Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) (35 page)

This conversation was turning out to be harder than I thought, so I spoke to him in the only language he seemed to know.
"First of all, don't call me 'darling,'" I snapped. "And second, I know your father's company was bribing Angelica to keep her quiet, and I can prove it."
More or less
.

There was a stony silence on the other end of the line.

Fuelled by a sudden surge of confidence, I continued in my best TV-detective speak, "So if you know what's good for you, you'll meet me tomorrow night."

"
Where?" he asked surprisingly calmly.

"
The Carousel Bar and Lounge at five o'clock," I said, sounding stronger than I felt. "Don't be late."

After I closed the call, my palms were sweating, and I was breathing heavily. I
'd finally tracked down the elusive Stewart Preston. But there was a little voice inside my head reminding me of the obvious: All indications were that he was a cruel, callous killer—and I'd just put myself squarely into his murderous hands.

"
Wait a second." I turned to look at Veronica in the passenger seat. "You're bringing a
gun
to the Carousel Bar when I meet Stewart Preston?" I didn't even know she
had
a gun. While I was confident in my own ability to handle a firearm, thanks to my police training, I had less faith in Veronica.

"
Just as a security measure," she replied, keeping her binoculars trained on Harry Upton's office building on the Garden District's swanky St. Charles Avenue.

"
But I'm meeting him in a public place in broad daylight," I protested, more to reassure myself than to discourage Veronica.

"
Franki, you and I both know that Stewart Preston may be dangerous."

I swallowed hard and then glanced across the street right as Harry emerged, pants drooping well below his massive belly, from the rotating glass doors of his office building.

"Heeere's Harry!" Veronica crowed, sounding eerily like Jack Nicholson's character in
The Shining
. "Precisely at 6 p.m., just like last night."

"
Well, he's nothing if not punctual."

Harry stopped abruptly and pulled up his pants, and a gust of wind fleetingly blew his toupee into an upright position on his head. Seemingly unfazed, he pressed the unruly rug firmly back in place and climbed into his Mercedes.

"Jeez, you'd think a guy with all that dough would have a better hair piece," I said as I started the engine of my Mustang.

"
I know. It's amazing what men are able to get away with in terms of their appearance."

I pulled onto southbound
St. Charles, staying a few cars back from Harry's Mercedes. I followed him for about a mile and a half, trying to focus on his car and not on the spectacular multi-million dollar mansions that lined the avenue.

"
So, what kind of gun do you have?" I asked, more out of concern than curiosity. Guns aren't one size fits all, particularly when you have tiny hands like Veronica.

"
A Smith & Wesson."

"
A LadySmith?"

"
No, it's the nine millimeter Pink Breast Cancer Awareness model."

"
Wow," I said, momentarily at a loss for words. "Interesting marketing choice."

Veronica leaned forward.
"Harry just turned on his left turn signal. It looks like he's turning onto Seventh Street."

"
On it!" I slowed down and took a left onto Seventh behind Harry just in time to see him taking another left onto Prytania Street. I followed suit, being careful to hang back.

Harry drove a few hundred yards down and pulled to a stop in front of a stunning pink two-story Greek Revival mansion with a columned porch and wrought iron balcony. It was shrouded in privacy hedges and majestic oaks and magnolias. I pulled over to the curb immediately, and Veronica and I slouched down in our seats.

We watched as Harry carried out his now familiar car-exiting routine: battling his belly to get out of his seat, tamping down his toupee, buttoning his sport coat, and smoothing his Hitleresque mustache.

As Harry began walking up the steps to the entryway, Veronica said,
"Okay, now drive slowly by the house." She pulled her camera from its bag. "I'll get shots of him with whoever comes to the door."

I straightened up in my seat, pulled away from the curb
, and drove at a crawl. When I reached the mansion, I saw an elegant brunette open the front door. It only took me a second to recognize her.

I gasped.
"That's the woman from last night!"

"
It sure is." Veronica was slouched in her seat, snapping pictures furiously.

As we slowed past
, the brunette glanced at my car. She ushered Harry into the house and closed the door.

I hit the gas.
"I think she saw us, but I'm not sure."

"
Let's hope she didn't." Veronica straightened in her seat.

"
It doesn't matter because we've got what we need. Let's go back to the office so we can download the pictures and send them to Twyla Upton."

"
What?" Veronica looked at me. "We can't leave now. We still need more pictures."

"
Why?" I braked at a stop sign. "Twyla hired us to take pictures of Harry with Patsy so that she could use them to confront him. Now we just need to show her proof that he's spent the last two evenings with another woman. It's up to her to decide whether she still wants to confront him or whether she wants us to find out the brunette's identity first."

"
But the pictures we have don't prove that Harry is actually cheating on Twyla," Veronica explained. "We need to try to get some photos of Harry and the brunette in a compromising position."

I turned to look at her.
"How do you propose we do that?"

"
Easy. We could snap some photos through one of the windows."

"
But what if they're on the second floor?"

"
Well, in that case, we might be out of luck."

I snapped my fingers.
"I know! We could climb ones of those trees!"

Veronica crossed her arms.
"I don't know, Franki. We're in dresses and high heels."

"
So? Charlie's Angels wore dresses and heels all the time," I said with a pang. The reference instantly reminded me of Bradley.

"
No," she said, with a firm shake of the head. "One of us could fall out of a tree and get hurt."

"
C'mon, Veronica! Where's your sense of investigative duty?" I asked, appealing to her scrupulous, workaholic side. "This guy is cheating on his wife of forty-eight years. We've got to prove it and nail him."

Veronica scrutinized my face.
"Do you think you might be taking this case a little personally, Franki?"

I feigned a look of disbelief, both for her benefit and my own.
"What are you talking about?"

"
I can't help but think that your zeal to nail Harry, as you put it, might have something to do with Bradley."

"
Don't be ridiculous!" I exclaimed, my voice a telltale octave too high. "This case is purely business."

She shrugged.
"If you say so. Anyway, for now let's just plan on doing a quick round of the house to see if they're in one of the rooms on the main floor."

"
Sure." I hung a quick right onto Sixth Street and gave a shiver when I discovered that it bordered Lafayette Cemetery No. 1, the oldest and creepiest city-owned cemetery in New Orleans. I parked the car in front of the cemetery and stuffed the car keys into my bra for safekeeping.

Veronica grabbed her camera from the floor.
"So, how do you suggest we do this?"

"
Because the backyard is fenced, we're going to have to approach the house from the side," I explained. "And we need to do this fast just in case the brunette did see us. If she called the police, we could get arrested for trespassing."

She
nodded. "Right."

Veronica and I got out of the car and set off down the street. When we reached the house, we dashed into the yard and began peeping into the windows of the rooms one by one: the living room, family room, den, parlor
, and study.

"
What in the world does a single family
do
with all these living spaces?" I asked.

"
Shh!" Veronica looked into the kitchen and adjoining dining room. "Empty," she whispered. "They must be upstairs. Let's get going."

"
No!" I whisper-shouted. "We've come this far. We've got to get some pictures!"

Veronica looked at me reproachfully.
"Franki, we can't climb these trees. I can't take the chance of one of us getting injured."

Unwilling to accept defeat, I quickly scanned the side of the house and saw a metal trellis I hadn
't noticed before. "But I can!" I whispered as I rushed over to the ladder-like structure, kicked off my beige Bandolino pumps, and began to climb the twenty-or-so feet up to the second floor.

"
Franki, don't!" Veronica whisper-shouted. "That thing can't possibly hold your weight!"

"
Just what are you trying to say, Veronica?" I asked in a low voice, turning to scowl down at her.

She scowled back.
"Get down."

Ignoring her warning, I continued to climb until I reached a window. I peered over the windowsill into a spacious office and immediately spotted Harry and the brunette sitting close together on a sofa. She was curled up with her arm stretched out behind him on the back of the couch, and they were looking at what appeared to be a photo album.

"I see them!" I whispered. Then I realized that I had no way to photograph them. "Wait, I need the camera."

"
I'm not climbing up that thing," Veronica whisper-protested. "It'll break."

"
Fine," I whisper-huffed. "I'll come down."

I lowered myself a little more than halfway. Then, gripping the trellis with my left hand, I leaned down and extended my right hand.

Veronica rose up on her tiptoes. "I can't reach you."

"
One sec." I took another step down and leaned forward a little farther. That's when I felt the top half of the trellis pulling away from the wall. Then I heard Veronica gasp and fabric tear as I began to fall. Luckily, I landed rear-end first on an immaculately groomed shrub as the trellis smacked loudly against the side of the house, like a rubber band that had been stretched too far and then released.

"
Are you okay?" Veronica asked.

"
I think so." I checked my limbs to make sure they were all intact.

Veronica gasped again.
"The brunette just looked out the window! We've got to get out of here!"

I tried to move, but my butt was stuck in the shrub.
"Help! Pull me out!"

Veronica grabbed my left hand and tugged with all her petite might. While she pulled, I leveraged myself on a branch with my right hand and was finally able to break free of the stubborn shrub. I rolled over onto my stomach, hopped down
, and grabbed my pumps just as I heard the sound of the front door opening.

Veronica and I exchanged a look of panic before turning and hoofing it down the street. When we reached the cemetery, I ripped the car keys from my bra. Then we jumped into the Mustang and burned rubber.

* * *

"
I wonder how Twyla is going to react to these photographs," Veronica mused as we drove back to the office. "After all, she's expecting to see Patsy, not a beautiful young brunette."

"
Give me…a sec," I gasped between breaths. It had been almost five minutes since we'd left the brunette's mansion, and I still hadn't recovered from the two-hundred-yard sprint to my car.

"
Maybe we should deliver them to her in person," Veronica continued. "She
is
prone to fainting spells, and I'd hate for something bad to happen."

"
Me too," I wheezed.

"
Okay, then it's settled. We'll bring them to her tomorrow."

I slowed to a stop as we approached the intersection of Governor Nicholls and
Bourbon Street. It was a residential district, so the street was quiet. I looked to the left then to the right and promptly did a double take. I saw what looked like Bradley walking down the street with a masked young woman in a Mardi Gras queen costume—that is, if you could call a teeny bikini with a few sequins and feathers a costume.

Suddenly recovering the full force of my lungs, I yelled,
"Is that Bradley with that hot blonde?"

Veronica looked out the passenger-side window.
"Didn't you say his wife was a blonde?"

"
Yeah, but that's not her. She doesn't have waist-length hair."

"
Well, it's impossible to tell if that's Bradley. He's walking away from us, and it's dark."

"
Oh, it's not impossible," I muttered, pulling a quick right onto Bourbon.

"
What are you going to do?" she asked, panicked. "Run them down?"

"
No," I responded with deadly calm. "We're going to follow them."

"
But there's a barricade up ahead. You can't drive through there."

"
That's why we're going to park and follow them on foot." I pulled into a rare Bourbon Street parking space and shut off the ignition.