“Before you start in on your speech,” Joe told Maren, “Eduardo didn’t come to me. I went to him.”
She knew better. “And, what, you just felt like giving away money?”
“Loaning,” Joe corrected her. “I’m just loaning Eduardo some money. He’s good for it—” lowering his head, he peered at her over the tops of his clear-framed glasses “—unless you decide to fire him.”
She sighed. Joe was absolutely incorrigible, and she loved him for it. “I wouldn’t do that. Eduardo’s a good worker.”
“Exactly.” His comment was directed toward both of them. “A good worker who’s just in a financial jam, that’s all.”
She fixed Joe with a look. She knew when he was being devious. “And just how did you find out about this financial jam?”
“Carlos told me. He said that Eduardo had fallen behind in his rent because of the usual family problems. Two of his kids got sick and his oldest was outgrowing his clothes almost weekly.”
“I see.”
“Don’t get that look on your face, Maren. A father likes to do things for his kids. Eduardo’s good for it. Especially if he gets a raise soon for being such a ‘good worker.’”
“I—”
“Hey, Maren, telephone. It’s about the wedding reception,” one of the hostesses called to her.
“This isn’t over,” she told Joe, then hurried off to take the call.
Joe turned toward Jared. “She likes to be in charge.”
The man’s mood was infectious. Jared grinned. “I noticed.”
Joe shook his head. “Don’t know exactly when the roles reversed. One day she was listening to every word I said, the next, she knew better and started bossing me around. Kids…” His voice trailed off and then he looked at Jared. “You have any?”
“No. I’m not married,” Jared tagged on for good measure, in case Maren might have mentioned to the man what had happened on the beach.
“Great invention, kids,” Joe said, laughing to himself. “Make you old and keep you young all at the same time. Still haven’t figured out how.” Maren was coming back to join them. The pride he felt for his adopted daughter was evident in his every word, his every look. “Want some coffee?” he asked her.
She waved her hand at him. “You make ashes, not coffee. I’ll get it.”
Joe grinned as he gave her a quick, one-handed bear hug. “That’s my girl.” He kissed the top of her head. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? Tucker misses seeing you.”
“Okay, it’s a date. I’ll get that coffee.”
“Tucker?” Jared heard himself asking as she walked toward the urns. Both were filled to capacity. The doors were opening soon. Jared tried his best not to sound intrusive, as if the inquiry was natural, without any undue weight.
Was there someone in her life? Was that why she seemed so reticent with him? Or was it just the memory of someone in her past that was responsible for harnessing her when they were together?
When he tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, it didn’t quite ring true.
“My dog,” Joe told him as he followed Jared back to the stove. “Our dog, really. I got Tucker while Maren still lived with me—she’s my daughter, you know.”
Jared drizzled the finely chopped celery into the pot, then put in just enough mushrooms for flavor. “Yes, I know. She told me.”
Glancing toward Joe, he saw that the man watched at him with interest. As a possible match for Maren? It didn’t seem likely. Then what? Was Joe feeling him out for some reason? Jared knew that for money laundering to be successful in this set of circumstances, the accountant would have to be in on it. But if he had ever met anyone who was less likely to have criminal leanings, it was Joe Collins.
For the first time in his life, the nature of his work really bothered Jared. The other assignments he’d worked on had taken him deep into the nether regions of a world populated with dealers and drug addicts and arms runners. The very dregs of society lived there.
Occasionally he had encountered people whose souls were not entirely black, who might be redeemable under the right set of circumstances, and he’d felt pity for them. In one instance he’d even set the wheels in motion to get a commuted sentence for a kid as long as the minor followed the strict rules set down in probation. But he’d never had doubts about what he was doing. Never had doubts about the lies he was telling, the people he was lying to.
Until now.
This was different.
These were people he could find himself liking. Under different circumstances…
About to leave, Joe stopped abruptly. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. You busy tonight?”
Jared thought of the meeting with his superior. That could be postponed if he was on to something. “No.”
“Why don’t you come over and cook for us?” Joe suggested with feeling. “Show us what you’ve got? Maren’s not much for cooking for herself and me, I live on TV dinners when I’m not grabbing something at one of the restaurants. The food’s great, but nothing beats the atmosphere of a home-cooked meal.” Joe warmed to his idea. “How about it, you game?”
He wanted the invitation, but he didn’t want to seem overly eager and to set off any alarms. For all he knew, Joe might be trying to feel him out, as well. “Won’t that be kind of the same thing? If I cook?”
Joe grinned broadly. “Just think of us as your guinea pigs.”
“Okay. What time?”
“I knock off by five. I can get Maren to do the same. This is your early night, isn’t it?”
As an accountant, Joe might know that, Jared thought. And then, he might have gone out of his way to find out. Jared’s suspicions went up another notch.
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” Joe looked exceedingly pleased. “Come by as soon as you’re done here. Anything special you want me to pick up?”
Jared thought of the excuse he’d given Maren why he’d been in the refrigerator when he’d gotten locked in. He might as well play that line out. “No, I’ve got it covered. You like duck?”
Amusement curved the older man’s mouth. “I like Donald and Daffy. Can’t say I’ve eaten it, though.” He thought a second. “Duck, huh?”
He was going to make duck à l’orange. Uncle Andrew had walked him through it once. He’d looked it up last night after he’d gotten home just in case Maren thought to ask him any questions about it today.
“Duck à l’orange,” he told him. “There’s an Asian market not far from where I live and I can get the rest of what I need here.” He indicated the spice table teeming with various ingredients.
“Make sure Maren knows. You wouldn’t want her to think you were pilfering the ingredients from the storeroom.” Jared couldn’t tell if Joe was serious or pulling his leg. “Maren’s a very generous soul, but she hates stealing. Always be up front with her.”
The warning rang in Jared’s head, underscoring his guilt.
“Up front with who?” Maren asked, rejoining them. “Here’s your coffee, Papa Joe.”
Joe paused to inhale deeply before answering her. “You, my dear. You.” He took a long sip and looked like a man who had just been revitalized. “I was just telling Jared here how much you value honesty.” He looked at Maren over the rim of his cup as he took another long sip. “By the way, he’ll be joining us tonight.”
Maren was stunned. She was trying to cover it, Jared thought, but she’d had an unguarded moment and he’d seen it. She wasn’t happy about Joe’s invitation. “Papa Joe, I really don’t—”
Joe cut her off, as if he knew what she was about to say. “Maren, the man needs to practice his art. Who better to practice it on than the woman who can further his career?” He paused for yet another sip, then said, “See you in the office.
She turned to Jared as Joe walked away, her hands on her hips. “You’re cooking?”
The woman did not seem happy about the turn of events, he thought. “Looks like.” Much as he wanted the opportunity to get in closer to bot
h Joe and Maren, he knew he had to at least sound as if he was willing not to come.
And as long as he phrased it right, she wouldn’t let him cancel, he thought.
He added pepper to the soup, his voice was casual with just a hint of disappointment. “Listen, if it makes you uncomfortable having me at dinner, I’ll just tell Joe I can’t make it.”
She stiffened, just as he figured she would. “No, I won’t be uncomfortable.” Her tone was both defensive and accusing. “Why should I be?”
Adding garlic, he gave her an innocent look, then backtracked. “Well, I thought…never mind.”
Maren cut him off, not wanting the conversation to go any further down the path he was obviously on. If she was uncomfortable in his presence, he’d think that she’d felt something and that was the last thing she wanted him to believe.
“Papa Joe seems to have taken a liking to you for some reason and dinner is at his place, so he gets to say who he invites.”
A commotion in the front of the restaurant terminated any further discussion on the topic. A loud, booming voice was hailing and greeting people as it came closer.
The next moment, Warren Shepherd swept into the kitchen.
At approximately five feet, ten inches, the dapper, gray-haired man cultivated an old-world courtliness in his appearance. It was mingled with the aura of someone who had once grown up on the mean streets of New York City and was now intimately street savvy.
Warren Shepherd was a product of another era. Even when he smiled, there was a deadliness that was hard to mask. He’d spent years perfecting that exact look. People were always quick to give in to him. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Calling out to April and nodding at Max, Shepherd made his way over to Maren.
“Moxie! How’s my favorite manager?” he asked, giving her a hug that to Jared seemed warmer than the situation warranted.
Why did he call her Moxie? Jared wondered. Was it some term of affection? Any thoughts that something intimate went on between the two vanished. Jared could see that Maren forced a smile to her lips.
“Just fine, Mr. Shepherd.”
“Mr. Shepherd.” Shepherd laughed, shaking his head.
“I can remember a time when you called me Uncle Warren.” Releasing her, he glanced at Jared. Recognition entered his eyes and the thousand-watt smile followed. “Jared, right?”
“Right.” He decided he didn’t like the man on principle.
Shepherd nodded toward Maren. “I’ve known this girl since she came up to here—” he brought his hand up to his waist “—and wore Band-Aids on her knees. A real daredevil, this one. Used to come here after school and do her homework in Joe’s office.” He stood back, as if appraising her. Or showing her off, Jared thought. Did Shepherd think of Maren as his possession? “Who knew she’d turn out to be such a looker? And steal half the office away from her old man?” The questions were all rhetorical. It was clear Shepherd wasn’t looking to start any kind of a dialogue with him. The man scanned the room. “Speaking of which, did Joe get in yet?”
“Papa Joe is in his office.” She waited a moment. When the owner made no comment on the information because he was too busy looking her up and down as if she were a piece of merchandise, she asked, “Do you want me to go get him?”
“Nah, don’t bother.” He waved a hand at her offer. “The mountain’ll go to him.” But as she dutifully fell into place beside him, Shepherd shook his head. “Do me a favor, Moxie, stay out here and crack the whip a little. I want some time alone with your old man.”
Maren stepped back. Jared could see she wasn’t pleased about it, but she hid it well enough beneath a guise of respectfulness. He couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking.
“Of course.” Maren inclined her head, deferring to Shepherd.
Jared waited a beat until the other man had left to see Joe. “You don’t like him, do you?”
Maren continued to watch Shepherd leave. “He’s the owner.”
Jared stirred the soup, then took a container of garlic powder and added it to the liquid. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
She allowed herself a small sigh. No, she didn’t like Shepherd, hadn’t liked him since he’d first put moves on her when she was fifteen. But she needed this job. Loved this job, so she put up with it, making sure that Shepherd knew without her saying it that angels had a better chance of redecorating hell with snow than Shepherd had of ever getting close to her.
“He can be a little abrasive,” she allowed. “And he does a really, really bad Robert De Niro impression.”
Jared stopped stirring and stared at her. “Come again?”
“Robert De Niro.” She finally turned toward him. “In Casino.” She could tell by Jared’s puzzled expression that he needed a little background. And she had time to kill since she wasn’t welcome in her office at the moment.
“Warren Shepherd grew up in a neighborhood where everyone either joined the police force or became a ‘wise guy’ as the euphemism goes these days. He didn’t have the stomach for the former and his connections weren’t strong enough for the latter. So he playacts the part. Sees himself as a cross between Brando in the Godfather and Robert De Niro in Casino and Goodfellas, with maybe a little Cagney probably thrown in. Cocky,” she added, then shrugged. “It’s harmless enough until it turns nasty.”
“Nasty?” He coaxed her to elaborate, wondering if this was the thing that would break the dam he’d been facing so far.
“I once saw him really light into a server for spilling a single drop of wine on the tablecloth. He was sitting at the table at the time with his latest ‘lady.’” She said the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. He knew for a fact that Shepherd was married with three kids. “I thought he was going to vivisect the poor guy right then and there.”
Jared read between the lines. “And that’s when you stepped in.”
She shrugged. “I tried to deflect Shepherd’s wrath. It was uncalled for.”
“Is that why he calls you Moxie?”
“I guess.” She sighed, then looked at him as if suddenly becoming aware of him for the first time. “Why am I always telling you these things?” She was friendly, but she never ran off at the mouth. What was it about him that made her want to talk?
“People say I’m easy to talk to.”
His smile wound its way under her skin again. She was going to have to watch that. She’d already said too much, let herself relax around him too much. She was going to have to be careful.
Maren squared her shoulders. “Well, they’re not paying either one of us to talk. Why don’t you get back to what you were doing?” She allowed herself one deep whiff. “It smells delicious.”
“Want a sample?”
That was just the problem. She wanted a sample. But it had nothing to do with what presently simmered on the range and everything to do with what simmered between them. And that, she knew she shouldn’t sample. “Not right now.”
With that, she walked out into the front of the restaurant and waited until she was allowed to go into her office again.
Chapter 9
Joe stuck his head into the kitchen just before he left and addressed Jared. “Wonder if you could do me a favor?”
In the middle of ladling out several bowls of the soup he’d prepared, Jared paused. “Sure. What is it?”
Joe grinned. “Never agree to something until you know what it is,” he warned, then made his request. “Could you pick up Maren on your way over? She only lives a mile away from my place. Here’s her address.”
“No hardship there.” This was going to throw his timing off, but he could still manage it, Jared thought as he pocket the piece of paper. “Maren’s okay with my picking her up?”
“She will be.” Joe was already walking toward the back exit.
Alarms went off. “Hey, what does that mean? Does she even know I’m coming by?”
“I’ll leave her a message on her answering machine. She’ll g
et it when she gets home.” He paused a moment before disappearing around the corner. “She’s on your way. Why put added pollution into the air, right?”
“Right,” Jared said, more under his breath than for anyone else to hear. He hurried back to what he was doing.
Was Joe playing matchmaker or was there something else on the man’s agenda? He couldn’t meet with his superior this evening, but he needed to check in with Glassel to see if the man had come up with anything on either Joe or Maren.
And after that, he had to swing by his uncle’s house.
At six-thirty, Jared followed his uncle into the man’s state-of-the-art kitchen. His mouth began to water even before he crossed the threshold. The aroma was pure heaven.
“Really appreciate this, Uncle Andrew.”
“Hey, my pleasure.” After receiving Jared’s call, he’d spent the better part of the afternoon in the kitchen, adding some of his own touches to a time-honored recipe. Everything now stood packed and ready to go. “I haven’t made duck à l’orange in a long time. What’s the occasion, or shouldn’t I ask?”
Jared couched his answer in the vague terms the job required of him. “I’ve been invited to a suspect’s house and asked to cook. Since it had to be something special and I’ve only made this once before, I thought it might go better if you did the honors instead of me.”
“How are you going to explain making the duck in half an hour?”
“I told them I went home at lunch to start the process.”
Andrew nodded, obviously satisfied with whatever his nephew felt he could share. He began placing the foil-sealed dishes into one of the two large double-bagged grocery bags he’d prepared. Jared began packing the other.
“Not that I mind doing this—hell, I’ll use any excuse to putter around in the kitchen—but you could have done this yourself, you know.” Andrew laughed. “Out of all the Cavanaughs, you’re the only one who seems to have the talent.”
A little of the sauce leaked. Jared licked his fingers, then grabbed a sponge to tidy up the counter. “Maybe we’ll open up that catering restaurant you talked about when I retire.”
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