After a pause, Randy picked up. “Treasure Isle.”
“Just the man I want to talk to. This is Deva from Deva Dunne Interiors.”
“Marvelous! ’Ow are you, luv?”
“Fantastic, Randy. I have some things to sell I think will interest you. Can you come to my home and have a look at them?”
“For you, luv, anything. When?” A little frisson of expectation had risen into his voice.
“How about now?”
“Give me your address and I’ll be right over.”
*
That night was Lee’s last in Florida before she left for Paris. Rossi and I invited her to the casually glamorous Bayside Grille for a farewell dinner. We dined on the second floor terrace overlooking Naples Bay, the salty breeze wafting through the air and mingling with the calypso chords of a Caribbean guitar. Chatting happily, brimming with love and expectation, she kept the conversation going.
Pleased by what he’d wrought, Rossi smiled across the table at her, every once in a while sending an inquiring glance my way, wondering, no doubt, why I was so quiet, probably attributing that to Lee’s departure.
Wrong. I was delighted for Lee but dreading what I’d have to tell him tomorrow, after we put her on the plane to Paris. Still, on the way back to Surfside I gave him the vial I’d found in the desk and let him quiz me about my conversations with Cookie, Bonita and the Grandeses. I answered as best I could, but truth to tell my mind was elsewhere.
*
The following morning we watched the Boeing 747 roar down the runway and lift into the sky, carrying Lee into the future on silver wings. I would miss her in my life and in the business too. Her hugs and a whispered “I’ll never forget this” still echoed in my heart as the plane disappeared, a glittering dot in the distance and then...nothing.
The time had come. I wanted to talk to Rossi in a public place while I still had steel in my spine. I drew him to a wooden bench near a glass wall overlooking the runways. A tall Royal Palm in a huge concrete pot cast a shadow over us as we sat on the stiff seat.
Rossi took my hand. “Feel sad about Lee leaving?”
I shook my head. “I’m happy for her, but not with some news I got yesterday.”
Taken aback, he jerked upright on the bench. His hand tightened on mine. “What is it?” His eyes narrowed as he peered into my face.
I hesitated, not eager now that the moment had arrived to plunge a knife into our relationship.
“For God’s sake, what’s the matter? You know you can tell me whatever it is.”
“I know.” On the pretext of smoothing my skirt over my thighs, I slipped my hand out from under his. “I saw my GYN yesterday. She told me chances are I’ll never have a child.”
His chin snapped up. “That’s all? Christ, you scared me. I thought you were dying.” His shout caught the attention of an elderly passerby. She sent him a startled glance and scurried away from us.
“What do you mean, ‘that’s all?’” I snapped back. “Don’t you understand? Babies are out for me. No son. No daughter. Not ever.”
The anger ebbed from his face, and the fear. He reached for my hand again, and though I tried to pull it free, he wouldn’t let go. “I understand what this means to you. The finality of it. But this isn’t the end. There are other options for having a family. You could—”
“—adopt?”
“Yes. Exactly. You loved little Frannie the minute you held him.”
“True, but I’ll never be able to give a man a child of his own.”
“That won’t matter to any man who cares for you.”
“Well, it does to me.”
“To me, you’re what matters. You.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again. I thought the subject had been put to rest.”
No question he was beyond upset, but I’d come this far, and I’d finish what I had set out to say. “The way our relationship has been heating up lately, I thought you should know.” I freed my fingers and balled my hands in my lap. “I prevented one man from having a family. I will never do that to another one.”
“Oh, so that’s it? You’ve cooked up a foolproof excuse to keep me—or any guy—at arm’s length. You lost Jack and you’ll never let anybody take his place. All this other stuff is nothing more than a smokescreen.” He stood and flung his arms in the air. “So, the mystery’s solved. One anyway.”
“Yes, it’s solved. There was nothing wrong with Jack. He kept me from knowing the truth about myself, but now that I do—”
“You’re going to push me away.” His sarcasm had turned cold and precise. I’d never seen him like this. Well, what did I expect, hugs and kisses?
I stared into his frozen brown eyes. “Try to understand.”
He shook his head. “No. You can stop right there. I understand all right. What you don’t understand is that you’re putting a wall between us. A wall of your own making.” His jaw clenching, he glanced out the window. Another glittering bird was about to take flight. An instant only and his attention swiveled back to me. “You’re worth ten women put together. A hundred. A thousand. Why won’t you believe me? Do you think I’m lying to you?”
With my fingers still clutching each other as if for support, I said, “Jack lied, and I never thought he would.”
“I see.” Rossi bent over me, his face level with mine, and spoke in his quiet detective’s voice. “I never met your Jack, but I always thought he sounded like a hell of a guy. I still do. He protected you.”
“I don’t need protection,” I yelled.
A couple of teenagers strolling toward Concourse D heard me and giggled. Rossi ignored them. “The hell you don’t. Jack knew you better than you know yourself. And so do I. You’re scared. Scared to live.”
“I am not!” I leaped up, heart thundering. “I’m not a complete woman.”
Disgust and disappointment mingling in his eyes, he said, “I’m beginning to think that’s true. But not for your reasons. You don’t need me in your life. So let’s make the break starting now.” He stood and shot me a little quasi-military, two-fingered salute. “It was nice while it lasted. I’ll take a cab back to town.”
He strode off, shoulders hunched, the pink and red blooms on his Hawaiian shirt looking anything but cheerful, his shoes hitting the terminal floor like echoing hammer blows.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Hey, Deva, wait up.”
Chip. I hadn’t talked to him since he’d been released from the hospital. Though the week since I last saw Rossi had been a killer, and I didn’t feel much like chatting, I slowed my pace across Surfside’s parking lot. He caught up to me by my front door, wheezing and puffing but not as badly as I remembered. A bandage circled his left wrist.
“How are you?” I asked him.
He drew in a ragged breath. “Never better. Lost ten pounds. Been working out. I...uh...want to apologize for putting you through that bathroom incident.”
I patted his good arm. “I understand. You’d had a lot of stress. It got to you.”
“True, but it never will again. No need.” He stopped talking and, forehead wrinkling, he stared at me for a moment. “You okay? You’re kind of pale.”
“I’m fine, Chip. Thanks for asking.” My buddy. He’s worried about me. What a prince of a guy. “Really. I’m fine.” No need to add to his woes by telling him about mine. He didn’t look convinced, so I tried for a smile.
“If things got to you too I wouldn’t be surprised.” He tilted his head, and with concern flitting in his eyes, he ran a finger down my cheek. “You sure you’re not upset about anything?” His worry was challenging my reserves. Not daring to speak just then, I shook my head, relieved when he changed the subject. “You moving or something? I saw a truck here yesterday.”
“No. I’m not moving. I just sold some stuff.”
“Redecorating?”
“You could say that...my entire life.”
“Hope that means good things. Sou
nds serious.” When I didn’t reply, he cleared his throat. “I’ve got some news for you.”
“Oh?”
He inhaled then noisily exhaled. “I got married last Saturday.”
“You did! Wow! No need to ask who the lucky girl is.”
“Nope. AudreyAnn finally said yes.”
I flung my arms around him and kissed his round, teddy bear cheek then let him go just as fast as I had grabbed him. “Uh-oh,” I said, smiling for real this time. “I can’t do that anymore. Your wife might object.”
He grinned big time at “wife.”
“I’m so, so happy for you.”
“Me too.” He blushed. “She’s all I ever wanted. And you know the best part?”
His good news had lifted my spirits. “Tell me, I’m all ears.”
“She wouldn’t wait to see if I keep that hidden money. Said it didn’t matter.” His eyes shone like it was Christmas and Santa had granted his every wish.
“Well, somehow I think you’ll have AudreyAnn and the money. No one’s claimed it yet, have they?”
“No not yet. Grandese’s lawyer contacted Simon Yaeger last week. Looks like he’s not going to make a play for it either.”
“Francesco told me the same thing, and I’m so pleased.”
“Yeah, the restaurant building’s a total loss then somebody tries to kill him and gets his cousin instead. Grandese could be pretty bitter, but I guess he’s not.”
“I’m just glad he’s not going after the money.”
“Me too. Simon said the legal fees would’ve chewed up a lot, and I want to help Bonita and do things for AudreyAnn. You know, give her luxuries she’s never had.” He drew in a raspy breath, his happiness clouding over for a moment. “I sure hope the police find that killer soon. I’m a cook. You know what happens to a cook when somebody’s poisoned in his kitchen?”
I patted his arm again, hoping to telegraph that I understood. “I can guess.”
“At first, the money didn’t matter much, but now it does, especially if I can’t get work as a chef.”
“That money’s yours. I saw you pull it out of the wall. So did Rossi. I’ll testify for you in any court in the state.” Unless a former owner could prove he’d hidden the money—which was unlikely—every one of those Grover Clevelands belonged to Chip. And I would be happy to testify to that. Rossi would, too, I was certain, but the time when I might speak for him was past.
“Thanks. I knew I could count on you.”
I would also be happy to finish the Rum Row project. To get the Grandeses and their problems out of my life. Actually I had no choice but to finish it or risk losing Deva Dunne Interiors. And now more than ever I needed my business. It was the only thing I had left.
“Are you listening, Deva?” Chip asked, bringing me back to the moment. “Will you come?”
“What? Sorry, my mind was wandering.”
“AudreyAnn and I are hosting a wedding reception next Saturday. Here in the Surfside Club Room. We hope you and Lieutenant Rossi can make it.”
“I’d love to, but I don’t know about Rossi.” I took a deep breath before admitting, “We broke up.”
His mouth rounded into a stunned O. “When did this happen?”
“A week ago.”
He let out a whistle then paid for it with a wracking cough. When he caught his breath, he said, “No wonder you’re looking pale. That’s a heavy decision, but on the upside, wait’ll Simon Yaeger hears about this. He’s always had the...he’s always been crazy about you. And he’s already said yes to Saturday.”
I groaned inwardly. The last thing I wanted right now was a fix-up. Not even one with glamour boy Simon. “I’ll be there too. Wouldn’t miss your celebration for the world.”
Though I didn’t want to be rude and cut our conversation short, I’d had more than enough for one day. I needed to get inside and collapse on my couch. Tomorrow I’d start scouring the local art and antiques shops for Francesco’s Hudson River oils, lighting fixtures, rugs and other accessories. The sooner I did so, the faster I’d be through with the whole project. In the coming days, the Closed sign would be in the shop window far too often. What a time to be without an assistant.
On the other hand, working around the clock would keep me too busy to dwell on Rossi.
Rossi. What have I done?
Before I could make an excuse and duck inside, a shiny black Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows purred onto the tarmac. Since Dick Parker sold the building to Simon, we had a few new condo owners, some I hadn’t met yet. Maybe this was one of our new neighbors.
The driver turned off the motor, and two men in business suits got out and slammed the doors. Though they were blocking vehicles in the carport, they left the Lincoln where it was and strode over to Chip and me.
The younger of the two, a man of about thirty-five, his beefy shoulders straining the seams of his pinstriped suit, reached us first. Close behind him, an older man, early fifties maybe, in double-breasted black serge brought up the rear. Neither one smiled. Neither one said hello.
“We’re looking for a woman,” Pinstripes said to Chip. “An AudreyAnn Baranski. You know her?”
Uh-oh. AudreyAnn had said two men in business suits kept calling on Donny. Were these the same two?
I shot an alarmed glance at Chip, but except for a puzzled frown, he appeared clueless. AudreyAnn mustn’t have told him about Donny’s creepy visitors.
“Who wants to know?” I asked.
Pinstripes gave me a slow, insulting, head-to-toe eyeball check. Blood boiling, I gave him a slow body scan right back, deliberately moving my glance from his receding hairline—I let my eyes linger there—down his bristly face, along his torso where I stopped a second to smile. Let him figure out why. Then I then dragged my inspection from his legs to the toes of his pointy shoes. And up again into his eyes, which had narrowed into slits.
I was playing with fire and knew it.
Rossi would have had a fit if he’d seen me antagonize this hostile-looking stranger. I gave a mental shrug. He would never know about it, would he?
As Black Serge folded his arms across his chest, Pinstripes reached into his jacket pocket and removed a badge. He flipped open the leather cover and flashed a piece of metal at us. “FBI,” he said. “Looking for a Miss Baranski.”
Chip gulped. “There’s no one here by that name.”
“You sure?”
“There’s an AudreyAnn Salvatore.”
“Big woman. Big—”
He stopped short of using the T-word, but Chip flushed and said, “My wife’s an ample woman, if that’s what you mean. What does the FBI want with her?”
“A chat.”
“What about?”
Black Serge moved forward. “Just tell us where she is.”
Chip backed up a step. “She’s out doing errands. Shopping.”
“She got a cell phone?”
Chip nodded. “Sure, but—”
“You’re going to give her a call.”
“Is that so? You can’t barge in here like this and—”
“You saw the badge.”
“What’s the penalty for impersonating a federal agent?” As if I were simply making polite conversation, I directed my question at Chip.
“We got a wiseass here,” Pinstripes said, snarly of a sudden. He upped his chin at Chip. “Which one of these doors is yours?”
Chip stood there, blank faced.
“Come on. Come on.”
Chip pointed to 103. “That one.”
“Let’s go.”
“I didn’t invite you in.”
“We’re inviting ourselves. You too.” Pinstripes grabbed my arm in a half nelson. At least I think it was a half nelson. Judging from his iron grip, he could have flung a tire chain around me.
“I’m not going anywhere with you goons.” I tried to pull away, but if anything, his grip tightened. “This is kidnapping. A federal offense.”
“Don’t take that attitude. We’r
e just waiting on Miss Bar—Mrs. Salvatore.”
I could have screamed. I should have screamed, but that’s when Black Serge pulled a gun on us, and with the muzzle pressing into my back, I followed Chip into condo 103.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The minute we were inside, Black Serge waved his gun in the general direction of the defecation-brown lounge chair. “You. Sit over there,” he said to Chip.
His face ashen, Chip slumped into it.
Another gun wave. This time at me. “You over here.”
Stiff as a plank, I took a seat on the couch. Pinstripes hunkered down next to me and flung an arm across the sofa back. “Relax,” he urged.
I upped my chin at Serge. “Tell him to put that thing away and I might.”
“Shelve it,” Pinstripes said to Serge, his arm slipping around my shoulders. “They won’t give us any trouble. Not the redhead anyway. Isn’t that right?” He squeezed my arm. His touch made my skin crawl. I twisted away from him and balanced on the edge of my seat.
The gun disappeared into Serge’s double-breasted jacket. “Give the little lady a call,” he said to Chip.
“On one condition.”
Chip had the guts to demand conditions? Good for him.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“You don’t hurt her.”
“You in love or what?”
His jaw like stone, Chip said, “Those are my terms.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Just get her here.”
“No way.” Chip wasn’t about to relent. Push a mild, peaceable man too far, and what you get is immovable stone. I didn’t know whether to cheer or cry.
Serge shrugged. “One way or the other, the little woman’s got a surprise coming. So we wait. Unless we speed things up.” His eyes took on a gleeful shine. “Get rough with you. Or...” his glance swiveled over to me, “...her. Yeah, her.” He took a step closer to me and pulled out the Glock.
Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design) Page 16
