My best option, I reasoned, was to make myself look like an enticing client. Because PIs were notoriously cash poor, I changed my LinkedIn job profile to finance entrepreneur. It wasn't a total lie since I was always trying to come up with creative ways to manage my money (around two hundred dollars) and my credit (ahem, debt). Then I sent each of the managers a message saying that I had questions about investment funds, omitting the minor detail that I wanted to know whether one of their former employees had ever stolen said funds.
Feeling rather pleased with my progress, I texted Corinne and asked her to call me when she had a minute.
Next, I switched gears and googled belladonna. A Wikipedia reference popped up first, but I wanted something academic. I scanned the search results and was surprised to see belladonna listed on a botany site, since the name had a synthetic ring to it, like ecstasy or spice. I clicked the link and saw an image of a plant with purple bell-shaped flowers and blueberry-like berries that was labeled atropa belladonna. According to the article, this plant was one of the most toxic in the world.
"Just like oleander," I observed.
I resumed reading and learned that belladonna was a shade plant native to parts of Europe, North Africa, and Asia, but it was naturalized to moist climates in North America.
"New Orleans is nothing if not moist," I muttered. And then I bolted upright in my chair. What if belladonna was being grown at Oleander Place? If so, that would point the finger away from Adam and squarely at Miles.
I was going to have to pay an early evening visit to the plantation to look for the plant away from Miles' prying eyes. But even if I did find it on the grounds, that wouldn't tell me why it was used to kill Ivanna. Oleander made a kind of sick sense given the killer's obvious obsession with Evangeline. But belladonna?
I looked back at the article, and a sentence got my attention. Belladonna has a long history of use as a medicine, cosmetic, and poison.
"A cosmetic," I breathed. The medical examiner had reported that Ivanna was healthy at the time of her death, so I could rule out the medicinal use of belladonna. And given Ivanna's education and line of work, I knew she wouldn't be caught dead—pardon the expression—using makeup that would kill her. But what if the killer had used a cosmetic to kill the cosmetics CEO? It would make sense, and it would also point the finger right at Adam.
Or maybe at Ruth? No, she was so blunt she would've called me and told me she'd murdered Ivanna. And then she would've called the police and demanded to know why they were taking so long to arrest her.
I rested my elbows on the desk and massaged my temples. Until I found the source of the belladonna, I was at a standstill in this case.
My "Baby Got Back" ringtone sounded from inside my bag. Hoping it was Bradley, I grabbed my phone and looked at the display. "Hey, Corinne," I answered, deflated. "Thanks for calling."
"But of course," she said. "I am on a break at work, so I do not have much time. Is everysing okay? I haven't seen you at ze bank in a few days."
I couldn't tell her I'd been banned from the premises, because I knew she'd feel responsible when she found out why. "Bradley and I had an argument," I fibbed. And then I added a flat out lie. "I'd rather not see him right now."
"I am sorry, Franki. But if you need to come in, he is not here at ze moment. He just left to take Pauline home."
I felt a pang of jealousy. "What happened to her car?"
"Oh, zey came to work togezer zis morning."
That pang turned into a stab.
"Because zey went to New York yesterday for a meeting," she hurried to add.
And spent the night, I thought as Psycho-style stabs pierced my gut. I unclenched my teeth and asked in a forced casual tone, "So, where does Pauline live? I'm just curious."
"In Faubourg Marigny."
"That's the artsy neighborhood below the French Quarter, right?"
"Oui, ze locals call it ze Marigny Triangle."
The whooping of a battleship attack alarm sounded as the word triangle echoed in my brain. Whether it had anything to do with the Three of Cups card or not, that was one too many triangles for my liking. Pauline was clearly on the offensive. I needed to counterattack, and quick.
"Listen, I'll make this fast," I said, pulling my keys from my bag. "I watched the security tape for the days money was taken from your drawer, and it was definitely tampered with."
She gasped.
"Both times, someone took money when you went to talk to the teller next to you," I continued, "and I have reason to believe it was Pauline."
"I kill her wis my bare hands," Corinne rasped.
I was startled by the Clint Eastwood quality to her typically fairy-like voice. But then I remembered that even the Disney Tinker Bell was vindictive. "Don't do anything rash," I warned, "because I can't prove it yet. Just hold tight, and I'll be in touch."
"Okay," she said. "I wait for your news."
I closed the call and headed for the door. I had a triangle defense to plan before I went to the plantation, and I knew exactly with whom I was going to consult.
I crammed the last bite of Lucky Dog into my mouth and entered Chandra's office. I started to say hello but began to cough as "Slap Ya Mama" Cajun seasoning stung my throat.
"Would you like some of my Tab?" Chandra asked, holding up a hot pink soft drink can with purple lipstick stains.
I gagged a little, and then I choked out, "I'm fine. I just need your advice."
She wrinkled her mouth. "Okay. Don't eat food from Bourbon Street vendors."
I tossed my purse on the floor and straddled a chair. "I see your psychic powers have returned."
"That has nothing to do with it." She pulled out a box of Sandalwood incense. "You smell like a cheap hot dog."
"Better than smelling like a cheap whore," I quipped.
"No, it isn't." She lit the incense. "Are you here on business?"
"I wanted to ask you about Bradley."
"It's going to—"
"Will forty dollars cover it?" I interrupted, shoving a couple of twenties in her face. Two could play this psychic game.
She tucked the money into her bra. "It depends on the seriousness of the issue."
"It's about that Three of Cups card." I waved a stream of smoke away from my face. "Ever since you told me about it, everything's coming up triangles."
"Triangles?" she echoed.
"You said the upside down card meant that I was in a love triangle, remember?" I huffed.
"Oh." She leaned over and began rummaging around in her giant Chanel bag. "Well that's just one interpretation."
I looked at her from beneath my brow, wavering between hatred and hope.
"It could also represent a separation," she continued, pulling out a rag.
"You mean, like spending time apart?"
Chandra shrugged. "Yeah, or that Bradley's indulging in threesomes."
I hung my head as I tried to maintain my composure. "Meaning aside," I ground out, "is there anything that can undo the Three of Cups card?" I thought of Odette Malveaux, the mambo who'd helped me solve my last case. "Like voodoo?"
"Voodoo?" She scoffed as she dusted her crystal ball. "Don't tell me you believe in that hocus pocus."
About as much as I believe in clairvoyance, I thought.
"There's no easy way out," she said, shaking her dust rag at me. "You're going to have to tackle this problem head on."
So much for that triangle defense, I thought. "I'm already working on it," I said, resting my chin on the back of my chair. "Listen, I also wanted to talk to you about Oleander Place."
She turned up her nose and began wiping incense ashes from the card table. "I'm not going back to that haunted house of horrors, if that's what you want to know."
"I wouldn't ask you to go back after what happened," I said. "I just want to know if you can summon the spirit of Ivanna or Scarlett here in your office."
Her lips thinned. "I don't think so."
I looked her in the eyes.
"Because you can't, or because you won't?"
Chandra fingered a charm on her star and moon bracelet. "I don't want anything to do with that place. Those spirits are scary."
I suppressed an eye roll. "Look, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. There's been a surprising development in the case," I said, wishing I could tell her about the belladonna. "And I need to make sense of it if I'm going to find the killer. He could strike again, you know."
She sighed. "Even if I wanted to help, I couldn't. Lou has forbidden me from having any more to do with the investigation. I'm sorry." She began dusting a crystal.
Chandra didn't strike me as the type to go against her beloved Lou, so I knew there was no point in pressing further. I picked up my bag and rose to leave.
"Wait. There's something I need to tell you." She put down the crystal. "You know the French doors where we found Scarlett?"
I nodded.
"Something about the door on the right is off."
I sat down and crossed my arms on the back of the chair. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure."
"Is it stuck or something? I mean, maybe that's why you had a vision of the spirit tugging at it."
She shook her head. "That's not it. But I'm positive something about it isn't right."
The door opened and hit me in the behind. I turned and glared at a bug-eyed male in his mid-thirties poking his head into the room.
"I'll be right with you," Chandra said.
Somehow his eyes opened even wider, and then he closed the door.
"Don't your clients knock?" I asked, annoyed.
"It's the lunar eclipse," she said under her breath.
"Ah," I said, instantly visualizing half-men, half-werewolves. "Well, I've got to get out to the plantation, anyway. Let me know if you figure out what's wrong with that door."
"I will," she said in a soft voice. "Be careful out there, Franki."
"You be careful in here," I said, thinking of the lunar eclipse loonies. Speaking of which, when I opened the door, Chandra's client was standing to one side gnawing his nails. Noting tufts of black hair protruding from his collar, I gave him a wide birth as I headed for the exit.
Just before the main door a voodoo doll with long black hair caught my eye. I picked it up and considered buying it. If nothing else, it would feel good to stick a pin in Pauline. Now that I thought about it, I wished I could get a voodoo replica of Oleander Place too. Between Pauline and the plantation, I was nearing my wits' end. As of this moment, I could no more prove that she was a thief—of money and men—than I could identify the killer. And I was starting to question whether I was cut out to be an investigator, lead or otherwise.
Xavier appeared from below the counter. "You git better news this time?"
I looked at him, startled. "Uh, about what?"
He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "From your readin'."
"Oh, well, like you said last time, it's a war zone out there." I put the doll back on the stand. "And I'm engaged in more than one battle."
He nodded toward the voodoo doll display. "Black magic ain't gonna do ya no good."
"What about this Pat O'Brien's Hurricane cocktail mix?" I joked, holding up a package.
He jutted out his bottom lip. "Spirits neither. You just need to remember that the situation ain't never as bad as you think it is. Nine times out o' ten, the solution's starin' ya right in the face."
"Thanks. I really hope you're right," I said and then headed out onto Bourbon Street.
As I began weaving through the throngs of tanked tourists, I wondered whether there was some truth to what Xavier had said. I mean, I did have a tendency to exaggerate—but just the teensiest, weensiest little bit. Maybe it was time to consider the possibility that I'd been overthinking one or both of my cases.
I pulled into the Oleander Place parking lot at six thirty and switched off the engine. As I'd anticipated, the plantation was deserted, and there was still plenty of light for a plant hunt.
I started to get out of the car but then stopped. Chandra was right. It was time to take the bull by the horns, or the boyfriend by the hairs, as it were, and confront Bradley. Otherwise, I was going to stay in this miserable state of limbo.
I dialed Bradley's number and waited with baited breath.
"Hello," he answered flatly.
Following his lead, I kept it emotionless—that is, on the surface. "We need to talk about what happened at the bank. Can you meet me later?"
There was an awkward pause. "I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm in the middle of some critical negotiations here at the office."
My heart sank. "You can't spare fifteen minutes to talk about us?"
He sighed. "Franki, please understand. Some big changes are underway for the bank, and all of us in management are working twenty-four seven. We're meeting literally throughout the night. I can't just leave."
"So, what does this mean?"
"It means I need some time."
Tears stung my eyes. "I can give you all the time you need."
Without another word, I hung up and leaned my head against the headrest. I wasn't sure what was happening with Bradley and me, but I knew it wasn't good. I could understand that he was upset about finding me locked in the security room, but he was more distant every time I talked to him. I wondered whether Pauline had finally told him that my nonna was planning our engagement.
I shook my head to rid my mind of the thought. I couldn't go there, not now. Just like my pride, daylight was burning. I had to look for the belladonna plant.
I dragged myself from the car and headed for the back porch. Because the plantation had grown sugar cane, there were few opportunities for shade on the grounds. I started by making a round of the house and then searching a pecan grove behind the slave quarters. Next, I checked the area around the restaurant and headed for the little sugar mill.
When I rounded the back of the building, I noticed that sod grass had been laid out in a two-foot area against the wall. I crouched and lifted one of the squares and saw that the ground had been tilled. Of course, it was difficult to grow grass in shade. But because grass was growing along the remainder of the wall, I had to question whether something else had been planted previously in that spot. Like belladonna.
"Evenin', Miss Franki."
My head jerked up as my heart jumped in my throat. "Miles!" I exclaimed, dropping the sod square. "Wh-what are you doing here so late?"
"I'm gettin' de big mill ready for a photo shoot," he replied. He was holding what appeared to be two giant soup ladles, and he looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth.
I glanced up at the ladles from my crouched position, suddenly painfully aware that I was alone on the plantation with a potential killer. I rose to my feet and casually took a step backward, trying my best to remain calm. "I didn't see your car in the parking lot."
"Dat's because I parked 'round back o' de big mill." He swung the ladles over his shoulder.
"Ah," I said, struck by the effortlessness with which he'd swung the heavy-looking objects.
Miles narrowed his eyes. "What was you doin' wit' dat patch o' grass?"
"Oh, that." I forced a laugh. "I've never seen grass planted like that before," I replied, realizing how suspicious that must have sounded. I couldn't let him know I suspected him of anything, so I had to keep talking to put him at ease. "Whatcha got there?"
"Dese are old cane syrup ladles for de kettles. We store all de old artifacts in de little mill."
"Delta said something about that," I remarked, stalling for time. I had to figure out how to ask about the belladonna, because the police still hadn't released that information. "She also said that's where you keep the Greek Revival accents that were stripped from the exterior of the house."
"And some things from inside de house, like de original windows and French doors. Dey was gettin' ruint on account o' de humidity from de rivah."
"Yeah, with the Mississippi right in front of the property, the plantat
ion feels like a tropical rain forest." This was a perfect segue into belladonna, so I decided to go for broke. "Do you ever try to grow any exotic plants out here?"
Miles scratched his head. "Such as?"
"I don't know, like belladonna or…venus flytraps." I mentally cursed myself for that last one, but it was the only other exotic plant I knew. Could I help it if I wasn't a botanist?
He furrowed his brow and frowned. "Nevah heard of 'em."
"Too bad. I mean, okay," I fumbled. "Anyway, I really should get going," I said. Then, as a safety precaution, I lied, "My boyfriend's waiting for me."
He nodded, stonefaced. "Have a nice evenin'."
I smiled and headed for the parking lot, half-convinced that Miles was going to launch a ladle at the back of my head. I glanced over my shoulder, and of course he was staring right at me. He looked angry too. The second I rounded the corner of the mill, I hoofed it to my car and hightailed it home.
When I pulled into my driveway an hour later, I gave a sigh of relief. After my unsettling encounter with Miles, all I wanted was to spend the night curled up safely in my apartment with Napoleon. But as I walked up the sidewalk, my stomach fell. There was a brown cardboard box beside my front door, and it was just like the one that had contained the portentous pineapple.
I took a step back and debated whether to open it. After all, it could have been a bomb or a severed head. But on the off chance it was an apology gift from Bradley, I wanted it—and how.
I grabbed a stick from the yard and pried the flaps open. Then I peered into the box. As I'd feared, this was no gift. It was a courter's candle that had been burned down to a stump. And just like last time, there was a note. But I knew what this one said before I'd even read it.
Your time is up, Miss Franki.
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Franki Amato Mysteries Box Set Page 45
