Cremoncello Cream: A Short Sicily Comedy Mystery

Book : Franki Amato Mysteries

by Traci Andrighetti

Genres: Humor & Satire; Cozy Mystery; International Crime & Mystery; Private Investigators; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Franki's trip to Mount Etna really blows!

Franki Amato's BFF and boss, Veronica Maggio, takes her to sunny Sicily for a PI conference but neglects to tell her about their teambuilder, a trek up Mount Etna. And the volcano isn't the only earth-shattering surprise in store for Franki. Next her engagement ring is stolen, and then she learns her life is in danger. She has to find out who took the ring, and why people on the island seem to know her. If she doesn't, she could end up in hot lava—literally.

Cremoncello Cream is book 5.5 in the Franki Amato Mysteries, but it can be read as a standalone story. If you like zany characters and laugh-out-loud humor with a splash of suspense, then you'll drink up this fun series by USA Today Bestselling Author Traci Andrighetti. Cin cin!

FRANKI AMATO MYSTERIES:
Limoncello Yellow (book 1)
Prugnolino Purple (spring short story 1.5)
Prosecco Pink (book 2)
Rosolio Red (holiday short story 2.5)
Amaretto Amber (book 3)
Fragolino Fuchsia (Rome short story 3.5)
Campari Crimson (book 4)
Cannellino Caramel (holiday short story 4.5)
Galliano Gold (book 5)
Cremoncello Cream (Sicily short story 5.5)
Marsala Maroon (book 6)
Mirto Magenta (Sardinia short story 6.5)
Valpolicella Violet (book 7, coming in the fall of 2021!)

"Andrighetti's dialogue is genuine yet uproarious, and her glowing characters animatedly leap off the page. Her sparkling wit keeps the hijinks brimming with merriment."
~ Long Island Book Reviews

"Traci Andrighetti's Franki Amato Mysteries have me tickled pink! Her smart, sassy heroine, wacky cast of characters, and vividly original settings had me glued to the page. I can't wait to read more from this author!"
~ Gemma Halliday, New York Times bestselling author

"Traci's writing is sharp and funny; the world she paints leaps off the page and makes the reader laugh out loud.... A thoroughly enjoyable voice in fiction!"
~ Kristin Harmel, New York Times bestselling author

Release date: April 28, 2020

Publisher: Limoncello Press

Print pages: 70

Sample

Chapter 1

“Do we seriously have to go to the top of Mount Etna?” I asked my best friend and employer as I pulled my rolling suitcase behind her on Via VI Aprile in Catania. “In case you didn’t read the Sicily travel guide, it is the second-most active volcano in the world.”

Veronica Maggio ignored both my burning question and stinging comment and continued walking along the commercial street toward Piazza Papa Giovanni XIII.

Despite the fact that our twenty-hour journey from New Orleans had ended a mere forty minutes earlier at Fontanarossa Airport, she was as fresh as a newly bloomed daisy with her perky blonde ponytail and white snowsuit. By comparison, I looked like a half-dead weed in my tan puffy jacket and green sweats, not to mention my airplane-head brown hair. “It sure would be nice to check in to our hotel in Taormina and have a nap.”

“We’re going to the bus stop, Franki.” She spoke in a hell-bent huff. “It’ll take us halfway up Mount Etna to the town of Nicolosi.”

“What about our luggage? Surely we’re not hauling that up Etna.”

“One of the ski resorts will hold it for us while we catch the Funivia cable car to one of the craters.”

Sicily was known to be an island of striking contrasts. But ski resorts on a volcano? That wasn’t just out of the ordinary, it was an oxymoron.

We passed a fountain I’d seen in the travel guide. Persephone, the goddess of spring, was struggling to escape from Hades before he took her to the underworld. The scene was the perfect allegory for Veronica dragging me to the volcano in late March.

Irritation percolated in my veins like cooling lava. “I wasn’t kidding, you know. I’m so jetlagged that I could pass out and plunge into a crater.”

“People climb to the peak every day, and they survive,” she said over her shoulder. “And remember, staring down the mouth of that volcano is a team-building exercise, so it’s an order.”

“Why can’t we just do that thing where we fall backwards and catch each other?”

“Because the World Association of Private Investigators decided to hold its annual conference twenty miles from Mount Etna.” She stopped at an intersection to wait while a pack of FIATs, smart cars, and scooters whizzed past. “We’ll conquer the crater today and our presentation tomorrow. We’ve got to show all the male PIs what the women of Private Chicks, Inc., are capable of.”

I rolled up beside her. “How about we show them by going to our hotel to practice our presentation?”

She sighed and raised her cornflower blues to a cerulean Italian sky. “It was going to be a surprise, but I’ve planned something after our climb that you’re not going to want to miss.” Her gaze lowered and met mine head-on. “And no, it’s not checking into our hotel.”

Veronica could read my mind like an open book, and vice versa, which was why we’d been BFFs since we’d met at the University of Texas. Her mind was no-nonsense non-fiction, and mine was action and adventure, unless my family was in town—then it was straight-up psychological horror. “Okay, I’m intrigued. What’s the surprise?”

“The Russo Siciliano distillery is at the foot of the volcano. After we see the crater, we’ll go down and sample their famous Cremoncello.”

The cream liqueur got my attention, but it raised another burning question. “Is it really a good idea to drink booze near molten lava?”

“For the last time, Mount Etna is not going to erupt. But if it did, you couldn’t outrun the lava even if you were sober.”

“Wanna bet?”

She looked both ways on the street. “It’s clear. Andiamo!”

At the “let’s go,” I broke into a run. By the time I crossed the intersection I was winded, which didn’t bode well for my eruption-outrunning.

Veronica dragged her suitcase along two rows of parked buses, while I took in the scenery. The piazza was nothing but a circular parking lot with plants on either side, which was disappointing considering that Catania was renowned for its Sicilian Baroque architecture. It also reeked of diesel and spiced meat, the latter owing to a kebab place across the street, one of many Middle Eastern influences leftover from of a period of Arab rule during the Middle Ages.

“Franki, help me look for our bus. It’s marked Rifugio Sapienza like the ski resort.”

I snorted. The name translated to “Wisdom Refuge,” which was ironic given the resort’s location. It was also a reminder that I had to try to take out the team builder before we boarded that bus. “I was just thinking, with your wedding coming up, we should go to Taormina and look at authentic Sicilian lace wedding gowns.”

“I already bought my dress. You know that.”

“You could have two, one American and one that reflects your Sicilian heritage.”

Her ponytail shook with her head. “I only get to wear that Vera Wang once, so I plan to stay in it as long as I can.” She pointed to an empty bus stop. “That’s it over there. We’re not supposed to leave until eight fifteen, so we have another twenty or so minutes to kill.”

Or, to live.

Veronica took a seat on the bench. “After our presentation, why don’t we shop for a wedding dress for you? You’re part Sicilian too.”

“I’ve only been engaged for a few weeks. I’m not ready to think about that yet.”

“You’d better get ready. It can take months to find a dress and have it fitted. If you wait, you could end up wearing something your mom and nonna have picked out.”

I blew like Mount Etna. “What do you know that you’re not telling me, Veronica?”

“Nothing. It’s merely a prediction.”

One that could come all-too true. From the moment Bradley had proposed on Mardi Gras Day, my mom and nonna had shifted from engagement engineers to wedding warriors who were on a mission to get me married, and pronto. And when it came to meddling and manipulating, those women deserved their own MasterClass and TED Talk.

I held up my left hand and gazed at the ruby and diamonds. “I don’t care what they try to pull, my dress is going to complement my engagement ring.”

“I wouldn’t flash that thing around. You promised Bradley that you’d leave it at home until it’s insured.”

“My apartment could get broken into, so it’s safer with me. And trust me, a thief would have to chop off my finger to get it.” I lowered my hand and scoured the piazza for lurking thieves. 

And I jumped as though I’d been scorched by hot lava.

Because, as sure as my name is Franki Amato, behind me stood either a cat burglar or The Phantom of the Opera.