“No.” Veronica sighed. “The jewels. Jorgio and Felippe.”
Celia did her best to keep a neutral expression. In her prior life, these things never happened. Everything was above board. Cut and dried, stamped with government approval.
But not really…her deceitful husband had been adept at lying. Hiding. For how long? God, maybe she needed to open her eyes to what was really going on in the world.
“When does Umberto expect you back?”
“We leave in a week.” She shook her head and the snowflake drifted to the ground. “But I will not get on that plane without the emerald. Jorgio and Felippe?” Her gaze hardened. “They can rot here. Maybe Dax will feed them to the sharks.”
“No.” Dax held his hands high. “I don’t do that. I don’t care how much you pay an hour.”
Celia choked back a laugh. His look of horror was inappropriately funny. Taking pity on him, she said, “We need a plan. Let’s talk about what we know.”
“The facts,” Veronica said, sniffing. Her eyes cleared. “I woke up at nine this morning, to prepare for my ten o’clock photo shoot with Dax. I stayed in my rooms to shower, and did not realize Felippe and Jorgio were gone until nine thirty.”
“Did you have a car?” Celia asked.
“No. We are staying three condos down. It was simple to walk here. Or call for a limo if we needed to go somewhere.”
Celia nodded. “Would they have gone for breakfast?”
“No, we had food in our rooms. Besides, Celia, they are supposed to be protecting me. They were supposed to be there.” Her voice hitched as tears threatened.
Celia wanted to keep the model calm, so she agreed. “You are right. They were supposed to be there, taking care of things as Umberto ordered.”
Dax sent her a relieved look.
“But we know they like to party...”Celia led the conversation.
“We partied in the room,” she admitted. “Drinks, music.”
Partied? Sounded bigger than drinks and watching television. “Just the three of you?” Celia asked, wanting to be clear.
Veronica blushed. “No.”
Dax leaned on the counter. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“I did not think it was important.” Veronica lifted her chin as if in trouble and ready to defend her position. “We met some people in the lobby, and invited them up.”
“Where were they from, these people?” It was difficult, but Celia kept her voice patient. Her life, even in the days when she’d still had money, was not on the same scale as the model’s.
“The Keys.”
Celia and Dax exchanged a look. If the guys went to the Keys, they were hours away, Celia thought, remembering what the long skinny road looked like on a map.
“Who were they?” Dax asked. “Do you have names?”
“No names,” Veronica said. “Just some smoking, some drinking. Sex.”
Celia’s jaw tightened at how casually she listed her activities. “Does Umberto know?”
“He does not expect me to be a Madonna,” Veronica laughed sultrily. “We like to...play. You know. Multiple partners.”
She could just imagine how Martha Stewart would react to that. Celia tried to be a little worldlier, but doubted she was succeeding. “I see. Well,” she couldn’t look at Dax without giving her naivety away, so she forged ahead. “Is there a chance they all went off together?”
Veronica gave an indelicate snort. “Without me?”
“Right,” Dax said. “I have an idea.”
Celia hoped it was something that allowed her to leave, and get back to her dull, safe, naïve new life.
“I have a friend who used to be a cop.” He brushed back his sun-bleached curls.
Celia could just imagine what lines of gray the policeman must have crossed to get booted from the department. She felt as if she used to wear Pollyanna glasses, and they’d been smashed beneath reality’s stiletto heel.
“What could he do?” Veronica asked, a tinge of hope in her voice. “Search for them?”
“This person has access to records that we don’t. Credit cards.”
“We use cash,” Veronica said, crumpling the damp toilet paper. “Umberto pays for everything else, like the condo rental.” The model swung her gaze to Celia. “What do you think I should do?”
Celia schooled her features. “What are the chances the two men will come to their senses, and return to the hotel as if nothing was wrong, before you have to go?”
Veronica tapped her lower lip with a long, slender finger. “They might,” she said. “They liked the pictures they’d gotten, even though I wanted more. They were angry with me for being a perfectionist.”
“I know this might be hard to answer,” since she hadn’t answered before, “but did you all argue? Fight?”
Veronica sighed. “They do not understand me. I am an artist. A canvas, for Umberto’s vision. I demanded more pictures. Something better than the drivel they were willing to accept as good enough.” She gave a slight shrug.
They probably considered her a Grade A Diva, and decided to take a break, but Celia kept that thought to herself. “I suggest that you go back to your condo and wait for them. In fact, they might have left a message at the front desk.”
Veronica stood, her face breaking into a smile. “That would be best. We’ve argued before and they always come back.”
“And tomorrow, if you still haven’t heard from them, you’ll have time to find them. Then, I say you use Dax’s contact.” There. She sounded like she dealt with this kind of emergency all the time.
Veronica gave Celia a hug, her hair smelling like shampoo from an island with pineapples. “Thank you. Dax, will you drive me home?”
Dismissed, Celia went toward the door, but Dax hustled around the counter to grab her arm. “Don’t you want to come too?”
She’d paid him back for his hero duties earlier. “We’re even,” she said with a wink. “I’m going home to get some sleep. Good luck, Veronica. Dax.”
❋
Dax didn’t miss the glint of heat in Celia’s blue eyes as she left him in the clutches of Veronica. What did that mean, they were even? He wanted Celia to come back.
Driving around Ft. Lauderdale with Veronica, who cried hysterically for hours straight, really pounded home that there was more to a woman than breasts and curling waist-length hair. He’d known it, understood that Veronica was a fantasy, and he’d wanted to warn all the guys away who’d given him envious looks as they’d spent the day searching for her photographers, bodyguards, and hey, sex partners. Who knew?
Celia had gotten more information in fifteen minutes than he’d gotten all damned day. He’d missed lunch with his dad, and beers and subs on the beach with Celia, for what? The dive shop hadn’t made squat today as he’d squired the woman around.
It wasn’t his problem.
She’d hinted that his current fee might be at stake.
How could he stand by, and not help? She really was stranded.
They drove into the parking area of the Blue Pelican and Dax parked, knowing he’d be expected to go up-and he wasn’t going to. But he was curious whether or not there would be any word from the guys.
Veronica slid out of the jeep, her body sensual even in guy’s board shorts and a tee from the shop. The doorman opened the door.
Veronica nodded her thanks, and swept past, headed for the desk. “Are there are any messages for me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The woman by the computer was mid-forties, with red hair. “Two messages.”
Dax felt a spurt of relief, which matched the look on Veronica’s face as she took the pink slips from the woman’s hand.
Then Veronica put her hand to her chest. “I am going to die,” she said, looking at Dax with alarm. “Umberto will order my death. Oh, it will look like an accident. But you will know, Dax, you will know.”
He was physically incapable of handling anymore drama. “What do they say?”
“Thes
e are both from Umberto. He wants to know why he hasn’t heard from us today! What if they’re lost somewhere?” Her eyes turned shiny with unshed tears.
Dax stuffed his hands in his pockets, refusing to take a single step. “Veronica, how about you go upstairs, take a bath, and call Umberto? Just tell him the truth.”
“I cannot do that.” She whipped her head to the side, realizing that he was not coming to her aid. She had her pride, he saw as she straightened up. “I will see you in the morning, Dax. Be here at nine, sharp.”
Since when had he turned into her taxi service?
But it got him out of her clutches now, so he nodded. “Good night.”
She turned on her heel and headed for the elevator.
Guilt at not seeing her settled nibbled at his heels, but he couldn’t do anymore without losing his sanity.
He flipped out his phone and called home.
“Hey, Dad. Sorry again about lunch. Want me to bring over some dinner?”
“Sure. Kind of tired, though.”
He heard it in his dad’s voice. “No worries. I’ll bring some of the lobster bisque you like from the diner.”
Heavy breathing, then, “See you soon, son.”
Dax bowed his head and left the condo and the model behind. He thought of Celia and almost called to apologize. To explain. To hear her voice. In the end, he shoved his phone in his pocket and picked up dinner.
All of his free time needed to be spent with his dying father.
Chapter Nine
Two days passed without Celia hearing a word from Dax. She walked by the Dive Shop a couple of times on her way to the beach, but Dax hadn’t been at the counter. One time it had been an older gentleman, the other time a younger guy in his early twenties.
Pride kept her from calling. What if he and Veronica discovered that they had sparks together? What if he realized she wasn’t as much fun as a super model? Hell, she wasn’t fun, period. She didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, either. Celia had to make her business a success, or die trying.
Dax was a gorgeous distraction never far from her mind.
Sunday morning she picked up Khanti, who had offered to show her the farmer’s market. The woman waited outside the gas station at 8:30, sharp.
Celia smiled as Khanti, dressed in a rose-gold sundress with flat beaded sandals, got in and shut the passenger door. “Morning. Ready to shop?”
“We’re talking veggies here, so don’t sound so excited.” Khanti rolled her eyes but held up her recyclable bags. “Nino loves my fresh salsa. I add curry, that’s why.”
“Curry?” Celia imagined the clash of Mexican and Indian cuisine. “I’d love to try your salsa.”
“Sure. But if you like it, and decide to star it in your café, you have to give me credit.”
“As if I wouldn’t,” Celia huffed, knowing it would do no good to be offended. Khanti was as straightforward in her conversations as her husband.
“Turn here. It’s already busy.”
“If they’re so busy, why do they only put this on twice a month? And where am I going to go for fresh produce between times?”
“Calm down, Celia. There are a few places nearby that carry the local stuff.”
“Good.” She needed the best produce to make the best product. Eggplant lasagna, baked spaghetti squash. Celia couldn’t wait to start cooking. With all of the upheaval in her world, it had been a month since she’d touched a stove, other than to heat water.
Khanti led the way into the teeming market, which consisted of two dozen canopies set up in a local park by the beach. She dragged Celia to her cousin’s booth. “Celia, this is Sujay Magar. He’s got herbs, veggies and some mangoes. Great time of year for mangoes. Sujay, this is Celia. She’s opening that café I told you about. Impress her, and she’ll buy you out.”
Celia laughed. “No pressure. I don’t know about buying you out, but I’d love to support your business.”
Suja, dressed casually in jeans and a short sleeved polo, offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you. Khanti is the family wild child. But what can we say? We love her.”
Khanti grinned as Celia gave Sujay’s hand a firm shake. “As you should, cousin. Are you all right here, Celia? I need to go buy some local honey for Nino’s allergies.”
Celia nodded, but Khanti was already gone. She turned to Sujay and shrugged. “I admire her energy. So, what do you recommend?”
“What kind of food will you be serving?” he asked.
“Different things every day, depending on what’s available. Right now I’m seeing eggplant and cucumber.” The eggplant was a gorgeous purple, the cucumber a rich verdant green. She thought of a spicy cucumber and watermelon salad--refreshing on a hot day.
“I’ve got kale, chard. Basil, oregano, cilantro.” Sujay gestured behind him to the laden tables. “Feel free to pick what you like. I can have it delivered to your café.”
“I don’t have the inspection done yet,” Celia said, her mind whirring. “But could we make some sort of arrangement for me to either come to you, or to place a weekly order?”
“When are you opening?” Sujay asked with surprise.
“Three days.”
“And you don’t have the proper approval?”
Celia pressed her hand to her belly. “It’s a long story, but I’ve been promised that mountains will be moved. The shelves and refrigerated display case just came yesterday.” She exhaled. “Right after we laid the last tile. We were a bit behind,” she didn’t want to go into another explanation. “But we’re moving forward.” Celia scrunched her nose. “Want to come to the grand opening of Ambrosia?”
Sujay rocked back on his heels. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Tell your friends.” Celia pulled out a stack of postcard-sized business cards that had a coupon for a free entrée. “Can I leave a few on your table?”
“Absolutely!” He scanned the information. “6:30 to 4:00, every day of the week?”
“Yes.”
“And you are doing this by yourself?” His brown eyes filled with concern.
Celia lifted her shoulder, knowing she had to stop being defensive. “This is my passion. I will make it work, or fail trying.” She brushed her hair back and smiled, deliberately relaxing her stance. “I gave myself evenings off!”
Sujay chuckled. “I look forward to Wednesday. Ambrosia.”
He pronounced the name with a trill on the r. “I’ll be sure to tell people where I get my fresh produce. Sujay’s.”
Celia took a few cloth bags from her purse. They folded up smaller than a roll of socks, but opened to the size of a paper grocery bag.
She chose the brightest eggplant, the firmest cucumber. “How do I tell if a mango is ripe, Sujay?” She’d go online to find interesting recipes, since she wasn’t familiar with the fruit.
“Just give it a gentle squeeze,” he said, picking up the fruit and showing her. “The skin should give the littlest bit--like an avocado.”
“Oh,” Celia said, her mind automatically putting those flavors together. She’d have to do some experimenting, which was the best part of cooking.
“If they’re hard, leave them out at room temperature for a few days. They ripen quick. Really terrific on a milder fish. My wife makes a sauce with the mangoes for our tilapia.”
“Give me a dozen,” Celia said. “Two ripe, the rest green so they’ll be ripe later.”
By the time she left Sujay’s table, Celia had enough to get through the next five days, depending on her recipes. Her three bags were heavy, but she didn’t mind. Sujay had introduced her to the other farmers around his table. As she and Khanti walked back to the car, Khanti’s arms just as full as Celia’s, she felt a surge of panic that stole her breath.
“Almost everybody I met said they’d come on Wednesday.” What if the inspection didn’t come through? Or if Randall didn’t approve the sign? She felt like puking. She’d made cookies in her oven, to test the temperature after George Jr. had replaced t
he glass on the oven, but that was it.
Khanti hummed and waited for Celia to open the trunk of the Prius. “Of course they did! These are all folks who understand starting from scratch. Did Sujay tell you about Randall upping the rent at the farmer’s market?”
“No. When did that happen?”
“Just last month. All the vendors were pretty ticked off about it.”
Celia opened the trunk and stood back. “Can they do anything about it?”
“Holy shit, there’s a lot of room back here!” Khanto put her stuff in. “Not a thing, well, other than choose not to have a booth.”
Celia put her bags in, and a small box that held a few small pots of fresh herbs she planned on putting on her windowsill in her kitchen. “Yesterday I spoke to the woman who leased the ice cream shop. She told me Randall ‘lost’ her paperwork, delaying her opening date by a month. Added on another fifty bucks a month rent, too.”
Celia closed the trunk and each woman went to a different side of the car. Khanti got in to the passenger side and stretched her legs.
“This has way more room than it looks. And it’s good on gas?”
“Yes.” Enough with the car! “Khanti, what if Randall doesn’t want me in there? I can’t afford more rent.” Her stomach churned, thinking of how tight things were going to be. “I mean, nine out of ten businesses fail.” Her parents had told her that, as well as her financial guy. Celia planned on overcoming those odds but at the moment things kept stacking up against her.
“It’s a risk, true,” Khanti said, adjusting the gold bangles on her wrist.
“I don’t consider myself a risk taker,” Celia said, feeling the indent of frown between her brows. She was going to need botox just to keep her forehead in place.
“You must be,” Khanti countered with a shrug. “You packed up and moved here. Starting a business a week later.”
“I’d planned to be here three weeks ago,” Celia explained. Being able to work online had saved her time she needed to settle her affairs. She had no desire to ever return to Ohio. “My late husband was a doctor, and we had a clinic for cancer patients. Kids.”
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