“She’s here, Daphne. Remember, I’m new to Miami and came to the party to network with the business community.” She threw her head back and laughed. “…and I decided I’d stick to the slow lane until I learned all the local traffic rules.”
“Good idea,” I said meekly, feeling Mari sidle up behind me.
“Hi, there.” With one hand pressed into the small of my back, Mari extended the other to the agent. “I’m a friend of Daphne’s, Mari Tirado.”
As her hand lingered against my waist, I almost felt as if she was marking me as hers for the benefit of Diaz. I rather liked this possessive streak.
“Elena Franco,” she answered. “I was just telling Daphne I haven’t lived here long enough to figure out the driving rules.”
Mari wore a bronze-colored sequined cocktail dress, its three-quarter sleeves slit from the shoulder to the elbow. I was one very lucky woman…as long as she stayed out of jail.
“The first few months are dangerous,” Mari said. “If you live long enough, you’ll catch on. Daphne did.”
“Kill or be killed,” I added sardonically. The glow from my pocket confirmed my phone was now streaming the hockey game, and I clicked the power button on my Bluetooth earpiece.
“What else do I need to know about Miami?”
We bantered with senseless small talk until the inevitable swapping of business cards.
“Oh, you’re an investment advisor. Just what I need.”
Mari didn’t exactly pounce on her, but she was clearly interested. “If I can help with anything…”
“Maybe you can. I sold my stake in a paper company last year and got out of the business. Right now that cash is sitting in a steady growth fund at Morgan Stanley, but I think it could be doing more. And now that I’m here in Miami, I want to work with someone local.”
Diaz had definitely done her research on Mari, enough to know she’d love to steal a client from Delores’s firm. Or more likely, Delores had suggested it.
“I’d be happy to talk with you. We’ve got several growth funds that are doing well and a few aggressive instruments too, if you don’t mind the risk.” The aggressive instrument was the Iberican Fund.
“I’m willing to take on some serious risk for the right return.”
“Daphne, I’ve been looking for you.” Gisela appeared behind me smiling and said a brief hello to Mari and Diaz. “I want you to come over and meet Fernando Rojas. He’s our new HR contact with the county.”
The band kicking off its set mitigated the horror of being dragged away from Mari by my boss. I’d never been so happy to hear salsa music.
Throughout my conversation with Rojas, I kept Mari in my line of sight. She was smiling and laughing, which I took as a good sign, since she wouldn’t joke around about investments. It was obvious they had to talk loudly to be heard over the music.
Rojas politely excused himself, prompting Gisela to ask me for an update on the contacts I’d made so far. I’d just finished my rundown when she waved enthusiastically at someone behind me.
“It’s Marco Padilla. Did I tell you he brought someone else to our board? Rob Jacobs, the CEO at Jacobs Building Supply. He’s a perfect fit for the foundation.”
“So, Gisela…that business about Mr. Padilla wanting to invest the foundation’s funds. That blew over, right?”
“Oh, I meant to tell you about that. Our investment manager looked over the fund and thought it would be a good idea after all to move some of our assets into it. It truly was too good an opportunity to pass up. In fact, Jorge cashed in one of our mutual funds and gave it to Marco to invest too.”
I almost spewed white wine in her face. Not only was the foundation going down the tubes, my boss and her husband were right behind it. When this blew up, their photos would appear in the Miami Herald among the prominent local victims, and I’d waltz away scot-free because I didn’t have any money of my own to lose.
Now more miserable than ever, I worked my way across the room to see the last contact on my list, keeping an eye on Mari. Pepe was closing in on her and Diaz. The three of them chatted and laughed like old friends the entire time I was talking up Bacardi’s volunteer day with their VP for public relations in front of the business writer for the Herald. By the time I worked myself free Diaz was gone.
“That was certainly worth getting dressed up for,” Mari said as she slid an arm around my waist. “I’m about to steal nine million dollars out from under Morgan Stanley’s nose. That calls for a daiquiri.”
“You told her about the Iberican Fund?”
“We didn’t get a chance to talk specifics. We could hardly hear each other, but then Pepe came over and I let him know she was a major prospect. He asked her to dinner on the yacht tomorrow night. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
From my balcony, I could make out the lights of small boats passing underneath the MacArthur Causeway into the shallow waters along the Venetian Islands. The night was perfect for sailing unless, like me, you’d been praying for gale force winds and torrential rains. Unfortunately, it was too late in hurricane season for that kind of mayhem.
I’d come home early so I’d have plenty of time to obsess over what to wear. The casual boat pants I’d bought for last time were pretty much the only game in town, but they didn’t have pockets to hide the electronics store I needed to disrupt Diaz’s wireless signal. I first settled on a dark brown rayon shirt with breast pockets and sleeves I could roll up and tie off.
By the time I got everything tucked away, I felt like a shoplifter with aluminum breast implants. My Bluetooth earpiece hung from the drawstring inside my pants, my iPod was rolled up inside my left sleeve, and my cell phone occupied one of my breast pockets. The other pocket held a battery-operated ultrasonic emitter I kept under my kitchen sink to repel cockroaches. It didn’t actually work on the bugs, but I thought it might give Henry an earful.
The problem was I looked ridiculous, which led me to my current ensemble—a thinner top with a lightweight denim jacket, stylishly faded yet not too ragged for the occasion. The best thing about the jacket was its four pockets, each perfect for concealing a potential signal buster.
The door suddenly slid open over at Edith and Mordy’s.
“…and I’ll take them all the way to the Supreme Court if I have to. It’s a violation of my First Amendment rights to freedom of religion.” Mordy was angrier than I’d ever heard him, and that said a lot. “Just because some dimwit catches her curtains on fire, they want to ban candles in the whole building. Not all of us are idiots.”
I tiptoed toward my door so they wouldn’t know I was outside.
“This memo says they recommend flameless candles that operate on a battery,” Edith said. “We can’t do that either.”
“Don’t they know the Sabbath means we can’t turn those little suckers off and on? That’s the problem with this place. Everybody thinks we all should do things the same way. They don’t respect that people have their own customs.”
I wondered if Mordy had any idea he’d come full circle on his own beliefs, or that he’d brought me with him. I had come to appreciate Miami’s diversity in ways I never could have imagined a few short months ago. Where else could I work alongside an African-American foreman, share Seudah Shlishit with Jews on the Sabbath, and fall in love with a woman whose family was exiled from Cuba?
The truth is I’m quite crazy about this city now, quirks and all.
The moment I stepped inside and latched the door, my cell phone rang. Diaz.
“Glad I caught you, Daphne. Wanted to let you know how much we appreciate your help last night. It couldn’t have worked out better because it gave us exactly what we wanted—dinner on the yacht.” By her chummy tone, one would have thought we were best friends. “Now that it’s all set up, you can feel free to skip this little boat ride tonight. You might not want to be anywhere around when this goes down.”
�
�I told Mari I’d be there. Won’t she get suspicious if I cancel at the last minute?” As if I would.
“I doubt it. These money types all have one thing in common. When you wave dollar signs in front of them, they don’t see much of anything else.”
“I see what you mean.” You contemptible bitch. I didn’t press it out of fear she might order me to stay clear, but I had no intention of missing dinner, especially since it meant I could watch Diaz pull her hair out as she tried to get her electronics to work.
With our days getting shorter, it was dark at a quarter past six. I parked next to Mari’s Porsche in the garage at Bayside and strolled leisurely out to the marina. Diaz was already aboard and seemed genuinely stunned to see me.
Mari sprang from the sundeck, all smiles in brown tights and a pale orange linen tunic. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“And miss Benito’s pork tenderloin? Not a chance.”
The waiter emerged from the galley in his white jacket. “One mojito?”
“Thanks, Eddie. No one makes a mojito like you.”
“You just made his day,” Mari whispered as she guided me up the steep staircase.
“His mojito will make mine.”
Lucia, dressed in a long floral jumpsuit and sandals, stood to greet me when we reached the upper level. “So glad you could join us again, Daphne.”
“The thrill is mine, Lucia. It’s such a lovely night, and I couldn’t be in better company.” I smiled formally at Diaz. “Nice to see you again, Elena. You’re in for a wonderful treat tonight. The Padillas are such gracious hosts.”
She should be ashamed of herself for taking advantage of their hospitality to set them up.
As we pulled out of the marina, I caught sight of Henry creeping along in the SUV on the overpass from the port. By the time we passed under the MacArthur Causeway, he had circled around to Watson Island, only a couple hundred feet away.
I nudged Mari and gestured toward my building. “I wonder if Mordy and Edith are out on their balcony. We should ride by there and wave.”
“Are those the ones with the cat who jumped off the balcony? Mari told us all about that,” Lucia asked.
“That was so amazing,” Mari said. “Call them, Daphne. Tell them to come outside.” She ducked below to tell the captain to swing close to the shore.
Diaz was practically grinding her teeth as she joined us in waving up at my neighbors on their balcony, all the while looking over her shoulder for Henry. When she ran a hand through her hair, I noticed the same bracelet she had worn the night before. “Where is this Star Island I’ve heard so much about? Is that the one with the celebrity mansions?”
“We’ll go there now,” Pepe said, nodding toward Mari to signal the captain.
“So we’re turning around, I guess. It must be back near…what’s that? The MacArthur? I haven’t learned all my bridges yet.”
Pepe named all the landmarks as we floated past, and I soon spotted Henry again driving parallel to us on the Venetian Causeway.
Diaz settled back with her glass of wine, which she’d barely touched. “So tell me about Padilla Financial. Have either of you had a chance to think about what type of investments you’d recommend for someone like me?”
I immediately tapped the hockey icon on my phone, which I’d been holding ever since my call to Edith. As I tucked it back into my pocket, I also turned on my bug emitter.
Mari took the lead in answering, leaning forward and gesturing with her hands as she spoke. “We’ve developed an international investment instrument called the Iberican Fund. Its main feature is—”
“Oh, my gosh! I just saw a dolphin.” I scooted to the edge of the sundeck, only a couple of feet from Diaz. “At least I think it was a dolphin. Hard to tell at night. It might have been a shark.”
“Probably a dolphin,” Lucia said, peering over the side. “They love to run alongside the boat. They’re so cute.”
“Aren’t they?” While everyone was looking into the water, I managed to activate my Bluetooth earpiece and iPod.
Diaz turned back around and leaned toward Mari, as if pushing the microphone necklace into her face. “So, you were saying something about a fund?”
“The Iberican Fund. It’s a collection of manufacturing and distribution companies throughout Latin America that we believe are poised to experience exponential growth within the next couple of years, not because they’re serving any particular industry, but because they’re well managed and on the verge of taking off. We’re capitalizing on that growth window by…”
As Mari talked, I began to hum. Not a tune, just a low monotone that I hoped would blend in with the yacht’s purring engines. White noise, Henry had called it.
Diaz smoothed her hair for the hundredth time after Mari finished her explanation, and squinted with what I thought was overly dramatic confusion. “I’m not sure I caught all that. Would you mind terribly starting over at the beginning?”
What’s the matter, Diaz? Are you finding out you’re not as good at your job as you thought?
Pepe took over the presentation, and I realized with alarm his deep, booming voice might have a different effect on the recorder. I hummed louder, not so anyone else could hear, but enough to cause Diaz to frown in my direction.
Eddie suddenly appeared on the steps. “Dinner is prepared.”
Lucia clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Let’s see what surprise Benito has for us.”
Diaz was frustrated. I could see it in her face, and when she grabbed my wrist before I started down the stairs, I expected the worst. “Watch out for dinner. Henry thinks our cook’s preoccupied with a hockey game.”
That was so perfect I wanted to clap.
Not so perfect were the seating arrangements at dinner. Pepe sat at the head of the table with Lucia on one side and Diaz on the other. Mari sat beside Diaz, while I sat across from Mari, as far from Diaz as I could be. I wasn’t sure my electronics could cover that range, and humming was out of the question.
Pepe unknowingly saved the day with his pronouncement. “Lucia forbids talk of business at dinner, so we’ll table our discussion of Iberican for now. Will you join us in saying grace?”
While heads were bowed, I managed to turn off my various devices to save power.
As a general rule, I have a lot of respect for people in law enforcement. Sure, there are guys like Delores’s brother who get off on being macho jerks, but by and large, cops and other official government investigative types are the good guys. Even IRS agents, whom we all fear because our honest mistakes might turn out to be crimes, are necessary for justice and equality. I admire pretty much anyone who dedicates their life to public service, especially righting wrongs.
But I was having a lot of trouble with Diaz, not only because she was hell-bent on bringing charges against my friends, but also because she had used me to do it.
Mostly I hated that Pepe had put himself and Mari in this position. I was only buying him time. Even if Diaz went home tonight empty-handed, she wouldn’t give up on her case. The only way out of this was for him to put everyone’s money back so she couldn’t make her case.
How many more times could Diaz put them through a drawn-out explanation of the Iberican Fund before they got suspicious? She’d done it twice already and still had nothing but spurts of a fifteen-year-old hockey game. Bless Rosa!
Dinner conversation began with small talk about where everyone was from, as Eddie served something called Camarones Benito, shrimp sautéed with tomatoes and peppers over saffron rice.
Pepe seemed especially interested in Diaz’s Puerto Rican heritage. “Elena, do you think of yourself as an American?”
“Of course, but I was born in Washington, DC. My mother thinks of herself as Puerto Rican first, American second. I guess I’m like Mari. I grew up in a Spanish-speaking household, but my only taste of Puerto Rico is what my mother remembers, and what I’ve seen when I’ve visited.”
“Except I’ve never visited
Cuba,” Mari said. “My only taste of Cuba is what I get when I go to Calle Ocho in Little Havana.”
“Or from the stories Mima tells,” Lucia added.
“And that’s all that’s left of the real Cuba,” Pepe said. “This place, Miami”—he jabbed his finger on the table—“holds the true Cuban heart. But we are no longer Cubans. We are Americans. Cuban-Americans, yes, but Americans. I love this country. I may have been born in Havana, but America is my homeland.”
I wondered if Diaz respected what it meant to be a Cuban exile. Thousands of people like Pepe rebuilt their lives here, nearly all of them starting over from the bottom of the heap. It wouldn’t surprise me if she took special satisfaction from bringing down people like Pepe and Mari because it brought the whole Cuban community down a notch.
The Herald would run the story on the front page, and folks like Mordy would rail against the corrupt Cubans. One week later, all would be forgotten for everyone except Mari, Pepe and their family.
And me. I’d never forget I was the one who set them up.
“Benito makes the most delicious flan,” I exclaimed as Eddie cleared the last of our dinner dishes.
Pepe gestured to the sundeck. “Please, let’s go back upstairs and enjoy the view of our beautiful city lights. Eddie will serve dessert and café con leche there.” He pulled out Lucia’s chair and then hustled around the table to do the same for Diaz.
As they climbed the steps, I began the ritual of activating my electronics.
“Okay, who keeps calling you?” Mari suddenly asked. “I’ve seen you check that phone half a dozen times tonight. Should I be worried?”
“You should never be worried.” I gave her a quick kiss when no one was looking. “My friend Rosa cleaned up some of the apps on my phone this morning and I’m just making sure it’s working right.”
It was working just fine, and once we reached the sundeck I practically leaped over Lucia to sit beside Diaz again. We had turned back toward the marina at Bayside, so I figured she’d be desperate for one more chance at getting a full description of Iberican on tape.
Playing With Fuego Page 20
