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.