she snapped in her man voice and then raised her chin. "And that's what we're here to solve, am I right?"

I declined to comment. This queen was too regal for my blood.

"And after what the police put me through yesterday," Carnie continued, returning to her falsetto, "I felt like I had no choice but to take the law into my own hands." She batted yellow feather and rhinestone eyelashes. "A lady-boy's got to defend her honor."

"Ain't that the truth?" Glenda said with a shake of her head.

This time I really wanted to comment, but Veronica silenced me with a don't-you-dare stare.

Veronica assumed her attorney air. "What happened with the police?"

"They questioned me for eight hours, using strong-arm tactics to try to get me to change my story." She held out a French-manicured finger. "But FYI PO-lice, this bitch don't budge."

I could attest to that
.

"I'm glad you stood your ground," Veronica said. "Did you get a sense of where the police are in their investigation?"

"If they're focusing on me, then I'd say they're nowhere." Carnie turned and shot me a half-lidded look. "What about you? Got any updates?"

I decided to keep the glass tube to myself until I knew whether my hunch about its origin was right. "I've talked to Amber's ex-pimp, King, and everyone in the club who knew Amber except for a dancer named Curaçao."

"Curaçao?" Carnie cocked a Bozo brow. "Like the liqueur?"

"The Caribbean island," Glenda clarified.

Carnie put a hand to her feathered bosom. "How exotic."

Glenda nodded. "Precisely."

"Now that we've established that," I said with an eye roll, "I'm pretty sure that she's the platinum blonde you saw harassing Amber, but we don't have a picture of her to confirm."

"Well, when do you plan to talk to her?" Carnie huffed.

"When she finds her," Glenda replied. "We haven't seen or heard from Curaçao since Amber was murdered, and she didn't show up for work again today." She crossed her legs, flashing a fleur-de-lis thong. "That reminds me, Miss Franki, is it all right if I cover for her this afternoon?"

"Fine with me," I replied a tad too enthusiastically. "I'll head over to Maybe's house now. Hopefully, Curaçao's with her."

Veronica shook her head. "I don't want you going alone, Franki."

"I'll go with her," Carnie announced. "I'd like to have a word with this woman about Amber."

My enthusiasm waned. "Don't you have a show to do?"

"I can get someone to cover for me," Carnie replied. "My freedom's at stake."

"While you two are out," Veronica began, using the credit card bill to block her view of my imploring look, "I'll have David look into Amber's Etsy purchase."

David shot from his chair. "The dancer from Madame Moiselle's?" He ran over to retrieve the bill. "I'm all over that."

I started to tell him that anything Amber had bought from the artsy online market probably wasn't related to stripping, but I decided to let him dream. He was still young, after all.

Carnie turned to Veronica. "Franki and I could stop by that waxing salon afterward. And if we need to do it on the down low, I could pose as a client." She glanced at her lap. "I've been looking for a new esthetician."

I leaned my head on the back of the couch. It was one thing to investigate with Glenda, but going undercover with Carnie was a whole nother ball of wax. "I think it's best if we stick to the direct approach."

"Well, I'll leave you ladies to your business," Glenda said, rising to her feet. "I've got to go change out of this slut costume if I'm gonna cover for Curaçao." She pointed a gold fingernail at me. "Be safe out there, sugar. You don't want to attract the wrong kind of freak."

I mustered a wan smile. "I'll be careful."

As Glenda said her good-byes, my thoughts drifted to the masked man. But I didn't want to think about why he'd come to my house or what he wanted from me. For the time being, I had to focus on finding Curaçao. She'd been MIA for three days and counting, and with every day that passed the likelihood of solving Amber's murder decreased. If I didn't find her at Maybe's house, I wasn't sure where I was going to look—or what was going to happen with this case.

*   *   *

"Yo, Carnie!" I called from the front porch of Maybe's Creole cottage. "Shake a tail feather, will ya?"

"I'm painting," she replied as she powdered her nose. "A queen has to look polished, Miss Thing."

My lips curled. She'd been sitting in my Mustang preening like a peacock for the past fifteen minutes, and yet somehow I was "Miss Thing." "Listen," I began, struggling to keep my cool, "I agreed to let you tag along for Veronica's sake, but if you're going to drag me down then you can leave."

She snapped her compact shut. "You be careful how you use the word 'drag' around me, honey."

I sighed and looked at the porch ceiling. It was going to be a drag of a day.

Carnie exited the car and adjusted the train of her dress. Then she strutted up the sidewalk like the cock of the walk, and I don't mean a rooster.