Free Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) by Traci Andrighetti

the crime, mind you, but because I was busy worshipping all those glorious LaMarca bags.
    " May I help you?" a blonde Amazonian salesgirl asked, her booming voice startling me out of my fine leather–induced stupor.
    I jumped like a jackrabbit and glanced frantically at her nametag. "No thanks, Svetlana. I'm just looking." Then, without giving her a chance to respond, I scurried to the scarf racks. Nancy Drew, I realized, would have never acted so stupid.
    In the scarf department, I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand. I knew I should be looking for any clues related to the crime, but I had no idea what those might be. As I gazed at the beautiful silk scarves, the image of a vibrant young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair lying strangled to death popped into my mind. Again I wondered why the killer had strangled her with a scarf from another store when there were so many scarves right at his or her fingertips. Had Ryan Hunter or another male admirer brought the scarf to Jessica as a gift and then used it to strangle her during an argument? Or did the scarf belong to a woman who 'd removed it from her own neck to strangle Jessica?
    And was it irony that she 'd been strangled with a cheap polyester scarf in a sea of expensive silk? Or was it some kind of message?
    " Can I help you with something?" I heard an annoyingly chipper voice ask from behind me.
    I turned to see a chubby young girl with hazel bug eyes and Shirley Temple curls in a Lucille Ball red straight from the bottle. She was wearing a white, short-sleeved angora sweater, a black poodle skirt , and a pink scarf knotted around her neck: an astonishingly 1950s look for someone who worked in contemporary fashion. Her nametag told me her name was Annabella. Bingo , I thought. I willed myself to remain calm. "Yes, I'm trying to find a scarf for my mom, but I'm overwhelmed by all the options."
    My words sounded fake and stilted to my ear, but the 1950s pinup girl didn 't seem to notice.
    " I can help you with that!" she replied overenthusiastically. "I just love scarves. What color did you have in mind?"
    " Yellow," I said firmly, waiting to see her reaction. Even though Annabella had an airtight alibi—she was in the emergency room with a nasty case of the hives at the time of the murder—my instincts told me that she knew more about the situation than she had shared with the police.
    Annabella 's bulging eyes opened even wider for an instant, then she regained her composure. "What a lovely choice," she said stiffly. She beckoned me to follow her to another rack.
    As she sifted expertly through scarves in hues of amber, gold , and yellow, I not-so-casually remarked, "I'm so glad your scarf area is open. I wasn't sure it would be…after the murder."
    "LaMarca is open three hundred sixty-five days per year." Annabella chirped without missing a beat. Then she looked me in the eyes and added in a low voice, "Actually, we were open for business later that same day."
    " Wow, now that's customer service!" I exclaimed, searching for something innocuous to say. I sensed that she was the gossipy type, so I decided to try winning her trust with flattery. "By the way, I just love your look! You should be on TV, you know that? You just have that glamorous quality about you."
    Annabella blushed furiously. "That's what I'm always telling everyone, but Svetlana is always telling me I look dowdy!"
    " I can't believe that!" I lied as I began looking through the scarves. Then I asked, nonchalantly, "Did you know her? The woman who was strangled?"
    " She was our manager," she whispered, her eyes darting furtively from side to side to make sure no one was in earshot. "Her name was Jessica Evans."
    By this time, Annabella had stopped searching through the scarves and had draped her arm casually over one of the racks. My compliments seemed to be taking effect—she was clearly in the mood to talk murder, so I pressed on. "What was Jessica like? I mean, was she as