Galliano Gold (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 5)

by Traci Andrighetti

  Her perky mouth curled. “It’s not like I’m going to run.”

  “You mean, skate? By the way, I suggest you take those things off because Private Chicks is on the third floor.”

  “And risk a cut on my foot in this raw sewage?”

  Bile rose in my throat like the floodwater in the French Quarter. I hadn’t known about the sewage, but now that I did my gut seized up, hopefully not from giardia or hepatitis.

  Kate clomped up the steps on her toe stops, and I followed gripping both handrails to block an escape attempt—and to steady my stomach. Both of us reeked of eau de Vieux Carré sewer.

  Glenda stared at us from the top of the stairs. “From the ruckus you two are making, I thought the cavalry was coming.”

  “Nah, just the roller derby queen here.” I stepped onto the landing. “Although, we were rescued by the Cajun Navy.”

  Her eyes popped like the green of her olive branch pasties, and she rushed down the stairwell.

  “They’re gone, Glenda.”

  “Well, merde, sugar.” She climbed the stairs. “I should’ve jumped into the water with you.”

  I imagined her on flooded Bourbon Street, her feet so high in the strappy Roman stripper heels that she seemed to walk on the water.

  Veronica appeared in the doorway with towels. “You must be Kate.”

  I lowered my lids. “A.k.a. Nick Pescatore’s ex-fiancé, a.k.a. quite possibly the scorned woman who killed him and left the queen of spades as a voodoo calling card.”

  Kate spun on me in her skates. “For your information, until yesterday I thought the scorned woman was you.”

  “Me? I never even met Nick.”

  Veronica shoved a towel into my hands. “Let’s take this inside, Franki. There’s a pot of chamomile tea on the coffee table.”

  We entered, and Kate sat on a couch next to Glenda. I walked over to her, dripping water and spitting mad. “How did you come to the horribly mistaken conclusion that I killed Nick?”

  Kate reached for a teacup.

  “Uh uh.” I wagged my finger. “No tea till you talk.”

  Her eyes sparkled like her tinsel wig, and it wasn’t from Mardi Gras spirit. “Danny heard you report Nick’s murder on the pay phone at the Tropical Isle bar, which made you my number one suspect. Then you started stalking me, and you even got a job on the Galliano. I figured you were some giant tramp—”

  “Giant?” I loomed over her and realized I’d objected to the wrong word.

  Veronica pushed me onto the opposite couch, smoothed her tutu, and took a seat beside me. “So, Kate, you assumed that Franki killed Nick because he’d jilted her for you.”

  “Exactly. And I thought she was coming for me next. I mean, she did chase me out of Nicky’s memorial.”

  “I chased you because you ran.”

  “And I ran because I thought you were going to kill me.”

  Glenda pressed her stylus to her lip. “That does sound plausible, Miss Franki. A Bond Girl pulled a gun on one of my fiancés when he started dating me. I’m writing about her in my memoirs.”

  My interest in Glenda’s memoirs was waning, and so was my patience with her. I turned to Kate. “You said you thought I killed Nick until yesterday. What changed your mind?”

  “I couldn’t find anything on a Franki Rockford,”—she paused to smirk at my name choice—“so I followed you here from the Galliano.”

  Irritation pricked my chest. That must have been when I’d gone looking for her after the drug drop-off at the dock.

  “Then I googled this place and found an article with your picture about a vampire murder you solved.”

  Veronica tipped her head. “For an amateur sleuth, you’re pretty good. If you ever need a job, let me know.”

  I jolted like I was back in the French Quarter undertow. “Uh, slow down there, partner, because Kate got the story mostly wrong. She also got fired from the Gold Mine Saloon for drug possession.”

  Kate shot Glenda the side-eye. “See what I mean about the stalking?”

  Glenda nodded. “It does look that way, sugar.”

  “I’m a PI.” My tone was dry, unlike the rest of me. “It’s my job to follow people, remember?”

  Kate crossed her leg, resting a skate on her knee. “In all fairness, Franki, you got my story mostly wrong too. The drugs that got me fired were opioids that Nicky was dealing. He stashed them in a bag in my closet that he didn’t think I was using anymore.”

  I crossed my arms. “All right. But if you’re so innocent, why would you date a drug dealer?”

  “I didn’t know. He told me he worked at his uncle’s produce company. But believe me, I broke off the engagement as soon as I got fired. And who didn’t have a lousy boyfriend in their twenties?”

  Glenda nodded. “Ain’t that the truth, child?”

  It was true, and my lousy ex-boyfriends Todd and Vince were proof. I sunk into the couch cushions and scrutinized Kate. As skeptical as I was about her story, she reminded me of Marv’s comment about Jim Rockford—she was good, just not in the way one would think. “Let’s talk about Nick. Why was he on the Galliano the night he got killed?”

  Kate rubbed her forehead as though trying to erase a bad memory. “To get money Captain Vandergrift owed him from a card game. Nicky owed me back rent, and I was about to get evicted from my apartment. So I went with him to the Galliano, and I waited outside. The whole night.”

  I leaned forward and glanced at Veronica, who bit her lower lip. “Did you hear him—”

  “Scream?” Kate’s eyes teared up, and she looked at her shorts.

  I hesitated to tell her what the captain had confessed to Bradley, but she needed to know. “Captain Vandergrift threw him overboard.”

  Her head shot up. “I thought it was Alfredo Scalino.”

  “Why? Did you see him there?”

  “Yeah. After Nicky screamed the captain went down to the river, and Alfredo was with him.” She raised her hands before I could protest. “I don’t know him personally, but I’ve seen him and Gigi in the Quarter. Anyway, the captain got into a car and drove away, but Alfredo went back on the boat. I would’ve called the cops if I’d had my cell phone, but it was turned off because I hadn’t paid the bill. And I was too afraid to go find a phone in case Nicky was alive and needed my help.”

  “Is your phone on now?”

  She nodded, and Veronica handed her a tissue.

  “I guess Nick didn’t text you that night?”

  “No, he knew my phone wasn’t working. Why?”

  “He texted his uncle, my client, the words ‘Galliano gold.’”

  Kate dabbed her eyes. “I guess we know now that he was referring to the gold bars. But when I heard him scream, I thought maybe he’d started looking for the Civil War gold and gotten caught or something. He mentioned the gold to me before he went on the boat. But then when I saw Alfredo, I wondered if it had something to do with the opioids. Alfredo is the one who sold them to him.”

  Veronica cradled a teacup. “Sounds like Alfredo has always been involved in Gigi’s drug business.”

  Kate shook her head and blew her nose. “Nicky said Gigi didn’t know about Alfredo’s dealing—at least, he didn’t until the gold bars turned up on the Galliano. Apparently, Alfredo has always resented Gigi being the head of the family. But Gigi is retiring and moving to Italy, so Alfredo wants to take his place as the capo di tutti capi.”

  The boss of all bosses. Alfredo was double-crossing Gigi while he was hospitalized with appendicitis. Not a smart move when your brother was a mobster. “What did you do after Alfredo left the Galliano?”

  She tugged at her skate laces. “I went on the boat. And I found Nicky.” She clenched her jaw. “I figured he might be in the galley because Alfredo was wearing a bib apron like yours.”

  Glenda slapped her thigh. “Is that what those things are called?”

  “Yes,” I said. “They’re used for an activity known as cooking.” I turned back to Kate. “Look, I
can see that you’re genuinely distraught about what happened to Nick, but I have to question why you were at the Julia Street Cruise Terminal yesterday morning with Tim.”

  “You followed me there too?”

  “Sugar, honestly,” Glenda chided. “Miss Kate could get a restraining order against you.”

  I shot styluses at her with my eyes. “And you’re surprised that I don’t want you on the steamboat?”

  She crossed her arms and legs and bounced a stripper-sandaled foot.

  Kate cleared her throat. “I know the Tim thing looks bad, but after I found Nicky, I vowed to him and to myself that I’d get even with Alfredo and the captain for what they did to him. And Tim is making it pretty easy for me because he can’t stop bragging about his involvement in the drug ring.”

  “You think the three of them are in this together?”

  “I don’t know about the captain, but Alfredo and Tim for sure. And not just them. I saw a woman come down the gangplank after the captain left the boat that night.”

  I collapsed into the couch, stunned. Someone else had been onboard during the managers meeting.

  Veronica leaned forward. “Did you see what she looked like?”

  “No, she was wearing a long wool coat with the hood up, but she was average height, thin. And the crazy thing is, she got into a limo, and then Alfredo came out and got in with her.”

  Glenda chewed her stylus. “Who do you think she is, sugar? The scorned voodoo woman?”

  I poured chamomile tea for Kate and me because both of us were going to need something soothing after I answered Glenda’s question. “The more likely scenario is that Alfredo has teamed up with Gigi’s consigliera. And now that Gigi knows about the gold bars, members of the Scalino clan will probably be on the Galliano for the overnight gambling cruise.”

  My hand trembled as I raised the teacup to my lips. I took a sip and swallowed, hard. “And if that happens, at least one person is going to get whacked.”

  Veronica stood at the bottom of the stairwell surveying the flood situation on Decatur, and Glenda, Kate, and I were single file behind her. She pulled my car keys from her purse. “The water has gone down enough that we should be fine to make it home.”

  I yawned as we descended the stairs into the street. It was two a.m., and I was anxious to get a few hours of sleep before I had to be on the Galliano for the gambling cruise.

  Kate did a skater spin on the wet sidewalk. “I’m staying with friends over on Dauphine, so I’m going to head out.” She gave me a salute as she skated backwards. “See you on the steamboat, Rockford.”

  I eyed her as she rolled away. I didn’t think she was a murderer, but she was killing me with that sarcasm.

  “I’ll drive, Franki.” Veronica opened the Mustang door, and she and Glenda climbed inside.

  I walked toward the car and stopped short.

  Two eyes—no, six—watched me from the floodwater in the street.

  The exhaustion must’ve been making me hallucinate. I rubbed my brow and looked again.

  The eyes were still there and with a huge head of fur, or…hair?

  I squinted, and my hands flew to my mouth.

  The ball of hair had a red bandana bow.

  “Look out, sugar! It’s Miss Carnie’s wig.”

  Something in the floodwater—maybe chemicals from the sewer—had caused the wig to grow into a giant mudbug monster. And it was after me, probably because I’d thrown it to the Dancing Hand Grenade on Bourbon Street and hadn’t tried to retrieve it.

  The eyes began to rise. The cup surfaced, then the lemon and the board. Next came antennae and an open chasm with gnashing claw-like teeth.

  I had to get to my car, but my feet were stuck to the sidewalk.

  Two enormous crawdad arms emerged from the water and waved giant pinchers in the air. One pincher ripped the plastic cup from the board and scooped up some of the filthy water.

  I screamed, and the wig monster poured the water into my mouth. I gagged and clutched my neck as the other pincher picked up the lemon and shoved it deep into my throat.

  As I gasped for breath that wouldn’t come, I thought about how ironic it was that with so many dangers around me—the Scalinos, Captain Vandergrift, Detective Sullivan—the thing that was going to kill me was a lemon.

  The wig monster grabbed me with its giant claws and shook me hard. “Franki!”

  Wait. How does it know my name?

  My eyes flickered open. I was in the backseat of my Mustang, and Veronica was shaking me awake.

  “You fell asleep on the way home.” She turned in the driver seat and pulled the keys from the ignition. “And you were having some kind of nightmare.”

  Glenda stuck her gold head-banded head in the backseat. “We’ve got an emergency, Miss Franki. My breasts are gone.”

  I looked at Veronica. “This is still part of the nightmare, right?”

  “No, her Mardi Gras decorations have been stolen right off the front of the house. Can you believe it?”

  I really couldn’t. Surely I was still asleep.

  “Get out of that car, sugar. I’m in dire need of your investigating help.”

  I climbed from the backseat into our driveway. Sure enough, the balcony railing was bare.

  Glenda lit a cigarette in her holder and blew out the smoke in a huff. “I’m telling you, it was Carmela and those other Lilliputians. For reasons that are beyond me, they never liked my decorations.”

  I straightened my shirt. “There’s no way they could’ve taken them. Those breasts were huge.”

  “I’ve got the good Lord to thank for that, child.”

  Veronica scanned the yard. “She might be right, Franki. The Sicilian flag is gone too, and I doubt a thief would have taken that.”

  “If he was Sicilian he would’ve, and there are plenty of Sicilians in NOLA. Just look at all the nonne.”

  My apartment door opened, and the capo di tutte nonne came outside in a granny gown that would’ve done Sophia from The Golden Girls proud. “What is all-a the shouting about-a?”

  Glenda pointed her cigarette holder at the balcony. “Someone took my breasts. Was it you?”

  “Why the hell-a would I want-a yours? I don’t even want-a the two I got.”

  I pinched my arm. Nope. I was painfully awake.

  “Well, someone stole them.” Glenda strut-paced in the driveway. “Maybe it was the Scalinos.”

  I snorted. “Not unless there were drugs in those breasts.”

  She stopped and struck a pose. “This entire body is a drug, Miss Franki.”

  Nonna smacked her hands together in a praying motion and shook them up and down. It was the Italian gesture for What in God’s name is this one talking about? “Luigi’s-a missing, and you are-a looking for your boobies?”

  Glenda crossed her arms over her olive branch pasties. “You make me sound selfish.”

  “You think-a?”

  She took a deep drag from her cigarette. “If those mobsters took my breasts from the house, how do I know they’re not going to take me next?”

  Nonna pressed a hand to her stomach and chuckled, and Glenda gave her a glare that made it clear she wouldn’t be extending the olive branches any time soon.

  Veronica held up her hands. “Now Glenda’s got a point. It never occurred to any of us that Alfredo would’ve kidnapped Luigi, so it’s possible that Glenda, or any of us, really, could be next.”

  I shook my head. “If either of the Scalinos had come here to steal something, it would’ve been the winepress, not Glenda’s boobs. But they don’t know where it is, remember? That’s why Gigi’s holding Luigi.”

  Veronica chewed her thumbnail. “Do you suppose Luigi told him it was in your closet under duress?”

  Her question shook all of us awake. Because if Luigi had told Gigi where the winepress was, then he should’ve been released—unless Gigi had reneged on the deal.

  “I’ll go check my closet.” I turned and entered my apartment with thre
e pairs of eyes watching me like the wig monster. I went to my room and found my mother asleep on her back, her head thrashing from side to side, and the bedding in knots. She was having a nightmare of her own, and I considered turning on the light to wake her up.

  She jolted and kicked the covers. “Save me, Jesus. You don’t know what those women are like to live with. Bring the men back.”

  On second thought, I decided to leave her in the nightmare. The woman couldn’t even give it a rest when she was asleep, so there was no way I was going to wake her up.

  I switched on my phone light and opened the closet.

  The trunk was still on the floor.

  “So far so good,” I whispered as I crouched and lifted the lid. The wine press was inside, which meant that someone else had stolen Glenda’s breasts. The weirdo.

  I closed the lid and froze. The brass lock was bent. I shined the light on the keyhole and fell back onto my haunches.

  The Mardi Gras boobs weren’t the only thing that was stolen. The video camera was gone too.

  I felt cold and dirty, like I’d been dunked in floodwater. Someone had come into my home while my mom and nonna were sleeping, and I didn’t know who or why.

  But one thing was certain. Whatever was going on was about to come to a wig monster-sized head on the Galliano.

  18

  My stomach rose and fell like the steamboat as I pulled my overnight suitcase across the gangplank. Most likely it was a combination of the tarry river smell and apprehension about the gambling cruise, but I couldn’t rule out a floodwater-induced salmonella infection or the sight of Ruth Walker in her Fun Meter.

  “Well, well, well.” Ruth scowled at me from behind a card table labeled Welcome Station with her arms crossed against her safari vest, tapping the toe of her Keds. “Look who’s late to work.”

  I looked at my phone. “It’s one-minute past eight.”

  “Employees were to board by eight a.m. sharp before the guests start boarding.”

  I seriously didn’t know how she justified setting her Fun Meter to Max.

  She shove-handed me a key from the table. “This is to your crew cabin on the Texas deck.”