Wendell scratched his brow. “What about Miss Glenda’s performance?”
“I’ll tell her it’s canceled.”
His cheeks ballooned as he blew out a breath and wiped his forehead.
I shared his relief. We both knew that Glenda’s stories were best left in her memoir. “I’m going to the pilothouse to tell Tim the jig is up, so he’s got to stop the boat. And at some point, I’ve got to look for Luigi. Time’s running out to find him. That reminds me, do either of you have cell service?”
They reached into their pants pockets.
“Dang, brah.” Wendell held up a shattered screen. “I done smashed my phone when I fell.”
“And I have zero signal bars,” Kate said. “They’ve been coming and going.”
“Same here.” I glanced at my phone. “When your service comes back, call the Coast Guard and let them know we need help.”
“Got it.”
We headed to the door.
And it flew open.
Ruth emerged, swaying like the chains on her glasses—proof that Galliano wasn’t herbal tonic but just plain tonic, like the kind Granny distilled in The Beverly Hillbillies.
She lowered her chin, and her eyes lasered in on Wendell and Kate. “I shoulda known thiss one’s sslacker ways”—she jerked a thumb at me but hiccupped and knocked it off course—“would rub off on you two.” She grabbed the door jamb to steady herself. “But with all these murders, iss not the time to ssway around.”
“It sure isn’t.” My tone was as dry as her last shot glass. “Where’s the captain?”
“Thass what I came to tell you.” She let go of the doorjamb to gesture but latched onto it again. “I tol’ him about the murders, and he locked himself in the pilothouse.”
Kate took a step forward. “What? Where’s Tim?”
“He’s sstill in there. The captain tied him up. Ssaid this gamblin’ cruise’ll go on come hell or high liquor.”
Of course she meant water, but I couldn’t waste time correcting her. “I’m on my way to the pilothouse. Kate, Wendell, you guys get to the casino. And brace yourselves. Even though we’re only going ten miles an hour, it’s going to be a wild ride.”
“But, Miss Franki. We can’t cancel my debut speaking engagement. The guests came on the Galliano to hear my story.”
The came onboard to gamble, but there was no reason to point that out. “I hate to burst your, uh,”—I cast a glance at her pasties—“bubbles, but something I’d rather keep quiet has happened, and we need everyone together in one place. So please go find my mom and Nonna in the casino and stay with them.”
She gave her platinum Cher hair a flip. “I’m sorry, sugar, but this glass act will go on.”
With Luigi’s life on the line, I didn’t have time to argue or deal with any puns. “There have been two more murders onboard.” I pointed to the door. “So get your glass to the casino now.”
At the mention of murder, Glenda got her sea legs and split.
I ran up the mid-ship stairs, my mind firing questions like bullets from my Ruger.
Who was behind the murders?
Gigi Scalino? The captain? Tim?
And what was Sullivan’s role in all of this?
What about Luigi? Was he still alive?
If so, could I crack the case before his and other lives were lost?
At the top of the stairwell, I pulled my Ruger from my waistband and threw open the door to the Texas deck. Franki Rockford was gone, and Franki Amato was onboard. The killer had to reckon with me.
A ragtag army of one.
The smell of rain was in the air, and clouds had obscured the stars. But the light from the pilothouse illuminated my path.
I crept along the deck on high alert. Gigi or Sullivan could have been lying in wait to exact their revenge—Gigi for the winepress Luigi had given me, and Sullivan for the humiliation he’d suffered when I’d solved his case. And there was always the possibility that Boozin’ Ruth was on the prowl with that oar.
I reached the pilothouse and crouched beneath a window in the door. Little flecks of ash rained from the smokestack, and the occasional spark. The Galliano was all kinds of dangerous.
Slowly, I rose and looked through the window. Captain Vandergrift stood at the old wooden ship wheel, a ghostly vision in white, gazing with admiration at his beloved Mississippi River, and seemingly indifferent to the gore below deck. Tim was on the floor beside him, bound and gagged. His brow formed a scowl as he worked the rope around his wrists. He was probably calculating all the money he’d lose on the drug deal if the captain didn’t stop the boat.
Tim lowered his head, revealing a trickle of blood. He’d been struck with some sort of object like Alfredo and Gerald the thug. It was time to stop the madness and the steamboat. I rose and pounded on the door. “Captain, you need to dock in the next town.”
He turned and waved me away. “Get back to the galley, girl, you have dessert to serve.”
“First of all, don’t call me girl. I’m almost thirty-o—” No matter how dire the situation, there was no need to get ahead of the birthdays. I was thirty for eight more days. “And second, with the chef and another man dead, the bananas foster isn’t going to happen.”
“There’s nary a thing we can do for those louts now. They’ll keep in the walk-in till we dock in the morn. So I trust you and Pat will see to our guests.” He returned to the wheel, and a trance-like look came over his eyes as he stared at the Mississippi.
Captain Vandergrift had never been cleared of the murder of his business partner, and he’d confessed to Bradley that he’d pushed Nick off the deck, not to mention threatening to give him “the cold shivers.” I had to know whether he’d committed the other murders. “Did you hit Alfredo and Gerald over the back of the head like you did Tim?”
Tim’s head jerked toward the captain. He was afraid, which told me he had no idea who’d killed the men.
The captain approached the window. “What the dickens are you prattling on about? I’m not some rogue miscreant who bought this steamer to commit malfeasance. The Galliano has a storied history, and she belongs on the river, as do I. I bought her to sail, and sail her I shall.”
I believed him. If he’d killed Alfredo and Gerald, then he would’ve killed Tim as well. Also, he’d broken his own order by betraying Twain with that Dickens-inspired expression, so he must’ve been genuinely shocked and appalled by my question.
The only thing to do was find Ruth and have her ask him to stop the steamboat. She seemed to have influence over him—or hold sway, as it were—for some unfathomable reason. And because of Tim’s involvement in the drugs, he was best left tied up with the captain until the ship docked and the authorities came onboard.
I figured Ruth was probably at the bar or a bingo table, but I ran to our crew cabin just in case. I opened the door to the sound of court TV.
Was she asleep?
I switched off the DVR player by the bunks and froze.
A yellow rose lay on my pillow.
Was Sullivan in our cabin?
I raised my gun and kicked open the door to the bathroom.
Luckily for him, he wasn’t inside.
I shoved my gun into my waistband and glared at the top bunk. Ruth was up there, but she was out and still wearing her horned rims and her Judge Judy dress.
“Ruth.” I gave her a shake.
She rolled to face the wall. “I need ssome shut-eye.”
“This is no time for shut-eye, Popeye.” I shook her harder. “You’re the cruise director, and passenger lives are at stake.”
“What doess he ssee in that harpy?”
I knew who she was talking about, but I wanted to engage her in conversation to wake her up. “Who? The captain?”
“He ssays Marian has perssonality. Know what I ssay to that?”
“No, what?”
“Whatever floatss your ssteamboat.” She raised her arm and made a pulling motion. “Toot toot.”
I
widened my eyes. Cruisin’ Ruth was really crocked. I had to say something that would snap her sober. “I’m not sure how this has escaped your horned rims, but you and Marian Guidry look and act so similar that you must be twins separated at birth.”
She rose up like a zombie from a grave. “I’m gonna tell Bradley to ssue you on Couples Court sso I can tape that episode.”
I recoiled, and she flopped onto her back and snored.
Someone knocked on our cabin door.
I pulled my gun. “Who is it?”
“Bruno. Your knight in shining armor.”
More like a nuisance in shining gold chains. I opened the door, but he missed my glare.
His roving eyes went from my breasts to my Ruger—and lit up like the pilot house. “I came to take you for that drink and shrimp cocktail, but I’m down for staying in and playing bad cop.”
“Of course you’re down—low down.” I closed the door, but he got a leg in first. Nevertheless, I pushed.
“Hold on, baby.” His voice was strained as he worked his arm into the opening. “What about our date?”
“There won’t be a date. Two men have been killed in the galley, so I need you to—”
His arm and leg slipped from the cabin, and his feet pounded the deck.
And I was just about to ask the coward to watch over my mom, Nonna, and Glenda.
I closed and locked the door and pulled out my phone. Still no signal. With any luck, Kate had gotten her cell service back and called for help. Otherwise, we’d be on this boat for another twelve hours, and I didn’t want to think of how many others could die in that time.
I sat on my bunk and put my face in my hands. What if I couldn’t solve the case? The Mafia and a corrupt cop were involved, so I was in trouble as deep as the Mississippi River. Plus, I didn’t always have the best track record when it came to figuring things out. Bradley was a perfect example. I couldn’t save our relationship even with an army of God-fearing nonne and the lemon tradition on my side.
Ruth turned over, shaking the bunk. “It’ss time for your ssentence, Marian.”
The justice-dispensing portion of the evening was my cue to get a grip and look for Luigi. If I could find him, he could probably tell me who killed his nephew. And then maybe he could talk some sense into the captain.
I went to the door and reached for the knob.
“To the hoossegow for you, harpy, till hell freezess over.”
My arm dropped to my side.
Freezes.
What was it Marian had said during the safety drill?
A horrific scream interrupted my thoughts.
Then a splat.
It was a man, and obviously not the sailor ghost.
But it wasn’t a recording, either.
Someone had fallen into the paddlewheel.
Or they’d been pushed.
I opened the cabin door and aimed my gun. The deck was clear, so I tiptoed toward the bow, wishing the light from the pilot house extended the length of the boat.
The temperature had dropped, and my breath came out in frozen bursts that I feared would out me to the killer. As I passed the captain’s quarters, the wood beneath my foot gave a loud creak.
I stopped and listened for movement.
All I could hear was the splashing of the paddlewheel.
I resumed my approach and made it to the end of the captain’s quarters. I took a breath and extended my shooting arm and eye around the corner.
A figure in a dark, hooded jacket stood in front of the calliope, peering over the rail at the paddlewheel.
“Hands in the air, or I’ll shoot.”
The figure turned, removed the hood, and flashed a reptile smile.
Sullivan.
21
“Man overboard!” I kept my gun aimed at Sullivan’s chest while I waited for Captain Vandergrift to stop the Galliano.
But the hell-bound voyage continued.
Either the captain had ignored me, or we were on a runaway steamboat. I took a step toward Sullivan. “Did you push the captain overboard? Or was it Tim?”
“You don’t actually believe I did that.” He lowered his hands.
I pulled the trigger, and a bullet blew past his head.
His hands shot up, and he went as white as one of the Galliano’s ghosts.
It was the first time I’d seen him scared, and if I’d been sure the boat had a captain, I might have shot at him again for fun. “Answer me, Sullivan. We have a steamboat full of passengers, including my family and friends.”
“The captain’s in the pilothouse. I saw him when I came up the stairwell.”
“So it was Tim.”
“I don’t know who the hell it was.” His shock had turned to anger. “I came to find out, like you.”
I knew better than to listen to his forked tongue. I motioned with the gun. “Back up.”
“Oh, for Chri—”
“Back. Up. Or this time I shoot a leg.”
He swore under his breath and moved backwards.
I waited until he was past the calliope and looked over the back of the boat. The paddlewheel turned, and I didn’t see anyone around it. I remembered the blood on Tim’s head and shuddered. “Tim’s probably gator food by now. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”
His nostrils flared. “I’ve been locked in an unmarked room backstage for the past two hours. I assumed you knew.”
“Why would I know that?”
“Because your nonna clocked me with her handbag, and your mother tied me up with a money boa.”
“You expect me to believe—” I stopped before I embarrassed myself. Anyone who’d met my mom and nonna knew they were more capable of taking out the detective, and probably the entire police force.
“I can tell by the look on your face that you believe me, Amato, so why don’t you put the gun down and help me investigate what happened? For old time’s sake.”
I stayed silent and kept the gun trained on his chest. He was playing the nostalgia card, but I wasn’t fool enough to fall for his bluff. And the money boa was a convincing detail, but he could’ve seen my mother wearing it in the casino and fabricated the locked-in-a-room story.
A corner of his mouth rose. “You come from strong women. If things had been different, you and I could’ve done great things together.”
This time I replied—by refocusing my aim on his head. “Were you in the walk-in when Alfredo and his thug were murdered?”
His chin jutted forward. “Have the ghosts on this boat gotten you spooked, or something? Because the Franki I know would never suspect me of killing anyone.”
“You don’t know me at all. And clearly, I don’t know you either. But from what I’ve figured out, you’re involved with the gold bars somehow. Is that why you pushed Tim into the river? So he could never testify against you?”
He stared into my eyes and pulled a wounded look. “I know I’ve given you reason to suspect the worst of me, especially after the way I behaved about that case last October, but I didn’t push anyone off this boat.”
I gave a bitter laugh. “Setting up Bradley on a bogus drug trafficking charge doesn’t warrant a mention?”
“It’s your boyfriend who doesn’t warrant the mention. Face it, Amato. He’s a lemon.”
His choice of fruit stung like citric acid on a wound, and I was certain that had been his intention. “He’s the finest man I’ve ever met, which is why you arrested him. You couldn’t have me as your booty call, and it galled you to see me with a real man since you could never be one yourself.”
Ha laughed and lowered his head. “I see how it is. A man who quits his job to spend time with a woman is a real man.” He snorted. “I’ll bet that real man didn’t even remember that you’ve got a birthday coming up.”
The citric-acid sting turned burn.
“It’s March twelfth,” a voice replied.
One I thought I’d never hear again. I turned.
“Franki, look out!” Bradley darted from
around the corner, as Sullivan kicked the gun from my hand.
The Ruger slid toward the calliope.
I lunged and crashed on the deck at the same time as Sullivan and Bradley. Through a tangle of arms and legs, I spotted the gun a few feet ahead. Each of us slapped and shoved and elbowed as we tried to gain ground. Bradley was the closest to the weapon, so I latched onto Sullivan’s leg to hold him back and pulled a Nonna—I bit him.
He writhed like the snake he was and jammed the butt of his hand into my nose.
A crack echoed in my ears. I cried out as pain pierced my brain.
Bradley turned to check on me.
And Sullivan grabbed the gun.
He scrambled to his feet and aimed at us. “Get up, and back against the calliope.”
I wiped my throbbing nose, and blood wet my fingers. With Bradley’s help, I got to my feet and leaned against the instrument, pressing the backs of my thighs into the keyboard for support.
“You hit her on purpose, you bastard.” Bradley’s voice was as taut as his fists. “She needs a doctor, something to stop the bleeding.”
“Ever the gentleman, eh, Bradley? By the way, those yellow roses were a sweet touch. Too bad Franki thought they were from me.”
The butt of his hand might as well have jammed into my stomach, and I was certain Bradley had felt the same gut punch.
Sullivan moved the gun to Bradley. “Now to what do we owe the pleasure?”
I wanted to know myself. Veronica must’ve been calling to tell me he’d made bail, but I couldn’t understand why he’d stayed hidden.
“I came to make sure you didn’t lay a hand on Franki.”
Sullivan chuckled. “Judging from the size of her nose, I’d say it’s too late for that.”
Numbness had spread to my brain, but what my head couldn’t feel was more than made up for by my heart, which pounded like a war drum.
“You’re reprehensible.” His gaze moved from Sullivan to me. “I also came to prove he’s skimming drugs from evidence. The night I was arrested, I heard him downplay the amount the police confiscated from the walk-in when he was talking to his superior. He said they’d only found six bags, but when he was interrogating me, he told me that there were seven.”
Galliano Gold (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 5) Page 24
