Franco said, “I don’t have any other way of getting it out at this point. You’re so damned smart, Manny. You think of something.”
Manny shoved off. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Twenty-four hours, Franco. That’s all I’m giving you. I want that diamond in my hand by tomorrow night.”
Chapter Fourteen
What a difference a day makes. Twenty-four hours after fearing she was going to lose her job, Tara was having breakfast with her new boss and his assistant, stepping right into the fairytale when the Town Car pulled into her lot at eight-thirty. Granted, she should have already been at the hotel, but when she fretted about her tardiness, Victor said, “Don’t sweat it, doll. Lou’s not going to fire you.”
On the contrary, Louie gave her a hefty raise. This on a day when she was two and a half hours late, and the Walker was in an uproar because Louie’s accountants were disrupting everything. Plus, he’d brought in a crew of temps, and there was friction between the newcomers and the established guard. But Tara missed the opening salvos because she was sitting in a Greek restaurant in Lauderdale By The Sea with the man who had set everything in motion.
She was already a little in love with Louie, already being swept off her feet. He was so dashing, attired today in a charcoal gray suit with a lavender paisley tie. Right in front of Sam and Victor, he kissed her on the mouth, his eyes roving over her face in a way that made her blush. And then, when she was ensconced in the back seat with him, he told Sam to drive up to Lauderdale By The Sea.
The restaurant, Athena’s, was on the corner of A1A and Commercial in the charming little village north of Fort Lauderdale. Louie chose the Greek restaurant because he was meeting a man named Joe there. Though Athena’s was best known for its lively entertainment, which sometimes included belly-dancers, they also did a great breakfast. At least it had a bit of atmosphere with its Mediterranean décor and row of windows overlooking A1A. The front door was open, abundant sunshine spilling in. The hostess delivered coffees, and Victor said, “How hungry are you, doll?”
When Tara affirmed she was hungry, Victor proceeded to order for her. In fact, he ordered for everybody except Joe, gave detailed instructions on Louie’s eggs, asked for a certain type of hot sauce. He ordered Tara a Greek omelet.
After parking the car, Sam came in and ate with them. Joe was a friendly, faceless man with a receding hairline and an orange golf shirt. Tara didn’t pay too much attention to him or the conversation, as she was frequently interrupted by calls from Walker employees, spending half her time on the sidewalk mollifying them. But it was pleasant day, and the view worth stepping out for as the beach side of Commercial was lined with trendy shops selling swimwear. There were a couple of pubs, the sidewalk crowded with tourists from nearby motels. At the end of the block the street dead-ended and the beach began, the ocean bold blue and calm beneath cloudless skies.
Franco called while Victor was asking for the tab, saying, “Why aren’t you at the hotel?”
She had to remind herself he wasn’t her boss anymore. “I’m at breakfast.”
“Did that bastard fire you?”
“Umm, no,” said Tara, abandoning her seat and heading outside, squinting against the brightness.
“Then what the fuck are you doing at breakfast?”
“I’m having breakfast with Mr. Morelli.”
His silence was deafening. Then, he said hotly, “Jesus, you’re too much. I don’t fucking believe this. I’m dying here, and you’re breaking my heart.”
Tara said, “I think you’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Bullshit. You’re fucking him, aren’t you? Maurice told me you were hot for him … I heard you left with him and Victor last night. It didn’t take you long to figure out which side your bread is buttered on. God, Tara, how could you betray me like this?”
“Franco, this has nothing to do with you.”
“So you are fucking him?”
“I didn’t say that,” she snapped, watching Sam step out of Athena’s and head toward the Town Car, parked in a metered slot three doors down. She ducked aside and lowered her voice. “What is this about, Franco? I can’t talk.”
“I left some personal stuff in Francine’s room. I need you to get it for me.”
“What stuff?”
“Jeez, I said it’s personal.”
“Victor said—”
“Screw Victor. This is my business, my merchandise.”
She took a deep breath. “What kind of merchandise, Franco? I’m not getting involved if it’s what I think it is.”
Breathing heavy, he seemed to be debating. “It’s not drugs, if that’s what’s worrying you. But it is personal, and we need to keep this between us.” When she did not answer, he asked, “Tara, are you there?”
“Yes, but …”
“Is that bastard listening?”
“No, but—”
“Don’t tell him anything. Promise?”
“Franco,” she whined, about to plead unfairness.
“Babe, you owe me,” he said. “For yesterday. What’s the big deal? I just need you to go up to Francine’s room and get me a piece of jewelry, something I bought for Kathy. I misplaced it up there.”
She thought of the torn up floor. “Is that what you were looking for?”
“Yeah, but keep it on the QT, okay?”
“Okay.” Tara had a feeling she was being manipulated. She saw Victor duck out of Athena’s doorway and glance her way. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you when I get to the hotel.”
She clicked off just as Louie and Joe emerged from Athena’s, exchanging farewells. Then Joe sauntered off and Louie stepped over and touched her lightly on the sleeve. His eyes were warm and bright with sunshine, but they penetrated her easily, seeming to look right through her. “Anything I should know, baby?”
Tara forced a smile. “Not really.”
His eyes narrowed as he caught on to her lie. Tara recalled his question about divided loyalties and debated whether to confide, deciding against it as she considered Franco’s situation. If he had hidden his wife’s jewelry in Francine’s room … well … it belonged to him, fair and square. She saw no reason to involve Louie or Victor.
* * *
The thought of entering Francine’s room unnerved Tara, but as soon as she could slip away, she went up to the third floor. Unlocking the door, she stepped in, her eyes darting nervously about. It was perfectly quiet and cool, the room untouched, the peppermint candy she had placed on the pillow yesterday still in place. Everything neat and tidy, the way she had left it.
Franco had distinctly said “jewelry”. He hadn’t told her what kind. Was she looking for a ring, a bracelet … what? Tara started in the bedroom, going through the dresser drawers, the nightstand: Nothing. The room was deathly still, and she was completely alone, but the sensation of being watched was strong.
She went through the room quickly, finding nothing. She peeked into the bathroom and spotted a rolled-up hand-towel on the shelf above the sink. Hmm. Tara wasn’t sure if this had been here yesterday. She frowned; the towel was fraying—definitely not a clean towel from Manny’s laundry service. But it was tightly rolled.
Something moved in her peripheral vision and Tara jerked sharply, seeing nothing. The room was dead and silent, filtering familiar sounds, a door slamming down the hall, a siren wailing in the distance. She was unexpectedly frightened and abruptly snatched the towel from the shelf. It felt weighted, and she quickly unrolled it. To her surprise there was a bracelet inside, a man’s stainless steel link bracelet. The bracelet was Franco’s; Tara had seen it on his wrist numerous times.
It was a piece of jewelry, but not “a piece of jewelry he’d bought for Kathy”. But now Tara wondered at this fabrication. If Franco had purchased jewelry for his wife, why would he be looking for it beneath
the floor of Room 313? Wouldn’t he have already known where the jewelry was? And why was his bracelet here in Francine’s room, wrapped up like a fish? It occurred to her that Franco had lied, and with an impatient sigh, she backed out of the bathroom. On impulse she peered into the closet, her heart thudding as she opened the door, but the closet was empty. She gave the room a final look, her eyes sliding over the beds when she noticed her peppermint candy was missing. She’d seen it there, on the pillow, not more than five minutes ago.
Tara bolted out of the room like there was a fire, pausing in the hall to collect herself. She tucked Franco’s bracelet into her pocket and went down to the lobby where Lina informed her that Victor and Mr. Morelli had stepped out. Perfect. Tara called Franco, who sounded anxious, as though waiting for her call. “Did you find it—?”
“I’m not sure. I found something—”
“Meet me at the News Café in twenty minutes. Can you do that?”
Twenty minutes later Tara entered the landmark diner on Ocean Drive. She had hopped a cab, which took almost as long as walking because traffic was bumper to bumper. Stuck at a snail’s crawl behind a sightseeing bus, Tara got out a half-block short of her destination. She didn’t mind the walk—it was a spectacular day in South Beach. Brightly clad tourists and skimpily attired women were everywhere, one woman zooming by on rollerblades, wearing a thong, no less. Fashionable boutiques displayed chic little outfits at outrageous prices.
The old hotels fronted the street with colorful canopies, stucco walls painted orchid and mint and ochre. Some of the hotels had beautifully restored old-model cars parked at their curbs. Up and down the crowded strip valet drivers and bellhops and waitress were hustling, a cacophony of music spilling out onto the street. On the beach side of Ocean Avenue, Lummus Park spread cool and green, its sidewalks busy with people walking or jogging, families with strollers, and more bikini-clad babes on rollerblades.
Tara loved the small stretch of park, but nothing beat South Miami Beach with its pale, compact sand and dark-blue waters, arguably the best beach in Florida and rated tops in the country. Her one date with Franco had occurred on this beach, him urging her to remove her bikini top while his fat Cuban bookie looked on. Sunbathers were straggling up from the beach, some lugging coolers. A seaplane flew low over the shore, advertising some new nightclub.
Sometimes, in South Beach, it was just plain hard to work. Period. Sighing wistfully, Tara looked away from the picturesque scenery, spotting Franco at a small table on the patio. She zigzagged her way to him, circling around people waiting to be seated.
Franco seemed jittery, but not at all embarrassed about yesterday’s drama. The waitress was setting a mug of coffee in front of him, and she asked Tara what she wanted. Tara ordered iced-tea. She scraped back a chair, eyeing Franco. He looked more like himself, a cool player having lunch on the strip. She knew it was an act.
Beneath the laminated surface on the table-top was an open-faced newspaper page. The patio was awash with the hum of voices, the clinking of silverware. Tara looked for the date on her edge of the newspaper, didn’t see one. Nearby diners hunkered over their tables, reading fifty year old bylines.
Leaning across the table, Tara said, “I was really worried about you yesterday. Are you okay?”
Franco was stirring cream into his coffee. He looked up. “Did you get it?”
“Huh. Oh yeah, I have your bracelet.” She fished it out of her pocket and placed it on the table.
She saw his face darken. “What the fuck is this?”
Tara’s head snapped back. “What do you think it is? It’s your bracelet. I found it in Francine’s room, wrapped in an old towel.”
His dark-blue eyes widened. He considered the bracelet. “That’s not what I was looking for.” Fingering his wrist, he said, “I didn’t even know it was missing.”
The waitress set Tara’s iced-tea in front of her. She asked what they were having, and they both declined service. Tara ripped open a packet of sugar. “What exactly are you looking for, Franco?”
“I’m afraid to tell you.”
“It’s drugs, isn’t it?”
“No, babe, it’s not drugs,” he said solemnly. He studied her, eyes glazed with suspicion. “You didn’t see it, huh?”
“See what?”
“The necklace.”
“What necklace? Is there a necklace? Is that what this is about? How am I supposed to find something if you won’t even tell me what it is?”
“I can’t tell you. I’m fucked. Fucked. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand anything. And I’m done listening.” She gathered her purse, and he reached over and placed a hand on her wrist. “Don’t leave, babe. I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell Morelli. Promise me.”
“Look, I already took a risk for you. When you called me, I could have easily told Louie, explained to him—”
Franco sneered. “So it’s Louie now, is it? You’re a real piece of work, Tara.”
“I’ve had enough of this conversation.”
“You’re my last hope, babe. You have to go back up there and get it.” He saw her look of exasperation, held up a hand to forestall her protests, said humbly. “You’re right. It is a necklace … a special one … a diamond necklace. It’s very valuable. You’ll know it when you see it. It’s in Francine’s room because I left it there.”
She was feeling uneasy. “I looked—”
“Check under the beds … the mattresses … it has to be there. You’ll find it, I know you will. But don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. It could be dangerous for you.”
She drew back her hand, said shortly. “I’ll go and look, though it’s more than you deserve. I don’t know what you’re involved in, Franco, but you are really starting to scare me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Louie and Victor were in her office when she returned. She tried to act nonchalant, but her eyes skittered away from Louie’s penetrating gaze. He said, “Did you have a nice lunch, baby?”
“No … not exactly.” She gave a short laugh. “I had an errand to run.”
She saw his eyes go to Victor’s, the two of them in cahoots. Damn Franco. He’d put her in a hell of a spot. Conflicted, she walked to her desk. She had her hand on the back of her chair, sliding it away from the desk when she glanced down and saw the peppermint candy. It was dead center on the seat of her chair; a bulls-eye. Tara’s blood drained from her face.
Louie said, “What’s wrong?”
She gave a faltering explanation about the candy she had left on Francine’s pillow. Louie said, “We noticed it yesterday.”
“How did it get here?”
Victor said, “Doll, it doesn’t mean it’s the same piece you left in her room, does it? That queer I fired had a jar of candy at the front desk. He could have been pulling a prank on you.”
She turned to Victor, surprise replacing anxiety. “What queer? Who did you fire?”
“That smug pansy who talked down to you yesterday.”
“Maurice?
“Yep, that’s the one. I didn’t like how he was talking to you.”
Tara wanted to kiss him. She knew she should feel bad about Maurice losing his job, but she couldn’t help feeling vindicated. She said, “I better reschedule—”
“Lou’s got it covered,” said Victor.
Sure enough, one of the temps was manning the desk with Lina when Tara stepped into the lobby. She had a whispered conversation with Lina about the firing. Lina said, “Victor told him to pack it up, said he had a smart mouth and he had no business disrespecting you.”
The employees were watching Tara with a newfound respect, almost all of them afraid to cross her after witnessing Maurice’s termination. For her part, she tried to treat everyone fairly, though she recognized that there were several long-
term workers who’d been hired by Franco’s father when Franco was just a boy. Surely, they must resent the new power structure?
If they did, they didn’t give it away. The afternoon ran smoothly, a really pleasant day except for the barrage of text messages from Franco urging her to look for his necklace. So she gathered her courage and returned to Francine’s room, entering as stealthily as a burglar. After the incident with the peppermint candy, her heart was knocking in her chest.
Feeling as though she was wearing out her welcome, Tara knelt gingerly on the floor. She looked under the beds, sighting dust-balls and lint, a crumpled tissue. No diamond necklace peeked out at her from the dim recesses beneath the mattresses. She started to lift the corner of the mattress on the bed by the window when a cool breeze wafted over her. It was so slight that, in any other circumstance, Tara might not have noticed. But, as she was in no direct line of ventilation, and as she knew the air-conditioning was off, it was the signal for her to beat it.
She rushed to the door and flung it open, giving a strangled scream at the sight of Louie. Holding out his hand, palm forward, he said, “Whoa, I’m sorry. I was just about to knock.”
Heart racing, she glanced fearfully over her shoulder. Louie cupped her elbow and gently pulled her into the hall. He put his arm around her waist, and she sniffed his cologne, the warm, underlying scent of his skin. “What’s wrong, baby? You’re white as a sheet. Did you see something in there?”
She shook her head. “No, I just got spooked.”
He walked her down the hall to the narrow window that looked out over the front of the hotel. The sight of the bustling street calmed her considerably. A padded bench with a fake potted plant sat in front of the glass and Louie seated her here, claiming the spot next to her. “For a girl who spooks as easily as you, I would think you’d want to avoid that room. But that’s twice today you’ve gone in there. Why don’t you just tell me what it is you’re looking for, sweetheart?”
Stella di Mare (Louie Morelli) Page 9