Last Bite: A Novel of Culinary Romance (31 page)

“But I saw the tapes of him offering to sell some type of formula.”

“That was part of the work he was doing. Undercover work. Let me try to clear things up for you.” He sat back down and then turned to Agent Rourke. “Tom, give me the photo of Davinsky.” Tom removed a photo from the file he was holding and handed it to John. He showed it to Sally and asked if that was the man in Yugoslavia.

She said it looked like him but that he’d had a beard, glasses, and his hair had been darker. Tom handed John another photo, and John held it out for Sally to look at. “Is this him?”

“Yes. That’s him. A hideously awful, awful—sleazeball.” I guess John hadn’t ever heard her use that expression, because he laughed. “You’re right about that,” he said. “We’ve known for a long time that there was an active black market in weapons operating out of Russia. We’ve been working with the Russians for some time to uncover it, but got nowhere until Peter came across Boris. But Boris was small potatoes and Peter was working him to try to get to the leaders.”

“All those trips to Russia weren’t for scientific meetings,
Mrs. Woods,” Agent Roark added. “Peter was doing some very important, dangerous work for his country.”

John continued. “Peter had just uncovered Vladimir Chomsky when, sadly for all of us, he died. The Russians picked Chomsky and Davinsky up and Boris agreed to testify against him in exchange for a lighter sentencing. Against our strong objections, the Russians let Davinsky out of jail until the trial, and he disappeared. He knew he was a dead man if the Mafia found him. We’ve been looking for him, the Russians have been looking for him, and several Mafia members are out to kill him. Thanks to you, we and the Russians learned that he was hiding in Yugoslavia and now have him under constant surveillance.”

“I don’t understand. How did Sally lead you to him?” I asked.

Tom answered. “When Sally crossed the border into Yugoslavia, the information on her passport was automatically sent to Washington headquarters with the fact that she was traveling to a former Soviet bloc country. That’s standard procedure for anyone related to or associated with a person involved in an investigation, and Peter’s name is still on the file.” He turned to Sally. “I picked you up when you checked into the hotel and have been following you ever since. At first, it was just standard procedure, but when I discovered that you were meeting with Davinsky, the department went into red alert.”

John took over. “Until you called me, Sally, we had no idea why you were there. We followed you and wired your house the same day. You know, we didn’t know for sure that you weren’t trying to sell him information that you might have learned from Peter. That’s why we didn’t immediately pick Boris up. If you were dealing with him, we wanted Boris’s contacts.”

“Oh, be real, John!” Sally said, putting her hands on her hips. “Me, a spy?”

He laughed at her. “Stranger things have happened.”

“How does George Davinsky fit into this?” I asked.

It was Tom who responded. “We didn’t know anything about him until he picked Sally up on the other side of the border. I got his name form the rental place and called it in to John. We’re guessing he’s a nephew. We’re tailing him as we speak.” He opened his file folder and held up another photo. “Does she look familiar?”

The hair was different and she wasn’t as fat, but I recognized her and practically screamed, “That’s Carol Hanger! What does she have to do with it?”

“Olga Davinsky. Boris’s daughter.” I remembered that Sully had thought that she and George looked alike. No wonder. They were probably cousins, and both lowlifes. “Boris sent her and her mother to live here when Olga was a child, so she was raised here, but she visited her father a few times every year. When Boris disappeared, she did too. We haven’t seen her since.”

I knew she was one of the bad guys. Just like my father said, you can’t trust a woman with a bad hairdo. “I know where to find her,” I said. “She has pink hair now.”

John leaned forward and put his hand on Sally’s. “You have been a great help in coming forward with this, Sally.”

“Why didn’t Peter tell me what he was doing? I wouldn’t have told anyone.”

“It’s just not allowed, Mrs. Woods,” Tom said. “You never know if couples are going to get divorced and one of them will decide to blow the cover for revenge.”

“Did you know he was an agent, John?”

“Yes. Peter and I applied to the CIA together after college. I stayed in for a couple of years and then applied to the FBI.”

“So Peter was already in the CIA when I met him.”

“He was,” said John. “He was one of their most effective agents.”

Sally was quiet. I can only imagine all she was trying to digest. “What happens now?” I asked.

“Now that we know why you met with Boris, Sally, we’ll pick him up. That will eliminate any of your worries about the Mafia.”

“What about George?” I asked, relishing the thought of him being carted away in handcuffs.

“We’ll stay on his tail for a while to locate Olga and determine if she’s involved. My guess is she is, but we need some solid proof. With what Sally has told us, the FBI has enough evidence to convict George of extortion. He’ll go away for a very long time.”

I thought about George behind bars and couldn’t help myself from singing out loud: “I’ve Been a Long Time Leaving (but I’ll Be a Long Time Gone).”

“Gene Autry?” Sally turned to me and asked.

“Waylon Jennings,” responded John, and I smiled at him.

He sat back and said, “I’m curious how Boris tied Sally to Peter. Peter always traveled under an alias. I’m hoping one of them will tell us. Meanwhile, I have to ask you both to tell no one until we’ve picked up George and Olga. We’re guessing that once George finds out that Boris has been arrested, he’ll return to the States and make contact with Olga.”

Tom added, “If he calls you, Mrs. Woods, continue to deal with him. Tell him you left Italy early because of a relative’s illness or death. We’ll be watching your house and your phones are wired, so we’ll know if he contacts you, and we won’t let this drag on. My guess is we’ll know all we need to know in a few days.”

Tom looked down at the notes he had taken while Sally was telling her story. “Tell me about this Danny who filled you in on the Mafia connection.”

I assumed he wasn’t looking for the bedroom information, so I wouldn’t be held accountable for holding back the personal stuff. I told him who Danny was and how he’d gotten involved.

Tom clicked open his pen. “I’ll need his name, address, and phone number. You can let him know you’re safe but you cannot tell him or anyone else what we have discussed. Not anyone. Do you understand?”

No problem. Who’d believe it anyway?

I
DECIDED TO STAY
with Sally at least until Tuesday. I had a live show Wednesday morning and would have to be back for it. I called my parents Sunday morning to tell them. I knew they were disappointed, since they were expecting me to be at Sunday dinner and tell everyone about Italy. Then I called Mae to ask her if she could handle the prep alone on Tuesday. She said she was cool with that and I told her that Sally and Danny would be doing a show together next Monday.

“That is so totally cool,” she said. “Everyone I know who saw Danny on the show thought he was so hot.”

“His show’s been getting a ton of mail.”

“I bet he and Sally will be great together. What are they going to make?”

“Baked Alaska. The recipe from Sally’s book. I’ll get the script to you in the next few days.”

“Awesome,” she said, and I hung up and called Sonya’s office. I left a message saying that I was taking Monday and Tuesday off. If she had a problem with that, it would dissolve when she found out that Sally would be renewing her contract.

Now I had to let Danny know we were safe. By the time John and Tom had left last night, it was after midnight and Sally and I had simply crashed with exhaustion. I decided to ask Sally to make the call, and she was pleased to do it. I gave her his number and when she got him on the phone, she told him that we were safe and then told him how grateful she was for all he had done. They talked a little about Baked Alaska and then she handed the phone to me. “He wants to talk to you.”

“You must be relieved that it’s over,” he said.

“Definitely! I mean there’s still
some
unsettled business.”

“There sure is. What was that all about when you left me at the airport?”

“I meant unsettled business with George.”

“But as long as we’re on the topic of our unsettled business—”

“We’re not. Besides, I think our business is pretty much settled. I had a great time—”

“You said that already in Milan. And I believe you. What I don’t believe is your sudden change in attitude. Is this all about that bloody vole thing?” He was almost yelling at me.

“Look, Danny. I can’t really talk now. In fact, the phone lines are tapped and this is not even a private conversation.” I didn’t know if anyone was actually listening in, but it seemed like a good way to end a call I did not want to continue.

He was quiet for a minute and then in an even, cold tone said, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for Sally. I’ll see you next Monday at the shoot. E-mail me the scripts. I think you have that address.” He hung up before I could say goodbye. Sally was looking at me over the top of her glasses.

“Don’t ask” was all I said, and she didn’t.

M
ONDAY AFTERNOON WE HEARD
the doorbell. It was John. When we opened the door, he said, “It’s over” and stepped inside.

He accepted our offer of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. “We’ve picked up George and Olga,” he told us. “As soon as George found Sally missing in Ravenna, he tried to contact Boris. When he couldn’t get him, he called Olga to see what he should do. She told him to fly back home and they would decide. We picked her right up and then picked George up when he landed in New York.”

“Did you find out how he made the connection between Peter and me?” Sally asked.

“You’re responsible for that, Sally.”

“How so?”

“Olga visited her father in Russia often. When she was in culinary school, she brought books with her to study for tests. Your first book is required reading. Do you recall what picture is on the back flap?”

“Peter and me in this kitchen.”

“Yep. Boris saw the picture and asked Olga about you. Found out you were famous and probably rich. They devised the plan and brought George in to make it work. George is Boris’s late brother’s son.”

“Who made the tapes of Peter and Boris?” I asked.

“Boris did,” John said. “We’re pretty sure he was planning on blackmailing Peter once he’d made his money from the Mafia.”

“So it’s really over,” Sally said.

“It is. And we’ve had the court slap both Davis and Olga with gag orders so they can’t talk about it at all. I know that your friends who know some of the details may ask you both
questions. You’re free to discuss George’s blackmail plans, but Peter’s work with the CIA is still confidential and has to remain so until such time as it’s declared declassified.”

We both nodded our heads that we understood. Then there was just one more thing I wanted to know. “Did you handcuff George at the airport. In public?” I asked, mentally rubbing my hands together.

“We did,” John said. “He looked affronted that we were doing it. He said to our agent, ‘Do you know who I am? Have you any idea who I am?’” Sally and I looked at each other and burst into laughter. Lord, revenge is sweet.

W
HEN
J
OHN LEFT
, we called Sonya together to tell her that George was in jail and Sally would sign her contracts when she came in next Monday. Before we could say anything, she told us she had some great news.

“I just hung up with someone from the
New York Times
. They are doing an article about Danny for Wednesday’s paper. It’ll be on the cover of the food section. Earlier this morning,
People
magazine called. They want to come to the studio next Monday to take pictures of him on the show with Sally.”

“Why that’s just lovely,” Sally said. “Perhaps Danny and I will do a great many shows together in the coming years. “And then she told her that George was out of the picture and she was remaining at
Morning in America
.

“Bloody hell!” Sonya exclaimed. “I feel like I’m in a time warp. What happened?”

Sally was talking on the extension phone across the room and she raised her eyebrows conspiratorially at me as she spoke into the receiver, “We’ll fill you in when we’re in New York. Meanwhile, we are one happy family again.”

“Amazing. Just amazing. You must have a song for that, Casey.”

I started to sing into my extension. “‘Back in the saddle again . . .’”

“I know that one,” Sally cried and then belted out in a yo-deling voice, “when a friend is a friend.”

Please don’t tell me how the story ends.
—Kris Kristofferson

I
flew back to New York Tuesday afternoon. My father met me at the airport wearing a chauffeur’s hat and holding a sign that said
SIGNORINA COSTELLO
. He wrapped me in a big bear hug and said,
“Ciao bologna.”
This came from the same Dad foreign-speak that gave us the Mexican send-off “Buenos snowshoes” and the bachelor-party favorite “Arrivederci roaming.” He said that Nonna was waiting at the house and Mary was coming for dinner.

“Has Nonna been waiting since Sunday?”

“She wanted to, but we convinced her to go home and wait for our call. So, my now truly world-class daughter, was it an exciting trip?”

“You have no idea, Dad.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You want to wait until we’re home to talk about the trip so you’ll only have to tell it once?”

“Good plan,” I said. “What’s happened with the Conti clan since I’ve been away? What’s the latest with Mrs. A and her bingo nights?”

“Well, Uncle Tony put her on Prozac.”

“Why Prozac? Is she depressed?” I asked.

“How would we know? She hasn’t smiled once in the thirty years I’ve known her. She’s possessed with misery.”