1 Limoncello Yellow

by Traci Andrighetti

  "Then why did she spray paint that Immacolata had been avenged on her tombstone?" I asked.

  Concetta stood up. "She was celebrating the fact that Angie was strangled with a scarf the same way that Stewart strangled Imma."

  As she spoke, I continued working my wrists, but I didn't seem to be making any headway. I desperately hoped that Veronica was making more progress.

  "Angelica hated cheap scarves and the color yellow," I said. "Is that why you chose the yellow-bordered polyester scarf?"

  Concetta smirked. "I wanted her to see yellow and feel cheap fabric on her skin as she was dying. I had to make sure that the last thought she ever had in her wretched life was that she was nothing but a two-bit coward, just like her dad."

  "What do you mean?" Veronica asked.

  Concetta's eyes opened wide in shock. "Isn't it obvious? Angie ran out on her best friend for money! Instead of paying her own way through school and trying to work her way up from the bottom, she did it all the easy way. She kept her mouth shut at the trial so she could get her education and her career bought and paid for."

  "And to get even with Stewart, you planted the bead from his bracelet at the scene of the crime," I said.

  Her eyes twinkled gleefully as she looked at me. "Yeah, and by the way, he was telling you the truth tonight when he said I'd stolen that bracelet from his apartment."

  Veronica gasped. "You were at the Carousel Bar? But we would have seen you in your habit!"

  I stared at Concetta, openmouthed. So Stewart had been telling the truth about the stalking too.

  She smiled condescendingly at Veronica and gave her a mock sad look, as though she were nothing but a pathetic fool. "I've been following the two of you since you took the case, genius. And I definitely know how to dress for the occasion. I was sitting on the couch right behind Stewart, with my back to him, and not a one of you was astute enough to see me."

  I was stunned. So she had been following me that day I saw her at CC's Community Coffee, and who knows where else. "But I don't understand why you would frame Stewart. Why didn't you kill him like you killed Angelica?"

  She rolled her eyes at my apparent ignorance. "Because Stewart is different than Angie. For him, there's actually a fate worse than death—rotting day after day, year after year in prison, cut off from his money and privilege and, most importantly, from women and partying. And since those imbeciles on the jury acquitted him of Imma's murder, I had to make sure there was another murder he would be found guilty of."

  Veronica shook her head and wrinkled her mouth in disgust. "How could you, an ordained nun, take another human life?"

  Concetta looked at Veronica, her lips curled in contempt. "You have no idea what it's like to lose a twin. After Imma was gone I felt lost without her, empty. At first I naively thought the Lord would fill me up. But then one day I finally realized that I couldn't faithfully serve a god who had allowed my sister to be murdered by a lowlife like Stewart Preston."

  Any shred of hope I'd had that she might spare Veronica and me was lost with that statement.

  "Plus, if you'd known Angie," Concetta continued, "you would have probably killed her too. She was something else, that one. I mean, take the night I strangled her. When I showed up at LaMarca with that scarf, I presented it to her as a gift. Being the bitch that she was, she ripped open the package, took one look at the scarf, and said it was ugly and tacky, just like me."

  Concetta stared at the floor for a moment, and then she began to laugh. "If you could have seen the horrified look on her face when she finally realized that I'd come there to strangle her with that scarf!" She cackled, tears streaming from her eyes as she slapped her knee. "Priceless!"

  I couldn't bear to listen to her laugh about the last moments of Jessica's life, particularly when Veronica and I were facing the last moments of our own. "So what are you going to do to us?" I asked.

  "Well, the first thing I'm going to do is search your cars for the video you got at Lenton's." She looked directly at me. "Yes, I followed you there too. Then I'll dispose of the disc and the skull bead, which I found in your nightstand. And tsk tsk, Franki. Such an obvious hiding place.

  I shot her a go-to-hell look.

  "After that, I'm going to go call the police and say that when I was driving through the area, I saw a masked intruder leaving your apartment. In theory, he would have exited through your bedroom window, Franki. The same one I broke to get into your little bordello here."

  "What excuse are you going to give them for being in the neighborhood?" Veronica asked.

  "I'll tell them I was coming to talk to the two of you since you were investigating the murder of my twin and her best friend." Then with a wicked grin she added, "And I can tell you this. The New Orleans PD doesn't usually question the motives of a nun. And if they did, thanks to my gloves here and this handy coif on my head, they certainly won't find my fingerprints or DNA in this whorehouse."

  Her gloating made me so angry and so frustrated that I alternated between wanting to cry and wanting to scream bloody murder. And it was becoming more apparent by the second that I was powerless to stop her. My hands were turning numb, and I was no closer to freeing them. And judging from the sick look on Veronica's face, she wasn't faring any better. The situation was looking pretty grim. In a last ditch effort to buy some time, I said, "You still haven't said what you're going to do with us."

  "Oh, that's because I like drama." She giggled.

  I held my breath in anticipation.

  Concetta suddenly struck a thoughtful pose, her index finger on her cheek. "One night I asked myself, 'What would be a fitting end for two busybody PIs who kept sticking their necks out to help that awful Ryan Hunter and that scumbag Stewart Preston?' Of course, whatever it was," she began with a wave of her hand, "it had to be symbolic. I mean, once a Catholic, always a Catholic, right?" She chuckled.

  Veronica snorted contemptuously.

  The smile quickly faded from Concetta's face, and she studied Veronica intently. After a moment, she resumed speaking. "The answer actually came to me in prayer," she explained. Then she placed the butcher knife on the counter, reached into the deep pocket of her habit and pulled out a dark red scarf. "Strangulation!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Concetta carefully wound the red scarf around each of her gloved hands and walked toward Veronica. A devilish smile spread across her face. "You first, Miss Private Chicks, Incorporated!"

  "Wait!" I shouted in a desperate attempt to stall. "Don't you want to tell us what the red scarf means? Otherwise, the symbolism will be lost on us."

  She rolled her eyes. "Well, if you read the bible, Franki, you'd know what it meant. But judging from this den of iniquity, it's pretty clear that you don't spend your leisure time perusing the word of the Lord."

  "I just haven't unpacked my bible yet," I mumbled. I mentally made a quick promise to God that I'd redecorate if he let me live.

  "Red is the color of Christ's blood," Concetta continued in a patronizing tone. "It symbolizes atonement for one's sins, so as you can see—"

  "How have we sinned?" Veronica interrupted, her eyes blazing with anger.

  Concetta spun around to face Veronica. "Oh, don't act so innocent! You've been aiding a murderer! Last time I checked, honey, that qualified as a sin."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move in the kitchen doorway. I turned my head and—to my complete astonishment—there stood Glenda. Although her thin, lined face was red with rage, and she was wearing an S&M outfit replete with a silver boa, she looked nothing short of a saving angel. In her hand, she was holding the tallest stripper shoe I'd ever seen.

  I watched in horror as, oblivious to Glenda, Concetta quickly wrapped the scarf around Veronica's neck, and my friend began thrashing in her chair.

  With the silent stealth of a ninja, Glenda snuck up behind Concetta and clubbed her in the back of the head with the shoe. There was a dull thud, and Concetta collapsed to the floor in a pool of bl
ack fabric, just like the Wicked Witch of the West.

  "Glenda?" Veronica croaked out with a wide-eyed stare, no doubt from the momentary lack of oxygen. "Is it really you?"

  Despite the fact that she'd just single-handedly knocked out a homicidal maniac with the shoe in her right hand, Glenda nevertheless held her signature cigarette holder in her left. "In the flesh, sugar."

  Judging from the S&M outfit she was wearing, I assumed she meant that literally.

  Glenda slipped the shoe back on her foot and turned to me. "I called the cops right before I let myself in. You girls all right?"

  "I think so," I replied. "Thank goodness you're here!"

  "You can say that again, Miss Franki. Now you two give me a minute while I take care of some rather unpleasant landlady business."

  I watched in a mixture of awe and amazement as Glenda made quick work of Concetta. Glenda put her cigarette holder in her mouth and removed her black leather garter belt, which was attached to partial black leather pant legs. First she detached the pant legs, and then she used the belt to tie Concetta's hands behind her back. Next, she used the garter straps to bind her feet to her hands. When she was done, Concetta looked like she was doing the yoga bow pose.

  Glenda stood up, adjusted her short, zippered black leather vest, and took a long drag from her cigarette. Then she put her cigarette holder on the counter and picked up the butcher knife. She walked over to Veronica and began cutting the ropes binding her hands.

  "How did you know we were in trouble?" I asked, still stunned.

  "Well, I was entertaining Guido," she began, "and he happened to glance out the window and see a nun pass by. Naturally, I got suspicious."

  "Makes sense to me." And somehow, it did. I had the feeling that there wasn't a big parade of nuns in and out of Glenda's place.

  Glenda nodded. "I would have come to check on you two sooner, but Guido was all in a panic. He started crossing himself and saying Hail Marys and Our Fathers like he was possessed."

  I stared at her, speechless, as usual.

  Veronica rubbed her wrists as Glenda freed her feet.

  When Glenda was done with Veronica, she walked over to the counter and took another drag off her cigarette. "And then Guido started going on and on about how what we were doing was a sin," she continued with an angrily exhaled puff of smoke. "So, of course I had to kick him out." As she walked over to begin cutting my binding, Glenda gave Veronica and me a knowing look. "I don't think I need to tell either of you ladies that a man who doesn't sin just isn't sexy."

  "Of course not," Veronica said.

  "Around that time I heard a scream," Glenda continued, "and that's when I knew that nosy nun was up to no good. So I came downstairs and found Napoleon outside—"

  "Is he all right?" I interrupted.

  "He's just fine, sugar," she soothed as she freed my hands. "He's in the pleasure palace."

  I had no idea what she meant by that, but I sincerely hoped she was talking about her apartment. "Oh, good."

  As Glenda knelt down to cut the rope from my ankles, I looked at Concetta and saw that she had begun to move her head from side to side.

  "She's coming to!" I exclaimed.

  Concetta raised her head and swore. "What the—?" Then she began rocking back and forth on her belly trying to break free. "Who did this to me?" she screamed, her right eye twitching.

  Glenda sighed and put down the knife after cutting the last of the rope around my ankles. Then her eyes narrowed to the size of two slits and, in a move that undoubtedly came straight from one of her stripteases, she crawled over to Concetta on all fours and leaned the front half of her body down so she could look her in the eye. "I did. Now, you keep your trap shut, sister, until the cops come and haul your unholy heinie away, or I'll be forced to club you again with my shoe. And while you're lying there all nice and quiet, you'd best start praying that you didn't scratch my Ginsu knife."

  Then she sat up, removed the boa from around her neck, and stuffed one end into Concetta's mouth.

  Concetta cast Glenda a wide-eyed look and then went limp.

  Knowing how much Glenda prided herself on her costumes, I said, "Glenda, you and your S&M outfit saved our lives."

  Glenda fluttered her false eyelashes and drew her hand to her chest. "Miss Franki, this is my biker stripper costume! I don't dress S&M. That's just not ladylike."

  I turned my head as I heard the familiar wail of police sirens in the distance.

  "Well it's about damn time the cops got here," Glenda said, rising to her feet. "I've got a reputation to protect, and I sure as hell don't want people to think I'm running a home for wayward nuns."

  * * *

  I took a sip of my double soy latte and leaned back in my desk chair, relishing the early morning silence of the empty office. I hadn't slept a wink after the events of the previous night. All I could think about was my family and how they were going to react to the news that I'd solved my first murder case. I half expected my parents to insist that I come home and fulfill my pre-ordained destiny to work in the deli. Of course, my nonna was going to tell me that I needed to use my newly honed investigative skills to get serious about finding a husband. I wondered what she would say if she knew that I'd actually found myself a husband—just one that belonged to someone else.

  The lobby bell sounded.

  I stood up and peered out my doorway. Veronica was walking up the hallway.

  "Good morning," I said, although it sounded strange after everything that had happened.

  "How do you feel today?" Veronica asked as I followed her into her office.

  I took a seat in front of her desk and noticed that she looked as tired as I did. "Other than rope burn on my wrists, I'm fine. How about you?"

  "Same," she said. "It kind of seems like it was all just a crazy, bad dream."

  "I wish it were."

  She toyed with a pen on her desk. "You know, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to resign after almost getting killed."

  I looked her straight in the eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. I knew that being a PI could be every bit as dangerous as being a cop. Besides, I've learned more after two weeks of working for you than I did the whole time I was on the force, and I've figured out something really important about myself too."

  "Oh?"

  I shifted in my seat. "This may sound kind of weird, but it has to do with what Concetta said when the police were taking her away."

  "You mean, when she kept screaming, 'What did I do to deserve losing my twin?'"

  "Exactly. Last night I was thinking about how she was looking at Immacolata's death from the wrong perspective. She thought that she'd done something to bring about Immacolata's death, when it's so obvious that it had absolutely nothing to do with her. I mean, she's not responsible for Stewart Preston's actions."

  Veronica raised her brow. "And so?"

  "It just got me thinking about myself and how I've been taking it for granted that the way men have treated me was my fault."

  Veronica stared at me, her face expressionless. "I'm not following."

  I sat up in my chair. "The cheating. I've been driving myself crazy trying to figure what it is about me that leads guys to cheat on me. But, like Concetta, I had it all wrong. It's not about me. It's about them and their own weaknesses. And you know something else?"

  "What?"

  "I'm not going to assume the responsibility for other people's bad decisions anymore."

  Veronica leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and smiled. "I'm so lucky to have you working for me."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because you're one smart cookie. And you're resilient too."

  I laughed, but inside I was basking in the praise. "Just the same, after last night I'm hoping we get nothing but a steady stream of insurance fraud and cheating spouse cases. That reminds me, did we ever hear back from Twyla Upton?"

  "Nope, not a word. But I did talk to Ryan Hunter. He was very grateful, and he apologized wh
en he heard that we were almost killed."

  "Well, that's nice of him and everything, but I'm glad to be done with that guy and with the whole Evans case."

  "I know," she said softly. "I just feel so bad for the Di Salvo family, especially Maria."

  I nodded. "Me too. Can you even imagine what she's going through? First Imma, then her husband, and now Concetta, the one who was supposed to be so good."

  "It's just awful."

  "Yeah, and all she has left now is Domenica. And you can bet that one is going to give her more trouble."

  "I really hope not," Veronica said.

  The front office door slammed shut.

  "David's here!" I grinned.

  He rushed into the room. "Are you guys—uh, ladies—okay?"

  "Yeah." I smiled. "I guess you heard what happened?"

  "Did I?" he asked. "Private Chicks, Inc. is all over the morning news!"

  "Really?" Veronica asked, her face lighting up. "Franki, turn on the TV."

  I stood up and switched on a small television set on top of Veronica's file cabinet. The first thing I saw was Glenda sidled up way too close to a local news reporter.

  "What in the world is Glenda doing?" Veronica exclaimed.

  "A lot of interviews," David replied. "I can't believe you didn't know. Everyone's talking about how a gutsy stripper saved two PIs from an evil nun."

  "Oh no." Veronica groaned and put her face in her hands. "Turn the sound down. I don't want to hear it."

  "Come on, it's not as bad as all that," I soothed as I turned down the volume. "You know the old saying, 'There's no such thing as bad publicity.' Plus," I said, glancing at the TV, "at least Glenda's dressed somewhat chastely for her interviews." And she was, that is, if you count the fact that the TV station had blurred out her royal blue velvet Prince pants—the ones with holes that fully expose the butt cheeks. There was also the little matter of a three-inch rhinestone choker around her neck that said, "VIXEN."