Read Amaretto Amber (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 3) Online
Authors: Traci Andrighetti
Amaretto Amber (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 3) (25 page)
My brow furrowed.
Was it bad news about the bum lemon? And why did she look at my apartment? Was Bruno lying inside in wait?
Nonna fastened her seat belt and then stared straight ahead through the windshield. "When-a you steal a lemon from-a the altar of
San Giuseppe,
there is another thing-a that can happen."
I didn't have to know what this "thing-a" was to know that it wasn't good, especially because she wasn't looking at me. "O-kay…"
She gripped the handle of her purse. "Instead of a husband, from-a time-a to time, you get a
bambino
."
The
Pyscho
music screeched in my head.
"But-a either way, it's-a win-a win-a, eh Franki?" She turned and winked at me, and for a split second, I could've sworn that she had cat pupils.
My mother started the engine, shaking me from my shock.
"I hope we see you before Christmas, dear," she said, getting in one last guilt trip before their car trip back to Houston. "I assume you still know our address."
I rolled my eyes. "I'll be home this summer, Mom," I replied, resuming my usual defensive tone. "You guys drive safe."
As she backed the Taurus out of the driveway, I thought back to my conversation with Theodora about Old New Orleans Traditional Witchcraft being a kind of everyday magic that great-great grandmothers used to do. And it occurred to me that the lemon tradition and all the other bizarre customs I'd grown up with could be considered a type of witchcraft that nonne do.
But whatever
. Since I was planning to break up with Bradley, the odds of my having a bambino out of wedlock were zilch.
I turned toward the house and stumbled over something, hitting the ground with a thud. I looked back and saw Glenda's stripper garden gnome.
The Virgin Mary
.
Jumping to my feet, I rushed inside to call Theodora about an anti-hex spell—just in case. But I was distracted by the aroma of Italian food. My apartment smelled like my mom and nonna had made some meals for me before they'd left. I walked into the kitchen to see what they'd prepared.
There stood Bradley, holding a dozen yellow roses and a glass of Prosecco.
Our eyes met as he handed me the glass, and I drank it all in—not the Prosecco, the romantic atmosphere. The curtains were drawn, and there were lit candles on the kitchen table, which had been set with fine china and crystal that definitely didn't belong to me. Napoleon was even wearing a bowtie. And although I was furious with Bradley, I had to admit that he looked handsome in his dark blue suit—so much so that I understood why my nonna had told me about the other lemon legend.
He cleared his throat. "Can we talk?"
"It depends on what you have to say." My tone was frosty, like my heart.
He pulled out a chair. "Would you like to have a seat?"
I swallowed a sip of Prosecco. "I'll stand."
"Fair enough." A muscle worked in his jaw. "I'd like to start with how sorry I am that I let the pressure at work come between us."
"That's a good place to start." I crossed my arms. "But skip ahead to why you didn't call me after you punched Detective Sullivan."
"I wanted to, Franki. I really did." He tossed the flowers on the kitchen counter and ran a hand through his hair. "But Veronica insisted that I not contact you until I knew where I stood with the bank. My gut told me not to listen, but as my attorney and your best friend, I figured she knew what was right for both of us."
Although I wouldn't have admitted it to Bradley, I had to agree that Veronica was usually the wiser one in a crisis. But still. "So, like Jeff, you thought I'd be a professional problem for you. Because I am, you know."
He winced. "That's not true, Franki. My job is dependent on me, and me alone. And it wasn't Jeff or my job that I was worried about. It was you."
My cold heart began to thaw, but just a little. "How so?"
He turned as though he wanted to pace in the tiny kitchen. "I can go home to Boston and get a job any time I want, but I didn't think you'd want to go with me."
"What?" I practically gasped the word. "This isn't about Detective Sullivan, is it?"
"No, but that son—" He bowed his head for a moment and put his hand on his hip. "That
detective
got what he had coming to him after dangling your bra in front of me and putting a dollar bill in your G-string."
"It was a five, but go on," I said, deadpan.
"Look." He sighed. "Boston is a long way from New Orleans, and from Houston, for that matter. I didn't want to have to ask you to leave your family and friends or your work for me."
My heart continued to defrost. It was considerate of him to take my needs into account, but something didn't add up. "If you were so worried about me and my wellbeing, why wouldn't you call me after I was almost killed?"
His eyes looked anguished as he took a step forward. "I did call—over and over again."
I bit my lower lip. My cell phone
had
been destroyed.
He looked at me from under his lashes. "So, I came over to make sure you were okay."
"You did?" I asked, taking a step forward myself.
"I stayed here all night," he replied, his voice soft.
My heart warmed but promptly sank.
My nonna's enema bag
. "You didn't sleep in the bathtub, did you?"
He tilted his head. "No, I sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and talking to your nonna first, and then when she went to bed, to your mom."
Now
that
was devotion.
"I kissed you on the cheek before I left for the board meeting, but you didn't wake up." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I wanted to skip the meeting, but your mom said that it was important that I go."
My heart had not only risen back into my chest, it was practically bursting. I put my glass on the counter. "I swear to you, Bradley, I had no idea that they planned to crash the meeting, and I had nothing to do with those pictures."
The corner of his mouth lifted. "I know. Your mom and nonna explained everything. They're quite a pair, those two."
I snorted. "You can say that again."
"Just like someone else I know." The smile faded from his face, and his gaze bore into mine. "Can you forgive me?"
I nodded, and he crossed the distance between us. As he cupped my face in his hands as his lips pressed against my forehead, my eyelids, the tip of my nose, and finally, my mouth I knew that there was nothing in the world that could make me break up with him.
My knees weakened, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
And I thought of that damn lemon.
I stiffened and pulled away.
Bradley gave me a searching look. "What is it?"
Of course, I could hardly tell him about the lemon I'd lifted and the "small detail" my nonna had laid on me before she left. But I wasn't ready for this magical moment to end.
My mind raced as I tried to conjure up a way to ward off the lemon's adverse effect. Obviously, I wasn't a great-grandma or grandma, but I
was
thirty, so I figured I had some witchcraft in me too. Making the sign of the
scongiuri
behind my back, I whispered, "Nothing. Everything is perfect."
He flashed a dazzling, eye-twinkling smile. "Good, because I've been thinking about that tiger costume you wore at the club." His lips nuzzled my ear. "And I was hoping you'd show me some of your animal moves."
Grazie
for reading Amaretto Amber!
Carissimo lettore
(Dear reader),
I hope you had fun reading
Amaretto Amber
. Like
Limoncello Yellow
and
Prosecco Pink
, this book reflects my longtime fascination with the New Orleans scene and my lifelong obsession with the Italian and Italian-American cultures. But
Amaretto Amber
was actually inspired by the performances of Bianca Del Rio and Ivy Winters at my first ever drag show, i.e., "RuPaul's Drag Race: Battle of the Seasons," at Austin's historic Paramount Theatre.
When I started planning
Amaretto Amber
, I decided that it would be fun to incorporate some reader suggestions into the plot; specifically, requests to have Franki's nonna show up in New Orleans and to make Bradley pay for what he'd put Franki through with Pauline in
Prosecco Pink
. So, I would love to hear your feedback (good or bad) about my books, because it often inspires me and helps me to improve. You can write to me at
[email protected]
.
If you would rather not write to me directly, please consider writing a favorable review of
Amaretto Amber
. Authors are dependent on the kindness of readers like you to stay in business, so thank you in advance for taking the time to write a review.
P.S. If you're a Franki or a Cassidi (Danger Cove Hair Salon mysteries) fan, I'd love to have you on my street team, The
Giallo
Squad. You can find information about how to join on my website:
www.traciandrighetti.com
Turning thirty sends Franki into a tailspin. How do you feel about the milestone birthdays?
The St. Joseph's Day lemon tradition freaks Franki out. Do you have any unusual family or cultural traditions that you observe?
In
Amaretto Amber
, Glenda takes up sleuthing
,
which is quite a change from stripping. If you could try another profession on for size, what would it be?
Speaking of stripping, have you ever tried it, like Franki? If not, would you?
New Orleans is known for voodoo, but it also has a well-established tradition of witchcraft. What brushes have you had with either of these two forms of magic?
The victim of the story, Amber Brown, turns to sugaring to pay her bills. What do you think of this phenomenon?
Franki's client, the drag queen Carnie Vaul, is constantly changing her look. Which was your favorite of her outfits, and how would you describe your own look?
Many works of fiction have been written about the missing Amber Room. What historical mystery or era do you find intriguing?
Bradley is Franki's favorite leading man. Who is yours—in fiction or in real life?
Nonna just won't stop interfering in Franki's life. What experiences have you had with a meddler?
* * * * *
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* * * * *
Traci Andrighetti is the national bestselling author of the Franki Amato mysteries and the Danger Cove Hair Salon mysteries. In her previous life, she was an award-winning literary translator and a Lecturer of Italian at the University of Texas at Austin, where she earned a PhD in Applied Linguistics. But then she got wise and ditched that academic stuff for a life of crime—writing, that is.
If she's not hard at work on her next Danger Cove novel,
A Poison Manicure and Peach Liqueur
, Traci is probably watching her favorite Italian soap opera, eating Tex Mex, or sampling fruity cocktails, and maybe all at the same time. She lives in Austin with her husband, young son (who still wants to be in one of her books), and three treat-addicted dogs.
To learn more about Traci Andrighetti, visit her online at:
http://traciandrighetti.com
* * * * *
Franki Amato Mysteries
:
Rosolio Red
(holiday short stroy)
Danger Cove Hair Salon Mysteries:
* * * * *