Bootscootin' and Cozy Cash Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-6)

by Scott, D. D.

  Not getting an additional response from Vitto from my brooch’s lifeline, I had just opened my mouth to ask the question again when Vitto’s voice came through my jeweled circuits.

  “AbP gave them the proof they needed to know whether or not I was alive.”

  “That proof being?”

  “AbP, or Antibody Profile, is a relatively new form of forensic evidence identification. It’s really rather wonderful.”

  “Like DNA-testing then?”

  “Same basic principle, although its test is complete in just a couple of hours, without any specialized equipment, and just a bodily fluids-soaked paper test strip scanned into a software database. You know pretty quickly that you’ve got your guy…or not.”

  “And I take it, from this piece of paper with your body double’s bodily fluids, Roman figured out you weren’t “the guy” dead in our arms.”

  “Yes. The test indicated the vic’s antibody profile did not match mine. No two creatures have the same antibody profile, not even twins. Their DNA may match, but not their antibody profiles.”

  I had to hand it to forensic science. Thanks to a body double — the poor chap — and test strips filled with his bodily fluid, we still had Vitto.

  “So where does that leave Ross?”

  Even though my future brother-in-law got on my nerves something fierce, I couldn’t stand the thought of people continuing to die around me.

  Again…momentary silence from my brooch.

  “I’m afraid the AbP testing system isn’t going to do much to prove Ross’ status.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Once you’ve been placed in a burn bag, there aren’t any bodily fluids left.”

  “What the hell’s a burn bag?” I asked, although just the sound of it seemed very, very bad.

  Vitto sighed, and his voice caught in his throat before he could continue with my CSI lesson.

  “There are some things too sensitive to simply shred life from. Those items are placed in a bag…and burned.”

  OMG! Ross was about to be burned alive!

  Chapter Twenty

  Twenty minutes later, while Roman was attempting to save his brother from coming home in an urn, me and Granny V were bonding at Le SirenMuse with cucumber slices over our eyes.

  But no cucumber could encumber my desire to get to the bottom of what all our latest cozy cash adventures meant.

  We’d gone from Hedge Fund Temptresses to scarves and silk straight from Gomorrah country, batik-printed with secret routing and account numbers, to probable death by limoncello, to fake deaths, to burn bags.

  In the mean time, as Vitto was now hiding out at Le SirenMuse too and had just gotten done asking for my opinion on the clothing Granny V had laid out for him, I’d gone from Hollywood styling to former dead guy styling.

  Peeking out from behind one of my cucumber slices, I marveled at how in love the two of them were after all the years that had come and gone between them.

  Roman had told me their story, but I had the feeling there was a bunch I didn’t yet know.

  No time like a cucumber facial to bring out the details.

  Plus, I had to have something to keep my mind off of Roman. Worried sick would have been a state of being much higher on the good life hierarchy than my current one.

  “How do you two do it?” I asked, feeling bad I’d interrupted a sweet kiss the two were stealing while they thought my eyes were still cucumber-bound.

  “How do you keep your love and your sanity while constantly living in a royal fishbowl and mafia-ville?”

  “It sure isn’t that easy, My Dear,” Granny V said, looking to Vitto for support and confirmation. “The sanity, well that comes from making unconditional love your top priority. The love of your soul mate and of the family you’ve created together.”

  “Well said, Darling,” Vitto said, his arm protectively draped around his bride of almost sixty years, forty of which they’d basically lived apart, running for their lives. “We know that us being figureheads is important, but there’s so much more to our crowns than that. We want to make a difference.”

  “Roman and Ross’ mother, our son Gianfranco’s wife, had a natural compassion and empathy, like Britain’s Lady Diana. She was a true People’s Princess, and she raised Roman to be our People’s Prince. Ross, well, you know, he still has a long way to go, but he does try,” Veruschka said, patting Vitto’s knees as she spoke.

  “Even though Roman’s mother, Graciella, had a wonderful influence on the boys, life in our palace and in our world was very complicated. Every move those two boys have made, from childhood tantrums to university, has been scrutinized and captured for the world to see,” Vitto explained.

  “But that’s what I don’t get. I’m a Hollywood Stylist to The Stars. I know my Red Carpet clientele. And I’d never heard of Roman, and actually hired Ross as my assistant, without a clue who they were. How could that be?”

  “Let’s just say, once the boys were at university, Vitto and I made, what would you call it dear, a “gentleman’s agreement”, if you will, with the European press. Our boys needed time to grieve, time to heal, and time to figure out their place in life and in our family.”

  “Well at least we’ve still got what’s left of our family,” Roman’s voice broke into our discussion, a welcome bit of joy sugar-coating his not-so-much of a fairytale childhood story.

  I watched the man I was truly beginning to adore, accompanied by his brother who I clearly was a long ways from adoring, enter the room with large smiles on their faces. Something, on its own, that was a rarity these days.

  Vitto and Granny V rushed to Ross, scooping him into their protective embrace.

  Vinnie made some obnoxiously appropriate snort signaling he wasn’t quite as overjoyed at Ross’ rescue.

  But our fat and happy swine friend was thrilled to see Roman who he lathered with his wet snout.

  “I hope you’re as happy to see me as Vinnie,” Roman said, looking at me with his boyish charm.

  If he was seeking out my joy at seeing his safe return, he was sooo gonna get it.

  I went to him, only thinking for about two seconds along the way, if that, whether or not I was going to hold onto him for awhile, then pulled him towards me. I could feel both my arms and my soul hanging on for a lifetime.

  “C’mon, Plum Puddin’,” he said, releasing me just long enough and far enough he could take my hand in his, “I’ve got some things I need to talk to you about.”

  “You…are going to talk…to me? Tell me things versus continue to keep me in the dark? This I gotta hear,” I said, following him wherever it was he wanted to lead.

  Vinnie followed too.

  Reaching the door to our suite’s master bath, I paused and looked at Roman, not sure I was ready for toilet talks. But, I figured, if that was the only way I’d get info out of him, I was willing to sit, next to my prince, on that throne too.

  Vinnie must have decided against being part of the potty chat. Instead, he curled up outside the bathroom door and groaned as he stretched out on the cold tile floors. Evidently, he thought we’d be awhile.

  Entering the suite’s bathroom, which really was the size of its own small apartment, Roman, still holding my hand, led us to the huge whirlpool bath and started the water.

  He opened the window creating a wall of sorts in front of the tub, leaving nothing but the breathtaking view of the sea and whichever tiny island dotted the horizon.

  Looking out through our little bathroom bubble, nothing but azure blue sea and leafy green tree-tops filled our portal to the world. Along with heavy clouds headed out into the bay.

  I sat on the edge of the tub, letting my bare feet absorb the reality-shaking coldness of the blue, hand-painted tiles covering both the floor and the wall into which the tub was recessed.

  I watched as Roman twisted-off the glass top of a gorgeous hand-blown bottle. He then poured the most fragrant oil I’d ever smelled into the stream of hot, steaming water.<
br />
  All I could take-in at the moment smelled of lavender, lemon and perhaps chamomile. Whatever it was, it was wonderful, and with the Le SirenMuse logo hand-stamped on the bottle, the delightful aphrodisiac-worthy oil was sure to have been made by the inn’s own perfumer.

  Truth told, I was definitely taking-in more than perfumed oil and sea views.

  I’d never seen my prince so serene, serious, and if I didn’t think it was impossible, perhaps even sad.

  Whatever it was he was about to tell me, I had a distinct feeling that perhaps even Quartermaster R was in the dark on this one. And I knew, from what Roman had previously shared with me, there was a ton of information about him that only R and I knew.

  “Why don’t you slip into the bath,” Roman suggested, handing me a super soft and plush white towel and matching robe.

  “Are you coming in too?” I had to ask.

  And yeah, I totally wasn’t sure if I wanted that or not. Okay. Yeah, right. Hello, Idiot, of course you want this. But are you ready for the consequences?

  What if our charade of high-powered, royal couple-dom suddenly isn’t a charade?

  Roman laughed that throaty, hot as hell, no-way-Baby chuckle. He held in safety mode a warm and inviting sound of both amusement and desire.

  “You don’t know how much I’d love to, Princess. But not quite yet,” he said, his espresso eyes no longer hiding the desire coating his laugh. “I’ll definitely take a rain check though.”

  My insides shivered and quivered at his compromise and promise of a rain check.

  I took the robe and went to change in the dressing area.

  When I came back, Roman was no longer seated on the ledge next to the tub. Probably for the best, I thought. And yes, with the thought, came a small pout and frown.

  But as I slipped into the steamy, silky smooth and fragrant water, focusing on the foam separating as my body submerged into its misty bliss, my prince appeared with wine glasses and a bottle of Le SirenMuse’s finest.

  “I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through these last couple months…because of me and my crazy family,” he said, pouring us each a glass of dark red wine.

  “If you only knew the kind of family I had, you probably wouldn’t feel so bad,” I said, laughing, not just because I was nervous as hell about what he was going to reveal, but also because my family truly included a bunch of certified nut-jobs.

  Roman smiled in a cute awe-shucks way I hadn’t seen before, pulling my heart and soul with him.

  “I’m not my family,” he said. “Well, I am. But I’m much more than that. And I’m going to prove it…to you. And to the world.”

  He toasted my wine glass to his.

  I was glad for the extra time to compose my response.

  “You don’t have to prove anything to the world. And certainly not to me.”

  “Yes, Zoey. I do.”

  He bowed his head and suddenly took great interest in the impossibly high thread count of the inn’s towels.

  “It’s tough to settle into a life when you know and rightfully fear that everyone in your world has an ulterior motive for being your friend,” he said, caressing a corner of a towel between his fingers.

  The contrast of the white towel against his Tuscan sun-kissed fingers seemed to mirror the opposing forces of light and dark in his life.

  “Tell me about your parents,” I said, knowing that if I were to ever understand his life, I had to know and understand his past.

  Either the steam from the hot bath was clouding his eyes or the memories of his childhood were. But I suspected, The House of Savoy’s future king was filled with a raw emotion he could no longer run or hide from.

  “My parents always had a feel for what was the right thing to do. That’s why they were genuinely loved, and for a short time, people were willing them to do well, and perhaps put an end to all the families’ wars.”

  I wanted to say something to ease his heart, but I feared if I interrupted him, he’d lose the courage to spill his pain. So, instead, I sipped my wine, soaked in the heady aromas of the oils in the water, and waited for him to break, knowing then, I’d be right there to help him pick-up the pieces.

  “I learned the royal ropes from my dad. But I learned to be a People’s Prince from my mom,” he said, pausing a moment to drink from his glass. “I thought with the tragedy of their deaths, maybe the mafia melodrama would end, and we could all focus on rebuilding our country within the confines of the law, and I could resume preparing for my monarchy-in-waiting.”

  “They were killed in a fiery car-crash, right?”

  Vitto and Granny V had given me the horrid details, but I wasn’t sure Roman would be okay with that, so I decided to let him tell me only what he wanted to for now.

  “Yes,” he answered while twisting a piece of towel so tight in his hands, his dark knuckles turned white. “All their love, fun and healthy helpings of the realities of being a royal went with them. But a part of them lived on within me.”

  “I think perhaps a lot larger part than you accept, but go ahead.”

  He briefly tilted his head, as if part of him knew that, while the other part of him refused to acknowledge it.

  And I understood and had a ton of empathy for his conflicting emotions.

  How could there have been time for love, fun and the good parts of royal life when they were constantly dodging bullets or worse?

  “If there’s to be a future king in me, I’ve got to right the wrongs done to my family and to generations of our people. I want to give my people a chance at their hopes and dreams, and restore the life that all this cozy cash has taken from them.”

  I hadn’t thought about it this way before, but Roman was right. It was the cozy cash, the huge piles and bank accounts full of it that, had in effect robbed these people of the quality of their lives, if not their lives themselves.

  “If we just hang in there and play this through, we can follow McCall and Raj’s money trail and put an end to the hardships of my people.”

  “Like the people I saw in Secondigliano?”

  Roman hung his head, shook it back and forth then looked-up at me with real tears, not steam this time, building in the corners of his eyes.

  Granny V had shown me photographs of Roman’s mother. And he sooo had her affectionate, full-of-hugs-and-kisses-to-give eyes. I’d just never seen that part of him ‘til now.

  “Yes…like the poor people of Secondigliano.”

  “Then let’s follow in your parents’ footsteps. Let’s see where all this cash leads,” I said, still scared out of my whittled, steam-softened wits what that meant. But because I now knew what this man stood for, I was more than ready to continue to stand-up beside him…as his fake wife or whatever else he needed me to be.

  “Are you sure about this? I don’t want you to stay this course if you’re not one hundred percent ready and willing. You can walk away, Zoey. I won’t think anything less of you.”

  “The only place I’m walking is down the aisle as your future queen,” I said, actually, for the first time, sure of my role in Roman’s life.

  Well…at least the role of fake wife and monarch.

  Roman took a huge breath, and for a moment, I saw a bit of his old, strong spunk re-enter his being.

  “Okay then. It’s onto the next part of my plan.”

  “Which is?”

  Oh boy, here’s where I’m sure I’d feel better not knowing the details.

  “Vitto and Granny V must get a divorce.”

  “What?!”

  I damn near jumped out of the tub. Thank the powers that be, I only got as far as the tops of my breasts bobbing like buoys on the water’s surface before remembering I had an audience.

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Roman said, his Bad Boy laugh once again hitting its stride.

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Just hand me a towel,” I demanded, feeling heat, not steamy water generated, flushing my cheeks.

  “How the hell are they going to
make a spectacle out of getting a divorce when people still think Vitto’s dead?!”

  “You’ll see. And damn do I like what I see.”

  I followed Roman’s eyes to my lower body where his high-class, royal terrycloth had temporarily gotten hung-up on my thigh instead of covering my nether regions.

  “If you don’t stop it, you’ll be the first Royal Highness to get divorced before you even get hitched.”

  Roman laughed and left the room with me hangin’ out of my bath towel.

  One would think, as a royal-in-the-making, they’d give you a bigger bath towel.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  An hour later, we were seated at a perfectly Neapolitan-quaint, table for four in Le SirenMuse’s Ristorante La Pelago.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the unforgettable atmosphere created by over four hundred candles that lit the room, or if it was the terrific cuisine made of fresh, local ingredients, or whether it was the wine — definitely could be the abundance of wine in my cup overfloweth — but divorce was looking quite doable and palatable.

  Granny V and Vitto’s divorce.

  Not mine.

  I wasn’t married yet.

  And damn if being a duchess wasn’t starting to agree with me.

  We dined on fresh fish, ripe tomatoes smothered in extra virgin olive oil, fresh cheeses, lots of vegetables and garlic, Mediterranean herbs and Amalfi Coast lemons on everything. And while we dined, Roman, Granny V, Vitto and I, with Vinnie at our feet, hatched out the next phase in our Cozy Cash Plan.

  As night closed-in on the bay, lights starting to turn-on in the villas climbing the seaside cliffs we were nestled within, we plotted and schemed how to find The Royal House of Savoy’s cash…then get it back.

  “So, let me get this straight,” I said, lifting my wine glass to salute my dinner companions, taking a wee bit of comfort as the room grew darker from nightfall but warmer by the light of the candles.

  I focused at first on the gorgeous candlelit arrangement of fresh cut flowers in the center of our table. That gave me the time I needed to choose my words carefully so as not to offend my future in-laws.