Read Online Amaretto Amber (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 3) by Traci Andrighetti - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Traci Andrighetti
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been rough, to put it mildly. And after seeing Amber, I hadn't felt like talking. So, I sent a quick reply saying that I would meet him at the bank for lunch and explain everything—except for the part about me tarnishing his professional image, of course.
"Are you comin', Miss Franki?" Glenda called from above.
"Yeah, sorry." I shoved my phone into my bag, and when I finally reached the landing the tantalizing aroma of sausage teased my nostrils. " What is that heavenly odor?"
"That's Miss Eve cooking lunch for the girls."
"Wait," I said, holding out a hand to steady myself. "There's a kitchen? And a cook?"
She put her hand on her hip. "We don't call her a cook, sugar. She's a house mom. All the quality strip clubs have them."
I immediately began rethinking my career choice. Not that I was considering becoming a stripper. My parents and the Catholic Church had worked too hard to repress me for me to throw it all away by doing something as liberated as that. But an office with a house mom would be nice.
"C'mon," she said, gesturing for me to follow. "I'll introduce you to her."
As we walked down the hallway, I took note of the layout. There were two offices, one across from the other. Then came the kitchen on the left and the girls' dressing room on the right.
Glenda took me by the arm and pulled me into a sunny yellow kitchen where a short, plump woman in her mid-fifties was standing over a huge soup pot. "Miss Eve Quebedeaux, this is Miss Franki Amato, my private investigator partner."
"Well, hiii," Eve drawled, sounding remarkably like Blanche Devereaux from The Golden Girls . She wiped her hands on an apron adorned with peaches, possibly symbolizing the state of Georgia. "Miss Glenda's told me so much about yewww," she said, grasping my hands. "I'll bet you work up quiiite an appetite doin' all that investigatin'. Can I git you some chicken Andouille gumbo and a slice of Bananas Foster piiie?"
I blinked and looked for the halo above her graying blonde curls. Then I sunk into a chair at the dining table and managed to utter a faint, "Yes."
"Uh- uh , Miss Franki," Glenda said, wagging her index finger (and, unintentionally, her boobs). "You can't have that pie. Miss Ronnie told me that you gave up sweets for Lent."
I shot her a seething look. I knew this hiring Glenda thing was going to be a big bust, and I wasn't referring to her breasts.
"We're actually trying to find Carlos," Glenda continued, planting her bare bottom in the chair across from me. "We've got to question him about Amber's murder."
"Oh, that poor girl," Eve lamented as she fixed me a heaping helping of gumbo. She placed the bowl in front of me and poured me a glass of milk. "I didn't get to know her all that well because she only worked here for two months, but I feel just awful about what happened."
"What was she like?" I asked and then inhaled a huge spoonful of the Cajun goodness.
Eve sat down at the head of the table. "She kept to herself, mostly. Some of the other girls thought it was because she was uppity, but I think she just didn't know how to act in a family setting."
I would've had a hard time seeing a strip club as a "family setting," but now that I knew they had kitchens complete with house moms like Eve, I was a believer. "I've heard that Amber was essentially an orphan. Did she ever mention any relatives to you?"
"Never." She rested her chin on her fists. "The only person I ever saw her with was her pimp."
I almost choked on a piece of chicken. "She had a pimp?"
"Uh-hu-h," she replied in three syllables. "He came here right before she quit the club."
So, Carnie might have been right about Amber working as a prostitute after she left Madame Moiselle's. "Do you know what he wanted?"
"He came to pick her up. And while Amber was changin' into her street clothes, I served him a plate of sauce picante, and we got to chattin'. He said his name was King, and I could see that deep down he was a nice man. So I encouraged him to
"Are you comin', Miss Franki?" Glenda called from above.
"Yeah, sorry." I shoved my phone into my bag, and when I finally reached the landing the tantalizing aroma of sausage teased my nostrils. " What is that heavenly odor?"
"That's Miss Eve cooking lunch for the girls."
"Wait," I said, holding out a hand to steady myself. "There's a kitchen? And a cook?"
She put her hand on her hip. "We don't call her a cook, sugar. She's a house mom. All the quality strip clubs have them."
I immediately began rethinking my career choice. Not that I was considering becoming a stripper. My parents and the Catholic Church had worked too hard to repress me for me to throw it all away by doing something as liberated as that. But an office with a house mom would be nice.
"C'mon," she said, gesturing for me to follow. "I'll introduce you to her."
As we walked down the hallway, I took note of the layout. There were two offices, one across from the other. Then came the kitchen on the left and the girls' dressing room on the right.
Glenda took me by the arm and pulled me into a sunny yellow kitchen where a short, plump woman in her mid-fifties was standing over a huge soup pot. "Miss Eve Quebedeaux, this is Miss Franki Amato, my private investigator partner."
"Well, hiii," Eve drawled, sounding remarkably like Blanche Devereaux from The Golden Girls . She wiped her hands on an apron adorned with peaches, possibly symbolizing the state of Georgia. "Miss Glenda's told me so much about yewww," she said, grasping my hands. "I'll bet you work up quiiite an appetite doin' all that investigatin'. Can I git you some chicken Andouille gumbo and a slice of Bananas Foster piiie?"
I blinked and looked for the halo above her graying blonde curls. Then I sunk into a chair at the dining table and managed to utter a faint, "Yes."
"Uh- uh , Miss Franki," Glenda said, wagging her index finger (and, unintentionally, her boobs). "You can't have that pie. Miss Ronnie told me that you gave up sweets for Lent."
I shot her a seething look. I knew this hiring Glenda thing was going to be a big bust, and I wasn't referring to her breasts.
"We're actually trying to find Carlos," Glenda continued, planting her bare bottom in the chair across from me. "We've got to question him about Amber's murder."
"Oh, that poor girl," Eve lamented as she fixed me a heaping helping of gumbo. She placed the bowl in front of me and poured me a glass of milk. "I didn't get to know her all that well because she only worked here for two months, but I feel just awful about what happened."
"What was she like?" I asked and then inhaled a huge spoonful of the Cajun goodness.
Eve sat down at the head of the table. "She kept to herself, mostly. Some of the other girls thought it was because she was uppity, but I think she just didn't know how to act in a family setting."
I would've had a hard time seeing a strip club as a "family setting," but now that I knew they had kitchens complete with house moms like Eve, I was a believer. "I've heard that Amber was essentially an orphan. Did she ever mention any relatives to you?"
"Never." She rested her chin on her fists. "The only person I ever saw her with was her pimp."
I almost choked on a piece of chicken. "She had a pimp?"
"Uh-hu-h," she replied in three syllables. "He came here right before she quit the club."
So, Carnie might have been right about Amber working as a prostitute after she left Madame Moiselle's. "Do you know what he wanted?"
"He came to pick her up. And while Amber was changin' into her street clothes, I served him a plate of sauce picante, and we got to chattin'. He said his name was King, and I could see that deep down he was a nice man. So I encouraged him to
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