Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) by Traci Andrighetti Read Free Book Online

to look through Jessica's things for any clues."
    He f rowned. "I'd rather you didn't. I only recently got the damn police out of my house. And besides, she really only had clothes and shoes and stuff. I'll box it all up and bring it to you next week. You can do whatever you want with it."
    " Whatever works for you," Veronica replied.
    Ryan rose to his feet. "So when can I expect to hear from you?"
    " We'll call at least twice a week to update you on the investigation and to ask any follow-up questions."
    " I look forward to it." He nodded curtly and then walked out the door.
    " Wow. That's an oddly enthusiastic comment from such a reluctant client," I remarked.
    " Yeah." Veronica looked deep in thought with her index finger pressed to her mouth. "What do you make of that guy? He's a real weirdo, right?"
    I leaned back in my chair. "Well, judging from his defensive attitude and the matter-of-fact way he told us that he'd hit Jessica, I'd say he's a sociopath."             
    " You know, we're going to have to do a full background check on this guy before we do anything else. If it turns out that he's a convicted felon or something, then I'm not sure we want him as a client. I'll have David start on that." She closed her laptop.
    " Good idea," I said. "I can call the detective in charge of the case."
    Veronica burst out laughing. "You're joking, right? As an ex-cop, you of all people should know that the police don't work with private investigators."
    I 'd only worked as a beat cop in Austin, so I had no idea how detectives interacted with the public on a case. But I had seen a whole lot of Murder She Wrote episodes where detectives were all too willing to discuss cases with Jessica Fletcher. Okay, not the best example, but still. "That can't be right. Why wouldn't the police want to help us solve a high profile murder case?"
    " Because they're afraid we'll crack the case before they do! Then we'll make them look like fools—and on every news channel in Louisiana."
    " Then how do we get police information?"
    " Well, there are public records, which we can access like everyone else, but the police usually black out potentially compromising information on cases that are still under investigation. So, that means we either have to luck into a corrupt detective who's willing to trade information, or we use Benjamin."
    " Who's Benjamin? An informant?" If we couldn't get our hands on police information, we were doomed.
    Veronica reached into her handbag, pulled out her pink Chanel wallet , and extracted a crisp one hundred dollar bill with a flourish. " This is Benjamin. And sometimes I have to rely on a whole army of Benjamins to get the information I need from the police."
    I smiled with relief. "So, you do have an informant."
    " Yeah, a police crime analyst who feels like it's her duty to ensure that cases get solved—by any means necessary. Especially crimes against women."
    " Perfect. Then this is a case she's sure to help with. Murdering a woman who also had the great fortune to manage a LaMarca is a double crime against women," I said, and I wasn't kidding.
    " Agreed." Veronica looked at the clock. "It's five already. We'd better leave now, or traffic will be a nightmare. I'll drop you off at the apartment, but then I need to go run some errands."
    " All right," I replied dejectedly. I wasn't particularly eager to go home because I had two big boxes in my kitchen that I was doing my best to avoid unpacking.
    Veronica typed a message on her phone. "There. I just texted David and told him to do the background check on Ryan Hunter. Oh yeah, do you want to meet at Thibodeaux's at seven o'clock for a drink? I'll invite Glenda…"
    I laughed. "Now there's someone I'd like to see a background check on."
     
    * * *
     
    At 7 p.m. on the dot, I opened my front door and was assaulted by the grim reality of the cemetery across the street. This was some set up I had in Nola. My bordello-style apartment constantly reminded me