Jay Giles (27 page)
We nodded.
“This thing goes down on Friday, I want you both out of town on Wednesday.” Again, he stared directly at me. “You didn’t leave last time I told you.”
“I’ll leave,” I said quickly.
“If you don’t, they’ll kill you.” He frowned. “I’d put a guy on you to protect you, but they’d spot it, know something’s going on.” He paused, glanced at my write-up. “You coordinate the show programs. I’ll make sure the write-up gets into the hands of Enrico and the nephews. Anything else we need to discuss?”
Tory shook her head.
There was something I wanted to know. “I’m curious. I thought you’d be furious with us for arranging this. I thought you’d tell us to call the whole thing off. You’re not. Why?”
Raines’ eyes narrowed. He stroked his moustache. “It’s too late. This thing is in play. The only thing I can do now that you’ve stirred things up is try to direct the explosion, keep you guys alive.”
I had dreams that night. We were at the cemetery. My father walking beside me, his head bowed. Eddie running ahead. We walked through the grass between tall trees, in and out of the shade, to a clearing where three caskets waited for us. Small groups of people watched us approach. Family. Friends. The priest. It was quiet, so quiet I was aware of birds chirping, the sounds our shoes made on the grass.
We reached the gravesite. The priest began reading from the Bible. I didn’t listen. Mentally, I said good-bye. I reached out, put my hand on each casket. My hand rested on Claire’s the longest. The hardest good-bye.
My Dad put his arm around my shoulder, said, “Let’s go home, Matt.”
My hand pulled away from the metal.
I woke. My hand out.
I lowered my arm, wiped my eyes, the image still vivid in my mind. My hand coming away from the casket. My letting go.
When I called Dr. Swarthmore at seven-thirty and related what I’d experienced, she seemed cautiously elated. “Matt, the symbolism is so obvious. I have to believe this is your subconscious bringing finality to your loss. Even after the dream, your feeling of your hand coming away from the casket suggests that you’re through the grieving process. The thing you need to ask yourself is why did this happen now? Is there a person or persons who have helped you heal?”
“I’m not sure,” I said honestly.
“The answers will come to you. You’ve made significant progress. My one concern is your holding back, your unwillingness to open up emotionally with a woman.”
It was a concern she’d raised before. As before, I didn’t say anything. I hid in silence.
“Stay in touch, Matt,” she said when I didn’t say anything. “Good things are going to start happening for you.”
I thanked her, rang off.
We were busy at the office that morning. Lots of calls. A ton of paperwork. At ten, Julian called.
I used my shoulder to hold the phone to my ear. “Hello, Julian,” I said as I finished signing a stack of forms. “Have we got financials?”
“That’s why I’m calling. Nevitt just dropped off a Jim Beam box full of stuff. Hard to tell what’s here, what’s missing. I’ve got Nathan Cohen, a CPA I work with, lined up to go through it.”
“See anything in there that ties to Merrill Lynch?”
“I haven’t looked that closely. Want me to rummage through?”
“Yeah, I’ll hold.”
He was gone a long time before he came back on. “Sorry, no Merrill Lynch. You didn’t expect it was going to be that easy, did you?”
“I guess I didn’t. There has to be a connection, though. I was hoping there might be something that would shed some light on how they pulled that off.”
“Let’s see what Nathan finds. The guy’s a financial archaeologist. If it’s there, he’ll dig it up.” Julian knew a good exit line when he delivered one. He rang off.
Nathan might be wonderful, but I doubted Nevitt was dumb enough to have given us anything incriminating. What might be telling is what Nevitt didn’t deliver. Nathan might be able to put together a case based on empty spaces.
I buried myself in paperwork. Didn’t get up from my desk until one-thirty when Tory arrived.
Once again, she was dressed in black. On her face, she wore a smirk. “Oh, Snugglebear. Time to go ring shopping.”
Rosemary tried to hide a giggle.
I stood, headed down the aisle. “Snugglebear? That’s the best you could come up with?”
She took my arm, grinned.
“We’ll be back,” I said to Rosemary. “Hold the fort.”
There were a number of cars—Mercedes, Lexus, Cadillac—in the antique store’s parking lot when we arrived. The most notable, however, was a white Rolls convertible with a
Florida
vanity plate that read, Luis. I parked the Saab two spaces over. It was like docking your cabin cruiser next to the QEII.
I got out of the car, walked around, opened Tory’s door for her, and together we walked to the front door of the shop. It was opened before we got there by a beaming Luis Santoro. He was a tiny man with olive complexion, silver hair brushed straight back, a thin, jet-black moustache, perfect white teeth.
“Matt, good to see you,” he said warmly, extending his hand. “Please introduce me to your lady friend.”
“Luis, this is Tory Knight.”
Tory started to shake hands. Luis surprised her with a kiss on both cheeks. “You are delightful. Matt, he is a lucky man. Please, come into the shop.”
We followed him in. He closed the door, led us to his private office. He indicated chairs, “Please be comfortable.” He took his seat behind the desk. Between us, displayed on a square of black velvet, were five diamond rings—each more stunning than the next.
Luis watched Tory’s reaction. “Tell me, my dear, which one makes your spirit soar?”
Tory reached for a ring with a large oval-cut stone. It was by far the most distinctive ring on the table. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Her voice had awe in it.
Luis smiled. “She has wonderful taste, Matt. This ring is an excellent choice, the cut and clarity—” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “Perfection.” He reached across the desk, took the ring from her. “May I, my dear?” He took her other hand and slipped in on her finger.
Tory gave a little gasp as she looked at it on her hand.
“It is yours now. My wedding gift to you.”
I hadn’t expected this. “Luis, I can’t—”
He stopped me with a stern look, an angry wave of his hand. “You have made a humble shopkeeper a rich man. You are more than my advisor. You are my valued friend. This is my gift. To argue with me about this will be futile.” He stood, came around the desk, again kissed Tory on both cheeks. “I wish for the two of you a long, loving life together.” He turned and hugged me. “My friend, I am honored you called me to share in your happiness.”
I patted him on the back. “Thank you, Luis. I’m the one who is honored. You’re a true friend.” We separated. I looked him directly in the eyes, aware he was more than a business associate. More than a friend, even. He’d become part of my extended family. “That’s why I can’t do this.”
“What?” He asked, his face confused.
“Tory, let me have the ring, please.”
Reluctantly, she took it off her finger and handed it to me.
“Let me share something with you, Luis,” I said as I placed the diamond on the black velvet square. I launched into a sanitized version of my predicament.
“I understand,” he said as I finished. “This ring is not for your lady. It is for this black widow.”
“I didn’t want to involve you in this. I just wanted to buy a ring. But I can’t mislead you. Please accept my apologies and let me know what I owe you for the ring.” I took my checkbook and a pen out of my pocket, got ready to write him a check.
“This ring,” he held up the one Tory had chosen, his face stern, “is not for sale.” His face changed into a smile. “This ring I will hold for the two of you. Perhaps one day, it will grace your hand again as my present to you.”
He picked up one of the other rings. “This one, I think, will be good for your black widow. It was worn for many years by the mistress of a South American dictator. A fitting choice, don’t you think?”
He opened a desk drawer, took out a ring box, placed the ring inside, and handed it to me. “Put your checkbook away. I will not take your money. It is in my best interests to help you out of this situation in which you find yourself. This will be my contribution to your cause.”
“Thank you, Luis,” I told him sincerely as we did the hug and back pat thing again.
“What a great friend,” Tory said when we reached the car. “He obviously thinks a lot of you.”
I nodded as I opened her car door for her. “Luis is a gentleman of the old school. They don’t make them like him anymore.”
I got in my side, started the car, waved at Luis standing in the doorway, and backed out of the parking space. “Now that we have the ring, Fish needs to make a dramatic presentation to her.”
Tory and I met with Fish that evening. We found him lounging on the sofa, dressed in polka-dot boxers, a wife-beater tee-shirt, black socks pulled to mid-calf. His hair wasn’t combed. He hadn’t shaved. “‘Lo,” he said. His gaze never left the TV.
I went over, found the remote, clicked the TV off. “Why aren’t you and Janet out tonight?”
He looked annoyed. Probably more at my turning off his TV than my question. “She didn’t want to. I think she’s mad at me.”
Oh, good. A lover’s spat. I got the ring box out of my pocket, opened it in front of him.
“Holy smokes,” he said, his eyebrows shooting up, his jowls quivering.
“This is your mother’s ring,” I said, coaching him. “Your father, the trucking baron, searched
Detroit
to find the most beautiful ring in town. This is that special ring. He gave this ring to your mother, and now you’d like to give it to her.”
Fish swallowed. “If you say so.”
“What I want you to do is present it with some drama. Don’t just give it to her, let her know it’s special. Make her feel special.”
“Snugglebear,” Tory said, grinning. “Right idea, wrong direction.” She looked over at Fish. “Frankie, repeat after me—the way to get in a girl’s pants is romance. Say it with me.” He did. When they’d finished, Tory said, “What Matt was trying to tell you is if you want to get anywhere with Janet, you have to romance her. This ring is a tool to heat up your romance. If you just hand it to her,” she shook her head, “you’ll get nothing. But if you present in a romantic way, guess what you’re going to get?”
“In her pants,” Fish finished.
“Can you do it, Frankie? Can you be romantic?” Tory asked softly.
Fish’s jowls began to quiver. “I’ll be so romantic she’ll want to hop right in the sack”
“‘Atta boy,” I said and handed him the ring box.
“Call her. Ask her out to dinner tomorrow night. Tell her you have something special you want to give her,” Tory said.
He hopped right up, went out to the kitchen, called. We eavesdropped on the half of the conversation we could hear. When it was over, he padded back out to the living room. “It’s on. She said this has all happened so quickly, she’s still sorting it out. That’s why she’s been acting the way she has. But she said she knows she loves me and wants to spend her life with me.”
“Touching.” I tried not to laugh. “Tory and I want to share in this happiness. We’re planning on being at the wedding. That’s okay with you isn’t it?”
“Sure,” he said, brows knitting together in sincerity.
“I’m asking because I don’t want this to get too big. Will your boss be there?”
“Mr. D’Onifrio?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, I talked to him this afternoon. He wanted to know the exact time and place. I told him Friday two o’clock at City Hall, room 410. He told me he’d be there.”
“Just him? Or will other friends come along?”
“The boss won’t come alone. He’ll bring a car full, at least. Three, four guys.”
“We’ll be there, too. Let him know that, okay?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“I’m glad he’s coming. I know he’s pretty busy that day.”
Fish scratched his belly. “Yeah, he’s getting some big award that night. Kinda surprises me, him doing that during meeting time.”
“Meeting time?” Tory asked innocently.
“His bosses are going to be in town. Happens a couple of times a year. Everybody has to walk around on eggshells, treat ‘em like they’re kings, do whatever they want. They’re a real pain in the ass if you ask me.”
“Timing’s perfect, though. D’Onifrio will get his award while his bosses are here. They’ll be there to see it, won’t they?”
“Don’t know. Them guys don’t tell me what they’re doing.”
“We’ve got to be going, Frankie,” Tory said. “I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll talk through what you’re doing tomorrow night.”
He went to the couch. As we stepped out the door, I heard the TV click back on.
“What do you think?” I asked Tory as we rode down in the elevator.
“You planted we’d be at the wedding. That worked. I didn’t expect he’d know anything about Enrico.”
The elevator deposited us in the lobby. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning,” she said at her car.
I walked to the Saab, drove back to my condo. I changed into exercise clothes, went down to the gym, used the machines for an hour, ran for an hour on the treadmill. I took a long shower, rewarded myself for exercising with a glass of Chardonnay. I carried my glass of wine into the library, stretched out, read for a bit. At eleven, beginning to nod off, I marked my place and headed to bed.
My drowsiness lasted until I walked into the bedroom. On the bed, I found a cat that looked as if it had been skinned, tortured. Pinned to the head with a knife was a note.
