Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) (31 page)

"
I'm sorry to call you so early, but I've got back-to-back meetings again today, and I wanted to catch you before they got underway. Do you have a minute?"

"
I suppose." This time I feigned an indifference I definitely didn't feel. Even after finding out about his wife, my mind couldn't help replaying the kiss-to-end-all-kisses.

"
I tried to call you last night, but I guess you were out?"

"
Uh-huh," I said truthfully. After all, I
was
out, just not the kind of out he was thinking.

"
Listen, I've been thinking about what happened the other night, and I realized that I came on a little strong with that kiss. So I want to apologize if I was, uh, forward."

I
bit my lip. If only it were as simple as a kiss.

"
Anyway," he continued, "I know it's short notice, but I have two tickets to the opening night of
Jersey Boys
tonight. I was hoping you would do me the honor of going with me. I promise I'll behave like a perfect gentleman."

There were no words to express how much I did
not
want to turn down a date with Bradley, especially when he was being surprisingly sweet and respectful. And when I was already wearing the perfect Jersey-style outfit for the occasion. But after everything I'd been through with Todd and then Vince, I just couldn't go from being cheated on to being a cheater. I didn't want to hurt another woman, not even Sheilah. So, I had to draw the line firmly in the sand. With a heavy heart and a sick stomach, I replied, "I'm sorry, Bradley, but I don't date married men."

There was a deafening silence on the other end of the line
followed by what sounded like a sharp intake of breath.

"
I was planning on talking to you about that after we—"

"
So it's true?" I interrupted.

He paused.
"I can explain…"

That was exactly what
Vince had said. I felt a well of tears in my eyes and a sudden surge of anger. "I don't need your explanation, Bradley. It's all quite clear, thank you very much."

"
Franki, it's complicated…"

I gave a bit
ter laugh. "Another tried and true cliché."

He let out a long sigh.
"Will you please just hear me out?"

"
No, because there's nothing more to say except that I don't ever want to see you again." I ended the call and then stared at the phone before throwing it into my purse.

Veronica looked at
me. "This guy really got to you, didn't he?"

I nodded.

"I'll take you home," she said, grabbing her keys from her purse.

"
No." I placed my hand on her arm to prevent her from starting the ignition. "I came here this morning to do a job, and I'm going to do it."

"
I know, but I can handle this one on my own."

I shook my head.
"I can't keep getting sidelined by unfaithful men, Veronica. The plan was to start over in New Orleans, and that's what I'm going to do. Life is just going to be a little different than I thought."

She cocked an eyebrow.
"How so?"

"
Well," I said, opening my car door, "instead of getting a guy, I'm going to get…cats."

Veronica smirked.
"I think Napoleon will strongly object to you becoming a cat lady."

"
True." I glanced at the Barbie car. "Okay then, I'll start a dismembered doll collection."

* * *

"This is taking way too long," I complained for at least the tenth time. After going through a rigorous security screening and a meticulous administrative process complete with a semi-interrogation about the purpose of our visit and a stack of paperwork almost as high as my Jessica Simpson heels, we had finally been taken to a small room to wait for Domenica.

"
Welcome to the life of a criminal attorney," Veronica said. "It shouldn't be too much longer now."

"
I certainly hope not. I can actually feel myself rotting away in this jail."

"
It's not like you're locked up in a cell," Veronica chided. "Besides, just be glad you're not at the police department in New Orleans. This place is a palace in comparison."

"
Well, it's better than I expected." I surveyed the room. Everything about the Slidell jail was surprisingly clean and well kept, from the freshly mowed lawn out front to the sparkling tile floors inside. It looked nothing like the seedy pictures of the New Orleans jailhouse that I'd seen in the tabloids following the much-publicized arrests of Nicholas Cage and Russell Brand.

Veronica stood up as the door opened. Domenica entered the room followed by a tall brunette female police officer with a Miss America smile. Instead of her customary basic black, the Darling of the Dead was outfitted entirely in tangerine courtesy of the Slidell PD.

"I'll be back for her in fifteen or so," the officer said, flashing her pearly whites. She retreated quietly, closing the door behind her.

"
To what do I owe the pleasure?" Domenica asked in a bored monotone voice as she took a seat at the table.

"
We're here to ask you some follow-up questions. You know, in light of your recent arrest?" I replied.

"
Is this even legal?" Domenica cast daggers at me with her eyes. "I mean, I'm in
jail
. So how is it, exactly, that the two of you can just cruise in here and interrogate me?"

"
I'm a criminal defense attorney," Veronica explained.

Domenica scrutinized Veronica for a moment.
"So, are you here to defend me, or something?"
              Veronica looked down at the table. "No, I'm not." Then she looked Domenica in the eyes. "But I've been informed of the charges against you, so I can provide you with free legal advice in exchange for your answers to a few questions."

Domenica looked from Veronica to me.
"You people are incredible." Then a lengthy silence ensued that included several pensive flicks of her tongue piercing. "So, what is it you're so desperate to ask me?"

"
Well, for starters," I began, "we'd like to know if you had anything to do with the murder of the cemetery caretaker."

"
I had nothing to do with that, understand?" She had a menacing look in her eyes. "I've never even seen that guy before."

"
But you admit that you were a frequent visitor to the Slidell cemetery, right?" I asked.

"
Sure," she replied as though hanging out in cemeteries was as natural as hanging out at the mall.

Veronica looked at Domenica long and hard.
"You know, I actually don't believe that you had anything to do with Henry Withers' death, but I may be in the minority on that count. So if you know something, even if it's just secondhand gossip, then I'd advise you to tell the police with your attorney present."

Domenica stared insolently at her without responding.

"Because if you don't," Veronica continued, "there's a strong chance based on your goth appearance, your defiant attitude, and this grave-defacing charge that you'll go down with your friends for first degree murder, a charge that carries the death penalty in the state of Louisiana."

Although Domenica was trying to maintain her devil-may-care demeanor, this time I saw her flinch.
"That's profiling."

"
Is it?" I interjected. "Or is it just reality? Because I'm an ex-cop, so I can tell you from experience that the police will be a
whole
lot more inclined to believe that someone like you murdered a cemetery caretaker than someone like my partner here." I gestured toward Veronica.

Domenica shot me a look of pure hate. Then she studied her hands and began picking the black nail polish off one of her fingernails.

"Now," Veronica said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat, "why don't you tell us about this grave dancing business?"

"
What about it?" Domenica asked through clenched teeth.

"
You
do
understand that most people find the notion of dancing on a grave to be bizarre?" I asked.

"
That's their problem." She began slowly smoothing her long black bangs over her eyes.

"
Can you tell us why you do it?" Veronica asked.

"
Look, it's not a big deal, all right?" Domenica crossed her arms. "My friends and I think death is cool. It's a part of life, you know? So we dance on graves to celebrate it."

I gave an involuntary shudder. I could think of
plenty
of ways to celebrate life, and none of them included cemeteries.

"
It's not like we're doing anything bad," Domenica added.

"
But you
did
do something illegal," Veronica corrected. "The arresting officer said that you spray-painted a word on a gravestone, but he wasn't sure if it was foreign or just misspelled."

"
What did you write?" I asked.

Domenica hesitated.
"
Vendicata
."

I straightened in my chair.
"The Italian word?"

She nodded and looked back at her nails.

Veronica and I exchanged a look. "
Vendicata
" meant "avenged," and the "a" ending indicated that the person who was avenged was a woman.

I instantly thought of Immacolata.
"Whose tombstone did you write this on?"

"
Imma's," she replied, deadpan.

The room was so silent, you could have heard a proverbial pin drop as Veronica and I tried to process this unexpected revelation.

After a few moments, I cleared my throat. "Can you explain what you meant when you used the word?"

Domenica shook her head and looked at the ceiling.
"I think it's pretty self-explanatory."

"
Actually, it's not," I said. "Here's why: It doesn't indicate who did the avenging."

Right then the door burst open, and the brunette officer flashed another pageant-winning smile.
"It's time to go."

Domenica stood up, and I saw a smirk form at the corners of her mouth. Then she looked at me and Veronica.
"Well, I guess that's what you two hotshot PIs have been hired to find out, now isn't it?"

As I watched Domenica leave the room, I pondered the ramifications of her use of the word
vendicata
. And I wondered whether someone with such a positive perspective of death would find it easy to take a human life.

"
Good news," Veronica announced in the doorway of my office. "You're off the hook."

I looked up from the jumbo-sized bag of beignets I was in the process of devouring, instantly consumed by Catholic guilt for whatever I
'd undoubtedly done wrong. "For what?" I coughed as I accidentally inhaled a mouthful—make that a throat full—of powdered sugar.

"
I just got off the phone with Ed Orlansky, and he reluctantly agreed to let me screen the video this afternoon."

"
What?" I saw a puff of powdered sugar come from my mouth. "And miss a chance to work late with you tonight?"

"
I told him about the stakeout and said that if I couldn't come within the next hour, I was going to have to cancel." She beamed, clearly satisfied with her cleverness.

"
That explains it," I said turning back to my beignets. Like a good Italian-American girl, I'd decided to drown my dating sorrows in products made from dough.

"
I also talked to Ryan."

I sighed.
"And what did the charming Mr. Hunter have to say?"

"
He said he's pleased with our progress," she replied, raising an eyebrow at me.

"
Pleased?" This time the shock was for real.

"
Apparently, the police hadn't figured out the
vendicata
clue." Now Veronica was smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"
I
told
you Italian was a useful language!" Now I felt vindicated. During our sophomore year, I'd persuaded her not to switch from Italian to Swedish when she was in the throes of a misguided burst of Nordic pride. "But how did Ryan know what the police had or hadn't found?"

"
Simple. His attorney went to the police station after Domenica was arrested and demanded to know what was going on."