Sandra Hill - [Jinx] (4 page)

Eggs are expensive? Since when? Oh. He really does have financial problems, then.

He slammed the paper down, took a huge slug of bourbon, and shook his head. On an empty stomach, it must hit like five hundred proof.

With a frown of disapproval, Flossie began to gather up the dishes, then for the first time noticed Veronica near the open French doors. “Ronnie!” Flossie exclaimed, giving Frank a strange, warning glower. Then she set the dishes down and came over to give her a hug. Veronica and Flossie were both about five-nine, but with the high heels, Flossie towered over her. She wore so much Shalimar perfume, it wiped the scent of salt water from Veronica’s nose.

Flossie rolled her eyes meaningfully at Frank and then at her. Except Veronica wasn’t sure what message she was being given.

“Frank.” Veronica walked over and stared down at her grandfather.
Should I hug him? No! He would probably shove me away.
Just being near him made her stomach churn and made her want to bolt, but she had important business to discuss first.

Frank frowned. “It’s about time you got here, girl.”

“What do you mean? You never invited me.”

“What? You need a hoity-toity engraved invitation to visit your grandfather? Your grandmother turned you against me a long time ago. The bitch!”

Flossie harrumphed her opinion.

Well, this is a pleasant start to our visit.
Veronica sat down opposite him and let out a whoosh of frustration at the same old direction their conversation was heading. “Listen to me, old man, you are not going to lay a guilt trip on me. You are the one who threw me overboard into the bay when I was only five years old.”

“
That
again! I was tryin’ to teach you how to swim, for chrissake. You were babied too much by that Boston bunch. Besides, you had a life vest on. You were never in danger of drowning.”

“How was I to know that?” she cried out. “You don’t teach children to swim by tossing them overboard.”

“Oh, yeah? You learned to swim that day, didn’t you?”

And to hate the ocean and salt water, which she’d swallowed about a gallon of.

“Then there was the time you terrorized me by taking me on that roller coaster in Asbury Park—the one that went out over the ocean.” She’d smelled the salt air that time, too.

“It was fun,” he protested.

“For you, maybe. Not for me. I was scared.”

“Kids like to be scared on rides.”

“Not this kid!”

He shook his head as if she were a freak.

“Then there was the waterskiing incident. And the deep-water fishing trip—for sharks, of all things.”
No wonder I have an aversion to salt water. I don’t need a shrink to diagnose my Pavlovian association.

Flossie made a clucking sound at their juvenile squabbling, then picked up the dishes again and walked toward the kitchen, tsk-tsk-tsking the whole way.

“All that is beside the point. I’m here because of this.” She slammed some legal documents on the table. “What is this all about?”

He didn’t even look at the papers. Instead, he spoke around the cigar in his mouth. “I’m taking care of business.”

“Why me?”

He shrugged. “You’re the only family I have.”

“How about Flossie?”

Flossie yelled from the kitchen, “I don’t want it.”

“Floss wouldn’t know treasure from tulips.” Her grandfather downed the last of his liquor.

“And I would?”

“She thinks pink flamingoes are fine art.”

“Do not!” Flossie yelled again.

“Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I wouldn’t have a clue how to run a treasure-hunting company.”

“I’ll teach you.”

I’d rather swim with sharks.
“No, thanks.”

“Anyhow, your job would be more like supervising. Hiring. Budgets. That kind of crap. You’re a corporate something-or-other, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t even know what I do for a living.
“Why should I?”

“Like I said, you’re the only one.”

There was an insult in there somewhere. “Why now?”

“You figure it out, girlie. You got one of them phi beta thingees, dontcha?” There was a nasty tone to his voice. For a man trying to convince her to do something she didn’t want to, he was doing the opposite.

She tilted her head to the side. Something was very strange here. More strange than usual. Enough with beating around the bush. “Are you in financial trouble?”

His face reddened with what she assumed was embarrassment. Men and their pride! “I’m not about to go belly-up . . . yet . . . if that’s what you’re asking.”

She noticed the nervous tic in her grandfather’s jaw and the strange expression on his face. Then she noticed Flossie standing in the doorway, wringing her hands, frowning at Frank. Meanwhile, the “Beer Barrel Polka” blasted through the speakers.

“What? How bad is it?” she demanded.

Her grandfather gulped several times and held Flossie’s gaze, as if pondering whether to tell her something or not. But he was saved from having to respond because company arrived.

And what company it was!

Chapter
3

You could say she was the Godmother . . .

A woman and two men came strolling toward them from the side walkway. They’d probably knocked, as she had, and not been heard.

About sixty years old, the petite woman wore a Chanel dress, Manolo Blahnik shoes, and enough jewelry to make an Oscar nominee on the red carpet envious. Auburn hair, perfectly coiffured, framed a face that had surely had a face-lift or two and a skin tone that spoke of Enro Laszlo makeup.

Between this woman and Flossie, Veronica could easily get an inferiority complex.

Wait a minute. The woman looked familiar. Veronica tapped her closed lips thoughtfully with a forefinger, then gasped. It was Rosa Menotti, widow of Mafia boss Sam Menotti. Veronica recognized her from the photo spread in
People
magazine last year that had highlighted wives of notorious men. The two burly thugs who accompanied her—could they be Mafia hit men? The jackets they wore—could they be hiding guns?
Oh. My. God!

“Franco!” The woman smiled and waved as she approached.
“Buon giorno!”

Franco?
Veronica’s eyes shot to her grandfather, who stood to greet the trio. “Rosa! How good to see you! Come sit down here, darlin’.” Then to Flossie he said, “Get us some more iced tea, would you, sweetie? And more sugar this time.”

Okay, so it was iced tea and not bourbon. And his full-body shudder was due to the bitterness of the drink, not to its alcoholic potency.
Those weren’t the only surprises. Veronica was also taken aback by her grandfather’s hospitable behavior. He must really be losing it. Either that or she was the only one who got the rude treatment.

Rosa sat down, along with her two male companions, both in their mid- to late-thirties, Veronica guessed. About five-ten, they wore expensive jackets, one black and one gray, over massive shoulders and chests, with Rolex watches on their wrists and gold chains around their thick necks. One had black hair that was slicked back, and the other’s spiked upward in a sort of long military cut. Both could probably bench-press a boat. Or a getaway car.

Her grandfather had moved his glass and newspaper aside to make room for them and was about to douse his cigar when Rosa raised a hand. “Don’t put that out for my benefit. I love the scent of a good cigar. My Sammy, he always . . .” She sniffled and took out a tissue, dabbing at her eyes in a way that would not smudge her mascara.

Is she sniffling over Sammy the Goon—the guy who single-handedly killed more than twenty men one night?

The two men were oddly mute.
What do I know? Maybe hit men aren’t supposed to talk. Maybe it’s a Mafia code.
The two men and Rosa glanced at her, then at her grandfather, before he said, “This is my granddaughter, Veronica. Ronnie for short. Her grandmother hates that I gave her that nickname and it stuck. Ha, ha, ha!”

Could he be any more obnoxious?

“Isn’t she a beauty? And smart, too,” Frank continued without missing a beat.

Veronica couldn’t believe her ears.
My grandfather just said nice words about me. Holy cow! I’d better be careful. Either his nose is going to grow or the sky is going to fall.

Flossie set a tray on the table and passed out frosty, mismatched jelly glasses of iced tea. What happened to the Fostoria crystal they used for everyday? Amazingly, Flossie had not only made the beverage in that short time, but she’d also taken out her metal rollers and managed to tease and spray her hair into a poufy, Dolly Parton-style do.

Her grandfather proceeded to add sugar to his iced tea. One teaspoon. Two teaspoons. Three teaspoons. Four teaspoons. Five. No one else noticed, or else they were being polite.

Veronica’s mouth dropped lower and lower with each addition.

Even more amazing, he took a long swig of the drink and said, “That’s better.”

So, Frank still had a sweet tooth. She’d forgotten how much he liked sweet things, especially ice cream. As a little girl, it had been a marvel to open his freezer and see a dozen different flavors of ice cream . . . right next to all the kielbasas.

Rosa put her hands on the arms of the two men on each side of her. “And these are my two sons, Anthony and Stefano. They are smart and beautiful, too, are they not?”

If one likes steroids.

Everyone nodded. Veronica could swear there was a matchmaking glint in Rosa’s eyes. That was confirmed when she asked Veronica if she was married. When Veronica said no, Rosa smiled and said, “Neither are my sons. They have been waiting for the right woman.” She stared directly at Veronica as she spoke.

The two olive-complexioned men sort of smiled at her. Some women might consider them attractive, in a barracuda sort of way. They gave her a lengthy, head-to-toe survey, as if she were a choice piece of meat being offered to them. A kielbasa, maybe. One of them even winked at her.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no! I am not getting involved with some Mafia guys. Jake was bad enough. But Mafia? No way! And what is my grandfather doing with these people?

Her grandfather then spoiled the effect of his earlier nice words about her by adding, “Like I told you before, Rosa, my granddaughter is going to take over Jinx, Inc., for me. She’ll be heading the Pink Project diving operation, under my supervision, of course.”

Veronica gaped at the old fool.

Rosa lifted her eyebrows with concern. “I know we discussed this before, Franco, but are you sure she can help us find the pink diamonds?”

The two of them talked as if she wasn’t even here.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! I am not taking over Jinx, Inc. I am not supervising any diving project. Did she say “us”? Oh, Jeesh! Did the Mafia commission Frank to do some project involving pink diamonds? What pink diamonds? Are they stolen? Damn, he must have taken this on because of his money problems.

Hard to believe that her biggest concern this time last week was boredom with her job.
Can my life get any worse?

Turned out it could.

In walked Jake, cool as a Jersey shore breeze, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and athletic shoes with no socks. He tipped his head at everyone, kissed Flossie and Rosa on the cheek, patted her grandfather on the shoulder, and shook hands with Anthony and Stefano, saying “Tony. Steve.” Apparently, he knew the Mafia gang.
Why am I surprised? That’s what comes from hanging around casinos.
He plopped down in the seat next to Veronica, took a sip of her iced tea, then turned his baby blues on her. “Hey, honey bun! Your nose is getting sunburned.”

Veronica had been crushed by Jake’s fiancée announcement last night, and she still felt like a raw open wound when she thought about Jake marrying someone else. For just a second, she considered castrating him with her iced-tea spoon.

He put a hand on her arm and whispered, “Hi!”

She slapped his hand away and sputtered for something to say, but all she could come up with was, “Where’s Barbie?”

He flashed her his dimples. “Trish’s at school.”

She must be younger than she looked. “School? Oh, you are such a sleaze. Fooling around with a schoolgirl.”

“Premed,” he said, chucking her under the chin. “She works part-time in the casino between semesters. And, for your information, she’s twenty-five.”

Well, that makes me feel lots better. Not!

“Jake is Ronnie’s husband,” her grandfather announced out of the blue.

She wasn’t sure if her grandfather had forgotten the divorces or if he was just being obnoxious.

“
Scusi,
but I thought you said . . .” Rosa’s forehead furrowed.

“Ex-husband,” Veronica pointed out.

“Oh,” Rosa said, relieved.

Rosa’s relief sent little alarm bells off in Veronica’s already-pounding head.

“Four times ex-husband,” Jake the Snake pointed out, smiling.

She elbowed him in the arm, and he pretended to be hurt, like an immature idiot.

“Huh?” Rosa and her two sons asked.

“Ronnie and I can’t live with each other, and we hot damn can’t live without each other.” Jake regarded her with amusement. “Isn’t that right, cupcake?”

Why is he doing this? What’s his game this time?
“Jake is engaged to someone else,” she informed everyone.

The Mafia group appeared pleased, but Frank and Flossie stared at Jake as if he’d committed some heinous crime.

“Actually, I might not be engaged anymore.”

Veronica turned slowly to look at him. “
What?
That’s not what you said last night.”

Jake winked at her.

“What in blazes does that mean?” Frank wanted to know. “Are you engaged or not?”

“Ronnie and Jake, you were together last night?” Flossie homed in on the least relevant thing Jake had said. “How romantic!”

You wouldn’t have thought it was romantic if you had been there. Nope. Definitely. Not. Romantic.
“What do you mean, you
might
not be engaged anymore?” she asked Jake, even though she knew she shouldn’t encourage him in any way.

“Trish seems to think I still have you under my skin.” His eyes held hers for several moments.

Under his skin? Me?
Veronica was not pleased . . . much. “Why would Doctor Bimbo think that?” she asked. “Until last night, we hadn’t seen each other for two years.”

“Maybe because she practically had to wrestle me to the floor to keep me from going after you.” He shrugged. “Anyhow, Trish gave the ring back and told me not to darken her door till I get you out of my system.” He smiled at her as if he’d just told her she’d won the lottery.

“And I’m supposed to be flattered by that? Like I’m going to welcome you back till
you
get tired of
me?
Like I’m the other woman or something?”

“Yep.”

She snorted. “That would be a first.”

“Hey, I never cheated on you. Ever. And don’t arch your eyebrows at me, babe. It’s the truth.”

“Give me a break. Never let it be said that Jake Jensen would allow a little rust to grow on his zipper. You’ve had more women than . . . than Hugh Hefner.”

“But not while we were married.”

“Yeah, but you were bed-hopping before the ink was dry on our divorce papers. All four times.”

“Doesn’t count. Everyone knows testosterone is a natural IQ suppressant, but I never cheated while I was with you.”

“Go right ahead, blame it on testosterone.”

Frank cleared his throat a couple of times, trying to get their attention. “Do you two mind saving your lovers’ squabbles for later?”

“We are not lovers,” Veronica protested, but no one seemed to be listening.

She glanced around the table and suddenly realized that she and Jake were making spectacles of themselves. Jake, on the other hand, looked pleased that he’d managed to rile her. The lout! But, no, he had his hands in his pocket, rubbing the worry beads. That meant he was nervous. Hmmm.

“What brings you here?” Frank asked Jake with a cat-who-got-the-cream smirk.

“Yeah, why aren’t you playing poker?” Veronica snapped.

“Tournament’s over and I’m dropping out of the circuit for a while. Luckily, I’m free for the next month or so.”

Lucky for whom?

“Good. Then you can help Ronnie with the new project,” her grandfather suggested, a crafty gleam in his eyes.

Whaaaat?
she screamed inwardly.
Am I being set up here?
“No, no, no! Not that I’m getting involved, but no, definitely not. No Jake. No treasure hunting.”

“We’ll see.” Frank smiled at Jake, who smiled back.

Worms “R” Us!

“You know, that reminds me. Life is like a poker game,” Jake began.

Veronica groaned. That was her usual reaction to his hokey poker platitudes. She’d heard that he used them as headers on each chapter of his poker how-to book.

He ignored her groan. “Life is like a poker game—you gotta ante up if you’re gonna win the prize.”

Everyone at the table was silent for a moment as they tried to figure how what Jake said related to the treasure-hunting project.

“Is that sorta like, your ship can’t come in if you don’t send out any boats?” Frank asked.

“Precisely,” Jake replied.

“Yo, Jake! How’d you do in the tournament?” Anthony spoke up.

“Second place,” Jake replied. “Just can’t manage to win the championship.”

“Hey, second place ain’t bad. Half a mil, wasn’t it?” This time it was Stefano speaking. The two goons had tongues after all.

Then Stefano’s words sank in.

“Half a mil?” she squeaked out. “Dollars?”

Jake nodded, suddenly serious, a defensive cast to his eyes. He was reminding her of all the times she’d doubted his ability to make a living from poker. “To answer your question, Frank”—Jake tipped his chair back against the deck rail—“I’m here to show Trish and the world that I can resist Ronnie.”

Veronica choked on the iced tea she’d just swallowed.

Jake clapped her on the back. Too hard. “You should be more careful, honey.”

“You’ve got some nerve. Coming here so you can prove I’m no longer a temptation. So you can then go marry the boardwalk bimbo?”

Jake laughed, unrepentant. “Yeah. So don’t go hitting on me or anything.”

Veronica sputtered with disbelief. Well, she shouldn’t be surprised. Jake had once told her that laughter was good medicine, like jogging for the soul.

He waggled his eyebrows at her, ignoring her outrage. “Ronnie and I go way back,” he said to no one in particular, though everyone was staring at him—at the two of them, actually. “Why, the stories I could tell you about the things we’ve done. Whoo-boy! Makes my toes curl just to think about it. Like the time she handcuffed me to—”

Veronica stood suddenly and pointed at Jake. “You! Come with me. Now!”

He grinned.

She growled, started to stomp toward the beach, took a deep breath, dug in her pocket for a Pepto, popped it into her mouth and proceeded to chomp vigorously, then pivoted and walked back into the house. He followed after her.

“You always did have the greatest ass,” he murmured.

She stopped and turned. “What did you say?”