Killer Getaway (19 page)

 

Chapter 20

W
HEN WE GOT
back to Holly's house from The Breakers, two enormous flower arrangements were on the table in the living room. I was hoping they were from Howard, although I couldn't think of a reason why he'd send his wife flowers after catching her out with two other men.

“The white roses and orchids are from Scooter, and the other one is from J. D. Alvarez,” Bootsie said, holding up the cards, which she'd opened.

“And J. D. wants to take you to Prime 112 in Miami for dinner tonight,” she told Holly.

“Forget it,” Holly told us. “I'm not going. Just because J. D. looks like Michael Fassbender and lives in Miami and California doesn't mean I'm going to have an affair with him.”

“Great!” I told her, relieved.

“So what are you going to do?” Bootsie asked.

Just then, Sophie and Joe walked in carrying huge bags that smelled awesome and bore the inscription of Captain Harry's Sea Shanty.

“We figured since your whole life's a disaster, we should stay in and have takeout!” Sophie told Holly.

W
AFFLES WAS SITTING
at my feet, drooling, while we sat at the dining room table in Holly's house and ate fried shrimp, beer-­battered fish, corn on the cob, and curly fries from Captain Harry's.

I'd noticed that Holly, who'd changed out of her workout outfit, was sitting up straighter as the meal progressed. She appeared lost in thought for about five minutes, then a determined gleam appeared in her expression as she nibbled Captain Harry's slightly limp side salad and did some quick texting.

“I might have made a few mistakes this week,” Holly told us. “First of all, J. D. is too smart to spill information, and it turns out Scooter is way more discreet than I figured he would be.”

“Ya fucked up, big-­time,” Sophie told her. “Both of those guys are liars, even if J. D. is really good looking.”

“They're both trickier than I realized,” Holly admitted. “We still don't know who did the damage at Vicino, or where Bingo is. Which is why I'm going to go over in about ten minutes to visit Chef Gianni at his suite. Gianni's the loose cannon in that group! He'll tell me everything he knows.”

“Holly, let me give you a piece of advice,” Sophie told her, nibbling a shrimp. “There aren't a lot of guys out there like my Honey Bunny and your Howard. Get your crap together and go apologize to your hubby.”

“I just texted Chef Gianni to meet me at The Breakers. He's leaving his restaurant right now,” Holly said, getting up and heading for her front door. “After I get everything I need from Gianni, I'm going to take Sophie's advice, find Howard, and make up with him,” she added over her shoulder.

“I'll drive you!” Bootsie told her.

 

Chapter 21

N
ATURALLY,
I
WENT
along too, and minutes later Bootsie and I sat in The Breakers' Tapestry Bar sipping Diet Cokes after Holly headed up to Gianni's suite.

“It's eight-­thirty-­five. Holly was supposed to text us at eight-­twenty,” I said, worried. “Gianni's so creepy!”

“Even worse, I just saw his girlfriend walk into the hotel,” said Bootsie, who was facing the hotel lobby. She held up her huge tote bag. “My Breakers uniform is still in here. I think it's time for Housekeeping to head up to Gianni's suite.”

Two minutes later, Bootsie emerged from the ladies' room in her maid's outfit, and we headed down a corridor to the elevators that led up to the guest rooms. A twenty-­something girl with a blond ponytail in a Breakers uniform and nametag that read “Britney” was dusting the crown moldings outside the now-­closed gift shop as we passed. She gave Bootsie a curious glance and rueful half smile, communicating that (A) Bootsie must be a new employee, and (B) it sucked to be working the evening shift, didn't it?

Just then, Bootsie grabbed my arm and turned toward Britney. “Hi, Britney! I'm new on staff here. Barbie McElvoy!”

Three minutes and forty dollars later, I was in Britney's uniform and had her Swiffer in hand, while Britney waited in the restroom wearing my Old Navy sundress. Bootsie had launched into an explanation that we were surprising a friend and it was all a practical joke, but Britney interrupted her, saying she didn't care, and she was clocking out at 9:00 p.m., so hurry up.

“Turndown ser­vice!” Bootsie hollered outside the door to Gianni's suite.

“H
OLLEEEE, IGNORE THAT!”
we could hear Gianni yelling over thumping music as Holly opened the door.

She looked fine, if a little frazzled.

“I know where Bingo is,” she whispered to us. “I just need to grab my handbag, then I'm out of here.” She beckoned us in, and Bootsie and I came in behind her.

“Hollee, get rid of the maids,” Gianni said, turning up the Euro music to full volume and throwing open the balcony door.

I Swiffered the suite's baseboards, thinking that Gianni's neighbors couldn't have been too happy about all the noise, and that Olivia was going to wonder what all the commotion was in her boyfriend's room. Gianni was now doing his trademark shimmying dance, manic energy pulsating from him, trying to get Holly to join in and have another drink.

“This has been fun!” Holly told him, heading for the door.

Unfortunately, Bootsie decided at that moment to go off-­script. She pulled a rumpled piece of paper from her apron pocket and waved it in Gianni's face. “This invoice is for clams from Maine Coastal Catch!” Bootsie yelled at the chef over the music. “Did you tamper with the clams that got Slavica d'Aranville sick last weekend?”

“Hey, baby, fuck you,” Gianni told her. “I don't need to screw around with Channing's place. And who the fuck are you?” He stared at Bootsie for a minute, recognition dawning. “Hey, I know you! You that annoying reporter from home, the one with the flowered outfits. Get outta my suite!”

“I'm an investigative reporter!” Bootsie told him.

“Investigate this!” Gianni said with a rude gesture south of his waistline.

“So you're saying you didn't have anything to do with the bad clams?” Bootsie shot back. “Or the damaged air-­conditioning?”

“No, you crazy flowered pants chick!” Gianni said, his earrings jangling and his bald dome taking on a sweaty sheen. “I didn't do nothing to fuck Channing over! And guess what—­if I did, you'd never find out!”

“Gianni, I am so sorry,” Holly said, staring at Bootsie, eyes wide in fake shock. “Bootsie here has been off her meds for the past few weeks. We'll leave now.”

“You don't need to go, Holleee! You got some weird friends, but that's okay!” Gianni told her. “These two gotta leave!” he shouted rudely to me and Bootsie, then he clutched at Holly and tried to get her to join him while he started dancing again.

Just then, the door from Olivia's connecting room opened, and Olivia—­wearing leather leggings and a black silk tank—­walked into the suite. She didn't look too happy as she took in her boyfriend in mid-­shimmy with Holly.

“Thanks so much, Gianni, but I better go,” Holly said breezily. “Bye!”

We all hustled out of the room toward the hallway and onto the elevator, and when the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Howard was standing there. He looked at Holly, then at me and Bootsie in our maid outfits, then back at Holly.

“We need to talk,” he told her.

Holly and Howard headed for the Tapestry Bar, and within a few minutes, Holly texted us that (A) she wouldn't be home for a while, and (B) Gianni had bragged to her that Scooter Simmons had sent his half-­brother to a wilderness retreat in Arizona, a remote lodge in the desert outside Tucson for technology addicts. Naturally, the lodge didn't have phones or e-­mail, since its residents were supposed to be on lockdown as they went cold turkey on their need to communicate 24/7. From what Gianni had drunkenly told Holly, Bingo was due back on Saturday, the day after the schoolhouse was due to be torn down.

 

Chapter 22

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
Holly still hadn't come home, and she'd stopped returning texts.

Sophie had given Zack Safina the news about Bingo's whereabouts, and the detective was tracking down the younger Simmons brother at the wilderness retreat.

Adelia's Reptile Foundation lunch was scheduled to start at 12:30 at Vicino—­which was going to be the last meal served for a while at the restaurant. After the luncheon, Channing would post a “Closed for Remodeling” sign and inform the staff about the temporary shutdown at Vicino.

At eight-­forty-­five a.m., Channing called Sophie to tell her that except for his sous-­chef, Rob, every single staff member had either called in sick or left a message that they quit. They'd all heard about the place closing down and were out looking for new jobs. That's how we ended up serving lunch to Adelia, Slavica, and two dozen other Magnolia Beach ladies.

I
FELT BAD
for Channing and Jessica as I gazed around at our assembled selves in the kitchen: We were honestly a pretty terrible staff. None of us are decent cooks, except for Joe, who can put together a passable lasagna and grill a steak.

By 11:00 a.m., Bootsie started drinking and wasn't all that much help. Sophie and Joe turned out to be the best of us: I tried to help serve the salads, but Joe took one look at my attempt at balancing plates and ordered me behind the bar to pour Moët and chardonnay, which I served to the ladies when they arrived.

The last guest to arrive was Slavica, who had on a somewhat funereal sleeveless black dress, an impressive Chanel necklace with a lot of gold double Cs on it, and a wide-­brimmed black straw hat. She honestly looked pretty fabulous, if a bit on the scary side.

“Slavica, you look absolutely beautiful,” Adelia told her. “And so thin!”

“Well, there's a reason why I lost some weight,” Slavica told her. “And let's just say, this restaurant was part of the reason.”

“Let's talk about you coming over to see my new dining pavilion,” Adelia told her. “You're sitting right next to me, dear.”

Luckily, Channing had made something called individual morel galettes. None of us knew what a galette was, including Joe, who eats at a lot of fancy restaurants, but it seemed to be a small quiche filled with a lot of delicious-­looking mushrooms and herbs. Thankfully, the dish was served cold, since there was no way our “staff” could have gotten thirty plates onto tables quickly enough to keep anything warm.

The lunch flew by with even Slavica seeming to enjoy herself, once she'd made sure the lunch contained no seafood. The vibe was upbeat, except for when a University of Florida professor gave a short lecture about how pollution in the Everglades was decimating the snake population, during which Adelia fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Bootsie continued to drink more wine than she served. We finally sent her home at three o'clock after she told one lady to “forget it” when she complained about the cheese and eggs in the galettes and asked for a vegan lunch.

“Walk back to Holly's,” Joe told Bootsie. “You can't drive. It's less than a mile. And stay on the sidewalk.”

“Bye!” said Bootsie, handing over her car keys and taking off out the back kitchen door.

“I really like the Chanel necklace Slavica's wearing,” Sophie mused aloud. “I think I might start collecting Chanel. Maybe vintage
and
new. This could be great—­caftans and Chanel!”

“W
HY DON'T YOU
two go out to dinner?” Sophie told Channing and Jessica when the ladies finally left at 4:00 p.m. “There's a bunch of cute places down in Delray Beach. We can finish the cleanup here, plus you two probably want to head home and get some lovin' after such a crazy week!”

Channing and Jessica protested that they couldn't leave us with all the cleanup work, but they finally relented and took off, looking relieved.

By 6:00, we'd gotten all the dishes, pans, and wineglasses cleaned and sanitized, so I borrowed Joe's car and went home to check on Waffles and take him for a quick stroll.

Then I headed back to Vicino to help with the final cleanup of the dining room and bar. We figured we'd be done by 7:30. As I parked yet again around the corner from Vicino, all I could think about was finishing up, rushing home, and finally cannonballing into Holly's rented pool.

Then, I'd insert myself into the fluffy white robe hanging in the guesthouse bathroom.
Fluffy white robe! Fluffy white robe!
flashed happily in my cortex as I pushed open the front door to Vicino and beheld a sight I honestly could never have imagined: Sophie and Joe yielding a broom and a mop.

Joe was cursing, while Sophie had rolled up her caftan and was discreetly perspiring, looking as morose as I'd ever seen her.

“This mop is kinda heavy!” she told me. “Channing told us the whole kitchen needs to be Cloroxed nine ways til Sunday, too!”

“You guys should leave,” I told them. “Seriously, I'll finish up. Go to Tiki Joe's! Show off your new caftan, Sophie!”

“We couldn't stick you with that crappy Cloroxing,” Sophie protested, while Joe's expression telegraphed joy at the prospect of a drink at a stylish bar, served to him by someone who was actually skilled at making cocktails.

“I'll finish up in the kitchen. I'll be out of here in, like, twenty minutes. Then I'm going to walk home, get in my bikini, and jump in the pool!” I assured them. After a ­couple more minutes during which Sophie said she felt bad leaving me, and Joe kept telling her that I had an antiques shop and was used to cleaning, they finally took off in Joe's car for Tiki Joe's.

“Remind me never to do anything nice again,” Joe told me. “I hate helping ­people.”

I was exhausted as I locked Vicino's front door behind them. I'd leave via the kitchen, then use the key Jessica had given us to secure the back door when I left.

And at least I had the image of Holly's shimmering pool to keep me motivated as I closed and secured the dining room's French doors to the patio, pulled down the shades, and shut off all the lights except for the required EXIT lighting. I checked to make sure the patio lighting was down and the music turned off.

Along with the bossa nova music, somehow there had been an upbeat vibe again at Vicino today. Channing had done his best hunky-­chef table-­hopping with the ladies, and Jessica had booked several tables for the following weekend. The current plan, she'd told us earlier, while we'd plated molten chocolate cupcakes topped with tiny spun-­sugar “lizards,” was that she and Channing would hire back a few employees and reopen for dinner Thursdays through Sundays. They were positive they could be up and running again, full-­time, in a few months—­as long as no more incidents plagued Vicino.

I'd nodded, refraining from pointing out that we still didn't know who'd been sabotaging Vicino. Gianni had insisted it wasn't him, and oddly, I kind of believed him. I also couldn't see why Scooter, who was busy trying to tear down a historic building, would be after Jessica, and Barclay wasn't the type who would sneak bad clams into a kitchen.

Anyway, I'd Clorox, lock up, and be home within thirty minutes, I thought, as I pushed through the double doors into the darkened kitchen.

“W
HAT THE HELL
are you doing here?”

The question came at me in an angry hiss from Olivia, Gianni's girlfriend, who was holding a large and shiny chef's knife up against Jessica's throat over by the walk-­in refrigerator.

I froze. The kitchen lights were turned off, but as my eyes adjusted to the dim light I could see that next to Olivia stood the young guy we'd seen with her at The Breakers the day before: Daniel Ainsley.

Daniel looked confused and upset but remained quiet while Olivia, for her part, displayed a surprisingly icy froideur as she stood in four-­inch heels and skinny black leggings, looking like the evil dark-­haired twin of the blond, bony Jessica—­who's not all that warm and fuzzy herself.

“Uh, Olivia, not to upset you, but what's going on here?” I asked her, my voice quavering. “Did Jessica do something to offend you? Can I help?”

Olivia looked annoyed. “Seriously, what the fuck are you doing here!” she snarled. “Get over here. Daniel, tie this girl's hands behind her back.”

I frantically looked around the kitchen for some kind of way to disarm Olivia. Not a single knife was visible anywhere, and I remembered that Channing took his expensive knives home with him at night.

There were large heavy cooking pans that could serve as weapons. . . . The fire extinguisher might work to blast this crazy girl and her accomplice. . . . But given the glinting blade up against Jessica's jugular, I couldn't risk a single move toward any of these potentially helpful objects. It could be fatal to further set Olivia off, and while Daniel had looked like a mild-­mannered guy the other day at The Breakers, maybe he was a dangerous nut job, too. I began walking toward him on wobbly legs.

“I'm not a part of this,” said Daniel. “Olivia, come on—­you're getting in over your head,” he told his high school girlfriend. Who, I guessed, was also his current inamorata, since why else would he be here helping with the knife-­wielding Olivia?

“Shut up!” Olivia told him. “I'm doing this for you! Well, sort of,” she added with an evil little smile on her beautiful face. “And you've been involved all along, so don't try to weasel out of this now. Grab that butcher's string Channing uses for his tenderloin and tie this girl up. Now!”

“I was okay with planting the old clams and tampering with the air conditioner,” protested Daniel, who reluctantly cut off a ­couple of lengths of string as directed and began to secure my wrists. “You never said anything about knives and, you know, holding ­people against their will.” I noticed that he wasn't making the twine tight enough to hurt me—­but, given his sailing background, the knots felt unbreakable, and I had no chance of freeing myself. I shivered as I stood next to the frozen-­in-­place Jessica.

“What are you doing back here, Jessica?” I asked her desperately, whispering so as to hopefully not set Olivia off even further. “I thought you and Channing had dinner plans.”

“I left my wallet in the office, and after Channing and I had a quick drink, I came back to get it,” she said desperately.

“And I followed her in, thinking I'd finally have my chance to get rid of this blond bitch!” screamed Olivia. “Until you messed everything up!”

“I'm sorry,” I said, a tear dripping down my cheek. “I apologize. For both of us.” I wasn't sure what Jessica had done, but trying to make amends—­fast—­seemed like the only plan.

“I'll just have to take care of both of you,” shrugged Olivia coldly.

“Olivia, Channing will wonder where his girlfriend is, and he'll show up here any minute,” I told Gianni's girlfriend with more assurance than I actually felt.

Where
was
Channing, anyway? He and Jessica weren't called Janning and Chessica for nothing. The two were inseparable.

“No, he won't,” Olivia told me smugly. “Channing's halfway to Tampa right now, in the middle of the Florida swamp on Highway 60. I made a fake call an hour ago inviting him to meet with the manager of the Hard Rock Hotel for a Monday-­through-­Wednesday chef job. I told him I was the dining manager, and that he had to come over and interview on the spot. The guy was just desperate enough to jump at the chance.”

I looked at Jessica, who nodded miserably. “It's true,” she mumbled. “Channing hates not working, and he was ecstatic when he thought he could do the Hard Rock job for part of the week until we get this place open full-­time again.”

“That's not going to happen,” Olivia told her. “After tonight, you'll be dead, and so will his restaurant. No one's ever going to want to eat at Vicino after I kill you here.”

“But why are you after Jessica?” I whispered, another tear dripping onto the white apron I still wore.

“She's done nothing but screw up every opportunity I've ever had!” Olivia, enraged again. “When we worked together five years ago at a steak house in Philly, Jessica got all the best shifts. Then she met Gianni and started posting on Facebook about the trips to Italy. She wore Louboutins and lived in a fancy house with Gianni. What did you ever do to deserve that life, anyway?” Olivia screamed this in Jessica's direction, and we both shrank back as Olivia waved her shiny knife.

“But Gianni's awful,” Jessica whispered. “I mean, you know how he is.”

“You bet I do,” Olivia told her. “But I'm not as lucky as you—­of course, you met Channing and ran off down here to open your own fabulous place, while I ended up taking over as Gianni's manager. And girlfriend,” she added bitterly.

“Gianni was talking last summer about opening a place in Beverly Hills, which is why I decided to date him,” Olivia told us. “All I've ever wanted my whole life is to live in California! And I finally had my chance! We were days away from signing a lease on a place out there, and I had an audition for
The Voice
set up.

“Then Gianni got the offer in November from HGTV to do a pop-­up restaurant down here, and everything fell apart. He canceled plans for California. And he started obsessing about you again. Every fucking word out of his mouth was ‘Jessica'!” Olivia screamed at the quaking Louboutin-­wearing blonde.

“Even before we got here, I realized I needed to put Vicino out of business. Gianni's so crazy-­competitive that if Vicino flopped, I knew he'd get bored of Gianni Mare. If he didn't have you as competition, I knew I could get him to close the place here and go to California!”

Daniel looked flummoxed. “You told me Gianni was forcing you to plant the bad clams! You said Gianni would hurt your mom and her Cavalier King Charles spaniel if we didn't do what he said!”