"Private detective Franki Amato is working a new case and fighting off a boyfriend thief"
Reviewed by Shellie Surles
Posted November 29, 2014
Mystery Amateur Sleuth | Mystery Cozy | Mystery Woman Sleuth
Franki and her best friend and employer Veronica are
called
in on a case when the beautiful CEO of Lickalicious Lips
is
found murdered. Delta, the owner of the plantation the
body
is found on asks for their help when she feels the cops
aren't working hard enough.
That same morning Frankie literally bumps into a medium
that tells her she is in danger. All the while she has to
deal with the fact that her boyfriend is spending way too
much time with his sexy assistant. Her jealousy is driving
her and her boyfriend crazy not to mention the local
gators
that almost eat them.
PROSECCO PINK is fun, fast, and entertaining beyond
belief.
Franki is a laugh a minute always getting herself into a
creative bind. You can't help but relate to her as you
watch the sexy assistant try to steal her boyfriend. You
just want to grab her by her long black hair and punch her
yourself. Even with the turmoil in her private life
Frankie
still manages to work a case or two and bring in a strange
but helpful medium. Speaking of strange, you're going to
love the lady she rents from and her crazy, meddling
Italian grandmother.
PROSECCO PINK is a great second book in the series
starring
private detective Franki Amato. Franki is so much fun
always making the same mistakes most of us have made at
one
time or another. You don't have to read the first to read
this one but I would advise it for shear enjoyment as well
as any other books Traci Andrighetti writes. PROSECCO PINK
is laugh out loud good time and Traci Andrighetti has a
real hit with Franki and her friends.
SUMMARY
For
Franki Amato, life in New Orleans is anything but “The
Big
Easy.” When she met handsome bank executive Bradley
Hartmann, she knew she’d finally found a man she could
trust. But she can’t say the same for his sexy new
secretary, who is about as trustworthy as Mata Hari and
every bit as seductive. Meanwhile, Franki’s best friend
and
employer, Veronica Maggio, has named her the lead
investigator in the murder of a gorgeous cosmetics CEO
who
was found lying dead in the master bedroom of a historic
plantation home.
Now the pressure is on Franki to figure out what a bottle
of
pink lip gloss and the legend of a pink diamond have to
do
with the bizarre killing. The problem is that the
plantation
is notorious for being haunted, and Franki is less than
enthusiastic about the prospect of meeting a ghost.
Adding
to her stress, her Sicilian grandma is up to her usual
meddling antics—this time planning Franki’s engagement to
Bradley before he’s even considered popping the question.
As
Bradley grows distant and plantation employees begin
dropping like Southern belles during a sweltering summer,
Franki turns to a psychic with a phobia of ghosts to
solve
the mysterious murders and her own relationship fears.
ExcerptCHAPTER ONE"Who takes their secretary to a working dinner at a
freaking bed and breakfast?" I asked aloud as I sped down
Great Mississippi River Road in Louisiana plantation
country. I didn't usually talk to myself, but the stress
of the situation more than justified it. "I mean, what's wrong with a restaurant in the French
Quarter? People travel from all over the world to eat
there." I steered my 1965 cherry-red Mustang convertible out from
behind the 18-wheeler to make sure the black BMW was
still up ahead. As soon as I'd spotted it, I dropped back
behind the hulking truck. I couldn't let Bradley know I
was following him. Bradley Hartmann was the president of Ponchartrain Bank
on Canal Street in New Orleans. With his shocking blue
eyes, full lips, and chiseled jaw, he was without a doubt
the sexiest bank executive this side of the Mason-Dixon
line. And he was mine. We'd been seeing each other for
the past three months, ever since his divorce was
finalized. Okay, maybe we started seeing each other a bit
before then, but that was an accident. I promise. The problem was, now that his ex-wife was out of the way,
his sexy new Chinese-French secretary was in the way. All
six feet of her. And at five feet ten inches myself, I
wasn't used to looking up to a woman, especially not one
as lowdown as Pauline Violette. She did everything she
could to keep me away from Bradley—including scheduling
these weekend working dinners at bed and breakfasts
outside of town. And judging from the way she batted her
violet, almond-shaped eyes at him, it was clear why. "How is it even possible that her eye color matches her
last name?" I asked as I hit the gas. "Her boobs are
clearly manmade, so those eyes have to be too." I glanced out the passenger window to try to catch
another glimpse of Bradley's BMW, and a flash of pink
caught my eye. But it wasn't the coral-pink hue of the
thousands of oleanders that framed a stunning, three-
story, columned plantation home. It was the pink
crinoline skirt of the woman standing on the balcony. It
was a hauntingly beautiful image, like something you'd
see in an old oil painting. Unfortunately, the road started to curve sharply, but I
was too busy staring at the Southern belle to notice. My
tires hit the soft shoulder, and I jerked the steering
wheel hard to the left. But it was too late. My car slid
sideways right into a swamp. "Mamma mia!" I exclaimed as I realized what had happened.
And I did want my mother. Because when I restarted the
engine and tried to drive to land, I discovered that I
was stuck in the filthy swamp mud. I threw open my car door, mentally whispered a farewell
to my new boots, and stepped into the black swamp water.
I trudged around to the back of the car and saw that the
rear passenger tire was the problem. I needed to find
some wood or stones to put beneath it to try to gain
traction. Just as I was about to turn around and head for
shore, I made a horrifying discovery. The water was
moving. That's when a bumpy black reptile lifted its moss-covered
head above the surface of the murky swamp water, and I
came face-to-face with an alligator. The unsightly beast opened its toothy, cavernous mouth
and made a loud hissing sound. Make that an angry alligator. "G-good gator," I stammered, frozen with fear. The alligator lowered its head back into the water and
began swimming in a circle, its large cat-like eyes
trained on me like the sight of a gun. "Nice b-boy, Al," I said as I began inching backward
through the watery, foul-smelling mud. In case the
alligator decided to charge at me, I needed to make it to
the driver's side taillight to have a clear shot at the
open car door. "Or, maybe you're an Alli?" As though confirming my suspicion, she slapped her tail
hard against the surface of the water. I estimated her to be around six feet in length—precisely
Pauline's height. Then I promptly reminded myself that
during my rookie cop days in Austin, Texas, I'd once
tackled a male ostrich that was getting frisky with some
mothers at a petting zoo. Plus, I'd seen the Gator Boys
and the Swamp Men wrestle alligators on TV, so I figured
that I could take her if push came to shove, er, thrust
came to lunge. Alli stopped near the stump of a bald cypress tree and
opened her mouth, revealing eighty or so two-inch-long
yellow teeth. Okay, maybe not. I took another step backward, and she resumed circling. "That's right, girl. Just keep swimming," I whispered,
advancing another inch or two. "It's good for your
waistline." I took another step, and my right foot sunk
into what felt like a muddy mass of tree roots. I tried
to pull it out, but it was stuck solid. Just like the
rear tire of my Mustang. I felt a fresh wave of fear wash over me, but I knew I
had to keep calm. I took a deep breath of the putrid
swamp air and tried again to free my foot. "Franki?" a male voice called. "Bradley," I breathed. "Oh thank God." My relief quickly
gave way to dismay, however, when I realized that he must
have seen me following him and Pauline before I ran my
car off the road. But surely he would overlook that minor
detail now that I was standing in filthy, mosquito-
infested swamp water and being stalked by an alligator. "Don't move," he said in a calm, even tone. "You don't
want to startle him." No, I most certainly don't, I thought. "As soon as he turns to swim away, make a dash for the
other side of the car." "Don't you think I would've done that by now if I could?"
I asked, trying to control my increasing hysteria. "Why can't you? What's wrong?" "Let me see… Where should I start?" "Franki," he began, a note of tension creeping into his
voice, "why can't you get to the car door?" "My shoe is caught on something." Should I add that my
new boots were the knee-high lace-up kind—with triple
buckles? "Okay, then slip your foot out of your shoe," he said
through clenched teeth. No, now was clearly not the time to tell him. "Um, it's
not exactly the slip-your-foot-out-of-your-shoe kind of
shoe." There was a heavy silence. "Then we're going to have to wait him out," he said. I gasped. Was he seriously not going to come into the
water and pull me out? I mean, saving me from an
alligator was the least he could do after planning to
take his secretary to a B&B, right? "If I move, he could attack," Bradley explained. "And
you're his closest target." Before I could protest, I heard an ear-splitting bellow
behind me. I jerked my head to the left and saw the
largest alligator I'd ever seen. At roughly fifteen feet
in length, he was practically a dinosaur. Terror shot through my body like a white-hot flash of
lightening. But I fought to keep my wits about me because
the gargantuan gator was standing near Bradley. And as
mad as I was about Pauline and the whole leaving-me-to-
the-gator thing, I could hardly let Bradley be eaten by a
Tyrannosaurus alligator on my account. I had to do
something. And fast. I started jerking my trapped foot as hard as I could. But
each time I did, I sunk deeper and deeper into the gooey
swamp bottom. The water level was now above my knees, and
my panic level was considerably higher. "You've got to stay still," Bradley warned. "He's
extremely dangerous." "No kidding." "April is mating season. I think he's looking for a
mate." "Well, tell him Alli isn't interested. And neither am I,"
I added, just in case. The big gator bellowed again, causing the hair to stand
up on my arms. Had my refusal offended him or something? "He's headed toward the water now," Bradley said. "Stay
calm." "Easy for you to say," I muttered under my breath. I heard a splash as the alligator entered the swamp. At
that same moment, Alli dipped beneath the surface of the
water. Now there were two of them. Lurking. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I promise I'll never lust after
an alligator handbag or shoes again for as long as I live
if you let me survive this, I thought. Then I held my
breath and waited. The swamp was deadly silent, except for the croaking of
some green tree frogs. I started when I heard the sound of a car door opening. "Bradley, get back in the car!" Pauline called. "It's not
safe." No need to worry about me, Pauline, I thought. Not only
was the sultry secretary trying to steal my boyfriend,
now she was also trying to convince him to leave me for
gator food. "I need you to stay in the car, Pauline," he replied. "I
can't have anything happen to you." Wait a minute. He can't have anything happen to her? What
about me? I felt a sudden surge of anger-induced
adrenaline course through my body. With a steely calm, I
crouched down, unbuckled and unlaced my boot and pulled
my foot free. Then I yanked the boot out of the tangled
roots and rushed around to the driver's seat. I'd paid
three hundred bucks for those boots, so there was no way
I was leaving one of them in the swamp—gators or no
gators. The second I got into the car, I pulled my 9mm purple
Ruger from the glove compartment box. I looked out my
driver's side window and saw Bradley kneel down to
examine my rear tire. "Start the engine and press the accelerator," he called. I did as I was told and watched through the rearview
mirror as mud flew from the spinning tire. He motioned for me to stop. "Let me find something to put
under the tire, and then I'll have you try again." "Be careful," I said. With my gun in hand, I surveyed the area for hungry—or
horny—alligators while Bradley gathered a few small
cypress branches. He arranged the branches beneath my tire and stood up,
wiping his hands. "Okay, now." I hit the gas full throttle and felt my tire gain
traction. The car started forward and then spun out to
the right, just as something struck the side of my car. I
had a terrifying thought. One of the alligators had
lunged for Bradley and hit my car instead! I threw the
car into park and leapt out with my gun drawn. "Are you crazy?" Pauline screamed. "You could kill him!" Oh, so now she was worried about the alligator too?
Ignoring her protests, I scoured the scene for the
offending creature, and that's when I saw him. Bradley,
that is. Covered in mud and propped up on his elbows in
three-inch-deep swamp water. That was no gator I'd hit,
it was my boyfriend. At least, I really, really hoped he
was still my boyfriend. I rushed into the water and knelt at his side. "Are you
okay?" He spit something brown and slimy into the water. "Fine,"
he replied, a tad tersely. "Let me help you." "Now there's an offer you can refuse," Pauline said. I shot her a look. Was that a Mafia jab? Bradley stood up in silence and did a quick body check
before walking to the shore. "Let me see if I have a towel or something in the car," I
said. I ran to the Mustang, but all I could find was a
travel-sized package of Kleenex. I hurried back to Bradley and began dabbing at the mud on
his shirt with a tissue. "I'm so sorry about your suit." He pulled away. I blinked, surprised. "I said I was sorry." "It's not about my damned suit, Franki." "Oh?" I asked, doing my darnedest to feign innocence. But
I knew exactly what this was about. "What were you doing out here on River Road, miles from
New Orleans?" he demanded. Pauline sauntered over and folded her arms across her
chest. "Yes, what were you doing? Shopping for a
plantation home?" I met her arrogant gaze straight on but avoided her
question. "Nice of you to finally get out of the car." Bradley looked from Pauline to me and sighed. "Never
mind, Franki. We'll talk about this later." Pauline glanced at her smartphone and turned to Bradley,
instantly dismissing me. "We still have twenty minutes
before your meeting with Mr. Stafford, and according to
Google we're only about twenty-five miles from the bed
and breakfast. We can still make it if we hurry." Bradley looked down at his wet, mud-stained clothes. "I
can't go looking like this." "Well, you have that extra shirt and your suit coat in
the car, and I have a bottle of Perrier in my purse. If
you slip off your pants, I can have some of the more
visible stains out before we get there." Bradley nodded and started for his car. I gasped. "You're not actually going to take your pants
off for her, are you?" He turned to look at me. "Franki, it's business. This
meeting is critical to the future of the bank, and it's
my job to do whatever I can to make sure it's a success.
I've got to go." As Bradley climbed into his car, Pauline spun around to
face me. She was standing so close that her long, black
hair lashed across my face like a silken whip, and her
heavy perfume stung my nostrils. "Well, I hope you're
satisfied," she said. "Thanks to your little spy game,
you've not only ruined Bradley's thousand-dollar suit,
you've also potentially cost him a multi-million dollar
business deal." I stared at her open-mouthed. When Bradley told me that
he couldn't come over because he and Pauline were having
a working dinner at a B&B outside of town, I'd assumed it
was just the two of them. I had no idea that they were
meeting a client there, not to mention such an important
one. "Now close your mouth and go get cleaned up," Pauline
continued. She narrowed her undoubtedly fake violet eyes
and looked me up and down. "You're a hot mess." She did a runway-model turn and strutted to the car. Oh, I was hot all right. With shame and blinding rage. Still smarting from Pauline's smackdown an hour later, I
kicked open my front door and threw my mud-caked boots
onto the floor.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in," my landlady, Glenda
O'Brien, said from a backbend position on the bearskin
rug on my living room floor. For a sixty-something-year-
old woman, she was startlingly flexible, no doubt due to
her forty-something-year career as a stripper.
My best friend and employer, Veronica Maggio, was on the
floor beside Glenda, looking exactly as she had when I
first met her in our freshman dorm at The University of
Texas at Austin. She had her tongue sticking out one side
of her mouth as she put the final strokes of Raspberry
Fields Forever nail polish on her pinky toe. When she
finished, she gave me the once-over. "What happened to
you?"
I sighed and tossed my purse onto the velvet zebra print
rococo chaise lounge. I'd forgotten that Sunday was movie
night, or "ladies' night" as Glenda had christened it,
and that it was my turn to host. "Oh, not much. I spied
on Bradley and Pauline, I nearly got us all killed by a
couple of alligators in heat, and then I hit Bradley with
my car and pulled a gun on him."
"Oh, sugar," Glenda said, kicking her skinny, veined legs
forward out of her backbend and coming to a standing
position. "That sounds sexy."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm dead serious."
A coy smile formed at the corners of her mouth, and then
she took a long, sensuous drag off her signature Mae
West-style cigarette holder. "So am I, child. So. Am. I."
I didn't bother asking her not to smoke since she owned
the fourplex that all of us lived in as well as the
rather unique bordello-style furnishings in my not-so-
humble abode. But I did make a mental note to ask her to
stop letting herself in to my apartment.
"Why would you spy on Bradley?" Veronica asked, her brow
furrowed. "You said you trusted him."
She never ceased to amaze me. "So, the trust thing is
what you're worried about? Not the part about the gator
or the gun?"
Veronica screwed the cap on the bottle of nail polish.
"Well, you're in one piece, and you're not in jail, so I
assumed that those other things got worked out somehow."
"Well, you could at least act concerned, you know."
"I'm sorry," she said, fidgeting with the ribbon on her
pink baby doll pajamas. "It's just that I thought you
were finally over your trust issue with men. That's all."
"I was. I mean, I am," I hurried to add. "I trust
Bradley, but I don't trust Pauline around Bradley."
Veronica cocked her head to one side. "Well, isn't that
the same thing?"
"No, it isn't. You have no idea how manipulative she is.
Plus, she's always so perfect and prepared. I mean, the
woman carries a bottle of Perrier water around with her
just in case she needs to remove a stain."
"Perrier?" Glenda asked, wrinkling her mouth. "I don't
get women who drink bubbly water when they could be
drinking champagne. This Pauline sounds suspect, if you
ask me."
I cast Veronica a triumphant look. "See? Glenda doesn't
trust her either."
Veronica shook her head. "Trusting Pauline isn't the
issue. The problem is that you're underestimating
Bradley, and it's not like he's stupid."
"No, but he's a man, and she's drop-dead gorgeous. She's
built like a model, and she looks like Lucy Liu. To top
it all off, she has violet eyes, just like Elizabeth
Taylor. And you know how good Liz was at stealing other
women's men."
Glenda batted her inch-long, blue false eyelashes. "You
know, Ronnie, I think Miss Franki's right. If there's one
thing I learned while I was stripping, it's that even the
smartest man is no match for a cunning woman."
I nodded, vindicated, although I wasn't entirely sure
that you could compare my Harvard-educated, bank
president boyfriend to the average strip club patron. But
then again, maybe you could.
"You know what I think, sugar?" Glenda continued after
taking a long, thoughtful drag off her cigarette.
"What?" I asked, eager to hear her opinion. Glenda was a
little rough around the edges, but she often had sage
advice.
"You need to make sure that she doesn't put nothin' over
on you," she replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "So
you're gonna have to stick to this Pauline like a pastie
on a titty."
Veronica cleared her throat. "Franki, will you let the
dogs in? My toes are still wet."
"I'll do it," Glenda said, hopping to her five-inch-high-
heeled, slipper-clad feet. "I need to freshen up my glass
of champagne, anyway."
As Glenda paraded past me to the kitchen, I noticed that
she too was wearing baby doll pajamas—in tight black
fishnet with large holes cut from beneath her armpits all
the way down to below the hip. It was quite possibly the
most clothing I'd ever seen her wear.
Glenda opened the back door, and my brindle Cairn
Terrier, Napoleon, bounded over to me, his tail wagging.
"There's my good boy," I said, bending over to greet him.
Napoleon skidded to an abrupt stop, gave a quick sniff of
my feet, and took a giant leap backward.
"So much for the unconditional love of pets," I said. "I
guess I'll take that as my cue to go shower the swamp off
me."
Veronica adjusted the bowtie on her cream Pomeranian,
Hercules. "Hurry up so we can start the movie."
"What did you get?" I asked, even though it really didn't
matter what the movie was. The only thing I'd be watching
were the images of Bradley's hurt face and Pauline's
haughty one that kept replaying in my head.
"Zombie Strippers," Glenda called from the kitchen.
Obviously her turn to pick the movie, I thought.
"By the way," Veronica began, "I made sugar cookies, and
Glenda brought an extra bottle of champagne. Isn't this
going to be fun?"
I gave her a blank stare. "Yeah. Tons."
Veronica placed a reassuring hand on my arm. "I know
you're worried about Bradley, but try to relax and enjoy
the evening."
"I can't. On top of everything else, I might have cost
him an important business deal. Do you think I should
call and ask how it went?"
"No," she replied. "Let him have tonight to cool off.
Then tomorrow you can apologize and explain how you feel
about Pauline. I'm sure he'll understand."
I nodded, but I wasn't so sure about the understanding
part, especially after my jealousy had almost gotten him
killed—first by the alligators and then by me. I set off
for the shower thinking that it was going to take a lot
more than champagne, sugar cookies, and strippers to get
me through the night.
What do you think about this review?
Comments
No comments posted.
Registered users may leave comments.
Log in or register now!
|
© 2003-2024 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy