Phillip went from red around the collar to green in the gills.
"Speaking of manly marauders," Glenda said, "isn't that your banker beau, Miss Franki?"
I followed her gaze out the window and saw Bradley walking toward Thibodeaux's. My stomach did a little flip, not because I was happy to see him, but because I could see the frown on his face from inside the bar. "I'd better go talk to him."
"Need any help, Miss Franki?" Glenda asked with a tinge of hopefulness in her voice.
I shot her a look. Then I downed the rest of my drink and pulled my wallet from my purse.
Veronica put her hand on mine. "I've got this. You go."
"Thanks," I said as I rushed outside.
"Hi," Bradley said coolly as the tavern door closed behind me.
I flashed him a smile. "I wasn't expecting you."
He put his hands into his pockets. "I thought I'd swing by on my way to the airport."
I blinked. "You're going out of town?"
"Yes."
I gathered from his curt one-word reply that it was time to apologize. "Listen, I can understand why you're mad and—"
"Can you?" he interrupted. "First you follow me, then you almost get yourself and me killed. And all because I was going to a meeting with my assistant."
"Well, in my defense, the location of that meeting was a little suspect."
"The place isn't the point, Franki."
"Actually, I think it is," I huffed. "What was I supposed to think when you took Pauline to a bed and breakfast?"
"You were supposed to think exactly what I told you—that it was a business meeting," he said, throwing his hands into the air. "Franki, Pauline is my assistant, and she's a damn good one. She worked on Wall Street. Now, there's a lot riding on these meetings, including my job. So I can't have the two of you at each other's throats. I need you to find some way to tolerate her."
I looked at the ground and desperately tried to think of something nice to say about Pauline—for Bradley's sake, not hers. I managed to choke out, "Well, she did do me one favor."
His face softened. "What's that?"
"She told you I dropped by the bank this morning."
Bradley stared at me blankly.
I felt tension rising in my chest. "Pauline did tell you I came by, right?"
He looked away. "She must have forgotten."
My hands balled into fists, one finger at a time. "Oh, I'm sure that's what happened," I said in a convincing tone. But I thought it in a sarcastic one.
"Anyway," Bradley said, glancing at his watch. "I'd better get going. I'll be out of reach off and on. But if you need me, call Pauline. You know her number."
He bent down and gave me a quick and completely unsatisfying peck on the cheek before crossing the street and climbing into his car.
Oh, I've got her number all right, I thought as I watched him drive away. And before long, she'll have mine. I was going to prove to Bradley that Pauline was a snake if it was the last thing I did.
5
At ten a.m. the next morning, I strode through the French Quarter filled with a new resolve to get a handle on the out-of-control events of the past few days, starting with the out-of-this-world experiences. My first order of business was to question Chandra about the suspicious spiritual goings-on before Veronica and I went to Oleander Place to begin our investigation of Ivanna Jones' death. My second and most immediate objective was to navigate Bourbon Street, where Chandra's office was located, without incident.
As I turned onto the famous party street, I buried my nose in my scarf to escape the unpleasant odors produced by the bacchanalia of the previous night. I also made it a point to walk down the middle of Bourbon despite the crunch of Mardi Gras beads and broken plastic drink cups beneath my feet. That way I was able to dodge the restaurant, bar, strip club, and souvenir shop employees who were spraying the sidewalks and surrounding street with much-needed disinfectant as well as the lingerie- and bikini-clad strippers and waitresses who were already stationed outside their respective establishments selling sex and neon-colored test-tube drinks.
After I'd walked a couple of blocks, I began scanning the addresses of the balcony-lined, two-story structures until I spotted the one listed on Chandra's business card—626 Bourbon Street. It was a cute little building painted terra cotta with a large, white-trimmed twelve-pane window. There were bright red steps with black wrought-iron railings leading to a small covered porch, and fronds of potted ferns hung charmingly from the balcony above.
I bounded up the steps and pushed open the glass door to my left. As I entered, I was greeted by a wall of T-shirts, boas, shot glasses, voodoo dolls, and countless other New Orleans souvenirs. I thought I had the wrong address.
"Can I help you?" a male voice asked.
I turned and saw a forty-something-year-old with a tremendous Afro and a goatee hanging a hand-painted Mardi Gras mask on the wall behind the cash register. Based on the sheer height of his hair, I had a feeling he was Chandra's colleague. "I'm looking for the Crescent City Medium."
"In the back," he said, gesturing with his head.
I nodded and set off for the rear of the shotgun-style shop, wondering whether the "Just Deux It" T-shirt he was wearing was available in the store.
I arrived at two doors, one of which said Restroom and the other Cartomancy and Crystallomancy. Although I had no idea what the latter terms meant, I didn't have to be a private investigator to know they had something to do with the paranormal.
"Come in, Franki," Chandra's sugary voice called from inside—before I knocked.
She probably heard me talking to the cashier, I rationalized as I entered the closet-sized room.
Apart from a crystal ball, nothing in Chandra's office was what I'd expected. The walls were bare and painted a dull ivory color, and the furniture consisted of an ordinary gray card table and three folding chairs. Instead of patchouli, the aura of Chanel weighed heavily in the air, thanks to Chandra's Chanel No. 5 perfume and her suitcase-sized handbag.
"I haven't had time to decorate," Chandra announced from her seat behind the table. She was wearing the occult version of the ugly Christmas sweater. It had all the planets of the solar system in brightly colored sequins. In place of the stereotypical psychic turban, she had her huge hairdo.
"That's cool," I said, really wishing she'd stop reading my mind and anticipating my presence.
"How can I be of service?"
Wish granted, I thought with relief. "It's about that spirit you were talking to yesterday. Can you tell me her name?"
"I have no earthly idea."
I cast her a blank stare. "Do you have a heavenly idea?"
She shook her head, causing her moon and star earrings to swing like pendulums. "People who've crossed over don't always identify themselves. Besides, I'm not good with names, and it's hard work keeping up with all these spirits."
"Right." The more I talked to Chandra, the more surprised I was that she actually managed to earn money as a medium. "Is there any chance the woman was an older spirit, like from the early 1800s?"
She cocked an eyebrow. "Do you really think that a female spirit who doesn't want to tell me her name would reveal her age?"
I sighed. These spirits were driving me crazy with their vanity. "How about this," I said, folding my arms on the table. "Could you look in your crystal ball there and tell me if you see a female spirit at the Oleander Place plantation on River Road?"
"That's going to cost you twenty dollars." She placed her hands in her lap and looked at me expectantly.
"Fine," I muttered, as I pulled a twenty from my wallet.
In a move reminiscent of Glenda, Chandra took the money and shoved it down the neck of her sweater into her ample bra. Then she began waving her plump hands over the ball. As she moved, her charm bracelet jingled so loudly that it sounded like a wind chime.
"Well?" I asked, after several minutes had passed.
"I see a woman."
"Inte
resting," I said, thinking that I could so do her job for a living. "What's she doing?"
"She's pulling at the handle of a French door."
"I guess she wants out," I theorized. "What does she look like?"
Chandra squinted and leaned closer to the crystal ball. "She's blonde."
I rolled my eyes. I'd heard that psychics conned their customers by speaking in vague generalities, but this was ridiculous.
"Oh, and she's wearing a pink crinoline dress," Chandra continued.
I sat up straight in my chair. That was no generic detail. "What else can you tell me?"
"Nothing. Everything went black."
"Would it help if I took you to the plantation?" I offered. "I'm going out there in a couple of hours."
She frowned and leaned back in her chair. "I don't do onsite readings. I told you before, ghosts scare me."
I put my head down for a moment, and then I looked her straight in the eyes. "No offense or anything, but you need to get over your fear of ghosts if you're going to work in this profession."
She jerked her head backward an inch. "I've done very well for myself, thank you."
"Okay, but will you please think about it? This is really important. I've been assigned a case at Oleander Place, and it's looking like it involves a murder."
Chandra gasped as she drew her paddle-shaped fingernails to her mouth. "Murder? Oh, no. I couldn't!"
The spiritual angle was looking like a dead end. But since she'd hit on the color of Evangeline's dress, I did have one more pressing question for her. "Just for curiosity's sake, could you look into your crystal ball and tell me what my boyfriend Bradley's new secretary is up to?"
"You need a tarot card reading for that," she explained, folding her hands back into her lap. "That's an extra twenty bucks."
"Of course," I grumbled, reaching back into my nearly empty wallet. I handed her the cash.
She stuffed the money into her bra and then handed me the cards. "Shuffle and cut the deck."
I followed her instructions and then watched as she laid out three cards. I felt instant anxiety when I noticed that one of them was upside down. "What does that card mean?"
Chandra's lips tightened into a thin line. "It's the Three of Cups. As the middle card, it represents your present. When it's upright it means that friendships and relationships with loved ones are in harmony. But when it's reversed, it usually indicates that you've had a falling out with your friends or that there's a third person in your relationship."
Everything was fine with Veronica, so that could only mean one thing. Pauline was trying to turn my circle of love with Bradley into a love triangle. I knew it! I jumped up and threw my hobo bag over my right shoulder.
Chandra looked up at me with wide eyes. "Don't you want me to read the other two cards? They're your past and future."
"Uh-uh. I definitely don't want to revisit my past, and I already know that I'm woefully unprepared for the future." I turned and opened the door. "I'll be in touch."
I left Chandra's office feeling a weight in the pit of my stomach. It was one thing to suspect Pauline of trying to steal my boyfriend, but it was quite another to have my worst fear confirmed, even if it was by a pseudo psychic.
As I rushed past the merchandise, I bumped into the cashier, who was on his knees putting black and gold "Geaux Saints!" scarves onto a low-hanging rack.
"Hey, now," he said. "Watch where you're goin'."
I turned and read his nametag. "Sorry, Xavier. I just got some surprising news during my reading, and I was trying to figure out what to do about it."
He rose to his feet and began to break down the empty scarf box. "Well, whatever you decide, remember one thang. This ain't Disneyland, this is Noo Awlins. And it's a war zone out there."
"I'll keep that in mind." I pushed open the door and headed out onto Bourbon Street, steeling myself for the battle to come.
"You still haven't told me what you found out from the Psychic Friends Network," Veronica said as she steered her Audi onto River Road.
I snorted. "You know, Chandra's not part of any clairvoyant company. She's just an ordinary woman working from an office."
"Precisely. You remember that before you get all worked up about something she says."
"It's not like I'm buying in to this whole psychic thing,'" I said, scratching my nose and visualizing Pinocchio. "But I am paying attention to the fact that she knows things about me and this case."
"Okay, but this is the information age," Veronica said with a pointed look. "She can go online and find out pretty much anything she wants to know, starting by looking at your meticulously maintained Facebook page."
My text message tone chimed.
Saved by the bell, I thought as I reached into my bag for my phone. When I read the display, I got a fluttery feeling in my chest.
Back in town tomorrow. Dinner at 7? Missing you, Bradley.
I smiled. Maybe I'd overreacted to my tarot card reading just a smidge. After all, Bradley did tell me in no uncertain terms that Pauline was just his secretary. And one person didn't make a love triangle, right? I texted him an enthusiastic "It's a date!" and tossed the phone into my bag. "Speaking of information, do we have background checks on the Oleander Place employees?"
"David finished them late yesterday. Everyone was clean except for one of the tour guides, Scarlett Heinz. Last year she was charged with assaulting a woman."
"I wonder if it was because the woman teased her about her name," I said. "I mean, it's essentially 'Red Ketchup.'"
Veronica shot me a look. "I seriously doubt it."
I looked out the passenger window and mused, "So Miss Scarlett has a colored past…"
"If you're thinking about moving on to Clue jokes, don't," Veronica said, leaning menacingly toward me.
I moved closer to the passenger door, just to be safe. "Did you have David run a check on Delta too?"
"Yeah. Nothing."
"So, assuming Ivanna was murdered, do you think there's any chance that Delta's involved? She seems kind of proud of the fact that her plantation has a murderous history."
Veronica shook her head. "When your business is weddings, charity dinners, and craft fairs, you don't want this kind of publicity. You heard Delta say that the media coverage is costing her clients, and she practically threatened us if we went to the press."
"True," I said, again glancing out the window. We were approaching Oleander Place, and the view was spectacular. Oleander bushes dotted the grounds like pink flamingos, and there were two rows of centuries-old Southern live oak trees that dutifully lined the walkway leading to the plantation like soldiers standing at attention. Now that I was focusing on the house instead of the back of Bradley's BMW, I realized that it was painted the palest shade of pink, as was the colonnade that wrapped around the three-story home. I shifted my gaze uneasily to the balcony, and to my relief there was no sign of Evangeline.
Veronica pulled into a long driveway and parked in a lot in the back of the house that was conveniently located next to a ticket booth. Directly in front of the parking lot were the slaves' quarters and a gift shop with a restaurant. Beyond the gift shop were two old sugar mills and the sugar cane fields.
"Any special instructions, capo?" Veronica asked.
I got a little thrill from being called "boss," but I acted casual. "Yeah, look for any evidence that Ivanna's death was actually a murder."
"On it."
As I stepped out of the car, I saw Delta and an older Southern gentleman in a seersucker suit standing on the back porch beside a magnolia tree. I felt like I was on the set of the Murder, She Wrote episode where Seth Hazlitt's plantation-owner cousin is battling a perfume company over the scent of the flowers from his secret magnolia tree. But I was quickly reminded that Delta was no Jessica Fletcher when I saw her shake her fist at the man, who cowered and held up his straw hat like a shield.
"You leave this property at once, Floyd Buford!" she shouted. "I don't want to see yo
ur face around here again."
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Delta," he said with a slight warble in his voice. He placed his hat on his head. "But if that's what you want, then good-day."
Veronica and I ambled toward the porch as Delta watched the man hurry away.
"Is everything okay?" I asked.
"That was the president of the Antebellum Plantation Historical and Preservation Society," Delta replied. "He just canceled a luncheon they'd scheduled here for next week."
"I'm sorry," Veronica said.
"I'm not," she snapped. "Believe you me, it's no picnic catering to a bunch of snobbish geriatrics with digestive issues."
Veronica and I exchanged a look.
Delta turned and opened the door. "You girls come on in. I'll show you around."
"I'd love to," Veronica said as we entered a wide hallway with gleaming hardwood floors.
I was less enthusiastic about seeing the house. It was beautiful, but the tarnished history of plantation homes—specifically the fact that they were operated on slave labor—made me uncomfortable.
"This place is gorgeous!" Veronica exclaimed.
Delta stopped and turned to face her. "It is now. Knox designed the home in the Greek Revival style to make that nitwit Evangeline happy. But thankfully one of his descendants had the good sense to strip the house of the garish cornices, crown moldings, and ceiling medallions to bring it in line with the Federal style."
"What happened to those things?" I asked.
"They're stored in the little mill," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Now, my office is here on the left. And on the right is the kitchen, which used to be the house-slaves' quarters. The original kitchen was located in a separate building to keep the odors and the heat to a minimum."
I nodded and followed Delta to the front of the house.
"This is the parlor," she said, gesturing to the left. "And across the hall is the dining room."
Franki Amato Mysteries Box Set Page 33
