Royal Digs

by Scott, D. D.

  THE ROYAL DIGS

  (Cozy Cash Mystery #4)

  By D. D. Scott

  Bonus Material Included:

  VESUVIUS

  (A Prequel to THE ROYAL DIGS)

  An Excerpt of

  THE BILLIONAIRES’ CHRISTMAS CLUB

  (Co-Authored with Theresa Ragan)

  Copyright © 2012 by D. D. Scott. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

  First Electronic Edition: October 2012

  Smashwords Edition

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  VESUVIUS

  THE ROYAL DIGS

  CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  NOTE FROM D. D. SCOTT

  WHAT’S COMING SOON FROM D. D. SCOTT

  THE BILLIONAIRES’ CHRISTMAS CLUB

  CHAPTER ONE

  ABOUT D. D. SCOTT

  BOOKS BY D. D. SCOTT

  VESUVIUS

  (Prequel to Cozy Cash Mystery #4 - The Royal Digs)

  (Quartermaster R’s story)

  Standing in the Museo di Capodimonte, Valerie Malloy studied the many interpretations of Vesuvius’ eruption. It wasn’t just the volcanic activity that burst from the canvases. It was the color play and emotion-filled lines that captured the explosive vitality of Naples.

  Just like the artists she admired, Valerie understood the mysteries of the city and the beauty that the violence of the eruptions had carved into its bay. And as if she were in Homer’s Odyssey sailing home from the Trojan War, she struggled to escape the deadly songs of the Sirens.

  Like the young aristocrats of 18th century England, she first came to Naples for The Grand Tour upon her graduation from Harvard. Not only did she explore her classical past, she also met the man who forever changed her future.

  The devastation of Vesuvius was no match for the pain she’d endured at the hands of Giotto Bernini.

  As her mind bent towards his memories, cold chills claimed not just her body but also her soul.

  It was almost as if he were once more present and watching her, a feat she reasoned impossible. But was it? With his abilities and his family’s vast resources, she knew better than to disregard his power.

  In hopes that the warmth of the Italian sunshine would calm her unsettled spirit, she rushed out of the museum. But the air still held the same restless currents as earlier in the day. And there was certainly nothing soothing about the dark sky hinting at the approach of a fierce storm.

  As the winds began to blow, she hurried home.

  Reaching the ancient stone walls that guarded her villa just as the first rain drops splattered the dirt road, she pushed hard against the rusted iron gate that lead to the safety of her courtyard.

  As she struggled to close it, the bougainvillea blanketing the wall danced a wild jig. Her lemon trees bent and twisted to their own wicked groove. And torrential rains beat down on everything in their path.

  When she was almost safe at her doorstep, a small boy whizzed to a halt on his Vespa only inches from the gate. The wild-eyed street urchin jumped from his bike, waved his arms, and frantically called out to her.

  “Bella! Bella!”

  Not expecting any messages and leery of these urchins, she was tempted to ignore the boy. ‘Course these days, she ignored almost everyone. She simply couldn’t take those kinds of risks.

  Giotto had eliminated most of her family and friends, and so as not to put anyone else in his family’s or associates’ paths, she socialized with few.

  But something in the boy’s urgency made her acknowledge him.

  “Scusilo?” He asked while hurrying through the gate.

  Taking a small piece of parchment out of his pocket, he placed it in her hand, then high-tailed it back to his bike and sped off through the storm.

  She brushed her fingers across the back of the way-too-familiar embossed seal and trembled.

  This could not be true.

  Five years had passed. And nothing. No contact. No unfortunate accidents. Nothing but peace.

  She closed the heavy wooden door to her villa and carefully opened the note.

  She gasped. Screamed towards the heavens, then dropped the note and crumpled into a heap on the cold mosaic tiles of her entryway.

  She remembered a crack of lightning followed by a horrific boom of thunder. And then her world went black.

  • • •

  Focusing on the candlelight and the crackling fire that illuminated the otherwise dark room, Valerie struggled to comprehend what was happening.

  It had to be a bad dream. It simply had to be, she thought. She refused to believe otherwise. But after Giotto’s death at the hands of the Italian police, nightmares of this magnitude had no longer plagued her sleep. So why now? Why had they returned?

  Five years ago, on a stormy night, not much different than this one, while the police raided one of Giotto’s illegitimate storefronts, Valerie walked away from her life as a mob wife. She was pregnant and alone. But with the help of the Italian and American governments, she was determined never to look back.

  The storm continued to cast its power over the Italian countryside while she struggled to reconcile what was happening now with what she thought she’d left behind. Ferocious winds tore the curtains away from the open windows and fed a chilling dampness in the air swirling around her. The rain added its own steady cadence to the soft Neapolitan music that filled her ears.

  This couldn’t be happening. No, she thought, twisting and turning till she’d escaped the confines of her sheets. Even though she could feel the rain coming in through the window and landing on her forehead, she was too afraid to face the possibilities her mind presented.

  That music. Please. Please, make it stop.

  The same melody had filled the piazza the night she first met him. She had been counting lira to purchase an exquisite coral necklace. With a smooth exchange of few words but no lira, a dark, devastatingly handsome stranger, introduced to her as Giotto, secured the pendant around her neck.

  That night, she thought he was a part of the heroic charm of the city. But she soon learned that he was the prince of its most sinister slums.

  Giotto Bernini controlled everything and everyone in Naples. Then, he’d taken his empire to a global scale. By trading high-end derivatives for international banks and private investors, he’d amassed an unparalleled fortune and the power that came with that kind of unmatched wealth. People feared him, and they had every reason to be afraid.

  Letting go of her way too fresh memories, she tried to right herself in her bed but was held back by strong, masculine hands she remembered well.

  Focusing on the dark shadow that hovered over her, she began to trace the outline of the man who would never vacate the dar
kest recesses of her mind.

  “It can’t be. No. You’re gone,” she whispered.

  “Did you really think I’d die before seeing to your demise?”

  Giotto caressed her face then ran his fingers along the edge of a nightgown she had no knowledge of putting on.

  “Bastard! Don’t you touch me!”

  She tried to push him away but could not match his strength.

  “How did you find me?” She asked, even though she knew, for a man like him, it would not have been too difficult.

  “I know all of your favorite places to hide.”

  Though fear had paralyzed her body, her mind remained sharp.

  “Isn’t it enough that you’ve killed everyone I ever loved?”

  “I used to think so.”

  “Then what changed your mind?” Even though the answer terrified her, she had to know the truth.

  “I think you already know.”

  As the sharp white gleam of a lightning bolt back-lit his body, she released a small scream.

  “No. It can’t be. I’ve done everything to protect him. You couldn’t have found him. Not Raulf. Not my baby.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘our baby’?” Giotto’s thunderous voice boomed throughout the room. “How dare you keep him from me. The heir to my legacy.”

  “Giotto...”

  She tried to speak, but her attempt was met with the palm of his hand striking her cheek. Remembering all too well the feel of that sharp snap, she shook.

  “You’ll pay, Valerie,” he seethed. “No one deceives me once, let alone twice.”

  As the tears she’d held inside for years fell from her eyes, she took shallow breaths. After seeing him once more in the flesh, the sting of the skin on her cheek was nothing compared to the arrows of sheer terror that punctured her heart.

  For the last five years, she had kept Raulf hidden from his father. She’d done everything she could to keep him from harm, all the while knowing that if Giotto was still alive, he’d eventually return to claim what, in his mind, was his alone...their son.

  “Where is he?”

  With all the resolve and faith she still held onto, Valerie laughed.

  “You must be out of your fucking mind to think I’d tell you that.”

  She clenched her teeth then spit at him.

  “I’ll die first,” she said, willing to do whatever it took to protect her son.

  Giotto raised one fist high into the air and grabbed her throat.

  She closed her eyes and prayed to Saint Christopher that she and Raulf would be safe in their future journeys. She thanked her heavenly father that she, and not her son, had met Giotto’s final wrath. With a last ‘amen’, she reached one hand under her pillow and tightly grasped the cold metal handle of the knife she always kept there.

  Just as she began to feel her spirit leave her body, the sound of a powerful explosion catapulted her back against the wrought iron headboard.

  Giotto released his hold on her throat. His body lunged forward and then crumpled backward to the floor.

  She recognized the smell of a fired pistol. Whispy swirls of smoke drifted in front of her. Her gown was wet, spattered with Giotto’s blood.

  Coughing and choking as air rushed back into her lungs, she heard the sound of metal hitting wood and saw her silver revolver lying on the floor.

  She reached for the folded parchment the street urchin had given her which was on her bedside table. She crushed it between her blood-stained hands and threw it into the flames of the hearth.

  Stepping over Giotto’s body, she reached inside the hidden compartment underneath the false bottom of the drawer in her night table.

  Thank God it was still there, she thought. He hadn’t found the other thing he was looking for.

  She removed the gilded key she hoped to someday use then reached for her son’s still shaking hands.

  Together, they left Giotto’s body where it had fallen and went downstairs so she could place a much-anticipated call to The Consulate in Rome.

  THE ROYAL DIGS

  (Cozy Cash Mystery #4)

  CHAPTER ONE

  “So you see, my dear, not everyone has a laugh my ass off past,” Bunny Winston said, in between two elegant sips of her Mojito. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t devote their life to making sure the rest of us do.”

  Her words settled into my mind and then my soul.

  This was truly a rare occasion, one in which I was rendered speechless. I honestly didn’t know what to say.

  Bunny Winston, our Quartermaster R’s half-sister, had provided my first glimpse into R’s past. And damn it if it wasn’t another mob family documentary.

  No wonder R never feared the evils he and my Prince Roman were forever seeking to destroy. Just like Roman and his brother Ross, R had been born into a danger-filled realm, a world of wealth, power and horrific acts committed to either maintain or increase both.

  “Now then, about my missing painting...” Bunny began, but stopped mid-sentence and whipped out her spyglass.

  It certainly didn’t appear to be a pirate ship she was checking out. Coming straight at us, across the sandy beach that wasn’t the best surface for her fabulous heels, was the most glamorous Queen I’d ever seen. And no...not another Queen like my grandmother-in-law, Queen Veruschka of King Vito’s Italy. This was a Key West-style Queen...as in Drag Queen.

  “Clitopatra, I’d like you to meet our newest family member, Zoey Witherspoon. Zoey, this is Clitopatra, My one of a kind sister and R’s other half-sister.”

  Feeling the ice cold chill and burn of pina colada heading down the wrong hatch in my throat, I began to choke.

  “Nice to meet you...Clitopatra,” I managed to get out, still choking on my cocktail.

  “The pleasure is all mine, doll face. And my Gawd, you do have the face of doll. What a stunning complexion. You must tell me what you use.”

  Forget talking face creams, I couldn’t get past Clitopatra’s name and fabulous costuming. I know Queens choose outrageous stage names to match their personas. And most of those personae tend to be on the raunchy side. But the Queens I know back in L.A., like Gina Flowers, Va Jay Jay and RuBalls had nothin’ on Clitopatra.

  For a moment, I figured Hollywood’s Liz & Dick producers, who recently turned Lindsay Lohan into Elizabeth Taylor’s Cleopatra, must have consulted Clitopatra.

  From the past-the-shoulders-length black wig, perfect in its boxy bliss, to the dark cat-like eyeliner and jewels along with the empire-cut, ethereal, butter cream-colored gown, Clitopatra looked like she’d been resurrected from the tomb.

  No one had ever made the Egyptian Queen this gorgeous and glam.

  “Is she hard of hearing?” Clitopatra practically screamed at Bunny then coughed a vicious fit.

  I flinched. So much for my Oscar-winning costume design awe. Clitopatra’s booming deep voice and ragged coughs had shaken me right out of my red carpet wonderland.

  “Hard of hearing? Not that I know of. And she’s never this quiet.”

  Bunny raised her glass to mine with that ornery smile of hers no one could resist joining forces with.

  “Sorry, Girls. Got some pineapple wedged in my throat,” I said.

  “No worries. I can talk about stuff caught in your throat all day long, Girlfriend.”

  “Behave, Clito. Do you want your usual?” Bunny scolded and asked, while a cabana boy made his rounds.

  “Sex on the Beach. Oh yeah. I’ll have that with that hottie anytime.”

  “I think I’ll have another colada too. Double the rum, please,” I said.

  There were days when I still couldn’t believe I’d gone from Zoey Witherspoon, Stylist to The Stars, to an Italian Mob Princess. And today definitely started out as one of them. But each day that I met a new member of my husband’s royal family, those were the days my adventure went from unbelievable to damn near delusional.

  A Godfather in drag? Can you imagine? And nope. It wasn’t too much sun or alcohol. Just
hangin’ with my in-laws.

  “So what’s the word on the street about our painting?” Clito asked while also memorizing every ounce of flesh on our cabana boy’s Speedo-clad ass.

  “I was just starting to fill-in Zoey on that matter,” Bunny began, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. “The painting is gone, but R has a hunch on where we should begin to look for it.”

  “I can’t believe someone would want that crappy painting. It’s of a dolphin for cripe’s sake. It’s worse than one of those velour pieces of junk you can buy out of a van on a corner,” Clito said, waving her arms in front of her nose as if the painting smelled as bad as it looked.

  “Well, the dolphin is a sailor’s sign for luck,” I offered, thinking surely it couldn’t be that bad.

  “If it wasn’t for what was hidden in the backing, it would be good luck that it’s gone,” Clito said, reveling in her disdain for the piece.

  Her deep, throaty laugh was contagious enough that everyone who heard it was now turned toward our cabana.

  “Unfortunately, though, that was where we kept the key,” Bunny said, stirring her drink with the sparkling gold coin topped stir stick the bartender had added to her drink.

  “The key from R’s past? The same one his mother had in the story you told me?” I asked.

  “That’s the one,” Bunny confirmed.

  “What does it unlock?”

  Since I was the new kid in this crazy family, I wasn’t sure they’d tell me, but I had to ask. I had a hunch all of our futures depended on it.