Limoncello Yellow (Franki Amato Mysteries) by Traci Andrighetti Page B

open-mouthed, wondering what in the world I was witnessing. I left the two of them to work out their differences and headed to the office to drop off Napoleon before going over to nearby Bourbon Street to Marie Laveau's. Although I was starting to get hungry, I was going to have to skip dinner thanks to the four or so pralines I'd eaten for lunch while staking out the park. Mardi Gras was just around the corner, and Veronica had told me that the average New Orleanian gains six pounds during the season, which meant I was sure to gain at least ten. And frankly, I couldn't afford to gain another ten pounds because I was already bursting out of all seven pairs of jeans I owned. If I put on any more weight, I would have to buy a whole new wardrobe, and I certainly wasn't in any financial position to do that.
    Trying desperately to drive all thoughts of food from my mind—a hard thing to do in the Quarter near dinnertime—I walked up Decatur Street toward Saint Ann. But after only about five minutes, I stopped dead in my tracks. Right in front of me at an outdoor table at Market Café sat none other than Bradley Hartmann. This was my chance to work my date-getting magic. I'd always been pretty good at getting a guy—I just had trouble keeping one.
    I stood up straight, sucked in my stomach , and sauntered past his table, but he didn't notice me because he was absorbed in The Times-Picayune . I saw that there were some empty tables near where Bradley was sitting, so I hurried over to the hostess stand by the entrance to the café. In my haste, I accidentally bumped into a burly waitress with short, electric blue hair, a sleeve tattoo and triple-pierced eyebrows, causing her to drop a tray loaded with food.
    " You just cost me a tip, lady," she said in a startlingly gruff voice. 
    " I'm so sorry." I bent down to help her pick up the dishes.
    " Why don't you just let me take care of this? I think you've done enough already."
    I looked up from the pile of broken dishes and saw that her nametag read "Charity." Talk about a misnomer , I thought. "Like I said, Charity, I'm sorry. And I can take care of that tip," I added as I put another plate shard on the tray.
    " Like I said, lady, I got this." She shot me an aggressive look.
    " Well, if you insist." I rose to my feet. The hostess was nowhere to be seen, so I said, "Listen, I'm really pressed for time. Would you mind if I seated myself?"
    " A member of the staff has to seat you," she replied, visibly irritated. "Restaurant policy."
    " All right. Can you seat me then, please?"
    She stared at me for a moment . "Let me get you a menu," she replied through clenched teeth.
    But by then I was in such a hurry that I didn 't want to wait. I mean, this was the opportunity I'd been waiting for with Bradley. So I blew right past her and made a beeline for his table.
    " Bradley!" I called as I rushed to his side.
    Apparently, Bradley wasn 't used to women shouting his name in restaurants, because he jumped and knocked over his beer, spilling gold liquid all over the bulk of his newspaper.
    " I'm so sorry." I was starting to sound a lot like a broken record. "I didn't mean to startle you."
    He gave an ironic smile as he rose to his feet. "I didn't want anymore of that beer, anyway."
    Charity, who had been standing impatiently by what was supposed to be my table, rolled her eyes and then came over and helped us clean up the wine with a towel that was attached to her waist apron. She wadded up the wet newspaper. "Your menu is on the table over there ." She pointed dramatically to a table far away.
    " Thanks, Charity," I said none-too-appreciatively and then waited for her to leave. For reasons I simply couldn't fathom, she seemed adamant that I was going to sit at the table she'd selected for me, because she stood there waiting for me to go. But I wasn't budging an inch from Bradley's table.
    Bradley, who couldn 't help but notice the standoff between Charity and me, came to my rescue. "It's