Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) (17 page)

"
But if you're free on Tuesday night, I'd like to take you to a restaurant in the Quarter."

"
Of course I'm free!"
Smooth, Franki, real smooth
.

"
Great. They serve classic New Orleans cuisine, things like gumbo, jambalaya, and red beans and rice. They even have my absolute favorite, the muffuletta."

The muffuletta?
I stopped in my tracks. "You're not Sicilian are you?"

"
No, why?"

"
Just checking," I said, relieved, as I bent down to ruffle the fur on Napoleon's head. "That sounds wonderful, Bradley. I've been dying to eat some good Cajun food."

"
Well, if you like Cajun food, they also have crawdads and even alligator for the more adventurous eaters."

I shot straight up like an arrow.
Alligator? What was it Odette had said about the bayou?
"This place isn't on the bayou is it?" I asked, trying to hide the uneasiness in my voice.

"
No, it's on Bourbon Street, but it's called Le Bayou," he responded. "Why? Have you been there before?"

It was all coming back to me now. Odette told me in no uncertain terms not to let a man take me to the bayou. I was supposed to stay away from the bayou and everything in it.
Should I suggest another restaurant?

"
Franki, is everything okay?" Bradley asked, apparently concerned.

"
Yes, absolutely!" I gushed, dismissing my fears about Odette's voodoo predictions as silly superstition. "I guess my phone is acting up again. So, what time on Tuesday?"

"
How about seven o'clock? I'll pick you up your place."

"
Perfect. I'll text you my address."

"
Sounds great. I'm looking forward to it," he replied in a devastatingly sexy voice.

"
Me too," I said, trying to hide my anxiety. "Bye, Bradley."

After I hung up the phone, I went straight to my bedroom. As I crawled into bed I realized that I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it wasn
't from the Bloody Mary. I tried to tell myself that I was overreacting about my encounter with Mambo Odette, but I did think it was odd that right after she had warned me about a man taking me to the bayou it seemed to be happening. On the other hand, it wasn't like Bradley was taking me to an
actual
bayou. It was just a restaurant in the French Quarter. And, of course, nothing and no one was going to stop me from going. All I had to do was avoid the crawdads and especially the alligator, and everything would be fine. Wouldn't it?

As I drove to work the next morning, I couldn
't help but be in a good mood despite the disturbing developments around Odette Malveaux's predictions. My hangover was gone, the sun was shining, and I had a date with Bradley Hartmann tomorrow night. To celebrate, I'd put the top down on my Mustang and popped my "Beauty and the Beat" CD by The Go-Go's into the stereo. Nothing like '80s girl power pop to make you leave your voodoo cares behind.

When I pulled up to the office, I couldn
't believe my luck: as if by magic, there was a parking space right in front.
This day is just getting better and better
, I thought as I carefully parallel-parked. As soon as I opened the car door and started to get out, I was momentarily knocked back into my seat by the appetizing aroma of marinara sauce from Nizza restaurant wafting through the air. Yeah, no doubt about it, this was going to be a great day.

I bounded up the stairs to the office singing
"Lust to Love" at the top of my lungs. In my mind, I had the same smooth and powerful voice as Belinda Carlisle, but in reality I sounded a lot like a female Neil Young—with a head cold.

Just as I was entering the office, Veronica came running into the waiting room, looking panicked.

"What's the matter?" I asked, instantly alarmed.

"
Didn't you hear that?" She didn't wait for me to reply as she started for the stairs. "It sounded like a dog yelping in pain! Let's go see if we can find it!"

I stood there for a moment and listened, but I couldn
't hear a thing. And then it dawned on me: she was talking about my singing.

I inched into the hallway.
"Hey, Veronica?" I called down the stairwell.

She turned to look up at me from the bottom step.
"Yeah?"

"
I think that sound you were hearing was the squeaky brakes on a truck that just went by." I hated to lie to my best friend, but if she thought my voice was that bad, then there was no way I was going to claim it.

"
Are you sure?"

I crossed my fingers behind my back.
"Absolutely."

Veronica sighed in relief.
"Thank goodness!" She began making her way back up the stairs.

"
You're here early," I said changing the subject, although my ego was still smarting from the indirect insult.

"
I couldn't sleep," she said, reentering the waiting room. "I wanted to call London as soon as possible."

"
And?" I followed her into her office.

She took a seat behind her desk and shook her head.
"There's no record of a Jessica Evans at the London College of Fashion."

I sat in the armchair in front of her desk.
"Well, like you said yesterday, she might have been using an assumed name. Maybe that's why the school has no record of her."

"
Or she never went there at all," she mused. "I mean, that salesgirl Annabella could have misunderstood what she overheard at the store that night."

"
True, but I think we should check with the police."

She looked surprised.
"What for?"

"
Because, unlike us, they can get a court order to obtain Jessica's birth certificate. So, if she
was
using an assumed name, they might already know that by now. Why don't we ask your crime analyst friend for an update on the police's case?"

Veronica shook her head.
"No, Betty puts her job on the line every time I ask her for help, so I only use her as an absolute last resort. For now, the best thing we can do is shift gears."

"
How so?"

"
We've got to get back out there and find the store that sold the killer the scarf."

"
Sounds logical to me. Besides, I need to buy a new outfit for my date," I replied faux-casually, waiting for her reaction.

She gasped and leaned forward.
"Your what?"

"
My date," I repeated. "Jeez, Veronica, is it really that shocking that someone would ask me out?" I hid a smile.

"
I didn't mean it like that, Franki. It's just that I'm surprised you're going on a date so soon after Vince."

"
Why? It's not like I need any time to get over that cheating bastard," I said huffily, turning away from her so she wouldn't see my eyes tearing up.

"
Well, that's what I mean," she said softly. "Are you sure you're ready to trust a man again?"

"
Of course." I boldly looked her in the eye. Although now that I'd thought about it for an entire split second, I realized that I wasn't sure at all.

"
If that's the case, then I'm glad." She leaned back in her chair, relaxed. "I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"
Look, I went after Bradley for a reason: he's not one of those deceptively sincere types I usually go for. He's a genuinely good guy, I can tell. The only thing we have to worry about is what I'm going to wear. I don't have a thing."

"
Where are you going?"

"
To Le Bayou restaurant," I replied, carefully avoiding the small matter of the eerie warning I'd received from Mambo Odette about men taking me to the bayou. Veronica had no patience for my Sicilian-inspired superstitions, so she was sure to be annoyed by my newfound voodoo misgivings, even though a healthy respect for the unknown was certainly nothing to scoff at. 

"
You can always wear a basic LBD. It's perfect first-date material."

I hesitated for a moment.
"I don't have one."

"
What?" she asked, as though I'd just confessed to committing a capital offense. "Well, we're going to have to take care of that right now. I saw one at Ann Taylor the other day that would look amazing on you." She began typing furiously on her laptop. "Hang on. Let me see if I can find a picture of it on their website."

For Veronica, the little black dress was a simple yet fabulous wardrobe item for any occasion. But for a first date, the LBD just looked like what I would wear
underneath
my dress—a Spanx slip. I needed a little more coverage to feel at ease with a new man, not to mention with the new roll that had appeared on my stomach since moving to New Orleans. But Veronica had an excellent eye for fashion, so if she knew of a dress that would be flattering on me, it was definitely worth taking a look.

The waiting room bell interrupted our style search. Veronica was so immersed in her research that she didn
't even react, so I went to see who it was.

I walked into the waiting area and found Ryan Hunter holding a large box and a sinfully expensive red crocodile handbag that must have been worth roughly the GDP of a small country.

"Hello," I greeted him coolly. I wanted to compliment him on his bag, but I didn't dare use sarcasm on this guy for fear of what he would do. "You know, Veronica was going to call you today with your report—"

"
I'm not here about that," he interrupted.

"
No?" I paused, slightly thrown.

He placed the box on a nearby chair.
"I found something in Jessica's things that might help my case."

Inexplicably, I felt a rush of adrenaline.
"Let me get Veronica."

I hurried down the hall to her office.
"Come quick. It's Ryan. He's found something of Jessica's that he thinks may be important."

She stood up and followed me without a word into the waiting area.

"Hi Ryan," she greeted him. "Franki said you've found something?"

"
Yeah, last night I packed up Jessica's stuff so that I could bring it by your office today. As I was putting the boxes into the trunk of my car this morning, I dropped one of them, and this handbag fell out. When I went to pick it up, I noticed the corner of a white envelope sticking out from between the interior lining of the purse and the exterior leather. Right here." He showed us an area of the bag where the stitching had clearly given way.

"
What was in it?" Veronica asked eagerly.

"
This old letter." He pulled an envelope from inside his suit jacket and handed it to Veronica. "It's postdated June 27, 1988."

Veronica pulled the letter out of the envelope and began reading intently.

My heart was thumping wildly. I had a gut feeling that the letter contained a key clue to Jessica's past. Plus, the whole idea of a secret letter made me feel like a sleuth in a mystery novel. "What does it say?"

"
It's really short. I'll read it," Veronica said. "Here goes: '
Barbara, I got laid off from the refinery last week. I'll send you money for Angelica when I can. But like it or not I got a new wife and kid to take care of now. Sincerely, Bill
.'"

"
Wait, I'm confused," I said. "Who are Bill and Barbara?"

Veronica examined the envelope.
"Well, they have the same last name: Evangelista." She let the arm holding the envelope drop to her side. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"
I'm not thinking anything," I replied. My mind always went completely blank whenever people expected me to guess their thoughts.

Ryan shot me a contemptuous look.
"Nice intuitive skills."

I pretended that I didn
't hear him. "Was Jessica maybe blackmailing these people?"

"
I don't know, but now I'm convinced she was hiding something," Veronica said. "Does any of this make any sense to you, Ryan? Have you heard these names before?"

He shook his head.
"No, never. Maybe this Angelica was one of Jessica's friends or a cousin or something."

As I was contemplating this,
the waiting room door burst open.

"
Hey, party people!" David entered the room and tossed his backpack on his workstation.

"
David, one of these days you're going to scare us to death," Veronica said. I'd heard her ask him several times to enter the room calmly, but his youthful exuberance apparently prevented him from doing so.