Reluctant Smuggler

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Scott and Regan exchanged glances. “The ads are doable,” he said. “I’ll finesse the wording to keep client identities confidential.”

  Regan leaned forward. “And a one-week blitz shouldn’t cut into our budget too badly.”

  Max waggled a hand. “I’m not sure such a short round of ads is going to do much good. People need to hear things consistently over a long period of time before the message sinks in.”

  “Excellent point.” Desi took her seat at the head of the table. “The ads are just the icing to entice people to try the cake were going to feed them on a regular basis.” Blank stares focused on her. “I want us to offer a free column or sound bite to print and radio media, containing tips on household security for the average person.” She glanced at Scott. “I know that’s placing more responsibility on your plate, but if we offer a valuable service to their customers, the media will look closer at their sources before running tripe about us. Input, anyone?”

  For a half hour the group discussed the nuts and bolts of the project. Excitement ran high. Desi’s blood pumped with a ferocity she hadn’t felt in a long time. People smiled and joked, and that, too, had been in short supply for a while. Everybody had ideas for column content.

  “Sounds like you’ve got plenty of help, Scott,” she said. “But tap the other offices too. This needs to be a global team effort.”

  The PR man threw a salute above his grin.

  Desi folded her hands on the table. “You realize this little end run won’t solve all our issues with Greybeck and Sons, but it’s a proactive step and one they won’t anticipate.”

  Max rubbed her hands together like a villainous conspirator. “The beauty of this plan is that we’re not out to fight fire with fire. We douse flames of doubt and suspicion in the public mind with a blast of some-thin new and refreshin’.”

  Cheers and claps met the comment.

  Then Max stood, grinned wickedly, and winked at Desi. “Enough business. How about we get down to the important stuff.” She nodded toward the field representative at the opposite end of the table, and he opened the door. The receptionist wheeled a cart inside, laden with cake, punch, and coffee. A bouquet of helium-filled balloons bobbed from the handle.

  Scott laughed. “Talk about feeding people cake.”

  Blue letters on the frosting said, “Congratulations, Boss-Lady.” Desi clapped a hand over her mouth as everyone pulled packages wrapped in wedding shower paper from under the table.

  Max grabbed Desi in a hug. “This little shindigs been planned since you announced your engagement, just waitirí to spring it as soon as you set a date. It’s a good thing you haven’t been around much, or one of us probably would have let the polecat out of the sack.”

  Desi laughed and wiped at her cheeks. “I’ll be here more from now on. An old married woman can’t go gallivanting around the world at a moment’s notice.”

  “We’re all for that.” Regan began to cut the cake. One of the others passed the plates, and someone else poured punch and coffee.

  Time passed with more hilarity. Torn gift-wrap strewed the floor, and used paper plates littered the table.

  Desi glanced at her watch. “Max, we’ve got to go. Sorry, people.” She stood up. “I’ll be back later this afternoon. And I promise to put in a full day at this sweatshop tomorrow, but the bride, the matron of honor, and the groom’s mom have an appointment at a bridal boutique.”

  “Get out of here.” Scott waved them away.

  Regan grinned. “And don’t come back until you have a dress, Ms. Bride.” She licked frosting from her finger.

  Desi and Max hustled out of the office into the cold. They picked up Gina and headed downtown. Seated next to Desi in the front passenger seat, Tony’s mother tugged at the buttons on her coat and crossed and uncrossed her ankles. Every now and then, a sigh escaped her lips.

  Was Gina worried they wouldn’t get this wedding put together in time? Or maybe Tony…of course. “Tony’ll be all right for a couple of hours on his own.”

  Gina blinked like she’d said something off the wall. “I know, cara.” She went back to twisting her coat buttons.

  Desi frowned.

  “Your father would’ve been proud of you this mornin,” Max said from the rear seat.

  Desi’s heart lifted. “I hope so.”

  Max laughed. “Not long ago, mention of your dad wouldn’t have brought a smile. What happened?”

  “An epiphany of sorts yesterday, aided by this great lady.” Desi touched Gina’s arm.

  “Glad I could help.” The woman stared out the side window.

  Something was up. But what?

  “I’ve set one more thing in motion about the Greybecks,” Desi’s aid. “Steve’s been hired to poke into their business dealings and personal backgrounds. More than business rivalry is going on. I think they’re trying to hide dirty laundry by airing—or inventing—ours.”

  Max whistled between her teeth. “I think you’ve clobbered the nail on the head.”

  “The thought occurred to me in Mexico during a conversation with the president, but other things shoved it from my mind.”

  “Yeah, like we haven’t had anything going on.”

  Desi turned onto a street of specialty shops and boutiques. “Now, where is this place?”

  “There.” Gina pointed toward a bay window displaying a gowned mannequin draped in jewelry. Tony’s mother seemed to shrink in her seat as they drifted past the storefront.

  Desi slipped into a parking spot about half a block away. As they got out, a brisk wind ruffled Desi’s hair and sent a shiver through her middle. They quick-footed toward the boutique.

  “High-end place.” Desi nodded toward the gown and accessories in the window.

  “Nothin but the best for you, girl.” Max opened the door.

  A smiling, model-thin sales attendant greeted them and took their coats. “I’m Victoria, and I’ll assist you today. Follow me, please.”

  Desi hid a smile. Victoria? Naturally, no one who called herself Vicky could work in a place that smelled like wads of old money. They entered a separate room with no windows, just tastefully placed velvet-covered chairs and a tri-paneled mirror in front of a round stage.

  Victoria beamed at Gina. “Wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Lucano. And which of these beautiful young women is your prospective daughter-in-law?”

  Gina had been here? “I’m the bride.” Those words tasted great coming out of her mouth, but what was with the pale face and pinched nostrils on Tony’s mom?

  “Marvelous.” Victoria looked Desi up and down. “Alterations should be minimal.”

  Gina let out a high-pitched laugh. “Let us see your collection to start with.”

  Victoria’s brows shot up. “If that’s what you’d like.”

  Desi glanced from one woman to the other. What was going on here?

  Gina grasped Desi’s hands. “Humor an old lady. Try on anything you like, and no peeking at price tags.”

  Questions and protests gave way to a steady succession of gowns pulled from racks and held out for inspection. Desi’s elected three she knew were beyond her budget, but Gina urged her on, and Max matched the woman’s enthusiasm. Too bad she’d have to hustle them out of here and head for a more modestly priced store as soon as she indulged their insanity and tried on the gowns. Dutifully, she modeled them to nods and smiles. Lovely gowns, yes. The right one for her? She hadn’t seen it yet.

  As Desi removed the third dress in the changing room, Victoria came in, carrying another plastic-covered gown. “Mrs. Lucano believes you may like this one. A one-of-a-kind Vera Wang. I’m eager to see it on you.” The saleswoman unzipped the bag as if she were handling a fragile antiquity. Desi glimpsed gossamer lace on the skirt. At last, the woman freed the dress from it’s cocoon and stepped back.

  Desi’s mouth flopped open. If anyone had asked her to describe the perfect bridal gown, she couldn’t have come up with anything close to this knockout Elizabeth-Taylor-
meets-Jennifer-Lopez creation. Shimmering seed pearls embellished the embroidered, fitted bodice. Delicate lace sleeves joined ribbon straps at the shoulders, and the hip-hugging satin skirt flared at the knees into a lace-tiered sweep with the mere suggestion of a train. Desi gulped. She already wanted this dress like she craved oxygen, but how could she justify the expense?

  “Let’s get you into this.” Victoria offered a perky smile.

  Desi couldn’t muster a return smile. Why should she torment herself by trying the gown on? The reckless moment might taint the day of her wedding when she walked down the aisle in a more reasonably priced dress. “Im sorry. My time is short, and—”

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Jacobs. We’ll have you out of here tout de suite”

  Since when did Desiree Jacobs pass up a good chance when it was offered? At least she could see herself once in this matchless creation. She stepped into the gown and let Victoria button her in. Sweeping from the dressing room, she didn’t waste a second checking for approval from Max and Gina. Max’s squeal and Gina’s gasp said it all. Desi flowed onto the stage and stared into the trifold mirror.

  “Oh, my! Oh, dear!” She fanned a hand in front of her face. “I think I love this dress as much as I do Tony.” She let out a shaky laugh.

  Gina burst into tears.

  Desi rushed to her future mother-in-law. “I was joking.”

  Tears streamed down the older woman’s face, but a smile blossomed. “Maybe now you will forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?” Alarm and puzzlement battled in Desi’s mind. Gina Lucano never beat around the bush. The problem must be catastrophic.

  Max joined them, glancing from one to the other.

  Gina drew in a breath. “Now that the wedding is set I could no longer put off this moment of truth. I confessed my transgression to my son this morning, and he was certain you would be furious at your meddling mother-in-law.” Her gaze fell, and so did her voice. “And I would not blame you—even though you love the dress.”

  “Gina!” Max pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Don’t tell me you bought the gown.”

  Desi shot her friend a scornful look. “That’s a bit off the deep end, Max.”

  Gina drew herself up to her stately height. “It is so. At least—” She flushed, and her posture loosened. “I have made the nonrefundable deposit. I consider it an investment well made to give you the chance to wear this dress.”

  Heat flared inside Desi, then ebbed into chill calm. “You reserved the gown? But when? Why?” Should she be angry or shout for joy?

  “Please, sit down with me, cara.” She gestured toward the chairs.

  “No way am I going to put a wrinkle in this fabric.”

  “Very well, then I shall sit.” She perched on the velvet seat. “Last month I was out on the town with the ladies from my Red Hat Society, and we came here on a lark. To browse, not buy. But I found the most divine mother-of-the-bride-and-groom dress.”

  “That’s right. You said you’d bought one already.”

  “Don’t interrupt, cara. This is difficult enough.” She brushed a nonexistent speck from her pants. “My dress was on the sale rack for last year’s line, a steal if you consider full price.”

  “This one was on the sale rack too?” Desi gazed down at the amazing confection that adorned her body.

  Gina shook her head. “As soon as I saw the gown, I knew it was perfect for you, mia figlia, but a poor waif of a debutante was trying it on and simply hadn’t the figure for it.” She tutted. “Her mother quite rightly insisted the gown was unsuitable, and the spoiled little morulla threw a tantrum. I whispered a few words in Victoria’s ear. And, voilà, the gown was no longer for sale.” Gina and Victoria exchanged satisfied glances in the visual equivalent of a high-five.

  “Mrs. Lucano saved my day.” The saleswoman grinned. “I swept into the midst of the mother-daughter scene and said, ‘Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. I showed you a dress that’s been sold. Let me show you what else we have.’ And that was the end of the drama. They didn’t buy here, but they didn’t chase away any more customers with the shouting and the language, either. We were glad when they left,” Victoria declared with a sharp nod.

  How like Gina to assess a situation and move in with a solution. Tony was so much her son. But the woman couldn’t be serious that this dress was for her?

  Gina rose. “I humbly beg your pardon for presuming, but I knew in here—” she pressed her hands to her heart—”that you were meant to marry my son in this gown. And please, by way of atonement, if you truly love it, let the dress be my wedding gift to you.”

  Desi’s mouth went dry. Presumptuous to the nth degree didn’t begin to describe a mother-in-law-to-be who picked out the bride’s dress. But this gift didn’t smack of manipulation or control. It spoke of a heart to serve someone else’s happiness regardless of cost. The volumes of love that poured from Gina’s eyes could not be withstood.

  “Oh, Mama Gina!” She threw her arms around the older woman, this gift from God to her. “Thank you so much. I’ll wear this dress with extra pride because it came from your heart.” She stepped back and fingered the lace on the sleeves.

  The woman smacked her hands together. “Mama Gina. Yes, you must call me that.”

  Victoria handed tissues around and took one herself as they all dabbed at their faces. A brief fitting later, Desi emerged from the dressing room in her business clothes. “Max and I need to head back to the office, and I suppose you need to get back to Tony. No telling what that bad boys been up to unsupervised.”

  Mama Gina chuckled. “You know him well. I’ll call for a cab to take me home.”

  “In a pigs eye!” Max’s contribution.

  “I couldn’t have said it better.” Desi nodded. “Well drop you off.”

  Mama Gina looked from one to the other. “But it’s out of your way.”

  “Not out of the way when I need to step inside and deliver a scolding for upsetting you about my reaction to the dress.”

  “His warning was justified. You must admit that.”

  “I could have been angry, but I’m not, so there. The man is wrong once in a while.”

  The edges of Mama Gina’s eyes crinkled. “Well let that be our little secret. I doubt he’d believe us anyway.”

  They left the shop laughing, and the drive home passed in discussion of wedding details. Desi turned onto her street, and a late-model blue sedan passed her going the other direction. At first the face of the driver didn’t register, and then his identity exploded in her brain.

  “Preston Standish!”

  Desi slammed on the brakes, pulse skittering, and her car slid to a halt on the snow-packed road. Her passengers let out little shrieks. “Hang on!” She pressed the accelerator and cranked the wheel. Her car lurched into a U-turn. She stepped on the gas, and the vehicle shot forward in pursuit of the sedan fast fading in the distance.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Mama Gina gripped the edge of the seat. “Is that the man who took your medallion in Mexico?”

  “No two schnozzolas like that in the world.” Homes streamed past her accelerating vehicle, but blessedly few pedestrians on this bitter cold middle of the workday. Standish was not getting out of her sight. “Call 9-1-1 and ask for backup.”

  “Backup?” Max squeaked. “Were not cops.”

  “Tell them we’re on the trail of an international criminal. Give them Tony’s name.”

  “They’ll ask for location, make, and model, and say to let the professionals handle this.”

  “Good advice, cara.” Mama Gina’s voice quavered as the car fish-tailed on a strip of ice.

  Desi leaned forward, lips peeled back, a stranglehold on the wheel. Good. They’d narrowed the sedan’s lead, and a stop sign loomed. Surprise, surprise, Sir Schnoz ran the sign.

  “Desi, please!” Mama Gina’s fingers dug into her arm. “What about Tony? That man came from the direction of your house.”

  Desi hit the brakes, her heart tripping over itself. T
he car screeched to a stop sideways in the road with the hood only feet from the stop-sign pole. What was the matter with her? Tony should have been her first consideration. Yanking the wheel, she turned the car and sped toward home. A single prayer throbbed in her soul.

  Dear God, please let Tony be all right

  Seventeen

  Desi’s heart rate matched her choppy quick-step up the sidewalk toward her front door. Max and Mama Gina’s feet pattered behind her. Desi leaped onto the porch and grabbed the door handle—locked, as it should be. A good sign? Maybe. But what if Tony had let Standish in, not knowing who he was? With Tony so weak, the beanpole British thief could have done whatever he wanted and then turned the door lock before he pulled it shut on the way out.

  Desi fumbled through her key ring. How stupid not to have singled out her house key while she hustled up the walk. Something wasn’t right, but what? Knowledge nipped at the edges of her thoughts. Oh, yes, that idiot delivery man left her package of printer supplies on the porch again when he was supposed to leave it in the drop box by the garage—Never mind!

  A soft whimper sounded behind her. Mama Gina? Max? “Hurry!” That was Mama Gina.

  Desi isolated the right key, jammed it into the lock, and turned it. Bodies crowded her from behind, and the three of them all but tumbled through the door.

  “Tony?” Desi’s voice held a sandpaper rasp.

  No answer. The house lay wrapped in silence. A vise squeezed Desi’s chest.

  “Anthony Marco Lucano!” Mama Gina’s bellow could rattle the windowpanes.

  “What?” a groggy voice responded from the living room.

  Desi sagged against the wall. Max and Mama Gina surged ahead, and Desi wobbled after.

  Tony sat in the recliner with his slipper-clad feet up and his laptop computer open in front of him. He blinked at them, scowling. “What kind of trouble am I in now?”