Royal Digs (2 page)

Together, they left Giotto’s body where it
had fallen and went downstairs so she could place a
much-anticipated call to The Consulate in Rome.

(Cozy Cash Mystery #4)

“S
o you see, my dear,
not everyone has a laugh my ass off past,” Bunny Winston said, in
between two elegant sips of her Mojito. “But that doesn’t mean they
won’t devote their life to making sure the rest of us do.”

Her words settled into my mind and then my
soul.

This was truly a rare occasion, one in which
I was rendered speechless. I honestly didn’t know what to say.

Bunny Winston, our Quartermaster R’s
half-sister, had provided my first glimpse into R’s past. And damn
it if it wasn’t another mob family documentary.

No wonder R never feared the evils he and my
Prince Roman were forever seeking to destroy. Just like Roman and
his brother Ross, R had been born into a danger-filled realm, a
world of wealth, power and horrific acts committed to either
maintain or increase both.

“Now then, about my missing painting...”
Bunny began, but stopped mid-sentence and whipped out her
spyglass.

It certainly didn’t appear to be a pirate
ship she was checking out. Coming straight at us, across the sandy
beach that wasn’t the best surface for her fabulous heels, was the
most glamorous Queen I’d ever seen. And no...not another Queen like
my grandmother-in-law, Queen Veruschka of King Vito’s Italy. This
was a Key West-style Queen...as in Drag Queen.

“Clitopatra, I’d like you to meet our newest
family member, Zoey Witherspoon. Zoey, this is Clitopatra, My one
of a kind sister and R’s other half-sister.”

Feeling the ice cold chill and burn of pina
colada heading down the wrong hatch in my throat, I began to
choke.

“Nice to meet you...Clitopatra,” I managed to
get out, still choking on my cocktail.

“The pleasure is all mine, doll face. And my
Gawd, you do have the face of doll. What a stunning complexion. You
must tell me what you use.”

Forget talking face creams, I couldn’t get
past Clitopatra’s name and fabulous costuming. I know Queens choose
outrageous stage names to match their personas. And most of those
personae tend to be on the raunchy side. But the Queens I know back
in L.A., like Gina Flowers, Va Jay Jay and RuBalls had nothin’ on
Clitopatra.

For a moment, I figured Hollywood’s
Liz
& Dick
producers, who recently turned Lindsay Lohan into
Elizabeth Taylor’s Cleopatra, must have consulted Clitopatra.

From the past-the-shoulders-length black wig,
perfect in its boxy bliss, to the dark cat-like eyeliner and jewels
along with the empire-cut, ethereal, butter cream-colored gown,
Clitopatra looked like she’d been resurrected from the tomb.

No one had ever made the Egyptian Queen this
gorgeous and glam.

“Is she hard of hearing?” Clitopatra
practically screamed at Bunny then coughed a vicious fit.

I flinched. So much for my Oscar-winning
costume design awe. Clitopatra’s booming deep voice and ragged
coughs had shaken me right out of my red carpet wonderland.

“Hard of hearing? Not that I know of. And
she’s never this quiet.”

Bunny raised her glass to mine with that
ornery smile of hers no one could resist joining forces with.

“Sorry, Girls. Got some pineapple wedged in
my throat,” I said.

“No worries. I can talk about stuff caught in
your throat all day long, Girlfriend.”

“Behave, Clito. Do you want your usual?”
Bunny scolded and asked, while a cabana boy made his rounds.

“Sex on the Beach. Oh yeah. I’ll have that
with that hottie anytime.”

“I think I’ll have another colada too. Double
the rum, please,” I said.

There were days when I still couldn’t believe
I’d gone from Zoey Witherspoon, Stylist to The Stars, to an Italian
Mob Princess. And today definitely started out as one of them. But
each day that I met a new member of my husband’s royal family,
those were the days my adventure went from unbelievable to damn
near delusional.

A Godfather in drag? Can you imagine? And
nope. It wasn’t too much sun or alcohol. Just hangin’ with my
in-laws.

“So what’s the word on the street about our
painting?” Clito asked while also memorizing every ounce of flesh
on our cabana boy’s Speedo-clad ass.

“I was just starting to fill-in Zoey on that
matter,” Bunny began, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. “The
painting is gone, but R has a hunch on where we should begin to
look for it.”

“I can’t believe someone would want that
crappy painting. It’s of a dolphin for cripe’s sake. It’s worse
than one of those velour pieces of junk you can buy out of a van on
a corner,” Clito said, waving her arms in front of her nose as if
the painting smelled as bad as it looked.

“Well, the dolphin is a sailor’s sign for
luck,” I offered, thinking surely it couldn’t be that bad.

“If it wasn’t for what was hidden in the
backing, it would be good luck that it’s gone,” Clito said,
reveling in her disdain for the piece.

Her deep, throaty laugh was contagious enough
that everyone who heard it was now turned toward our cabana.

“Unfortunately, though, that was where we
kept the key,” Bunny said, stirring her drink with the sparkling
gold coin topped stir stick the bartender had added to her
drink.

“The key from R’s past? The same one his
mother had in the story you told me?” I asked.

“That’s the one,” Bunny confirmed.

“What does it unlock?”

Since I was the new kid in this crazy family,
I wasn’t sure they’d tell me, but I had to ask. I had a hunch all
of our futures depended on it.

“Good question,” Clito said, fanning herself,
probably not from the heat, but rather from the new cabana boys
whose shift was getting ready to start.

“I thought so too,” I said, waiting on
someone to answer it.

“Good question, but one that we don’t know
the answer to either,” Bunny said, then sighed and looked out
toward the sea. “We’ve been trying to solve that riddle for
years.”

L
ater that night, as
we all waited for the curtain to go up for Clitopatra’s Duval
Street Cabaret Show, I was still trying to process the day’s
events.

“What’s bothering you? If it’s this whole
thing with Clitopatra, we can go,” Roman said, squeezing my hand in
that wonderful way he does when he knows I need his strength to
bolster my own.

“No. No. I love Queens. I’m actually looking
forward to the show. I will admit I’m still a little hung up on her
nickname,” I said then laughed, “but otherwise, I’m all good with
that.”

Roman laughed with me, which was rare for
him, but something I was glad to note had increased in frequency
since we’d gotten together.

“So what is it then?”

I wasn’t sure how to say it without hurting
his feelings, and I’d never do that. But, I also had to be honest
with him. We used to play cat and mouse games, but not anymore. Now
we were painfully honest. And, yeah. This one was gonna be
painful.

“It’s your family’s past. Frankly, you know
it’s always scared the hell outta me. But now, after hearing about
R killing his father and knowing that this key was enough for
countless people to be killed over? Well...now we’re the ones
looking for this key, which means we’re in hot water...again.”

Roman remained stoic. Not a muscle flinched
except along his jaw line which always tightened and released when
he talked about his past.

“We’ve got to find this key, Princess. But, I
promise you, I’ll keep us safe. No one will hurt you.”

“What about you? And R? And Bunny?” I looked
at my new family seated at our table, a family crazier than hell
but beyond loveable too. “Your Grandma and Grandpa? Your brother?
And now Clito too?”

Roman looked at each person seated with us,
and it may have been my imagination or the candles on the table
playing tricks, but I thought his eyes moistened.

“We’ll all be fine, Princess. As long as we
stick together, we’ll be fine,” Roman said, then leaned over and
kissed me.

Every time his lips touched mine, I seemed to
temporarily escape whatever hell we were currently in.

“Let’s enjoy the show,” he said, then gave me
one more quick kiss.

The house lights dimmed and the spotlights
lit up the stage as the announcer let us know that World Famous
Queen Clitopatra was about to perform.

The crowd roared. And as a disco tech version
of The Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian” hit the speakers,
Clitopatra treated us to a very Priscilla, Queen of the Desert
rendition...feathers, sequins, and sparkles galore.

At least sticking with this family was never
dull. And damn did I love all the bling!

I
sat looking in the
mirror attached to the wall in my tiny dump of space in the
backstage dressing rooms of the Duval Street Cabaret. My hand shook
ever so slightly as I applied my larger-than-life glossy,
glitter-dusted lips. Men weren’t made to use makeup brushes.

I’d done a lot over the last few decades to
protect what was mine. But becoming a Queen took my dedication to
an entirely new level.

It certainly wasn’t that I didn’t have people
to do this job for me. But, I didn’t trust any of them to get the
job done to my satisfaction. There was trouble in the lower ranks
of my operation, and I had to weed out and wipe out the
troublemakers.

I’d ordered a hit on Bunny, but a lot of good
that did me. She was still here and, from the look of things, was
anxiously awaiting my performance tonight.

At the time I’d paid to get her painting, I’d
also paid for her hit, thinking I’d get rid of the last thing
reminding me of Valerie and finally get back my precious key, both
in one night. Bunny, unlike Clito and Raulf, looked just like her
mother, each had that Audrey Hepburn-like classic beauty, and I
couldn’t bear to see it.

But someone had interfered with my plans and
protected her. I got my painting, but not her.

Clito? No worries there. I’d use him for what
I needed, then make him disappear, just like I arranged for his
mother and my brother Alonzo. Leave it to Alonzo, the weak mother
fucker, to steal Valerie’s heart and then attempt to turn on the
family.

Even now, after all these years, with my
wealth and power at its greatest heights ever, I stood to be taken
down...by my own son. I’d survived his attempt on my life when he
was only five, but he wouldn’t survive my attempt on his.

Allowing my mind to refocus on the task at
hand, I took stock of my royal transformation. From Mob King to
Drag Queen. Not bad for an old guy.

I’d already caked on the foundation and
powder, just as I’d learned from YouTube. My fake lashes were
secured. Fake tits in place and other parts held in place beneath a
very uncomfortable thong.

Tonight, I would debut as Star Fish, The
Duval Street Cabaret’s newest Queen. But underneath the glamour and
gogo boots, I was about to play and win a very dangerous game.

Checking one last time to make sure the key
was securely hidden in the fake bottom of my wig box, I puckered up
for the mirror, like I soon would be for my new fans, and waited
for my nephew Clitopatra to give me my cue.

Q
ueens like
Clitopatra sleep till way past noon. And hanging in their world,
meant I was sleeping in later too. We’d gotten home from her show
sometime after 3 AM, and by lunch, it was still only Bunny and I
awake in the Bellesconi Key West mansion.

Well, let me correct that. Roman and R had
been up at their usual daybreak, had their breakfast and had then
gone to R’s lab to do who knew what. Fact was, I probably didn’t
want to know till I had to.

But I had learned this morning that,
apparently, The Bellesconis had a more than keen interest in
presidential politics. At first, I thought it was just one of
Bunny’s quirks. Actually more like an obsession.

She read absolutely everything on this year’s
presidential race. But from what I’d seen, it appeared that the
Republican Candidate, Governor Rett Crumley, of Massachusetts, was
her primary concern.

Not a day went by as far as where he was
concerned that, she didn’t mutter a few stern expletives. Whether
the word of the moment was Bastard, Fuck Cluster or Son of a Bitch,
I got the impression she was after.

And all this time, I thought it was Cluster
Fuck. Although I much prefer the ring of the Bunny-speak version -
Fuck Cluster.

Whichever term she used, Governor Crumley was
a schmuck. A dark and very evil schmuck.

“If it’s not Central American Coffee Cartels,
it’s Vegas Casino Kings and the Chinese government,” Bunny said,
slamming down the Wall Street Journal on top of her laptop.

The fact the laptop was closed meant she’d
already read the morning edition of her favorite news source, the
Huffington Post. Apparently, she wasn’t too happy with those
stories either.

I’d already read both papers online, so I
knew she’d be whooped up by the time we had brunch.

“I don’t understand what our family has to do
with all of this,” I said, fairly certain I didn’t want to know,
but also certain I needed to know.

Bunny took a large swig of her Bloody Mary
then bit off a large piece of the beef stick the butler had added
in with the celery stalk.

“As you’re learning, my dear, in today’s
world, most everything and everyone can be bought. And
nothing...Nothing...is as it seems.”