by Mary Ellis
‘I suppose so. I’ll find out the details once I meet the client.’
‘I thought this kind of information was available on the internet.’
‘That’s what I said to Nate. But the information is only released when both parties wish to be found. In this case, one or more have resisted any attempt to be contacted by the adoption agency. And one natural sibling has gone so far as to drop off the grid, for all practical purposes.’
Beth glanced in her direction. ‘Sounds like you’ll earn your paycheck. Even if you find this person, what makes you think you can convince them to meet the dying woman?’
Kate shrugged. ‘My assignment is to find the natural siblings and extend an invitation to meet our client and her family. The rest is out of my hands.’
‘Sounds easy enough. What about your safety? Do you think you covered your tracks well enough in Savannah?’
‘I sure hope so. I told my landlord I was moving back to Florida. All the utilities at the apartment were in the owner’s name. I told my neighbors I hated the south and would look for a job out west. I got rid of my cell phone since the bad guys had the number and bought a couple of pre-paid burners. Plus Nate gave me a phone, but I’m only releasing the number to a select few.’
‘Will that include me?’
‘Most likely,’ she said with a wink. ‘And I made no other friends in Georgia other than you and Michael.’
‘And Mrs Doyle,’ corrected Beth. ‘When I told her about the night of her party, Evelyn said she’d be happy to hide you in Atlanta or down in the Caribbean or inside an igloo in Alaska, her treat.’
Kate shivered at the thought of an igloo. ‘That’s very kind of her, but I’m done running. I intend to do my job in Charleston without constantly looking over my shoulder.’
‘Just don’t get sloppy. In the meantime, I’d better start calling you Jill every five minutes so you get used to the name. What made you pick Jill Wyatt?’
‘The creep shooting at me said I’d worn out the letter K. Plus I’ve always liked that name. But other than those connected to the case, I’m only telling a few friends … all five of you.’
‘Are you going to tell your contacts in Florida?’ Beth tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
‘My brother? Absolutely not, but I will tell my one friend at the Florida Industrial Commission. I trust her with my life.’
‘You know what’s best, Jill. Any idea where you’ll live in Charleston? During my one trip there with Michael, I got the feeling that town is even more expensive than Savannah.’
‘You are not kidding. The day I was in Nate’s office, his secretary helped me narrow my search to places I can afford in the historical district.’
‘Thank goodness for Miss Maxine. She’s irreplaceable. How many did she come up with?’
The brand new Jill Wyatt stifled a laugh. ‘Exactly one, but the location couldn’t be better. Right in the heart of the action.’
‘One? Look, Jill, the historic district is overrated – no free parking, tons of tourists, and all those horse-drawn carriages to maneuver around. Expand your search into the suburbs and you’ll have plenty to pick from.’
Like a stubborn mule, she shook her head. ‘Nope, I loved those suites you and Michael had on the Savannah River. Just once I want to live someplace charming, even if it’s just for a week or two.’
‘Tell me about this charming place you found. If you can afford it, it must be a flea-infested walk-up as far from Battery or Bay as you can get. Don’t blame me when you wake up in the middle of the night scratching.’
Jill giggled. ‘Are you forgetting about our expense per diem? It might not be much, but it’ll pay half the rent for a suite above a restaurant.’
‘You’re renting a room above a restaurant?’ Beth looked appalled.
‘Yeah, but it has a queen-size bed, a plasma TV with DVR, and a private bathroom. I don’t need more than that.’
‘Who were the previous tenants – diners too drunk to drive home?’
‘No, the owner kept the suite for out-of-town relatives who showed up without an invitation. Those with an invitation got to stay at their home in the suburbs.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, Jill. This is a bad idea.’ Beth seldom minced words when she voiced her opinion.
‘No, it’s not. Did I mention the restaurant serves my favorite kind of food – Italian?’
Beth rolled her eyes. ‘Does that mean you can raid the refrigerator after they lock up for the night? Hopefully, you didn’t commit without seeing it first.’ Barely accelerating, she passed two slow-moving trucks.
‘I told the manager we’d arrive by eleven tomorrow to check the place out. He said “perfect,” because we would beat the noontime rush.’
‘At least the manager is a he. I’d pictured a little old granny with a dozen cats and lace doilies on the scratchy sofa.’
‘What are doilies?’
‘Never mind, you’ll find out soon enough. Eleven should work out fine for us. If we reach Macon tonight, we’ll have an easy drive tomorrow after breakfast.’
Later the new Jill and Beth checked into a clean Motel 6 on the edge of town. Although the TV wasn’t plasma and the free breakfast consisted of cheese Danish, yogurt and fruit cocktail, the coffee was wonderful. That night Jill listened as Beth described her wedding arrangements with increasing animation. She and Michael’s plans for a small, tasteful luncheon after the service had ballooned into an after-church brunch, then a riverboat ride for photographs, and finally a barbeque reception at Aunt Rita’s farm with overnight guests sleeping in tents in the pasture.
Beth sighed wearily. ‘Somehow my mother and aunts interpreted small and tasteful as a three-ring circus, culminating with a hoedown, marshmallows and a bonfire.’
Jill popped open another Coke. ‘I thought Michael’s parents were adding their two-cents.’
‘Oh, yeah … they’re the ones renting the riverboat for an afternoon cruise down the Mississippi.’ Beth grabbed two fistfuls of hair and pulled.
‘I’m picturing Maverick reruns with James Garner. What does your fearless fiancé have to say about this?’
‘Michael suggested a chocolate fountain and pony rides at the farm for the kids.’ Beth pulled her hoodie over her face.
Jill only smiled. With her limited experience with weddings, she had no advice to offer. ‘Please make sure I get an invitation. I’ve never been tent camping in my life.’
That night she slept soundly with a feeling of utter safety. Maybe it was because they’d paid for the hotel in cash and registered under false names. Or maybe it was because there were two loaded guns in the room. But mostly it was because Kate Weller/Jill Wyatt had a real friend – something she hadn’t had in a long time.
The next morning Jill took the wheel on the way to Charleston to familiarize herself with the car and her new town. En route Beth Googled every hotel in the area until Jill stopped in front of Bella Trattoria. ‘Look how adorable this is,’ she enthused. ‘Wrought-iron gate, field stone foundation, walled courtyard, and a red tile roof. Looks like we landed in Tuscany.’
‘Somewhere neither of us has been.’ Beth popped out of the car and shoved a quarter into the parking meter. ‘An hour should be enough time to split a meatball sub and check out granny’s attic.’
‘Look, if you’re not going to be nice, you can wait in the car.’ Jill dropped in three more coins and let her gaze travel up to the second floor where the dormer windows had leaded glass. ‘Look at that gorgeous English ivy climbing the walls.’
Beth scrunched her nose. ‘That stuff attracts bugs and loosens the mortar.’
‘Go.’ Jill ordered, pointing at the Toyota. ‘You were warned. I’ll get the meatball sandwich to go.’
‘Please, I promise to be good,’ Beth begged, steepling her fingers under her chin.
‘OK, but I’m holding you to that promise.’ She started up the flagstones toward the arched main entrance.
‘Where are yo
u going?’ asked Beth. ‘We should probably inquire at the service entrance.’
Trusting someone with more experience than her, Jill rounded the side of the building with Beth at her heels. When they followed a delivery man through an open door, they suddenly found themselves smack in the middle of a beehive: Pots being stirred on a twelve-burner stove; vegetables being scrubbed at a sink deep enough for a retriever; pans of dough entering the oven with loaves of bread coming out. A young girl was tearing romaine into bite-sized pieces; an elderly woman was polishing silver; and the deliveryman was loading beer and Evian into a cooler. Yet no one seemed to be getting in anyone’s way.
‘Wow,’ murmured Jill. ‘Look how many people work here.’
‘And almost everyone is smiling.’ Beth sounded equally in awe.
‘The term work implies a regular paycheck,’ said the teenaged vegetable scrubber. ‘Some of us are indentured servants,’ she added with a scowl.
‘No talking, missy, or you’ll get another forty lashes.’ A thirty-ish woman addressed the girl and then turned to them.
‘May I help you? I’m afraid guests must enter through the front door, even for courtyard seating.’
‘We’d like two meatball sandwiches to go,’ said Beth.
Elbowing her in the gut, Jill stepped forward. ‘Actually we’d like to talk to Mr Manfredi.’
‘Is my father expecting you?’ The woman looked curiously from one to the other.
‘I believe these ladies are here for me.’ A deep male voice came from one of the three commercial stoves. When he turned around, Jill’s breath caught in her throat while Beth squeaked like a mouse. In a kitchen filled with people of petite to medium stature, this particular worker had to be six-five at least.
‘Mr Manfredi?’ asked Jill, regaining her composure.
‘I’m Eric Manfredi. If you’re Miss Wyatt, I’m the one you spoke to on the phone.’ In one seamless move, he pulled off the white tunic and dropped it in a basket. Underneath he wore a sleeveless T-shirt, well-worn jeans, and flip flops. Not only was he tall, he was around 250 pounds of what looked like solid muscle that didn’t come from stirring pots.
‘That’s me.’ Jill forced herself to stop staring.
‘Follow me and I’ll show you the apartment.’ He headed toward the staircase along the far wall.
‘Careful, Uncle Eric,’ called the young salad-maker. ‘The short one is packing a gun under her jacket.’
Beth froze in place and threw her hands in the air. ‘I’m licensed to carry a firearm in this state. No one here is in any danger.’
‘Are you her bodyguard?’ asked the salad-maker. ‘That is so cool.’
Eric stopped on the first step and pivoted. ‘Pay no attention to my niece. She’s very observant and, unfortunately, obsessed with crime shows.’ When he shifted his focus from the salad-maker to Jill, his dark eyes practically bored holes through her. ‘You mentioned on the phone you were a PI.’
‘Correct, I’m in Charleston for a case. This is Beth Kirby, who’s also a PI.’
He nodded politely. ‘Nice to meet you, but the suite is only big enough for one occupant.’ Eric unlocked the door with an old-fashioned skeleton key.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t stay here,’ said Beth, a bit too eagerly.
‘Why is that, Miss Kirby? Something wrong with the aroma of baking bread or herbs and seasonings simmering in the perfect pasta sauce?’
‘Certainly not,’ Jill answered, ‘but Beth has a fiancé back in Savannah.’
‘I’m sure he’s one lucky man.’ With a wry smile Eric swept open the door and waited for Jill to enter. ‘Would you like to wait out here, Beth, to guard against intruders coming up the steps?’ He gave Beth a megawatt smile.
‘But what if the intruders swing down from the roof?’ Beth brushed past him into the room. ‘I’d better stay with Jill.’
‘Wow,’ Jill murmured. ‘This is delightful. I love the furnishings and wallpaper.’
‘Wow,’ echoed Beth. ‘I can’t believe the ceilings are so low. How do you fit in here, height-wise?’
‘I confine myself to the center of the room,’ Eric said. ‘The architect positioned the bedroom and sitting area under the eaves. I think it adds to the charm.’
‘I agree.’ Sitting down on the four-poster bed, Jill smoothed her hand over an embroidered quilt. ‘This is exactly how I pictured it.’ Then she jumped up and ran to the window. ‘I can’t believe you have honest-to-goodness shutters!’
Ducking his head under the eave, Eric joined her at the window. ‘You can open the window but keep the shutters closed. Then you’ll hear the foghorns on the bay but still have your privacy.’
‘You mean this place doesn’t have air-conditioning?’ Beth asked indignantly.
‘Of course it does. But Miss Wyatt might want to catch the sea breeze some evenings.’ Eric and Beth glared at each other like dogs separated by a chain link fence.
‘I certainly would. Now let’s check out the bathroom.’ Jill pushed Beth through the doorway by her shoulders, as though afraid to leave her behind.
‘Well, the room sure is big enough,’ Beth conceded.
‘Marble countertop, lighted mirror, separate shower and whirlpool tub, and that’s a heated towel bar.’ Eric pointed out the accoutrements one at a time.
‘Sold! My mind is made up.’ Jill bubbled over with excitement.
‘All bed linens and towels are included,’ added Eric. ‘Along with once a week maid service.’
Beth crossed her arms. ‘But there’s no kitchen, not even a hotplate.’
Jill shrugged. ‘Good, I don’t know how to cook anyway.’
‘Under the other eave is a small refrigerator and microwave to reheat leftovers or make popcorn for movie night.’ Eric’s expression showed true pride in his rental unit.
‘She’s only staying a week or two,’ muttered Beth.
Eric straightened to his full height in the center of the room, which was indeed impressive. ‘Miss Wyatt can stay as long as she likes.’
Not one to back down, Beth arched up on tiptoes. ‘Is this your restaurant or do you just work here?’
‘The restaurant is owned and operated by my family. Those were the people you saw down in the kitchen.’
‘Speaking of which, how come you’re so tall and everyone else … isn’t?’
Jill gasped with embarrassment. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Manfredi. Beth must have left her manners in Georgia.’
‘No problem. I’m asked that a lot. Truth is, Beth, my parents found me in a basket floating down a canal in Venice. When no one claimed me, they raised me as their own, a decision I’m sure they regret every now and then.’
Beth’s eyes grew very round. ‘It’s a miracle that basket didn’t sink to the bottom.’
Jill, on the other hand, studied Eric’s face with growing skepticism. ‘How did your parents know what to call you?’
‘My name was written on a piece of papyrus, pinned to my diaper. But Mom thought the name Moses inappropriate for an Italian bambino, so they changed it to Enrique. I shortened it to Eric.’
Beth approached Eric until they were nose to chin. ‘So, Moses, do you live in the house or maybe a crate in the garage?’
‘Oh, no crate, I’ve got a swanky condo down the road.’
‘OK, that’s enough.’ Jill wedged herself between them and pushed them apart. ‘Beth, you will wait in the hallway until my business is concluded. No arguments.’
With slumping shoulders, Beth shuffled from the suite.
‘I apologize, Eric,’ she said, closing the door. ‘Honestly, Beth is a really nice person. I have no idea why she’s acting like that.’
‘I do. She’s protecting you from the unknown.’ Eric leaned one shoulder against the wall. ‘It’s rather sweet. Have you two known each other long?’
Jill thought better of revealing too much information. ‘Long enough. Getting back to business, the rent is two hundred a week, including breakfast and all utilities?’
>
‘That’s correct. And since you have no cooking facilities, you’re welcome to grab dinner downstairs at no charge, sort of catch-as-catch-can.’ He smiled, revealing dimples beneath his strong cheekbones.
Suddenly, Eric’s persona seemed to loom even larger than his physical body. ‘No, thanks,’ she said, stepping back. ‘I usually work late most nights and eat on the fly.’
‘Of course, but I hope you’re not too intimidated by my family to grab breakfast downstairs. Don’t worry; no one will hold you captive with tales of the old country. Breakfast is causal – cereal, yogurt, fruit, leftover bakery or pizza. Just grab whatever suits you.’
Jill felt her cheeks flush. ‘I hope you didn’t interpret something Beth said as an ethnic slur. She’s not like that at all.’
‘Absolutely not, but here’s a suggestion: Why not stay here tonight on the house? If anything makes you uncomfortable – the mattress, the noise level, aromas drifting up the stairs – you can be on your way in the morning. No charge and no hard feelings.’
His emphasis indicated the invitation was for one. ‘You have a deal. I’ll get my bag from the car and Beth can call her fiancé to come get her.’
‘Come and go as you please, but right now I need to get to work. Saturday lunch patrons usually arrive early.’ Eric set the key on the lace-topped dresser, ducked his head through the doorway, and vanished.
How the man passed her cohort on the steps would remain a mystery, because when Beth stepped into the suite Jill spoke first. ‘Save your breath, Kirby. I’m staying. I like it here. Now call Michael and ask him to pick you up after work. There’s only one queen-size bed and it’s mine. Just for the record, you snore.’
‘Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you if you’re held captive and forced to make salads all day. Oh, and just for the record … those lacy things on the dresser are called doilies.’
FOUR
The next morning Eric Manfredi let himself in through the front door but left the lights off in the restaurant. It would be hours before Bella Trattoria opened for business. Grabbing his laptop from the office, he decided to work in the kitchen so the overnight guest would see him first when she came downstairs. He had no idea why it was so important that Jill Wyatt like the apartment. It just was. And what would he have done if the pistol-packing girlfriend had needed a place to stay? Sorry, we don’t rent to redheads – they’re too unpredictable. Or maybe: Sorry, we’re holding out for someone with good manners.
