Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

I joked.
    " Former stripper, actually," Veronica replied. "And she's really touchy about the difference, so don't use the word prostitute in front of her."
    I gaped at my best friend. "You're serious?"
    Veronica just blinked innocently, as if renting me an apartment from a former stripper across from a cemetery were perfectly normal. "You know, I was reading that the brothel look is really in right now. I believe it's called 'bordello chic.'" She began to pace back and forth as she tried to reconcile her unusually conflicted sense of fashion. "But now that I think about it, Lenny Kravitz redecorated his house here in New Orleans, and designers call his style 'bordello modern.'"
    " Something tells me that Lenny didn't decorate this place. And I wouldn't exactly call this 'bordello modern.' It's more like 'bordello seventies.'"
    " Well, at least you won't have to add any touches of color," Veronica said.
    " I'll say. Speaking of color, any idea of the backstory on this furniture?" I eyed the chaise lounge nervously. "I mean, I know it's used. But do you have any idea where it was used?"
    Veronica shrugged. "Glenda's a collector. She's always going on some trip or other to buy antique furniture. You'll have to ask her where she got it."
    I considered Glenda 's potential sources and then immediately resolved to get a new couch. And a new bed.
    " She also collects stripper costumes. I guess you could say she's the Debbie Reynolds of the stripping world." Veronica took a seat on the lilac armchair.
    " How do you mean?" I was dying to hear the rationale behind this fascinating analogy.
    " She collects stripper costumes like Debbie collects Hollywood costumes. She's got an Anna Nicole Smith, a Dita Von Teese, and a Gypsy Rose Lee. You know, Glenda was quite the local celebrity back in the sixties and seventies. She stripped for all the famous singers, actors, and politicians. She even danced for President John F. Kennedy. She made a fortune and invested it all in real estate, antiques, and strip memorabilia."
    " What did you say her last name was?" I was now determined to google her.
    " O'Brien. But her stage name was Lorraine Lamour."
    " Oh, good choice," I said, truly impressed.
    " Do you want to go see the boudoir ?"
    " Okay. But first promise me that it doesn't have a heart-shaped bed or a mirrored ceiling," I replied, dead serious.
    " Oh no. I don't go in for the tacky look," a raspy voice said from behind me.
    I turned and saw standing in the doorway a short, wiry, sixty-something woman with a deeply lined face, platinum boob-length hair, and the longest false eyelashes I had ever seen. From the outfit she was wearing, I had no doubt whatsoever that it was Glenda. She was dressed in a sheer black robe with gold sequins, a ruffled leopard print corset with a matching ultra mini skirt, black satin high-heeled slippers with feathers, and a bright yellow boa. In her left hand, she held a Mae West–style cigarette holder, and in her right was a glass of champagne.
    " You must be Miss Franki. I can see that you're Italian; you look like that actress from the 1960s, Claudia Cardinale. You've got her tits too." She sized up my chest as she took a drag from her cigarette. "My name is Glenda, but I also answer to Lorraine. Welcome to New Orleans, sugar."
    " Thanks, uh, Miss Glenda," I replied, uncertain of proper Southern stripper forms of address and whether I was supposed to throw in a "honey" or a "doll." "It's a pleasure to meet you."
    " Likewise, I'm sure," Glenda replied, inelegantly exhaling a puff of smoke.
    " I see that Miss Ronnie here has shown you the place. In case she didn't mention it, the laundry room is downstairs in the basement. And if you need more storage space, there's a walk-in closet down there you're free to use. I used to keep my costumes in it, but after the post-Katrina floods I moved them to the apartment upstairs. I still have every costume I ever wore on stage, except one made of packing tape—they had to