The Monet Murders (13 page)

“You want me to give you Mr. St. James’s address…in other words, violate his privacy?” I could have made a weapon out of the steel in his voice. “That is not the function of this office. If you think there’s a problem, call back to the front desk. Ask for Missing Persons.”

The dull flat humming in my ear told me he’d hung up. Rude but right. I shouldn’t have bothered him. The man had his hands full trying to solve a murder and find an art treasure.

But somehow, I wasn’t sorry I’d called him. I’d been fighting the possibility that something had happened to Paulo. Every time he looked at Lee, his love for her came shining through his eyes. So why wasn’t he returning her calls? I hoped that Rossi, knowing Paulo worked for the Alexanders, might be worried enough to check on him. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I was sure he would, and it was only a matter of time before the phone rang with Paulo on the line. Or a police officer with bad news darkening the shop door.

By closing time, I hadn’t heard a thing.

Just before five, carrying her new cornflower blue dress in a pink Off Shoots bag, Lee left for home to change into her Irish Pub uniform. She’d be up until all hours serving drinks and food and then back in the shop at nine. A grueling schedule.

“Sleep late in the morning, Lee,” I said as she was leaving. “I’ll manage alone until you get here.”

She shook her head. “I can’t sleep, Deva. See y’all at nine.”

Before I could protest, she left with a little wave and a shaky smile.

Heeding Rossi’s advice, I locked up and turned the window sign to Closed. Faithful as a sunset, Simon pulled up outside my door at five on the dot.

I slid into the BMW’s passenger seat with a grateful sigh.

“Tough day?” Simon asked.

“Tough but good.” I held up a leatherette bag stuffed with the day’s receipts. “Can we swing by the Sun Trust Bank and drop this in?”

“Of course. And then an early dinner?”

I forced myself to tune out the hopeful note in his voice. “The surgery’s taken more out of me than I expected, Simon. I need to get home.”

Chip had left some minestrone in the fridge. That would be dinner and then early to bed with two aspirin for company.

Simon gave my knee a squeeze. “Our time will come.”

Would it? Too tired, suddenly, to reply, or to respond to his warm hand on my leg, I leaned back on the leather head rest without answering. From under half-closed lids, I watched his fingers slip from my knee and return to the wheel.

At my door, Simon gave me a brief kiss. “Good night. Rest well.”

Once inside, I kicked off my shoes and padded out to the kitchen to micro the soup. Before I opened the fridge, the doorbell rang. Had Simon returned? I hurried into the living room and peered through the plantation shutters on the front window.

Rossi.
He must have news about Paulo.

“You listened to me for once,” he said when I flung the door wide.

“Meaning?”

“I drove by the shop. It was locked tighter than a drum. You left at five. As I suggested.”

“On the nose, Lieutenant.” I peered at him. For some reason, he was showing me a rare sight, his big white teeth. What a change from his attitude on the phone. Paulo must be okay. The knot in my stomach eased.

“How’d you drive with that arm?” Rossi asked, checking me over and frowning.

“Is this a social call?”

“Yes and no. I’ve still got the chief to consider.”

“Then it’s a no. So I guess I can’t ask you in.”

“Yeah, you can,” he said, stepping into the foyer and closing the door behind him. “I’m here in response to your inquiry about a Mr. Paulo St. James.”

“You found him?”

“That wasn’t a problem.”

“He’s well?”

“Yes. Physically.”

“Rossi, do I have to pull those teeth of yours? What happened?”

“Can I sit?”

I slapped my right hand on my hip. “In the six months I’ve known you, you’ve smiled once, maybe twice, and now, after sounding like the Ice Man when I called, you’re grinning like the Happy Buddha. What did you find out?”

“He’s in love with the girl.”

I blew out an exasperated breath. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“He’s Jamaican.”

“Keep going.”

“She’s not.”

Heavy as a bag of groceries, my arm in the sling dragged on my shoulder. Waving Rossi to a club chair, I sat on the sofa and rested my wounded wing on my lap. “Go on.”

“That incident Christmas Day with Merle Skimp…”

“Yes?”

“…it made him realize there’s a divide between himself and Lee that can never be bridged.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Rossi shrugged. With his toned torso, always an interesting move to watch. “I’m only the messenger here. He’s not afraid for himself. He’s afraid of involving Lee in a biracial relationship. Those are his exact words.”

“He wants to marry her.”

Rossi cleared his throat. “The M-word didn’t come up, but, yeah, that’d be my guess.”

“Now what?”

“Well, I am off duty, so—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Half off his chair, he dropped back into it. “What happens next depends on just one thing. Love, Mrs. D. Love.” He looked away as if chagrined by his own admission. “Hey, the Bible tells us love is stronger than death,” he added, plowing on. “So, surer than hell, it’s stronger than racial prejudice.”

I nestled into the sofa. “Why, Rossi, you’re an out-and-out romantic. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Sure you did.” He showed me those big white teeth again. “You’re looking at Cupid here, Mrs. D. The god of love.”

Somehow that sounded about right, but Rossi was the last one I’d tell.

He stood. “Since I’m off duty, if it’s okay with you, I’ll go get something I left in the car. Be right back.”

I sat quietly, relieved to know nothing bad had happened to Paulo. As soon as Rossi returned, I’d ask him if Lee knew all was well.

In a minute or two, he sauntered in like he lived here, with a bottle of Chianti and a Leoni’s pizza box topped with a bouquet of multicolored flowers from a Publix market. He eyed the exquisite arrangement Simon had sent. “I guess you can’t have too many. You want to take these off the pizza box? If you’ve got a jelly glass, I’ll put them in water.”

I reached out for the flowers, sniffed the blooms and laid them on the coffee table. “They’re beautiful, Rossi. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“You planning to stay for dinner?”

“That was the general idea.” His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “If you’re feeling up to it. You look a little pale. The arm hurting?”

“Now that I know Paulo’s okay, I’m feeling much better.”

“He’s more than okay.” Rossi looked great when he grinned. It transformed his face, like sun coming over the mountain. “He’s been cleared in the Alexander case. So have you.”

“Paulo and I are both off the hook? You’re sure?”

“Enough said. We’re working on all our leads. That’s as much as I can tell you. You sounded worried about the kid, and I figure you’ve had enough tension for a while. Which is why I brought some relaxation with me.”

Was he kidding? Rossi was Tension City personified. Just being in the same room with him had my adrenaline surging. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t tired anymore. Either that or the good news about Paulo had me pumped up.

“Did Paulo call Lee?”

“No.”

“Then she doesn’t know he’s all right.”

“Yeah, she does. I called her.”

“Did you give her his address?”

“You know better than that.”

I ignored the reprimand. “Did you ask him to call her?”

He waggled a finger at me. “I’m the detective. I ask the questions.”

“Did you?”

“Of course not. Guys don’t ask other guys to do stuff like that.”

“Then she hasn’t been in contact with him. She’s still heartbroken.”

“For now, but not for long. That’s a Dr. Rossi prediction.”

“What makes you so sure?” I found his certainty irritating. Lee’s happiness was at stake here.

“The kid’s going to crack. They always do.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

Rossi cocked an eyebrow. “Lovers, Mrs. D. Lovers. Now is it all right with you if I bring the pizza out to the kitchen? My hands are all over grease.”

“Sounds delicious.” I went to get up off the sofa.

“No, don’t move. I’ll open the wine and bring you a glass.”

“You don’t know where the opener is.”

He lowered the Chianti onto the coffee table and, balancing the pizza box on the palm of his right hand, he reached into a pants pocket with his left, withdrawing a lethal-looking opener, the kind with a sharp spiral corkscrew. I relaxed back against the cushions. I should have remembered I could rely on Rossi.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll castrate yourself walking around with that thing in your pocket?”

He stooped to pick up the wine and glanced over at me. “You wouldn’t like that?”

“I’m taking the Fifth.”

“That’s tantamount to an admission of guilt. What are you hiding, Mrs. D?”

A good question I had no intention of answering. I was hiding the fact that I wished he’d put down the greasy pizza box and come over and kiss me. But all he gave me was a wink. Damn him, he
knew.

The juices that had dried up when Jack died were liquefying, swirling around inside me, ready to rise and froth and bubble out. Stunned by the suddenness of this realization, I sat without moving a muscle and listened to Rossi slamming kitchen cupboards in his hunt for wineglasses. How could I be feeling what I undeniably was? Rossi was Jack’s polar opposite—gruff, terse, irascible, unpolished as the hunk of concrete that had slammed through the shop window…and just as steady as stone, just as strong and constant. I suspected that, hidden within, he harbored a capacity for love that once tapped would sweep both him and some lucky woman away. True though it might be, I wasn’t ready for such an emotional tsunami. Not yet. Maybe someday. Maybe never. But I had to admit, in the meanwhile, Rossi had me intrigued.

While I sat there immobile, entranced by thoughts that were turning my face hot, he returned, thrust a glass of Chianti into my hand and plunged the flowers into a glass of water. Then he disappeared for a moment and came back with his own wine in hand.
“Salute!”
he said, sitting on the club chair across from me. “I put the pizza in your oven to warm up.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Oh, yeah. My specialties are sandwiches, pizza and cold cereal.”

I sipped my Chianti, looking across at him with what I hoped were not hot eyes. He sat sipping his wine, looking completely at home, completely in control, one leg crossed casually over the knee of the other. He had no intention of making any moves on me. So why had I even wondered about drowning in a tsunami? To get a kiss out of this guy, I’d have to go after it. For all his he-man posturing, he wouldn’t make the first move. That would be up to me. What an insurance policy he’d bought. For once I made my move, there would be no backing down. I kind of liked the idea. But draped with the sling, I was a wounded bird, in no condition to throw my wings around him and pin him to the floor. Or the bed. So for now at least, Paulo and I weren’t the only ones who were off the hook.

Chapter Fourteen

Needing to flex my independence muscles, cut arm or no cut arm, on the third day after surgery, I slipped off the sling long enough to drive to work.

Shortly before nine, Lee arrived, looking beautiful in the new blue dress, her eyes faintly shadowed with fatigue.

“You know Paulo’s fine?” I asked.

She nodded and upped her chin. Her bottom lip quivered, and tears threatened at the corners of her eyes. So he hadn’t called her. Before I could mention my conversation with Rossi, a UPS truck clattered along the alley, screeching to a stop outside the entrance.

From where I stood by the cash register, I could see the driver stand up from behind the wheel and reach into the back of the van. He stepped out of the cab carrying a large, flat carton. The dozens of china hearts and cupids I’d ordered for Valentine’s Day couldn’t be packed in a container that size.

After placing the carton on the floor in front of the cash register, the driver held out a clipboard for my signature.

I glanced at the shipping label. “It’s for you, Lee.”

She hurried over to sign for the package, her hands trembling as she took the pen.

The door had hardly jangled closed behind the UPS man when she disappeared into the storeroom, returning a moment later with a box cutter in her hand.

“I just have to open this up right now, Deva. I hope y’all understand.”

“Absolutely.” I couldn’t wait either.

Kneeling before the carton, she carefully sliced through the outer cardboard then gently removed the bubble wrap. With something like a sigh, the padding fell away and slipped to the floor.

“Oh, God.” Lee’s hand darted to her mouth, as she stared at a miracle. Her portrait.

Awestruck, I stared at it, too. Paulo had placed her in the center of the canvas, and the painted glass of the shop window, a glittering frame within a frame, shimmered around her image. On either side of her face, her hair fell in a long golden curtain. Her eyes, as blue as in life, gazed fearlessly into the future. Her lips, parted in anticipation, smiled at all that lay ahead.

Paulo had captured both her beauty and her strength. A young man’s masterpiece, it was a poem in paint. A love song.

Lee glanced up at me for the merest of instants, her eyes damp, her chin firm. “Actions speak louder than words, Deva. I don’t know what all Paulo said to the lieutenant yesterday, and I don’t care. This tells me what he
thinks.
It tells me what he
feels.
” She swung her attention back to the portrait. “He loves me. That’s all that matters.”

A small white envelope had fallen out of the wrapping. I handed the envelope to her, and she removed a slip of paper. She read the message then gave it to me without saying a word.

Lee, This is for you. It was always for you. P.

She scrambled to her feet. “He can’t hide from me forever. He’s out there somewhere, and I’ll find him. I know I will.” She balled her small hands into fists and paced the shop, weaving her way between the skirted tables, brushing against them, setting the fabric rippling. “If only I had me a clue. Lieutenant Rossi wouldn’t give out Paulo’s address. Said it was against regulations.”

“It really is—”

She whirled to a stop in front of me. “Know what I’ll do? I’ll hire me a private investigator. Yes, ma’am!”

“They’re expensive, Lee.”

Her eyes clouded. “I’ll sell Mama’s silver. Daddy left it with my landlady the other night. He’s moving back to Alabama and wants me to have it. I hate to see him go, but he’s never been happy here. It’s for the best.”

Merle was leaving? Amen.
I’d be glad to have him gone, but why now? And why so far from his beloved daughter? Running from the scene of the crime? Or crimes?

“The silver came from England a long time ago,” Lee was saying, and I snapped my attention back to her. “Mama always said it was valuable. If it’s all right with y’all, at lunch time, I’ll go get it and bring it to that antiques mall.”

Her mind made up, she lifted the portrait out of the welter of wrapping paper, gave the canvas a soft kiss and carried it into the storeroom for safekeeping.

I bent over to pick up the debris. My glance fell on the shipping label.
Of course.
An oversight on Paulo’s part? Or a Freudian slip? My money was on Freud. Paulo wanted her to find him. “Lee, you don’t need to sell your mother’s silver. Look at this.”

Her face, always pale, flushed pink. “Paulo’s address.”

“Exactly.”

Before she could voice it, I saw the question form in her eyes.

“You want to go to him. Right now.”

Unable to speak, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and nodded.

I peered at the label again. “Good heavens, Lee. He lives on Gordon Drive near the Alexanders. Millionaire row.”

She took the label from me and studied it as if she were memorizing every word. “He said he lived over a garage. The owners travel a lot and want somebody on the property when they’re gone.”

“It’s not far from here…but too far to walk.”

“I’ll call me a taxicab.” Lee raced over to the service desk, removed her handbag from a lower drawer and pulled out her smartphone. She was about to call the local cab company when I asked, “Do you drive, Lee?”

She didn’t glance up. “Yes, ma’am. Daddy taught me how. I had to take Mama for her treatments while he was at work.”

“Then forget about a cab. Take my car.”

“Your Audi?” She lowered the phone and looked at me, her eyes widening at my offer. “You’re sure?”

No, I wasn’t. Seeing that glow in her eyes, all my maternal instincts kicked in. “I’m sure you’ll drive carefully, but I’m not so sure about…” I stopped. She wasn’t my daughter. She was of legal age. Still, I held myself responsible. I was her employer, her friend, the older woman, supposedly a voice of experience. How would I react if the man I loved turned me into a goddess for all the world to see? Oh boy… “Um, you understand that when people are in love, they…”

She giggled. “Y’all talking birds and bees?”

I hugged the arm in the sling as if I were cradling a baby. “To use your phrase, ‘Yes, ma’am.’”

“Please don’t worry your head about me, Deva. First, I’ll marry him in front of a preacher. Then I’ll love him forever.”

A steel magnolia.

I arched an eyebrow. “So you won’t start loving him this morning?”

A shadow of doubt crossed her lovely features. “I don’t think so.”

I did think so. But I gave her the keys anyway. Tidal waves can’t be contained.

“Take the rest of the day off,” I called from the doorway as she ran down the alley to Fifth Avenue. But she must have been deafened by the beat of her own heart, for I don’t think she heard me.

I turned back to the shop. A cluster of lookers followed me in and were circling the tables making little delighted “ohs” and “ahs” over their finds when the phone rang.

“Deva, where you have been hiding?”

Ilona Alexander.

“It’s been a busy week, Ilona.” Didn’t the woman read the papers?

“Well, I have you now. Listen, Deva, I want you to plan important party for me. For wine festival. Trevor and I, we host one of the Friday night dinners. And it must be perfect. Those are Trevor’s orders.”

According to the
Naples Daily,
on the last weekend in February, the air over town would buzz with private jets ferrying in celebrities and oenologists and movers and shakers from around the world. Then on festival Saturday, vintage wines, exotic trips and classic automobiles would be auctioned at the Ritz-Carlton Golf Resort.

But it was the Friday evening before the auction that Ilona was calling about. That was when the four hundred and fifty paying guests Chip mentioned would mingle at intimate dinners at fifteen of Naples’s most luxurious homes. And thirty of them would dine at Chez Alexander. Apparently, despite the crimes, Trevor and Ilona hadn’t been dropped from the A list.

And guess who is my celebrity chef?” Ilona asked.

“I know, he told me.”

“Cheep.”

“Thank you for asking him, Ilona. He’s thrilled.” And I was thrilled for him if also a bit worried. Chip’s lasagna was legendary, but were his culinary skills really up to what amounted to a cook’s triathlon?

“Of course, he’s thrilled. Why not? I make him celebrity. I told you my family, the Szent-Gyorgyis, were kingmakers. So I say to Trevor, why I cannot make celebrity chef?” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “You see it is as I tell you. My family has fallen so far.”

“Well, I wouldn’t—”

“Never no mind. You come to my house tomorrow. Ten sharp.”

“No, that’s not possible.”

She gasped at my refusal. “
Nem.
No?”

“I have to finish a proposal for January second, so I can’t make any appointments until the third. Besides, I’m not a party planner. I’m an interior designer.”

“You have gift, Deva, for making beautiful. That is what I want you to do. My theme for dinner will be Evening in Tuscany. How does that sound?”

Very Hungarian.
“Ilona, listen to me. Call a party planner. If you can’t find one in Naples, call Miami. They’re out there, trust me.”

“
Nem.
I fire one I have. She no like my ideas. Besides, I want no more strangers in my house, not after what happened to painting.”

The Monet. But still no mention of poor Maria. I’d be dipped. My Irish temper flared sky high as I grappled with the realization that to Ilona her cook had never been more than a household appliance and deserving of the same consideration.

“So no more strangers working here. That’s why I want Cheep. And you.”

So safety was what she was after, and compliance, not necessarily talent. Angry and insulted to boot, I was about to tell her to stuff it when she said, “For you, Deva, two thousand dollars flat design fee. Plus your hours to consult and whatever you buy to make beautiful.”

A bonanza.
Every woman has her price, and while it wasn’t exactly prostitution, I sold myself on the spot for two grand.

“Done. You’ve seduced me, Ilona. See you on January third at two o’clock.”

“Two-thirty. Sometimes after lunch Trevor likes…”

I didn’t need to hear what Trevor liked after lunch. “Two-thirty is fine,” I said and hung up singing.

For both Trevor and me, it looked like the New Year would be starting off with a bang. So to speak.