"I don't know," I said, rubbing my eye. "It just seems like someone would have found it by now, maybe even on accident."
"Some days, I'm inclined to agree with you. But if someone did find the diamond, I really think that we would have heard about it by now."
I wasn't convinced. There were too many cases of famous jewels and paintings that had been "missing" for decades, even centuries, only to turn up in the hands of private collectors.
"Here ye go, me hearties," the bartender boomed as he put two glasses of absinthe in front of Kristy and me.
I watched, fascinated as he placed a slotted spoon with a sugar cube on top over the mouth of each glass, set the cubes on fire, and opened the spigots of an antique water fountain that dripped water on the cubes until they dissolved into the green liquid below. "You know, I probably shouldn't drink on an empty stomach," I said, eyeing the now murky yellow contents of the glass with concern. "Could I get some rum cake to go with that?"
"Aye, aye." He brushed my cheek with his finger. "A wench after me own heart."
I blushed as red as the scarf knotted around his head and turned away to face Kristy. "Did your family ever try to look for the diamond?"
She took a long drink. "To my knowledge, not a one of Beau's descendants has ever made it past the front door of Oleander Place, except for my dad and me."
"Why not?" I asked, stirring the sugar granules in my drink.
She crossed her arms in a defensive posture. "Beau wasn't just the black sheep of his and Knox's family. He's the black sheep of the entire Patterson ancestral line. Knox's people didn't and don't want Beau's people to have anything to do with the plantation or its contents."
"So, how did you and your dad get in?"
"About five years ago, we went out to the plantation to ask Delta if we could help search for the diamond. We made it clear to her that we weren't trying to claim it. We just wanted it to be found for historical record."
"How did Delta react?" I took a swig of the absinthe and grimaced at the taste of anise.
"In a surprise move, she let us search the house. And then the next thing we knew, the police had arrived, and she fabricated this whole story saying that we'd stolen items from the house."
My eyes opened wide. That was a bold move, even for Delta.
"Then, out of nowhere, a cop produced a warrant to search my purse. And surprise, surprise, there were plantation knick knacks in there that I'd never even seen before, much less stolen."
I gasped. Until that moment I had no idea just how far Delta would go to protect her beloved Oleander Place.
"Just wait," Kristy said, touching my arm. "It gets worse."
I couldn't imagine how.
"Delta also claimed that my dad and I had threatened to hurt her if she reported us to the police for stealing. So, on top of two years of probation, we got restraining orders slapped on us."
"And the police never questioned any of it."
"Of course not." Kristy arched an eyebrow. "You know she has police connections through her late husband, right?"
"All too well." I took another sip of my drink, this time grimacing at the memory of Officer Quincy rather than the anise. "So, that's what you meant when you said you knew you shouldn't have come back here."
"Exactly." She tipped her head back and drank all but one sip of her absinthe.
The bartender placed my rum cake in front of me with a saucy wink.
I averted my eyes and cut into my dessert. "What's the Lacour family's involvement in all this? If anyone can claim ownership of that diamond, it's them."
"Well, Evangeline was an only child, and she never had children. So, she doesn't have any direct descendants. To my knowledge, no one from her family has ever come forward."
I swallowed a glob of gooey cake and cut myself another bite. "I wonder how many times Delta has searched the plantation for that diamond."
"Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if she never has. Delta doesn't want the diamond to be found."
I stopped in mid-chew. "Why do you say that?"
Kristy shrugged. "Because it adds mystique to the plantation, and where there's mystique, there's money." She took the last gulp of her drink and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "Delta herself said that a lot of tourists go out there hoping to find the diamond."
"That's interesting," I said, drumming my fingers on the bar. "She never mentioned that to me." I thought about Ivanna and wondered if she were one of those very tourists. "Did Delta happen to mention whether she'd ever caught a tourist looking for it?"
"Not to me, she didn't." She placed her tricorne on her head. "But I can tell you this—I wouldn't want to be that poor bastard."
"Neither would I." I drained the last of my drink. Maybe it was my conversation with Xavier the day before, or maybe it was the alleged mind-altering effect of the absinthe, but whatever it was, I realized that I needed to shift my focus. Instead of trying to verify that Ivanna was after the diamond, I started to consider how Delta would have reacted if she'd perceived Ivanna as a threat to her plantation's main attraction.
When I left Pirate's Alley Café for Jean Lafitte's, I decided to walk up Chartres Street to avoid the partying pirates on Bourbon. Even though it was only five o'clock, I was hoping to convince Glenda to leave soon. I wanted to get out of the Quarter before the marauding turned to mutiny.
After a couple of blocks, I ran into Blackbeard's Ghost and his pirate posse.
"Why look, mateys!" he exclaimed. "It's Gunpowder Glenda's fair friend, the plantation owner's daughter."
Jeez, these pirates are pests, I thought as I gave a wan smile and walked past them. If only I had some Britney Spears music to drive them away.
"Would ye like to join me for a glass of rum, me beauty?" he boomed. "I'll show ye why me Roger is so Jolly!"
Resisting the urge to dust him with my dress, I shot him a shut-your-bung-hole look and crossed to the opposite side of the street.
There was a buzz inside my bodice. I pulled out my phone and looked at the display. Veronica.
"I see you found your phone," I answered. "Have you been sleeping all this time?"
Veronica yawned. "You make it sound like I've been asleep for hours."
"Well, I've been trying to get hold of you for forever," I said accusatorially.
"Um, we had brunch together yesterday."
"Well, a lot has happened since then," I chided.
"Are you actually mad at me for not calling you last night?" she asked in a bewildered tone.
I sniffed. "Kind of. I did get another death threat, after all."
"I can't believe this," she muttered under her breath. "How could I have known about the threat when I didn't have my cell?"
"This isn't just about last night," I snapped. "You've been late, distracted, or MIA for weeks."
Veronica said something, but I didn't hear her because a steaming plate of shrimp pistolettes was beckoning to me from a window at the Original Pierre Maspero's.
"Franki, are you even listening to me?" she demanded.
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, tearing myself away from the savory beignets.
"I said," she began tersely, "you haven't been around much either, you know."
"Me?" I was taken aback. "I can't believe you would say that when I've been slaving away on the Jones case."
She snorted. "You mean, when you've been slaving away on the Pauline case."
I gasped. "Veronica, you know Corinne hired me to investigate the thefts at the bank."
"And I also know you've seized on that as an excuse to investigate the personal life of your romantic rival."
"Wait," I said, screeching to a halt in my skirt. "So, now you think that Pauline really is my competition?"
"Gah! You see?" she marveled. "In the middle of an argument, your insecurity about Pauline rears its ugly head. It's like you're obsessed with her or something."
"That's not true." Somewhat preoccupied, maybe, but not obsessed.
> "If you're not going to be honest about this, Franki, then I don't see how we can work through it."
I was stunned by that last remark. Was Veronica talking about our friendship or work or both?
As I stormed down the street searching for the right thing to say, the door of K-Paul's Louisiana Kitchen swung closed and caught the back of my dress. I turned to free my skirt and saw Bradley sitting at a table. I couldn't make out who he was with, but I could see that he was gazing at his companion from beneath his brow. And he had a playful smile on his lips that I recognized all too well. I hurried to a window and peered inside. He was dining with Pauline.
I clenched my jaw, my fists, and anything else that would clench. Working "twenty-four seven" at the bank, eh? "Can't just leave"' you say?
"Veronica, something's come up," I said, fuming like a downed ship. "I need to let you go."
"Hold on," she ordered. "I know that voice. What happened?"
Against my better judgment, I decided to tell her. I mean, Veronica is my best friend, right? I took a deep breath. "I'm at K-Paul's, and Bradley is here having dinner with Pauline."
She let out an incredulous laugh. "You're kidding me, right? I'm trying to talk to you about your problem with Pauline, and you tell me you've got to go because of Pauline."
I tried to put my hand on my hip, but I couldn't find it because of my skirt. I settled for my waist. "Do I need to remind you that I have a responsibility toward my client to investigate this situation?"
"Of course not," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because what Bradley is eating and who he's eating it with are completely relevant to Corinne's missing money."
"That was a low blow, Veronica," I said as I glanced into the window and saw Bradley hand the check to the waiter.
"You're right. I'm sorry. But I'd like you to remember that while you're working your two cases, I'm juggling six."
"Oh, so are you implying that I'm lazy now? Because if you are, then I'd like you to remember that I'm working seven days a week."
She sighed. "I wasn't implying anything. All I was trying to say is that I'm drowning in work, and I could use a little understanding and support from you too."
"Okay, okay," I said. "We'll talk about this later. I really have to go."
I closed the call and shoved my phone into my bodice. I felt bad cutting Veronica off like that, but I had a full-fledged crisis on my hands, and I needed to concentrate.
I zoomed in on Bradley and Pauline's table, looking for clues that this dinner was strictly business. There was nothing to indicate otherwise, unless you counted the candles, the empty bottle of Dom Perignon, and the crème brûlée they were sharing.
Bradley raised a spoonful of the creamy mixture to Pauline's lips, and she licked the spoon with her tongue.
I stood back and blinked hard, just in case the absinthe had caused me to hallucinate that little scene.
"Hey, can I bum a cigarette?" a guy standing next to me asked.
When I turned and saw that he was wearing a swamp creature costume for Shore Leave, I knew I hadn't hallucinated Bradley's romantic gesture. This was just an average day in New Orleans. "Sorry, I don't smoke," I replied. Then I gave Pauline a hard stare. At least not inanimate objects.
I began pacing in a circle—I couldn't go back and forth because my dress would get ahead of me. I only had a few minutes to decide whether to confront them or leave. But that only took a second since I'm hardly the go-quietly type. The real issue was how to confront them. Let them see my pain and hurt? Or inflict pain and hurt on them?
"Blimey! Who do we have here?" the exact voice of Spongebob's Patchy the Pirate exclaimed. He pointed his fake hook hand at the hole in my skirt. "Little Bo-Peep?"
Arrgh! Not another perverted pirate, I thought. "Well, you got the 'peep' part right, Patchy. Now beat it."
"Come again?" he asked, dropping the pirate parley.
"You heard me—scram, smamma, as they say in Italy. Or I'll sick my dress on you." I tugged just enough on the cord to raise the dress by a foot.
He looked at me like I was the swamp creature and split.
I turned back to the window and saw Bradley place his hand on Pauline's bare back as he pulled out her chair. The inflict-pain-and-hurt option it is, I muttered.
Bradley, oblivious to my presence, opened the restaurant door for Pauline as she made a triumphant exit.
She took one look at me and burst out laughing.
Bradley stepped away from the door and stopped dead in his tracks. I wasn't sure whether it was from the shock of seeing me or my dress.
"I've always questioned your taste in clothing, Franki," Pauline sneered. "But super-sized Shirley Temple? Really?"
Ignoring her taunt, I searched Bradley's face for a reaction. I saw nothing but surprise.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, still frozen in place.
"Actually, that's what I was going to ask you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I thought you had to work all weekend long."
"We are working," he insisted. "Pauline and I were just taking a break from the office."
I glanced at Pauline, who was staring stone-faced at Bradley. Apparently, she didn't view their dinner as a break from the office but rather as a break from me. "Some break," I said, "especially considering that you couldn't even spare fifteen minutes for me."
Bradley held out his hand. "Look, Franki—"
"I wonder," I interrupted, putting my hand to my cheek in mock reflection, "were the two of you discussing business when you spoon fed each other that crème brûlée?"
He looked at me with a blank stare. "Can I call you later so we can talk?"
Pauline shot daggers at Bradley and crossed her arms. "What are you waiting for?" she hissed. "Tell her!"
"Tell me what?" I asked, looking from Pauline to Bradley. Although I had a feeling I already knew the answer.
Bradley opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
"For crying out loud!" Pauline exclaimed, turning to face me. "You might as well know. I mean, it had to come out sooner or later." She put her hands on her hips. "Bradley and I have feelings for one another."
Bradley stood as still as a statue.
"Is that true, Bradley?" I asked softly. "Do you have feelings for her?"
He exhaled a long, slow breath and looked at the ground. "Yes."
I felt like a cannon ball had just been fired through my stomach, and I wanted to drop to my knees from the pain. But I stood firm. "And this is how I find out?" I demanded, my voice no longer anything even approaching soft. "You didn't have the decency to tell me in private?"
A couple stepped out of the restaurant and briefly looked at us before walking away.
"Oh, stop your sniveling," Pauline snapped. "You're causing a scene."
"Pauline," Bradley intervened, putting a hand on her arm.
She shrugged him off. "From the moment I met you, you've done nothing but drag Bradley down with your jealous antics—spying on him, breaking into his bank."
When she put it that way, even I had to admit that I sounded like a less-than-ideal girlfriend.
"It's time for you to face it," she continued, getting right in my face. "A man in his position needs to be with a woman of class and distinction, and not with—"
"That's enough, Pauline," Bradley interrupted, grabbing her roughly by both arms. "It's time to go."
"No, let her finish," I said with surprising calm. My eyes narrowed. "Go on, Pauline. And not with what?"
She sneered. "And not with a trashy Texan guidette like you."
The definition of guidette flashed before my eyes: n. (derived from 'Guido') A loud, promiscuous, overly made up Italian-American party girl from the North with a fake tan, a fake rack, and an all-too-real nose. And that's when I finally pulled the cord.
I dragged myself out of Jean Lafitte's and leaned against the wall. Glenda was nowhere to be found, and I was sorely tempted to drive home—to Houston, that is. Bra
dley and I were over, Veronica and I were on the outs, and my cases were at a standstill. Suddenly, living and working in New Orleans didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. But I knew what my mom would say to me if I showed up on her doorstep. "Francesca Lucia Amato, I did not raise you to be a quitter."
I sighed and dialed Glenda's number. As I waited for her to answer, I watched a parade float, designed to look like The Black Pearl, making its way down Bourbon Street.
"Ahoy thar, Miss Franki!" Glenda called.
I squinted at the float and saw her. She was standing up top in the crow's nest waving a spyglass.
"Wanna party on the poop deck?" she shouted.
I considered the prospect of going back to my apartment and spending the evening sulking about Bradley while being stalked by a killer. It didn't sound at all appealing.
I walked over to the massive float.
"Need a lift, lassie?" a pirate with a fake peg leg asked as he clung to a rope, extending his hand. "Long John Silver, at your service."
Why not? I thought as I let Long John lift me onto the ship. For tonight, at least, it was a pirate's life for me.
19
My eyes popped open. It was dark, and I wasn't in my bed. I was curled up in a fetal position inside a cramped space, and I felt like I'd been hit over the head. I held out my hand and touched the cool, slick side of my enclosure with a rising sense of panic. Had the killer knocked me out and dumped me in his bathtub?
No, wait. There was something furry beneath me, and the ceiling was way too close to my face. I sat up and looked around. And then I held out my arms for balance. I was inside Glenda's giant champagne glass.
It was bad enough to wake up with a hangover, but waking up in a glass was a new low.
I massaged my temples as the events of the previous night came flooding back to me. After weighing anchor with Glenda's merry band of men, we went to John Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop where I followed up my green fairy with a purple voodoo, courtesy of the swamp creature. Then I discovered that when you mix green and purple you get brown, so Glenda and the pirates took me home—by car, not by ship. When I drunkenly babbled that I was afraid to go inside because a killer was after me, Glenda hid me in her champagne glass while the pirates raided my apartment for my necessities—pajamas, a toothbrush, a jar of Nutella, and Napoleon.
Franki Amato Mysteries Box Set Page 47
