by Mary Ellis
Speaking of Eric, he suddenly materialized in the main dining room just as Jill decided to make her exit. In that short amount of time, the guy had shed his chef’s garb, showered, and donned black slacks and a polo shirt which fit snugly across his chest and shoulders. His damp hair still held tracks from the comb.
‘May I keep you a moment longer?’ Eric asked as she tried to slip away. ‘There are a few people who wanted to meet you.’
‘Of course.’ When Jill turned on her heel she was face to face with Danielle Conrad. ‘Hi, Dani. How’s it going? Wow, you look nice today.’
‘Thanks, dear ole Dad wouldn’t let me take my church dress off.’ Grinning, Dani hooked her thumb at the man next to her.
‘How do you do? I’m Mike Conrad. You must be the mysterious investigator who moved in upstairs. My daughter tells me you have your own gun-packing bodyguard.’
As Jill tried to make sense out of the ridiculous claim, Eric interrupted. ‘She’ll get back to you about that, Mike.’ Eric took Jill gently by the arm. ‘There’s one more person who wants to meet you. This is my mother, Irena Manfredi. Mom, this is Jill Wyatt.’
For a moment, Jill stared at his elegant mother. She was tall, at least five-seven, and svelte. Other than her nose and cheekbones, she didn’t fit with the rest of the family. Irena Manfredi looked like she stepped off an Italian fashion shoot instead of a restaurant’s kitchen. And the woman had certainly never eaten a carb in her life.
‘How do you do?’ Jill asked when Eric nudged her shoulder.
‘Nonni tells me if not for you our restaurant might have burned to the ground. Thank you, Miss Wyatt.’
‘You’re welcome, but I’m afraid your mom exaggerated. All I did was slap a lid on to a skillet. Plus Eric was only a few steps away.’
The woman’s smile barely caused a ripple in her perfect skin. ‘Nonni is my husband’s mother. My mother lives in Milan. But accept our heartfelt gratitude regardless. Anything we have at any time is yours.’ Irena flourished a well-manicured hand first at the buffet and then at the assortment of imported wines lined up on the bar. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, but we’ll talk again soon.’ Her smile revealed perfect teeth to go with her perfect designer suit.
When Irena walked away to greet new arrivals, Jill forgot she wasn’t alone. ‘Wow,’ she murmured under her breath.
‘She does have that effect on people,’ Eric whispered in her ear. ‘In case you’re curious, I take after my dad unfortunately.’
‘I figured that out on my own.’ Jill offered a wry grin, while Eric laughed from the belly.
‘If you’ll excuse me, it’s my job to make sure under-age cousins don’t come anywhere near the wine. But don’t you dare leave without eating some of the cuisine you helped prepare.’
Jill watched as he strode away, a full head taller than the others in the room. Some men slapped him on the back; one older woman pinched his bicep, and the young girls smiled coyly, perhaps practicing for their dating years. Eric Manfredi was definitely popular among the extended family.
With so much commotion, she could have easily slipped into the kitchen and up the steps to her own room. Then she could have read, or called Beth, or watched the traffic on East Bay Street from her window. But instead she watched the festivities, under the auspices of replenishing the buffet table. Whenever she spotted the linguini getting low or the cavatelli bowl almost empty, she sent her new friend, Dani, to tell her uncle. Within fifteen minutes, the pasta bowl was refilled as the crowd ebbed and flowed all afternoon.
From her vantage point, two things struck Jill as odd. First, the guest of honor, the senior Mr Manfredi, wasn’t there, yet it seemed to be business as usual. New guests arrived, inquired as to his condition, and then continued to socialize as if nothing were amiss. Secondly, it seemed that everyone older than twenty-five stuck their nose into everyone else’s business.
I heard you didn’t get accepted at Duke. What was the problem – did your grades slip during your senior year?
I’m sooo glad you’re not dating Roger any more. I think I spotted his photo hanging up at the post office.
And in Jill’s estimation, the absolute worst: When are you and Danny going to start a family? You two have been married for two full years.
What business was it of that woman’s? When Jill began observing the party, she envied all the affection being shown. These Manfredis weren’t shy about hugging or cheek-kissing or giving bear hugs that could injure a spine. But when she overheard so many rude questions Jill felt glad she was from a small family with distinct boundaries.
When activity at the buffet table waned and bowls remained full, Jill thanked Danielle and climbed the steps to her room, without fixing a plate of food. Despite having helped all afternoon, she didn’t feel entitled to a meal with the Manfredis.
Or maybe she just wasn’t that hungry.
Or maybe the fact she hadn’t seen Eric in two hours had something to do with it.
Instead Jill popped a bowl of microwave popcorn and had just curled up in front of the TV when someone knocked loudly. When she opened the door, Danielle marched into her room without waiting to be invited.
‘Hi, Jill, I can’t believe you actually locked the door. Nobody’s ever done that before.’ Dani reached for the bowl of popcorn and began to eat.
‘That’s because I’m not a Manfredi, visiting from out of town.’ Jill smiled at the girl. ‘By all means, help yourself.’
‘Plenty of us aren’t Manfredis. I’m a Conrad.’ She shoved another handful into her mouth. ‘By the way, my mom wants to speak to you in the courtyard.’
‘What does she want to talk about?’ Inexplicably, Jill’s stomach tied into a knot.
‘I haven’t a clue. You’ll find out when you get there. She probably wants to thank you for helping out. Grandma was real pleased.’
‘I barely saw Nonni today,’ Jill said. ‘Somebody mentioned she wasn’t feeling well.’
Dani looked at her oddly. ‘Nonni is my great-grandmother. My grandma was the one wearing the navy Oscar de la Renta suit.’
‘Of course, I forgot. Tell her I’m on my way.’
‘OK if I eat the rest of the popcorn? I’ll leave the bowl on the steps when I’m done.’
‘Sure, I’ve got plenty.’ Jill slipped her bare feet into flip flops and ran a brush through her tangled hair. Then she followed Danielle down the stairs and out the kitchen’s back door.
As she crossed the courtyard, a bright full moon reflected off the polished flagstones. Several candles glowed on a bistro table set for dinner under the grape pergola. But it wasn’t Bernie Conrad waiting to chat. Sitting at the table was the head chef and her landlord, Eric Manfredi.
‘What’s going on?’ Jill asked, closing the distance with long strides. ‘Dani said her mom wanted to talk to me.’
Eric pulled out the opposite chair. ‘That was a ploy to get you to eat dinner. If you knew I would be your companion you might not have come.’
‘Look, don’t take this wrong, but I don’t like being manipulated. I rented a suite from you. While I’m in town, I’m not looking for late-night dates under the stars.’
‘How could I possibly take that wrong?’ Eric glanced at his watch. ‘It’s not even close to being late, and this certainly isn’t a date.’ He fluffed a linen napkin over his lap and pulled the cover off his dinner plate.
‘Then what’s with the romantic candlelight?’ she demanded.
‘It’s got nothing to do with romance. Why should I waste electricity by lighting the entire courtyard for two people?’ He forked up some cavatelli and met her gaze. ‘What this is, or what I had in mind was two hardworking people sharing a meal. My niece said you didn’t eat all day.’
Jill folded her arms. ‘What did you give me – eggplant or chicken?’
‘A little of both, same with the pasta. I wanted you to sample your handiwork and mine.’ He finished chewing and dabbed his mouth. ‘But if you’re afraid, carry your plate to y
our room. Fine with me.’
After several moments of watching him eat, Jill lowered herself into the other chair and lifted the cover. ‘Sorry if I misjudged you. This looks good, Eric. Thanks.’
‘It looks the same as it did this afternoon. You better get started since we both have things to do tonight.’ He devoted his full attention to his dinner.
‘Why didn’t you eat earlier?’ Jill cut her chicken into small pieces.
‘Nonni asked me to take her back to the hospital. She likes visiting her son without a crowd.’
‘You’re a good grandson.’
Eric sopped up some sauce with a crust of bread. ‘And you are the most confusing woman I’ve ever met. Five minutes ago you were acting like Jack the Ripper had lured you to a deadly rendezvous.’ He tossed his napkin down next to his plate.
‘Look, I know I was rude and I’m trying to make up for it.’ Jill’s voice rose in volume to match his. ‘Maybe I’m just not good with polite dinner conversation.’
Slowly, Eric’s mouth twitched into a smile. ‘OK, after meeting your best friend and sometimes partner, I understand. All is forgiven, but I still have a dozen things to do tonight and I’m already bone-tired.’
Jill replaced the cover on her plate and rose to her feet. ‘I’ll eat this in my room. I couldn’t finish it now if my life depended on it.’
Eric blew out the candles and carried his empty plate, while she carried her almost full one inside Bella Trattoria. ‘Good night, Jill. Thanks again for helping out today.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ she said as sincerely as she knew how. ‘I truly enjoyed meeting your family.’
‘You have a standing invitation to join us any night of the week.’ Without giving Jill a backward glance, Eric placed his dirty dishes in the sink and strolled through the swinging doors into the restaurant.
Jill stood alone in the dark, empty kitchen feeling more embarrassed than the time she threw up at her birthday party. What’s wrong with me – a lack of charm school during my formative years?
She tried to eat dinner while watching TV, but the chicken tasted dry, the salad was soggy, and the pasta stuck in her throat. Only the eggplant parmigiana was delicious. After finishing every bite of Eric’s creation, she flushed everything else down the toilet. Hopefully, she wouldn’t cause a major sewer crisis in Charleston, but she didn’t dare offend her landlord any more than she already had.
Jill was actually glad to see Monday morning. How many people can say that when they first wake up? It was a work day and work seemed to be the only thing she was good at.
Her next step in the case was to consult the website for the South Carolina Department of Social Services, the government agency overseeing adoptions in this state. After carrying her coffee and bowl of cereal to the courtyard, Jill found pretty much everything she needed to know from their website. All interested parties – adoptee, birth parent, or adoptive parent – must file an affidavit allowing their personal information to be released. If any one of the three refuses consent, it’s a no-go. This wasn’t the answer Jill had hoped for on behalf of the Sugarmans. For hours, she scanned page after page of organizations that set up private adoptions for a fee, others that provided assistance to expectant mothers, and lists of attorneys that specialized in foreign or domestic adoptions.
Unfortunately, she found no list of attorneys willing to break the law to help a dying woman.
When Bella employees started setting up the courtyard for lunch, Jill moved to her sitting room and called one lawyer after another. After providing a brief overview of what she sought, she couldn’t seem to get past the legal assistants. Finally, on Jill’s ninth recitation of the pertinent details, an attorney, Jacqueline Devereaux of Kiawah, took her call.
‘I’m not sure what help I can be, Miss Wyatt. South Carolina laws are quite specific regarding privacy. If one or more parties refuse contact, our hands are tied.’
‘My client was in contact with her natural mother some time ago. The woman indicated she gave birth to two daughters, but she has since passed on. Wouldn’t the death of the natural mother make a difference?’
‘Not if your client wishes to contact a sibling that doesn’t wish to be found.’
‘And the fact this is a life-or-death situation makes no difference?’
‘Your only hope would be a court order to unseal the records, but frankly, that’s very unlikely. As much as I sympathize with your client, I see no legal way to track down this sibling.’
Jill thanked the helpful Miss Devereaux and hung up. For several minutes she stared into space, while weighing the legal, moral, and ethical ramifications of the situation. After all, wasn’t privacy an allusion in this day and age? Bad people hacked into databases all the time to impersonate, to steal, or to create havoc. All she wanted was to ask one woman one question. If after knowing the facts, the woman said no, then so be it. Jill wouldn’t have to release any details to the Sugarmans.
Jill knew she was rationalizing, trying to justify a mistake that could cost her a job. But in the end she dug the birth certificate and her cell phone from her purse and dialed Michael Preston, the agency’s forensic accountant and computer guru.
‘Hey, Michael. It’s Jill Wyatt, remember me?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ he teased. ‘Didn’t we shoot tin cans from a fence rail not long ago?’
‘I need a favor. I want you to track down Baby Girl Allston, born to Gail Allston in North Charleston sometime around 1991. Standard methods of locating this woman have failed. I need you to work your magic.’
Michael hesitated for a second time. ‘And you’ve already run this by the boss?’
‘No, but this is solely for my use. The client won’t gain access to this information, nor will it become part of my official case report. No one will ask how I came by the information.’
‘Oh, boy,’ he drawled. ‘I hope I don’t live to regret this, but I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘Thanks. Please give Beth my best.’ Jill hung up feeling like a heel for putting Michael on the spot – something she had been doing a lot lately.
With little else to do until Michael called her back, Jill put on jogging shoes and slipped out the back door. Usually a long walk cleared her head and allowed her to see a situation more clearly. Was Eric only trying to be nice and not trying to flirt? If that was the case, she had not only offended him but had made a fool of herself. Someone who looked like Eric usually didn’t need to stalk their tenants to get a date.
Jill jogged up one cobblestoned street in the historic area and down the next. The closer she got to the water, the larger and more impressive the mansions became. Jill couldn’t imagine a modern family living in any of these four-story homes without a dozen full-time workers. Each time she picked out her favorite, along came an even grander home.
In a little shop on Market Street, she drank two cups of coffee and rested her sore feet. But at least in return for her sore feet, Jill had reached a conclusion: The idea of the head chef of Bella Trattoria flirting with her was ludicrous. So it wouldn’t kill her to be a little friendlier while she was living there.
SEVEN
Eric plated the last two servings of chicken saltimbocca and signaled for Lilian, the waitress who had placed the order. Checking his watch and squinting at the kitchen monitor, their final reservation had been served. Now any walk-ins would only be allowed to order from a limited menu, plus desserts, cocktails, or any of a dozen types of cappuccinos. Eight thirty, quitting time for the Manfredi family who started work early. Now the paid staff would finish up and close the restaurant.
He wiped down his prep surfaces, loaded his utensils into the dishwasher, and stripped off his hat and chef’s coat. Night staff would scrub his pots and pans and clean the entire kitchen. When he finished washing up in the employee lounge, his grandmother and Aunt Estelle, their pastry chef, were already seated at the family table, while his sister carried over napkins, silverware, and a basket of rolls.
‘You’re dining with us tonight – to what do we owe the pleasure?’ Eric nodded at his sister as he took his place at the table.
‘Mike went to Columbia on business, so I thought it would be good to spend more time with my family.’ Bernie buzzed a kiss across Nonni’s silvery head.
‘What Mom really means, Uncle Eric, is she doesn’t want to cook for just her and me while Dad’s out of town.’ Danielle materialized from the back hall where she had shrugged off half her school uniform.
‘Why should I dirty my kitchen when this one already is?’ Bernie carried the bowl of Caprese salad from the fridge. ‘Psst, Eric, don’t look now, but someone wants to talk to you.’ She hooked her thumb toward the far wall.
Eric pivoted in his chair. ‘Ah, Miss Wyatt, have you decided to throw caution to the wind and dine with the Manfredis?’
‘Yes, I have.’ Jill took a few hesitant steps toward the table.
‘Hi, Jill!’ Dani scrambled to her feet.
‘Stay!’ Eric commanded his niece.
‘Don’t be afraid. It’s just lasagna with a tomato salad. The roasted eel with seaweed was last night.’ He lifted out the casserole, set it in the center of the table, and pulled out a chair. ‘Let’s put you here.’
‘Thanks, after last night I’m glad I’m still welcome.’ Jill took the seat next to his niece. ‘I’m afraid I jumped to all kinds of silly conclusions.’
‘For thinking I set you up with Uncle Eric?’ asked Dani.
Jill’s mouth dropped open.
‘Unfortunately, Jill, there are no secrets under this roof.’ Eric held out the casserole. ‘How about some lasagna?’
While Jill scooped a small portion, Nonni shook her finger at him. ‘Why shouldn’t you date someone with a head on her shoulders for a change? That last woman thought Sicily was a suburb of New York,’ added Nonni under her breath.
