Read Amaretto Amber (Franki Amato Mysteries Book 3) for Free Online Page B

do a full body search," he announced with his lip curling like that of The King. He pulled out a plastic baton and gave a lascivious smile. "Up against the wall, and spread 'em."
    I ripped the baton from his hands and whacked him over the head, exactly like I'd done to my brother Anthony with that light saber.
    "Ow," he said, rubbing his head. "Was that really necessary? I'm just trying to do my job."
    My phone began to ring. I looked at the display and pressed answer. "Glenda," I ground out, "if you don't call off your cop, you're gonna have a homicide on your hands."
    Stripper Cop Cage's low brow lifted to the top of his forehead.
    "That's what I'm calling about, sugar," Glenda said. "I already do."
    "Wait," I said, massaging my temple. "How do you have a homicide?"
    She exhaled what was probably a puff of smoke. "There's been a murder at Madame Moiselle's, Miss Franki. An ex-house stripper named Amber Brown."
    I thought of the blonde I'd seen leaving the club. "Did you know Amber?"
    "Not well, but I'm friends with her ex-landlord, Carnie. I called her a few minutes ago, and I think she's going to need your services."
    "I'll be right there." I ended the call and checked the time. It was three p.m., which meant that I hadn't burned off the near half bottle of booze I'd drunk two hours before. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, but Stripper Cop Cage blocked my way and leered at my rack.
    "Show's over," I said, referring both to my boobs and his striptease.
    "Don't you want me to dance?" He did a sample Saturday Night Fever-style spin and finished with a mimed hair-smoothing move.
    "No, I want you to drive," I replied, pushing past him. "And if you even think about copping a feel in the car, stripper copper, the next place you do any spinning will be your grave."
    As I tramped toward his tricked-out Trans Am, I had a bad feeling in my gut (related in part to the limoncello). I don't know why, but something was telling me to turn around—to go back inside my apartment and lock the door. But I didn't listen.
    Because I was probably cursed, right?

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    My stripper chauffer skidded the Trans Am to a stop in front of Madame Moiselle's, and then he skidded to a stop and stared slack-jawed through the windshield at some skimpily dressed strippers gathered on the second-floor balcony. "Uh…you need an escort inside?"
    "Nah," I said as I climbed from the car. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the limoncello, but just for kicks I bent down and added, "I'm really only here to see a dead body."
    His slack jaw became even slacker, and then he peeled out with the passenger door still wide open.
    I smirked and approached a blond police officer who looked like he was barely old enough to drink, standing guard at Madame Moiselle's red double-door entrance.
    "The club is closed for the day, ma'am," he announced.
    I processed that "ma'am" in disbelief. Did a citywide press release go out about my birthday or something?
    Glenda leaned over the rail, her hair and breasts hanging down. "She's one of us, Officer, baby."
    He looked me up and down and then narrowed his ice blue eyes like a poker player reading his opponent.
    I matched his half-lidded gaze and gave him a how-dare-you glare. Not that I wanted to be taken for a stripper, but I sure as heck didn't want some cop who was practically a kid acting like I couldn't be one. After all, us thirty-year-olds could strip too.
    "Wait on the second floor with the others," he said, stepping aside.
    I mentally thanked Glenda for intervening on my behalf because the police were notorious for not wanting PIs puttering around their crime scenes. Before the officer could change his mind, I hurried inside.
    And I experienced an immediate assault on my semi-drunk senses. Madame Moiselle's deep red décor and pink neon signage scorched my eyes, and the stench singed my nostrils. As a rookie cop I'd responded to calls at more than a few strip clubs, and they'd always looked and smelled