Galliano Gold (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 5)

by Traci Andrighetti

  No words were exchanged, which told me what I’d come to find out.

  The Southampton Spitfire was the source of the gold bars, and I’d just witnessed another delivery.

  Meanwhile, Tim headed to the car.

  I went back the way I’d come, creeping behind the shipping containers. My foot hit something fleshy, like a human arm or hand, and a squeak escaped my lips.

  I looked down.

  A dead catfish, about the size of the one that had jumped from my purse after I fell into the river.

  What was it doing back here?

  More importantly, was it a sign of my fate?

  Panicked, I made like a leach against the side of the container and held my breath. But I couldn’t hear Tim—or even the river creatures.

  Only waves lapping against the dock.

  Fear ran along my body in streams. Had Tim heard me? Was he coming this way?

  I had to move.

  Fast.

  On tiptoes, I slipped inside a half-open door of a shipping container and peered through the crack.

  And I let out my breath.

  Tim was at the car. He unzipped one of the suitcases.

  The passenger window lowered, and my head recoiled.

  Kate.

  Tim smirked and held up a bag of gold bars.

  The Private Chicks door closed behind me, and I didn’t bother to lock it. It was seven a.m., which meant the French Quarter would be deserted until nine—the socially accepted hour to start drinking.

  I tossed my bag onto the couch and went to my office. With the stakeout of the cruise ship out of the way, I had one day to look for Luigi before reporting to the Galliano for the overnight gambling cruise. I was hoping David had updated Nick’s case file with a list of the Scalinos’ properties. If he hadn’t, I would have to consult the pasties on the nonne’s command center map, which, truth be told, might’ve been more accurate. Anyone with a nonna knew they operated in vast and powerful networks that rivaled the police, the Mafia, even the Catholic Church.

  While I waited for my laptop to fire up, I sat at my desk and texted Veronica about the drug delivery and Kate’s identity. What I didn’t know was whether Tim and Kate had dropped the suitcases off at the Galliano. By the time I’d walked downriver to the steamboat, there was no sign of them at the dock.

  Nor was there any sign of the police, and I knew the reason. Wesley Sullivan had already decided who was behind the crimes on the Galliano, and he was making sure that no one found evidence to prove otherwise—like the deck of cards sans queen of spades in my purse. That deck was my sole weapon in the war. I just hoped it was enough.

  Footsteps pounded the stairs, shaking me from my thoughts. They sounded like more than one person, which brought me to my feet. Veronica said Bradley would make bail today. Had she brought him here for some reason?

  Anxiety squeezed my stomach. Veronica wouldn’t know I was in the office because I’d parked on a side street, and there was a strong possibility that Bradley wouldn’t want to see me. Nevertheless, I practically ran to the lobby.

  Shadows were visible through the frosted glass of the door. I decided to call out to alert them to my presence. “Veronica?”

  “Shhh.”

  It was a woman, and not my BFF and boss. But who else would be outside the door? And why would they shush someone?

  An answer hit me like Ruth’s oar.

  Kate.

  With Tim.

  My anxiety turned to panic. If they’d heard me semi-scream on the dock, they could’ve driven off, parked out of sight, and followed me to the Galliano and then the office, which meant my cover was blown.

  And the Scalinos would’ve ordered my hit.

  The squeeze on my stomach turned vice grip, and my head spun. I held out my arms to steady myself, tiptoed to my purse, and drew my gun. Then I darted to the wall beside the door and pressed my back to it. My heart pounded so hard I was sure they could hear it.

  Was this what had happened to Nick? He’d figured out the source of the drugs and gotten killed for it?

  I couldn’t think about him now. I had to save myself.

  Mentally, I counted to three. Then I threw open the door with one hand while aiming my gun with the other. “Freeze, or I’ll shoot.”

  The stairwell was empty.

  Footsteps came from the conference room on the opposite side of the stairs, followed by a knock—from inside the door?

  A male cleared his throat. “Uh, it’s David. You know, I work here? So please don’t shoot.”

  I lowered the gun and opened the door.

  And I rolled my eyes.

  Behind David sat the usual suspects—Nonna, who wore her traditional mourning dress with her usual black handbag, and my mother, who’d ditched the dark Miss Havisham look in favor of a mom-jeans ensemble and an icepack that she wore on her head like a hat.

  “What’s going on in here?” I tried to read their faces, but none of them would look at me—not even David. I gasped. “You’re not still investigating my zitellahood, are you?”

  My mom moved the icepack to her forehead. “Put that gun away, Francesca. And stop shouting.”

  I’d spoken in my usual pitch, but it had been amplified by the aftereffects of her two-day drunk. “Don’t worry about my gun, Mom.” I shoved it into the waistband of my pants. “If I shoot anyone, it’ll be myself.”

  Nonna waved off my suicide threat. “Calm-a down, Franki.”

  “I can’t calm-a down. A man is missing. And not just any man—a dear friend and”—I glanced at my nonna, who refused to meet my gaze—“whatever else he is. And instead of looking for him, you guys are looking for my husband. Does that not strike you as seriously misguided?”

  My mother sniffed. “That’s not all we’re doing.”

  “So you admit it.”

  “Of course.” She threw up her hand and winced at the sudden movement. “We’re trying to solve two crises at one time. What’s wrong with that?”

  I looked at David, who was hunkered by the door. “Can we have a minute?”

  “Totally.” He fled from the room and down the stairs.

  Apparently, he wasn’t coming back.

  I sat at the table and laid a hard stare on my mother. “What’s wrong is that my relationship status is not a crisis.”

  She lowered the icepack—then her eyelids. “You got your best chance at getting married sent to jail and probably prison. If that’s not a crisis, what is?”

  “I’ll-a tell you, Brenda,” Nonna said in a mock-tragic tone. “In seventeen-a days your daughter will-a be the first Italian-American in-a New Orleans history not to get a proposal from-a the lemon tradition. For-a years, maybe centuries, she’ll-a serve as a warning to young-a Catholic women everywhere.”

  I grabbed the icepack and put it on my head. It was a crisis.

  My mother raised her chin in a stiff-upper-lip move. “Veronica left for Bradley’s bail hearing right before we came to meet David. All we can do now is pray for a miracle.”

  Nonna crossed herself and kissed her fingers.

  I wasn’t ready to believe that Bradley’s fate was out of my hands. Sullivan had set him up, and I would be the one to prove it. I looked at my mom. “What was the other reason you came to see David?”

  “Well, you told the nonne that he was looking for properties where the Scalinos might be hiding Luigi, and we wanted to know if he’d located any.”

  I had the same question. “Did he?”

  She shook her head. Then her hand went to her forehead, and she grabbed the icepack.

  Nonna leaned over her handbag. “Santina heard that-a Gigi sold all of-a their properties, and-a soon even his-a house.”

  “Why? Are he and Alfredo planning to leave New Orleans?”

  “We don’t-a know.”

  “Well, I hope not. If they’re leaving, they could—” I cut myself off. I couldn’t bear to finish the thought.

  Nonna put her hand on my arm. “Fredo’s not-a go
ing to kill-a Luigi, and neither is-a Gigi.”

  “Why? Because Luigi’s so respected in the community?”

  “No, because Gigi want-a the winepress.”

  I blinked and looked at my mom. “That can’t be right. The kidnapping has to do with Nick’s murder, not the winepress.”

  “It’s true, Francesca. Father John went to see Gigi at the hospital this morning, and Gigi told him that he knows who kidnapped Luigi. He’ll see to it that he’s released unharmed in exchange for the winepress.”

  “He knows who did it, because it was his brother. So what are we supposed to do, take the winepress to his mansion?”

  Her face hardened. “We’re not going to give it to him, Francesca. Luigi gave that winepress to you.”

  My mouth dropped open. I knew my mother could be greedy, but that comment made Scrooge look generous. “You can’t be serious.”

  Nonna raised a knobby finger. “This is a feud, Franki. Luigi would-a rather die than-a see you give-a Gigi that-a winepress. It’s a matter of honor, something young-a people today”—she paused and shot me a look—“and-a not so young-a, don’t-a know nothing about.”

  I let the age jab go because I was still trying to comprehend the Luigi situation. “Is how Gigi receives the winepress also a matter of honor? Because he sent a fake exterminator to my apartment who could’ve just stolen the damn thing instead of installing a video camera in it.”

  “There’s a video camera in the winepress?” My mother shrieked—then she cringed.

  “Yeah. In the keyhole of the trunk.”

  Nonna’s brow formed a hard line. “That-a wasn’t the Scalinos. Gigi told-a Father John that they thought-a Luigi had-a the winepress in-a storage somewhere.”

  “I walked around naked in front of that thing,” my mom whispered. “Now some pervert will probably put a video of me on a porn site, and filthy men will do nasty things while they watch it.”

  My mind reeled, and not solely because of the awful images my mother had just put in my head. If the video camera didn’t belong to the Scalinos, then I had no idea who was watching my family and me.

  “Whoever you are, you creepy pervert”—I paused and glared into the trunk keyhole—“you’re going to rue the day you installed this video camera in my bedroom—if you don’t already after that nudie shot of my mother.”

  I inserted a screwdriver into the opening and twisted it until I heard the camera crunch. Then I rose and walked to my nightstand to check my phone.

  The display glowered at me, accusing me of ruining Bradley’s life and being fool enough to think he’d call after making bail.

  With the phone in hand, I faceplanted on the bed. I was upset about Bradley, but even more upset that I had no clue where to look for Luigi. I tried to take comfort in Nonna’s conviction that the Scalino clan wouldn’t kill him, but I felt like I’d failed him, just as I had Bradley.

  My ringtone went off, and I jumped. A number I didn’t recognize. Bradley from jail? I tapped Answer with my heart in my throat. “Hello?”

  “This is Standish.”

  My heart dove to the pit of my stomach.

  He cleared his throat. “You know me as The Vassal?”

  ‘I know who you are. There aren’t a lot of Standishes running around.” Thank God.

  “Am I interrupting your nap?”

  I rolled onto my back and massaged my forehead. “What makes you think I’m taking a nap at eight in the morning on a Saturday?”

  “Oh, well, you sound tired.”

  “I always sound tired, because I always am tired.” I wondered whether his concern for my sleep status had anything to do with the crush I suspected he had on me. “So, what’s up?”

  “You wanted to know where the gold bars are manufactured, but I don’t have a precise answer for you. Apparently, they’re as easy to produce as crystal methamphetamines, so they’re being made in homes all over England.”

  There was a knock at my door.

  I ignored it, thinking it was my mom or Nonna. They weren’t welcome after that scene at the office hours before. “That’s all right. I already know the drugs came from Southampton. The sailor picked up a shipment from a cruise ship this morning with the cocktail waitress, who, incidentally, is also the Roulergirl. What we need to figure out is how they’re planning to distribute them.”

  “Franki?” Veronica called. “Can I come in?”

  “Sorry, Vassal. I’ve got to go.” I closed the call and sat up as my heart leapt from my stomach back into my chest. “Door’s unlocked.”

  Veronica entered in a navy skirt suit, and one look at her face laid me out. “He doesn’t want to see me. I knew it.”

  “That’s not it.”

  The edge in her tone brought me to my feet. “What happened?”

  She sunk onto the side of the bed. “The bail hearing was postponed after new evidence came to light.”

  “How can there be new evi…” There was no need to finish the question because the answer was horribly obvious. I’d been outmaneuvered by Wesley Sullivan.

  “Detective Sullivan got a search warrant for Bradley’s apartment.” She paused, and her brow creased as though she still hadn’t processed what he’d found.

  My heart was on the precipice again. “And what did he supposedly find?”

  “A deck of Mark Twain playing cards with the queen of spades missing.”

  I grabbed my purse and rummaged inside, and my heart not only took that dive, it threatened to stop.

  The deck of cards that I’d found taped to Alfredo’s desk was gone.

  16

  Veronica pushed a Bloody Mary in front of me and slid to our booth at Thibodeaux’s Tavern. “Now that we have some much-needed refreshments, we’ve got to figure out how Wesley Sullivan got access to your purse.”

  “It’s my fault.” I looked out the window at our fourplex across the street, feeling like one of the giant boobs hanging from the balcony. “I put it under my front seat when I went to wait for the Southampton Spitfire, so he obviously tailed me, broke into my car, and took the cards. He’s probably the one who put the camera in the winepress trunk too.”

  “The detective would certainly know how to do those things,” she said wryly. “Do you think he went to the dock?”

  I shrugged. “If he knew that’s where I was headed, yes. He could’ve hidden in one of the shipping containers like I did.”

  “If he had, then surely he would’ve arrested Tim and Kate when he saw the drug deal go down.”

  I turned my head to meet her gaze. “Unless…”

  She covered her mouth to keep from spitting a sip of mimosa and then choked it down. “You think he’s involved with the gold bars?”

  “Why not? Maybe he’s framing Bradley for two reasons—to stick it to me and to cover his drug crime.”

  “It’s possible. But where do Nick’s murder and Luigi’s abduction fall in all of this?”

  My answer was one that even I had a hard time believing. “If Sullivan is involved with the drugs, then we can’t rule out his involvement in everything else.”

  She took a deep breath. “This is scary, Franki.”

  “Tell me about it. Sullivan volunteered to work security on the gambling cruise, and if he’s not going to investigate the homicide and kidnapping, then either he’s planning to do something drug related, or he’s planning to do something to me.” I took the straw from my Bloody Mary and stabbed the lime.

  “That’s it.” She pulled her phone from her Chanel bag and started typing a text.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Canceling plans with Dirk and his parents. I’m coming on that cruise.”

  My head hit the back of the booth. I’d been so busy with the case that I’d somehow missed that she was meeting her boyfriend’s parents. “But you haven’t met them before.”

  “I can do it another time.”

  Guilt and a tinge of envy double-teamed my gut. I’d never met Bradley’s parents, and it lo
oked like I never would. The last thing I wanted was for my best friend to miss such a huge relationship milestone and on my account. And I also wanted her to be available to help Bradley, if she could. “Don’t cancel, Veronica. I can navigate the Sullivan situation.”

  “No, I don’t want you alone on that steamboat.”

  “I won’t be alone. There’ll be other passengers, and I’ve got my ragtag army, remember?”

  She tossed her phone on the table. “I don’t know. The name of that army is hardly comforting. What if I send David?”

  “No, I don’t want him on a steamboat with a killer. Besides, a ramshackle group of people can beat formidable foes, just ask Jefferson Davis at the Civil War Museum.”

  Glenda sashayed to the booth in a crop top—cropped above the breasts—and a pair of stripper shorts that she wore in defiance of the cool March temperatures. Thankfully, she clutched a notebook and her writer pipe to her chest. “I didn’t know you girls were here. I’ve been in a back booth doing some morning writing.”

  Veronica eyed the notebook. “How are your memoirs coming?”

  “Fine, but right now I’m working on the answers to the interview questions Ruth Walker sent me for the gambling cruise.”

  I resisted the urge to beat my head against the padded seat. “Ruth hired you for the entertainment?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised, Miss Franki. Captain Vandergrift wants something classy, like those interview tours that Sophia Loren did, and who better than moi?”

  Sophia Loren, for one.

  She pointed the pipe at me. “And don’t you begrudge me a steamboat trip. Lord knows I need to de-stress, and a handsome gambler or two will do the trick.”

  “The nonne will be out of your costume apartment as soon as we find Luigi.”

  “It’s not them, sugar. It’s Father John. There’s no phone in that apartment, so he calls my place and sends me into the Lilliputian den to fetch your nonna.”

  Veronica smirked. “That puts you in a compromising position.”