Death, Taxes, and a Chocolate Cannoli (A Tara Holloway Novel)

by Diane Kelly

  I continued on to the bistro, my heartrate accelerating as I pulled into the lot. Given that Tino had had me followed again recently, I had to wonder whether he suspected me of being someone other than Tori Holland. And, if he suspected I wasn’t the former nanny/college girl, what did he plan to do about it? Eek. Better not to dwell on it. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on doing either of my jobs if I let my fears overcome me.

  chapter thirty-four

  Watch Your Steps

  Stella was working with me today. We went through our usual ministrations, preparing the tables, stacking the clean plates, and shelving the glassware. As I went to unlock the door at eleven to open the restaurant for business, I spotted Josh exiting the gallery across the street and heading my way.

  I held the door open as he approached. “Good morning. Coming in for lunch today?”

  “My partner and I are craving pizza,” he said.

  “We can certainly help with that.”

  I led Josh over to the register. “What can I get you?”

  “A large,” he said. “Half black olive and mushroom, half cheese only.”

  “And for dessert?” I asked, to which Benedetta, who’d wandered into the room wearing her chef’s uniform, responded with a sly smile. Over my days at the restaurant, I’d discovered that if I acted as if dessert were a presumptive part of a meal, the diners felt less guilty ordering one. The people enjoyed their treat and their bill increased, as did the restaurant’s profits and my tips. Everyone was happy. I was like Rainy Daze and the Sunshine Brigade, spreading cheer.

  Josh ran his gaze over the offerings in the refrigerated display case. “We’ll take one chocolate cannoli and one bomboloni.”

  I rang him up and told him the total. “Nineteen forty-seven.”

  When Josh handed me a folded twenty-dollar bill, I felt something hard inside it. Lowering my hand behind the counter where the security cameras couldn’t pick it up, I separated the device from the bill and took a quick look. It appeared to be a bracelet of some sort. I casually slipped it onto my wrist and counted out Josh’s change.

  “Here you go,” I said. “Fifty-three cents.”

  Benedetta came around the back of the bar, grabbed a bottle of sherry, and returned to the kitchen.

  “It’s a recorder,” Josh said under his breath once she’d gone. “It’s made to look like one of those fitness trackers everybody’s wearing these days.”

  I knew the kind he was talking about. They measured how many steps a person took in a given day. I had no idea how many steps I took every shift at the restaurant, running back and forth incessantly between the dining room and kitchen, but if I had to guess I’d say it was approximately eighty-five million. The last time I’d stopped for groceries I’d had to buy arch supports and gel insoles. If I kept this up much longer I’d probably end up with bunions, too, maybe even hammertoes.

  He gave me quick instructions. “Push the button on the right to start the recorder.”

  “Got it.” I hoped I’d have an opportunity to plant the recorder soon. While Tino seemed to get all of his meals from the bistro while he was at work, they weren’t all delivered to his office. Sometimes he walked over to pick the food up himself, and sometimes he ate in the bistro’s employee lounge with his wife. Other times one of their daughters ran the food over to Cyber-Shield. I’d have to look for an opportunity to get into his office. “How long does this thing record for?”

  Josh whispered his reply. “Up to sixty hours.”

  That would give us two full workdays of data and then some. Of course we couldn’t be sure that Tino would discuss any matters relating to his extortion business during those sixty hours, and we couldn’t be sure that if he discussed them that he’d do so in his office where the recorder would be located, but given the lack of cameras in his space it was a safe bet he conducted his dirty business there.

  Josh took a seat at a booth to wait for his pizza, while I went to the kitchen to turn in his order. I handed the slip to Benedetta, who was performing chef duties today.

  She took the slip, then took my hand, looking down at the tracker before returning her gaze to my face. “What’s this on your wrist?”

  Dammit! I’d been hoping nobody would notice and that I could surreptitiously drop the recorder in Tino’s office without anyone realizing it belonged to me. We’d only chosen a disguised device on the off chance that someone would discover it. We didn’t intend for it to be conspicuous. I should’ve pushed the dang thing up under my sleeve.

  “It’s a fitness tracker,” I said, hoping she couldn’t hear my pounding heart. “It measures how many steps I take each day. I’ve eaten so many of your chocolate cannoli my clothes are getting tight. I figured I better make sure I get enough exercise to burn off all those extra calories.”

  Benedetta released my hand and waved her own dismissively. “You girls, why are you always trying to stay so thin? Men like women with some meat on their bones. Besides, women are supposed to be round and soft.”

  Rather than linger on the subject of my fitness monitor, which could lead to no good, I switched to a topic I knew no mother could resist—her children. “Has Elena talked to you?”

  Benedetta tilted her head, her tone wary. “About what?”

  I cringed. “I guess that means she hasn’t.”

  Benedetta pulled a clean ladle from the magnetic rack hanging over the center burners and teasingly brandished it at me. “About what?”

  “I’m not sure it’s my place to say.”

  She pointed at the brick oven, where flames flickered. “Your place is going to be inside that oven if you don’t tell me.”

  I let out a long, slow breath. “She mentioned that she might like to have a career in television.”

  “Really?” Benedetta’s brows rose. “She’d be wonderful on TV! She has such poise and a smooth voice, too. I wonder why she’s never mentioned this to me.”

  “I think she was afraid you’d be disappointed if you knew she didn’t want to help you run the restaurant.”

  She sighed, offering a small, soft smile as she waved the ladle around. “This place? It’s my dream. I like to cook, I like to feed people, I like to boss people around. I love running this restaurant, but I want her to love her work, too. The day’s too long to do a job you don’t enjoy.”

  I agreed with her totally. I loved my job as a special agent. Well, normally I did. This undercover waitressing gig was growing old. Too many people demanding their dressing and sauce on the side, telling me the exact ratio of ice to liquid they wanted in their glasses, running me ragged with requests for “more of this” and “more of that” then leaving me a pitiful tip. I didn’t have the patience or people-pleasing nature to do this kind of work on a regular basis, though I had a newfound appreciation for those who did. Working as a server was a tough job.

  I reached out a hand and gave Benedetta’s upper arm an affectionate squeeze. “You’re a good mother.”

  “I’ll talk to her. Registration for summer classes will be starting soon. Maybe she can sign up at one of the colleges around here.”

  “You know,” I said, “if Elena doesn’t have time to help out as much around here, I could take over some of her managerial duties. I could do some of the bookkeeping or scheduling or whatever.”

  Okay, so it was a ploy to try to get into Benedetta’s office and look for physical evidence of money laundering or tax fraud. Maybe I’d spot stacks of unrecorded cash in a safe, or statements from a bank account opened under an alias. I knew these scenarios were unlikely, but if a person was going to hope, they might as well aim high, right?

  “That’s not a bad idea,” she replied. “It couldn’t hurt to have someone else on the staff who can handle the books. We’ll see how it goes.”

  I returned to the dining room and seated a group of women in matching blue scrubs who, according to the name embroidered on their breast pockets, worked together at the orthodontist’s office down the street. The doo
r opened again and I turned to see Lu’s ex Carl and the woman Lu had referred to as his “floozy” coming in the door.

  Crap!

  I’d seen and spoken with Carl on several occasions, and chances were he’d recognize me, too, even with this crazy red hair. I looked around, hoping I could fake a cramp and get Stella to cover for me until Carl left, but she wasn’t in the dining room. I’d decided to make a mad dash for the kitchen anyway when from behind me Carl called, “Hey! I know you!”

  At the same time, Stella stepped out of the kitchen. She looked over at Carl and back at me. “I think that customer is calling you, Tori.”

  My heart hammering in my chest, I turned and walked over. Carl wore his usual crisscrossed comb-over hairstyle, a polyester leisure suit, and his shiny white bucks. But, good Lord! Carl’s new girlfriend could pass as a Luella Lobozinski impersonator. She had the same full figure, the same false eyelashes, the same outdated attire, though, judging from the high-waist jeans and blouse with shoulder pads, this woman’s fashion era appeared to be the 1980s whereas Lu was still stuck in the 1960s. Also, where Lu sported a strawberry-blond beehive, this woman’s coppery hair stood up in pointy spikes atop her head. Nonetheless, it was clear Carl had a type.

  “Hi,” I said. “Good to see you, Carl. Would you like a booth or a table?”

  His face showed confusion. He must have been wondering why an IRS special agent was waiting tables at an Italian restaurant.

  Before he could say something that would spill the beans, I said, “I work here now.” I gave him a prolonged wink with my right eye, which faced away from the security cameras.

  “I see,” he said.

  He understood. Thank God!

  I turned to his date. “I’m Tori.”

  She looked from me back to Carl. “How do you two know each other?”

  Carl appeared flustered, so I answered for him. “We have a mutual friend,” I replied. “My former boss.”

  “Oh, well, nice to meet you,” the woman said. “What’s good here?”

  “Everything,” I said with a sincere smile. “But especially the chocolate cannoli.”

  I showed them to a booth on the opposite side of the restaurant as Josh and took their drink orders.

  When I returned to the kitchen, the pizza was ready. I opened a carryout box and Benedetta slid the pizza into it. I carried the box out to Josh and handed it to him. “Enjoy.”

  “Thanks,” he said, adding, in a barely audible whisper, “Good luck and be careful.”

  I’d be as careful as I could, yet I knew all the care in the world was sometimes not enough. Mobsters had killed members of law enforcement before, judges and jurors, too. The lucky ones were shot execution style, the others … Well, let’s not go there. No matter how many precautions we agents took, it was impossible to guarantee that an investigation wouldn’t lead to injury or death. Then again, targets had tried to kill me before. So far, none had succeeded. But I suppose that’s obvious, huh? Only time would tell whether my luck would continue—or run out.

  I went back to the kitchen to get drinks for Carl and his date, finding him sitting alone when I returned to the booth.

  He gestured across the space. “She went to the ladies’ room.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’m glad I can speak with you alone.”

  He looked at me intently. “What about?”

  “Our mutual friend.”

  Carl looked down at the table and rolled his napkin between his fingers. “Lu broke my heart.”

  “She may have,” I said. “But she regrets it. She misses you. We were talking about you the other day and she nearly broke down in tears.”

  He looked up at me and his eyes lit up like a brick pizza oven. “She did?”

  “Yep. But she knows about your new girlfriend. She’s too afraid to tell you how she feels because she thinks you might shoot her down.”

  Sheesh. I was spilling everyone’s secrets today, wasn’t I? All with good intentions, though.

  “I’d take her back in a heartbeat if I thought she’d have me,” Carl said. “I think this new one’s only dating me to make her ex-husband jealous anyway.”

  I knew Lu had a date with Jeb this weekend, and I didn’t think it would be right to spoil their plans, so I suggested Carl give her a call early next week.

  “I’ll do that,” he said, a big smile on his face. “Thanks, Tori.”

  I gave him another wink.

  At half past one, Tino came into the restaurant. Looked like he’d be picking up his lunch himself. I was only scheduled to work until four o’clock, so I wouldn’t be here when he placed his dinner order. Dammit! So much for planting the device today. Would I ever be able to get this recorder planted in his office?

  The longer this case went on, the riskier it became. We couldn’t continue to keep such a close eye on Tino and his staff without one of them eventually catching on. We needed a break in this case. And we needed it now.

  chapter thirty-five

  Closing In

  Friday morning marked my last class at DBU. Finals would be held next week. There’d be a two-week break before summer classes started, but I decided Tori Holland should take the summer off from school so she could go on that vacation with her parents to Disney World in June. In actuality, I’d need the time off for Alicia’s wedding. I really hoped I wouldn’t still be working the Fabrizio case next month. I’d given up everything to go after this guy. My home. My pets. My boyfriend. The price was starting to feel very high. Maybe even too high.

  Fridays were the bistro’s busiest weekday, with many workers deciding to go out for lunch or to treat themselves to a nice dinner or takeout after the long workweek. All three of the Fabrizio girls were scheduled to work today. While having them all around lightened the workload, it also lessened the chances that I’d be the one to take Tino his lunch or dinner. One of them might grab his bag before I had a chance to snatch it. I needed to get the tracker planted in his office ASAP, before another person could be robbed or killed.

  Stella and I spread the tablecloths on the tables, while Luisa and Elena trailed behind with the flower vases, candles, shakers, and silverware. In minutes, we had the dining room ready for business. I returned to the kitchen, where I grabbed plates of desserts to take to the case in the dining room. Benedetta led the way, her arms loaded with the bistro’s baked selections.

  My curiosity about Benedetta had become nearly unbearable. Did the woman know about her husband’s bad deeds? Or was she truly in the dark? I wanted to know. Heck, I needed to know. I’d grown quite fond of her. If we busted Tino, there was a possibility she could be arrested, too, if she’d willingly or even unwittingly helped him commit his crimes. Had she deposited any of the protection money in the bank? Maybe laundered it through an account we hadn’t found yet? I hoped not. I’d hate to see the Fabrizio girls lose both their father and mother in one fell swoop. They weren’t children, of course, but none of them was fully independent yet. They still needed their mother.

  As Benedetta positioned the desserts in the case, I casually asked, “I’ve noticed you have an accent. Where are you from?”

  She slid an entire cream cake onto the top shelf, her brows forming a Vee of confusion. “My parents were fresh off the boat from Naples, cara. The whole family came over. I spent my childhood immersed in Italian. I can’t help but speak with an accent.”

  “Not the Italian,” I clarified. “I get that. But I thought I detected another accent, too. Maybe a New York accent or something? Did you live somewhere else before moving to Dallas?”

  “Ah,” she said, “it must be my Chicago accent you’re hearing.”

  “Chicago? That sounds like an interesting place to live. They’ve got lots of museums and stuff, right? And that big silver jelly bean. You must have liked it there.”

  She froze, and for a moment I thought I’d blown my cover by asking about her past. But after a few seconds’ pause, she retrieved two plates of tiramisu from the top of
the case and slid them into place on either side of the cream cake. “Chicago wasn’t a good place for us. It’s a…” She hesitated, as if trying to find the right word. “A mean place. I didn’t want to raise my daughters there.”

  So it was her idea to move away, then? Or maybe she’d suggested a move and Tino saw the advantages in it. I hoped I wasn’t pushing my luck by asking the next question. “Did you leave family behind? Do you miss them?”

  “I miss some of my family,” she said. “But Tino’s family? No. I don’t miss any of them.”

  Be more specific! my brain screamed at her. “Not warm and fuzzy, huh?”

  “No,” she said curtly. “Not at all.”

  She didn’t elaborate, and I realized asking any more questions would seem impolite. But her words gave me the first inkling that she might be aware of the shady business Tino was involved in. Or at least that she had an inkling that members of his extended family weren’t exactly model citizens.

  “Any chance you’re free on Saturday evening?” Benedetta asked. “I’m catering a big Italian wedding. Luisa was going to help me but she got asked out on a date. Could you fill in?”

  “I’d be happy to.” Working an outside event with Benedetta might help me figure out if she was laundering money for her husband through the liquor account.

  “Great,” she said. “Be here at four.”

  The rest of morning and the lunch rush passed by in a blur. At one-thirty, Tino called in with his order. I took the call and crossed my fingers I’d be the one to take it over to him.

  “Don’t forget my cannoli,” he said in a singsong voice.

  “Never,” I replied. You might kill me if I did.

  I hurriedly served my last lunch table and rushed back to the kitchen, surreptitiously watching as Dario prepared the mushroom ravioli Tino had requested today. I boxed a cannoli and gathered up silverware and a napkin, hoping that by hovering over Tino’s bag with the utensils I’d possess some type of squatter’s rights that would give me the privilege of delivering his meal. Dario handed me the to-go container of ravioli and I put it in the bag.