"Franki, is that your phone?" David asked.
I was so absorbed in the details of Glenda's outfit that I hadn't heard it ringing. "Oh, yeah, thanks." I walked into the hallway to take the call.
"Hello?"
"Francesca?" my mother asked in what was an unusually shrill voice, even for her. "This is your mother, dear."
"Yeah, hi, Mom." I felt the tension already rising in my chest.
"Your nonna just called your father and me at the deli and said that last night you and a stripper had a nun arrested. Is that true, dear? I know you haven't been entirely comfortable with your Catholicism, honey, but this is taking things too far!"
"Mom, that nun almost strangled Veronica and me," I explained. "She was the one who murdered Jessica Evans."
"What?" she exclaimed. "Well, almost getting killed by a nun is big news, Francesca. Why didn't you call us?"
"Mom, I really wasn't in the mood to chat after it happened. And I had no idea it would be on the news, especially in Texas. I was going to call you guys tonight to tell you all about it. But how come nonna called you and didn't call me?"
"She wanted to let us know that she was going straight to Saint Mary's."
"Why did she go to church?"
"To pray for your salvation, dear. She says it's a very serious sin to have a nun sent to jail."
Naturally, I thought. Just wait until she hears that I've broken up with Guido too. "Listen, Mom, I'm at work, so I'll call you tonight, okay?"
"Wait a second, Francesca. Your father has something he wants to say to you."
I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach.
"Franki," he began with a note of surprise in his voice, "Mr. Giangiulio just told me you solved that murder case."
"I had some help from Veronica and David."
"Well, I'm glad that you're okay," he said.
I held my breath and waited for the inevitable but.
"And I wanted you to know that I'm proud of you, Franki," he continued in a soft, almost embarrassed voice. "Real proud."
My eyes opened wide, and I felt a rush of warmth in my chest.
"Thanks, Dad," I breathed. "That means a lot."
"Now you be careful out there, Franki," he said, switching to his usual gruff tone. "And come home for a visit soon."
I smiled. "I will, Dad. I promise."
I closed the call and walked back into Veronica's office.
She looked up from her notepad. "Is everything okay?"
"My Dad just told me he's proud of me."
"So, do you think he's finally starting to see the light?"
I flashed a sardonic smile. "Well, I wouldn't go that far. But it's a start."
The office phone rang.
"Private Chicks, Incorporated," Veronica answered in her professional voice. "If you give us the time, we'll solve your crime. What can I help you with?"
I watched as she scribbled some notes on a scrap of paper.
"We can definitely handle that," Veronica replied to the caller. "How did you hear about us? Oh, on TV this morning." She glanced up at me. "How about today at two o'clock? Perfect."
After she hung up, I said, "I hate to say I told you so…"
She smirked. "No you don't."
The office phone rang again at the same time the bell in the lobby sounded. Veronica and I exchanged a look.
I rose to my feet. "It looks like Private Chicks, Inc. is finally on the map."
When I arrived in the lobby, I found an animated Twyla Upton, who, staying faithful to her beloved citrus family, looked like a giant lime in her green sack dress.
"Oh, Franki," she said, her hands clasped together in front of her face. "The case is solved!"
"Wait, you're not talking about the Evans case, are you?"
Twyla gasped and put her hand—with lime green–lacquered fingernails—to her orange-painted mouth. "Did poor Mrs. Evans think her husband was cheating too?"
I smiled. "No, Twyla. I was just confused."
"Oh good!" She was visibly relieved. "I just came to tell you that my Harry wasn't betraying my honor with that delightful woman in your pictures."
"Really?" I would have bet all the toupees in Hollywood that Harry was being unfaithful.
"Ye-es," she replied in two distinct syllables. "That woman is one of the best interior designers in all of Louisiana, and she's been helping Harry with the plans to redecorate a charming little mansion he's going to buy me for our upcoming anniversary."
"Well, that's terrific news," I said, truly thrilled for Twyla.
"So, I came to invite you all to Brennan's for a celebratory brunch. The head chef has agreed to open the restaurant early today just for us."
"You're kidding!" I instantly imagined a meal of bananas foster and more bananas foster. "We would love to, Twyla. Let me go and get Veronica off the phone."
"You take your time," she drawled. "I'll meet you all there when you're ready. Toodles!" she waved as she slipped out the door.
Veronica was just hanging up the phone when I entered her office.
"That was another client!" She clapped her hands. "We have three new cases."
I leaned against the doorjamb. "All thanks to TV?"
"Yes, every single one of them mentioned Glenda."
"Then maybe you should hire her," I said half seriously. "Apparently, she's a natural-born marketer, and she's got some mean self-defense skills. While you're at it, you might want to put Mambo Odette on the payroll. I mean, she had the answers to the Evans case all along."
"Now, I wouldn't go that far," Veronica said. "Who was in the lobby?"
"Twyla. She's taking us all to brunch."
"What? I can't leave now! I might miss a call from a new client."
"Whoever calls will leave a message," I said. "I mean, who would hire a regular PI when they could hire two PIs who were saved from a nun by a stripper?"
Veronica shot me a look. "What's the occasion for the brunch?"
"Turns out we were wrong about Harry. He wasn't cheating with the brunette, after all."
"Well, that's good news."
"It is. And Twyla's waiting for us, so we've got to get going."
"Okay," she said, her brows furrowed.
"Don't worry, we're going to have plenty of business after this case."
Veronica looked at me, a smile spreading across her face. "We are, aren't we?"
"Um, yeah! So let's take the time to properly celebrate the end of our first big case before we dive into all these new ones."
"Great idea." She smiled, rising to her feet.
As Veronica and I entered the lobby, I said, "Come on, David. You're going to that brunch too."
He spun around in his desk chair. "Aaaawwwesome!"
Of course, my phone chose that moment to ring. I whispered a silent prayer that it wasn't my nonna before looking at the display. "It's Bradley," I said. I bit my lower lip. "Hang on, I'm going to take this in my office." I hurried down the hall and answered, "Hello?"
"Franki, this is Bradley."
"I know," I said flatly.
"Listen, I'm calling on business. Do you have a minute?"
"Business?" I repeated, taken aback. "Did you see us on TV this morning too?"
"No, you were on TV?" He sounded surprised.
"Not exactly," I replied vaguely. "So what's this about?"
"I need to hire you to investigate an important case. It's about a woman I met."
"If this is about that scantily dressed Mardi Gras queen I saw you with on Bourbon Street, then you can just take your business somewhere else," I huffed.
Bradley paused. "You mean, Sheilah."
"That was Sheilah?" I hated her even more.
"Yes." He sighed. "Sheilah came by the bank after hours. Because it was dark out, I offered to walk her to a party she was attending that evening."
"Fab," I said, ignoring the way my stomach clenched every time he said the word "Sheilah." "So what does this have to do with me?"
&nbs
p; Bradley paused. "I get the feeling you have the wrong impression about me."
"I doubt that," I muttered, remembering my earlier revelation.
"Look, it's true that Sheilah and I are married—" he started.
"No kidding."
"—and will be for about three more weeks."
I blinked at the phone. "Come again?"
"That's how long it will take those final papers Sheila came by the bank to sign the other night to go through the courts."
I felt my jaw shut with an audible click. "Oh. Divorce." The word had never sounded so sweet.
"I swear I wanted to tell you, Franki, but I was under a gag order until now. Sheilah didn’t want her name muddied with rumors of divorce until we worked out all the details. The truth is, we got married too young," Bradley explained, "mainly because our families were close. We wanted to end it almost immediately, but then her mother got sick, and after that her father's business fell apart. So, we waited. In the meantime, I left Boston to kickstart my career, so the divorce delays weren't a huge issue. All of that changed, though, when I met the woman I mentioned here in New Orleans."
I pulled up a chair. This case was really starting to pique my interest. "So, this woman…what can you tell me about her?"
"She's a knockout private investigator with a mean right hook," he replied. "I'm crazy about her, but she's not talking to me. I need you to do some investigating to find out whether I still have a chance with her."
I smiled from ear to ear. "Wow, this sounds like an exciting assignment. Too bad Veronica and I are already booked for the next month."
"The whole month, huh?" he asked in a playful tone.
"Yeah, but since the situation is obviously urgent, I suppose I could have you over for dinner tonight at, say, sevenish to discuss the details?"
"I'll be there," he said seriously.
"I look forward to it," I said as I hung up the phone. And boy did I.
* * *
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About the Author
Traci Andrighetti is a writer, literary translator and Italophile. If she's not working, Traci is probably watching reality TV, eating Tex Mex or sampling fruity cocktails, and maybe all at the same time. She lives in Austin with her husband, young son (who desperately wants to be in one of her books), and three treat-addicted dogs.
To learn more about Traci Andrighetti, visit her online at
traciandrighetti.com
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