“That’s which Charlie’s Angel you are.”
“Thanks.” Of course, I would have preferred to be Farrah, but at least he hadn’t compared me to Bosley.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “But…”
But what? Is it the blood? Or did I cough up some phlegm? I felt around my mouth to check.
“Did you get my message?”
“No,” I said, confused, as Veronica knelt and dabbed at my knee with a paper towel. “What message?” Then I remembered—I’d turned off my phone after Bruno called, and I hadn’t turned it back on.
“There’s been a change of plans. A client of the bank, Craig Burns, is having a crawdad boil, so I thought you might like to do that instead.”
“Oh.” I tried to think of anything I could change into that was both cute and clean.
Glenda, seizing upon the momentary lapse in conversation, sidled up to Bradley. “The crawdad boil reminds me of a striptease I used to do—”
“You know what?” I practically shouted over her as I walked toward the door. “If it’s all right with you, Bradley, I’ll just go like this.”
I simply could not allow her to subject him to one of her stripping stories, especially one that involved shellfish and boiling water.
“As you wish.” Bradley smiled as he followed me from the apartment. “With you in that dress, I’ll be the envy of every guy at the party.”
I smiled up at him. Despite his obsession with Charlie’s Angels, Bradley Hartmann was growing on me.
“Here we are.” Bradley eased the BMW to a stop in front of a stately Victorian home.
I admired the long white columns that lined the exterior. “What a gorgeous house.”
“Yeah, Craig owns a major construction company here in New Orleans, so he’s done quite well for himself.”
I sighed as I stared at the serene-looking body of water directly across the street.
“It must be wonderful to sit on that veranda and gaze at the river.”
“The river?” He turned to look at me. “You mean, Bayou St. John?”
My head spun like Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist. “Bayou?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no.” I couldn’t tell him about Mambo Odette’s warning, or he’d think I was a flake. “I just thought I knew my bodies of water better than that.”
“Well, if you’re interested in bodies of water, Craig would be only too happy to tell you all about the history of this bayou. He’s always going on about how this particular stretch in front of his house is where Marie Laveau used to practice some of her voodoo rituals.”
“What? Right here?” I looked back at the bayou. Upon second examination, that water was definitely murky.
“So local legend would have it.” He opened his car door. “One sec, I’ll help you out of the car.”
“Thanks.” I smiled and turned to scrutinize the bayou. Why did Marie Laveau choose this spot for her rituals?
He helped me out of the car and pulled me close. “Are you sure you’re okay, Franki?”
“I’m terrific.” I smiled and returned his sexy gaze. To hell with superstition.
We walked up the driveway and entered the backyard through an iron gate. Twenty or so people stood around two long tables in the center of the yard. Each was covered in newspaper and had piles of crawfish that had been boiled with corn on the cob, large chunks of onion, and potato and spice bags full of Cajun seasonings. On the opposite side of the yard was an outdoor bar manned by a bartender.
Bradley took me by the hand. “Let’s head over to the bar. Then I’ll introduce you to some of the guests.”
We stepped off the concrete walkway into the grass, and my three-inch heels sunk into the soft earth. I sighed and walked on the balls of my feet like I’d seen high-heeled Italian women in Rome do on the cobblestone streets. I imagined that I was taking the graceful strides of a runway model, but I suspected that I actually looked more like I was plodding along on a Stairmaster.
We reached the bar, and an elegant blonde with aristocratic features turned and looked at Bradley. “Why, look what the cat dragged in.” She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek.
Bradley stiffened as he returned the woman’s embrace. “I didn’t realize you were in town, Sheilah.”
“Oh, you know how dull Boston society is during the winter months, darling.” She pulled from the embrace but made no move to back away. “But then again, you haven’t been home in so long. Maybe you’ve forgotten.”
Darling? Home? I stepped closer to Bradley to make it clear that we were together.
Sheilah turned to look at me and frowned. “Who’s this?”
“This is Franki Amato.” Bradley gazed at the ground. “She just moved here from Austin.”
I couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t introduced me as his date, nor had he mentioned precisely who the woman was. I didn’t need to be a PI to know they had a history.
The bartender looked at Bradley. “What can I get you, sir?”
“A white wine and a Sam Adams.” Bradley pulled out some bills to tip him.
Sheilah looked me up and down. “What an interesting outfit to wear to a crawdad boil.”
I looked at her white Capri pants. “You know what they say. It’s better to be overdressed than underdressed.”
She scowled and opened her mouth but closed it when Bradley approached with my wine.
“Franki,” he handed me the glass, “why don’t we go find a quiet table somewhere?”
It was clear that he wanted to keep me from Sheilah, and I intended to find out why.
“Brad the Bad,” a male voice boomed behind me.
I started, and my heels sank deep into the dirt. I lurched backward, spilling wine on my chest.
“Damsel in distress!” The man grabbed me from behind, wrapping his arms around my breasts as I fell into his soft belly.
“Let me help you, Franki.” Bradley took the glass from my hand and placed it on the bar.
Sheilah snorted. “That’s what happens when you wear high heels to a backyard party.”
I shot her a look of death. Whoever this woman was, she was no friend of mine.
“I’ll hold ‘er steady, Brad,” the man said, “and you yank her feet from the dirt.”
“Oh, I can manage.” I tried to extract my heels, but Bradley knelt and helped me step from my shoes. I cringed as I remembered that I hadn’t had time to do my toes.
Bradley pulled my shoes one by one from the earth. “Franki, meet Craig.”
“You ready to suck some mudbug heads, Franki?” Craig released me from his clutches.
“I’m sorry, what?” I was certain that I’d misunderstood him.
Craig grinned. “That’s what we call crawdads in these parts.”
“I think I knew that.” I took my shoes from Bradley.
Sheilah smirked. “Craig, Franki’s new to New Orleans. She probably doesn’t know about the local traditions.”
“Actually, I know about sucking crawdad—I mean, mudbug—heads. I’ve just never done it, but I’ve been dying to,” I fibbed and slipped my shoes back on. As much as I wanted to keep them off, I didn’t dare give Society Sheilah the opportunity to point out that my unpedigreed feet were unpedicured.
“Let’s show her how to eat a mudbug, Brad.” Craig led me by the arm to the nearest table and picked up a tiny crawdad with his huge hand. “You grab the little guy by the torso, see, and you yank off his tail. Then you peel off the shell and eat the meat. Right after that, you suck the head to get the fatty brains and the juice. It’s dee-licious.”
“Sounds, uh, great.”
“Here, try it.” He peeled the tail and handed me the meat with his bare hands.
I hesitated before taking it, and then, not wanting to look like a germaphobe, popped the meat into my mouth. “It’s good.”
He handed me the crawdad head. “Okay now, pucker up and suck.”
/> Reluctantly, I placed my lips around the crawdad head, and as Craig, Bradley and the ever-present Sheilah looked on, I inhaled sharply.
Bradley gave a half smile. “What do you think?”
“It is delicious,” I said, surprised. “I really like the spicy flavor.”
“I told you she’d like ‘em.” Craig chuckled. “I know a mudbug sucker when I see one.” He gave my back a hearty slap.
I jerked forward but managed to maintain my balance and smile, even though I was unsure whether to be flattered or upset by the remark, especially after I saw Sheilah smirk.
Bradley reached for a stack of dishes. “I’ll make us a couple of plates.”
I felt a serious need for alcohol. “Okay. I’m going to get another glass of wine. Can I get you anything?”
“Sure, I’ll take another beer.”
“Be right back.” I smiled and trudged to the bar.
The bartender looked up from a glass he was drying with a towel. “What can I get you?”
“A glass of Pinot Grigio and a Sam Adams, please.” I licked my lips, which were tingling from the spicy Cajun seasoning. I needed to touch up my lip gloss after sucking that crawdad head. I rummaged in the bottom of my bag and felt the cylindrical-shaped object. But it wasn’t lip gloss that I’d found. It was the bottle of Love Potion #9.
“Here’s the Sam Adams.” The bartender placed the beer on the bar. “I need to run into the house to get another bottle of Pinot.”
“No problem.” I stared at Bradley’s open beer and grasped the potion in my hand. Should I?
Sheilah’s flirtatious laugh cut across the yard.
I turned and saw her sitting next to Bradley at a patio table, practically in his lap. I must.
Glancing from side to side, I opened the potion. No one was looking, so I poured the contents into his beer and slipped the empty vial into my bag. I mean, it’s probably just water, right?
I approached the table, annoyed to see Sheilah and Bradley huddled together in conversation. I slammed the beer onto the table, and they jumped like two necking teens who’d been caught by the cops.
“I’ve got to go get my wine.” I locked my gaze onto Bradley’s like a laser. “Don’t forget about me while I’m gone.”
I ball-footed it back to the bar. I couldn’t leave those two alone for a minute.
The bartender extracted the cork from the Pinot Grigio. He poured a glassful and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I pulled a dollar from my wallet and put it in his tip jar.
He looked at me wide-eyed. “Sure.”
I wasn’t sure why he would look so surprised by a dollar tip, but I assumed that most people didn’t tip at backyard parties.
I turned and headed toward the table. My feet ached from the high heels and from walking on the balls of my feet. And my mouth was strangely numb. I wondered what kind of spices were in Cajun seasoning and decided to lay off the mudbug heads and stick to the tails.
Given Bradley and Sheilah’s suspicious behavior, I snuck up behind them to do a little eavesdropping.
Bradley sipped his beer and muttered something to Sheilah.
“Now, darling,” she gave him a playful shove, “is that any way to talk to your wife?”
Wife? The glass slipped from my hand and shattered on the tiled patio.
Bradley spun around and gave a start, and Sheilah spit out the sip of wine she’d just taken.
Not one for discretion, Craig shot up from a nearby table. “Ho-ly smokes, Franki. Your lips are all fat.”
“Bwhat?” I touched my lips. They felt unusually full, which would’ve been great if it weren’t for the speech impediment.
Everyone at the party went silent and gawked.
Bradley turned to Craig. “She’s having an allergic reaction. I need to get her to the hospital.”
“Let’s give her some Benadryl first so her throat doesn’t close up,” Craig said not-so-soothingly. “I’ve got some in the bathroom next to the kitchen.”
Taking me by the arm, Bradley rushed me into the house with Craig close behind.
I wanted to confront him about Sheilah’s stunning revelation, but my tongue had gone numb.
He led me to a small room off the kitchen. “There’s the bathroom.”
I entered first and switched on the light. As Craig searched a cabinet for the Benadryl, I looked into the mirror. But instead of my regular semi-full lips, I saw inflated pillow lips—almost twice the size of Angelina Jolie’s.
14
“They’re still pretty big.” Veronica stood in front of my desk, scrutinizing my lips. “ But you can’t seriously think this is voodoo.”
“Mambo Odette told me to stay away from the bayou. I didn’t, and look what happened.” I pointed to my mouth. “I ended up on a date with a married man. And to punish me, some loa puffed me up like a blowfish.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like I said, I’m sorry about Bradley. But really, you’re as superstitious as your nonna. Deep down, you know this whole lip thing has nothing to do with voodoo. It’s a coincidence.”
“Here’s what I know.” I snapped the cover of my laptop shut. “I’ve been eating shrimp from the Gulf of Mexico all my life, and I’ve never had a problem. I suck the head of one lousy mudbug, or crawdad, or whatever they call the stupid things down here, and my lips plump up like Ball Park Franks.”
“So what? Crawfish are more closely related to lobster than shrimp. Just because you can eat one doesn’t mean you can eat the other.”
“I don’t need a lecture in marine biology to know what’s going on here, Veronica. Don’t you see? Mambo Odette has some kind of psychic voodoo power. She knew that the bayou and I wouldn’t mix. So now I need to find her and ask her about Bradley.”
Veronica furrowed her brow. “Why? You’re not thinking about seeing him again, are you?”
“Certainly not.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. “It’s just that Odette told me he was a ‘good man,’ and now I want to know why she would say that if she knew he was married.”
“Maybe she didn’t know.”
“Oh, she knows, Veronica. She knows.” I gave a grave nod. “In fact, I think we should consult with her on the Evans case.”
She shook her head. “Not a chance.”
“Odette’s omniscient, and my lips are the proof.” I puckered the evidence.
The main door of the office slammed, and Veronica jumped and threw up her hands. “David’s here.”
Footsteps bounded up the hallway, and David popped his head into my office. “G’day, la—” He dropped the faux Australian accent and recoiled like a turtle pulling its head back into its shell. “Whoa, Franki. Did you get into a throw down or somethin’?”
“Yeah, with an overzealous crawfish.”
He shot Veronica a questioning look.
“Don’t ask,” she said under her breath.
“That’s cool.” He looked at the floor.
Veronica turned to face him. “I’m about to call Ryan Hunter with a case update. Were you able to find out anything about Bill or Barbara Evangelista?”
“Oh.” He stood up straight and pulled back his shoulders to assume his professional stance. “So, I couldn’t find any record of the Evangelistas owning the house in Slidell, but I did find an obituary for Barbara. The problem is that it doesn’t tell us anything we don’t already know.”
I sighed away my lip frustration and decided to get to work. “What about Bill? Did you find anything on him?”
“Nope, not yet.” He stared to my left to avoid my lips.
“Keep digging. And don’t forget about his wife and child. They could factor into this case too.”
Veronica nodded. “And while you’re working on that, I need you to run background checks on the Di Salvos—Maria, Concetta, and Domenica.”
I shivered at the mention of Domenica’s name, and my phone began to vibrate like it was scared of her too. I looked at the display and saw the number of my
parents’ deli. “Sorry guys. I need to take this.”
Veronica and David filed out of my office, and I answered the phone in speakerphone mode. “Hello?”
“Francesca?” my mother asked shrilly, as though she were unsure whether she was speaking to me or to some random woman who sounded exactly like me and had my same phone number.
“Yes, Mom, it’s me. Is something wrong?”
“Why would something be wrong, dear?”
I was already irritated with the call. “Because you normally call me from home.”
“Well, your date with Bradley is a special occasion.”
I put my face in my hands. This wasn’t going to go well.
“Your nonna and I are calling to find out how it went.”
“Nonna? What’s she doing at the deli?” My nonna never left the house, not even for mandatory hurricane evacuations.
“Well, your father and I made her promise not to call you to ask about your date until we came home tonight. She refused to keep that promise, dear, so your father made her come to work with us.”
Embarrassment paralyzed my brain. “Wait. Dad’s in on this call too?”
“Yes, dear, we’ve all been talking about it this morning. Rosalie Artusi, Larry from the drycleaner’s, Mr. Giangiulio from the bakery, Marjorie—”
“Mom,” I interrupted through clenched teeth, “I’ve asked you a thousand times not to discuss my personal life with the customers.”
“But you know we’ve always thought of our customers as family, Francesca, so it wouldn’t be right not to share good news about our children. Besides, everyone has been worried about your problem with long-term relationships.”
I focused on resisting the overwhelming urge to curl up in the fetal position under my desk. Then I inhaled. “Mom, about that good news…”
“Yes?”
“The date didn’t go perfectly.”
She slammed the phone receiver onto the counter. “Joe! The date was a disaster.”
I gasped. “Mom.”
My dad groaned. “Not again, Brenda.”
“Mom!”
“Yes, dear?”
“I didn’t say it was a disaster.”
Franki Amato Mysteries Box Set Page 16
