Chapter 1
“This office is dead quiet.” Veronica Maggio, my best friend and employer, sunk into the armchair across from my desk at her PI firm, Private Chicks, Inc. “Like a tomb.”
I could relate to the crypt comment, but not in the silent sense. It was a Monday, and I was on my fifth consecutive hour of helping our sixty-something ex-stripper landlady, Glenda O’Brien, scour the Internet for a “risqué vacay,” so I was pretty much dead inside. “Tulane’s spring break ended today. Shouldn’t David be back at work?”
She threw up a who-knows hand and then let it flop. “He emailed on Saturday and said that he and Standish were going to try to extend their vacation so they could explore Rome. Apparently, they won’t be missing much in their classes, and I didn’t have a problem with him missing a few extra days here.”
“Well, the vassal can stay in Italy, but I need David’s help with some research.” I glared at Glenda, who strut-sashayed into the room like she was taking the stage. “And it seems I’m not the only one.”
Veronica smirked and smoothed her silk floral skirt. “I wish you’d stop calling his friend ‘the vassal.’ You know his name is Standish.”
“Ever since he had to serve David like a serf for fraternity rush, I can’t think of him any other way.” I tied my long brown hair into a knot on top of my head. “Besides, he did serve me on that plantation case, albeit for free instead of a feudal plot.”
Glenda parked her behind in the chair she’d pulled next to mine and flipped open New Orleans Magazine. “Speaking of service, sugar, are you going to book me on that last-minute deal or what?”
“I’m sorry.” The phrase was at odds with the frown on my mouth. “I thought I was a private investigator, not a travel agent.”
“You are between cases, Franki.” Veronica brushed back her blonde locks. “What is this deal, anyway?”
“A Booty Cruise to the Caribbean.” Glenda shimmied for emphasis.
“Booty?” Veronica’s blue eyes brightened. “Sounds like a pirate ship.”
My gaze hit her like a cannonball. “It’s not.”
“Oooh.” Her tone and her brow rose and fell like the sea. “When do you leave?”
“This Wednesday.” Glenda tossed the magazine onto my desk. “So I’ve got to get shaking if I want a new cruise wardrobe.”
I wasn’t clear on whether “get shaking” meant she had to hurry or pick up some stripping shifts, but either way it didn’t make sense. “Why bother? The cruise is clothing-optional.”
“Which means I can browse the men’s sporting goods before I sign up to play.” She flipped her platinum wig. “But a lady has to leave something to the imagination.”
I glanced at her daisy pasties and the tube top she wore as a skirt. “How I agree.”
Veronica nestled into the chair. “Remember our spring break in Rome, Franki?”
“Sophomore year was a decade ago. I only remember the wine and limoncello.”
“What about your illegal swim in the Trevi Fountain?” Her smile was mischievous, verging on malicious. “Surely you haven’t forgotten that.”
My smile was venomous, verging on vicious. “Not with you here to remind me.”
“Miss Franki the former-cop-turned-PI broke the law?” Glenda turned to gawk. “Child, I can’t believe that.”
Veronica kicked her heels onto my desk. “My father got the charges dropped thanks to an attorney at the American Embassy who used to work for his firm. But technically, Franki is a fountain frolicker.”
“I object to that.” The alliteration was annoying, especially at my expense. “I wasn’t just splashing around. I was obsessed with Marcello Mastroianni, and I was reenacting his fountain scene with Anita Ekberg in La Dolce Vita.”
“Alone.” Veronica’s eyes widened to underscore my sad state. “But I understand because I was obsessed too—with the clothing stores on Via Condotti.” She inhaled like she could smell the designer fabric on the chic shopping street. “You’d love Italian fashion, Glenda. When we were there, the hot trend was a colored thong underneath tight, sheer white pants.”
Glenda batted inch-long yellow eyelashes. “Pants?”
Most people would question the thong, but my landlady wasn’t most people. “Yes, women have been wearing them for around a hundred years.”
Veronica’s brow and lips lowered into a be-nice look. “What was your favorite thing about the trip? Besides the fountain, that is.”
I ignored the jab. “Eating dough at every meal—a pastry for breakfast, pasta for lunch, pizza for dinner.” Even though ten years had passed, I could remember the carb extravaganza like it was yesterday. “And the bars.”
“I enjoy a good Italian cocktail.” Glenda sounded thoughtful as she played with her pasty petals.
“Bars in Italy serve alcohol, but they’re more like coffee shops,” I said. “Hence the term barista.”
“Pants over thongs and coffee in a bar?” She crossed her legs, revealing tip jar shoes labeled “Rain” and “Dance.” “Sometimes I don’t understand other cultures.”
Veronica giggled. “Well, I understand Italy, and I’d give anything to be exploring Rome with David and Standish instead of preparing to go to court.”
Glenda bounced her leg, shaking the dollars in her shoe. “You practicing law again, Miss Ronnie?”
“No, I was subpoenaed in an insurance fraud case I investigated.” She scrunched her nose. “The trial starts tomorrow.”
I opened my laptop. “Don’t be too envious of the boys. The Rome they’re exploring is different from ours. Instead of charming piazzas, men, and accessories, it’s all about ancient amphitheaters, soldiers, and weaponry.”
The phone rang in Veronica’s office.
“I’d take ancient Rome over the modern New Orleans courtroom any day.” She pushed herself to her feet. “The gladiators didn’t have a thing on NOLA attorneys.”
Veronica exited the room, and Glenda kicked a rainmaker in my direction. “Can we finish booking my cruise?”
I exhaled to suppress a scream and pushed my computer toward her. “You have to pick your, uh, optional activities.”
“I can’t read that thing. What’re my choices?”
I grabbed the laptop. A quick glance at the list made me seasick. “Um, how about Skinny Snorkeling?”
Her shoulders slumped, making her daisies droop. “That involves a mask and flippers, sugar.”
“And the problem is?”
She looked at me like I’d lost my oxygen source. “If I’m wearing all that rubber, how can I be nude?”
I didn’t want to roll my eyes, so I rolled my chair instead. “But you just said that a woman should keep some things covered. In this case, it’s your nose and feet.”
Her face wilted like her flowers. “Then it’s not skinny snorkeling, Miss Franki.”
I gazed at the screen and fantasized about sending her skinny scuba diving—without a tank. “What about Sexy Shuffleboard?”
“Should be a swingin’ time.” She cackled and slapped my arm.
I did my darnedest not to visualize swingin’ private parts and added the item to the shopping cart.
Veronica appeared in the doorway looking as seasick as me. “That was Bill Savoie, David’s father.”
My stomach went from queasy to squeezy. “Did something happen?”
Glenda puckered and plucked at her daisies.
“The boys didn’t show up for their flights home yesterday.”
I scrutinized Veronica’s face. “Because they changed them, right?”
She gave a stupor-style headshake. “They haven’t been seen since Saturday morning when they left the hotel.”
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