“Yeah, I’ve got a gift for words.” His eyes narrowed. “The problem is what I’m doing is stop gap. You need somebody staying here with you.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You know, somebody to cook. And help you shower and stuff.”
My turn to cock an eyebrow.
He ignored it. “Somebody to get you to your doctor’s appointments. Go for pizzas. You can’t drive yet with your feet like that.” He cleared his throat. “In case you haven’t guessed, I’m volunteering for the job.”
“I guessed, Rossi, and I thank you, but no thanks. Besides, the stitches should come out next week, and if everything’s healed, I can ditch the crutches. Probably walk a little. At least long enough to stand up and do a few chores. Maybe even go into the shop part of the day. And Lee stops by, too. So no need to worry about me. I’m fine, really.”
He shrugged a little. “About staying here…I was shooting in the dark, but thought it was worth a try.”
“I have my Irish grandmother to worry about.”
“I thought she had passed.”
“Well she has, but you never know.”
“That’s logical,” he said, but he laughed, and to my relief changed the subject. “The next few weeks are going to be difficult. So I hope you’re right and that you’ll be up to the challenge physically. When the trial starts, you’ll have to testify. There’ll be cross examinations, attempts to twist your testimony, shake your story. None of that’s going to be easy. And of course, Jones is claiming he’s innocent. That you’re lying about what you heard. His testimony won’t stand up under scrutiny, but it will make for a tense trial.”
“How’s Morgan doing these days?”
“He’s well enough to stand trial. The force of that blow knocked his heart out of rhythm for a while, but he’s pretty well recovered. Though I hear his whole chest is bruised black.”
My relief that Morgan had survived was far greater than anyone knew. During the past week, Rossi had spent a lot of time telling me I had only done what I had to do. My God-given instinct for self-preservation had gone to battle for me. And had helped stop a killer. Still I grieved for all the lost and destroyed lives-most of all for Maria and Jesus and George. But for poor, misguided Ilona, and Trevor, too. He must be hurting. For ill-fated Morgan and for Jessica who was standing by him despite what he’d done. She’d even stopped her divorce proceedings, at least until the trial ended.
The Bonita police had believed me after all and had sent a search and rescue team into the woods, where they found Morgan wandering about, dazed and disoriented.
I guess he had never been a Girl Scout either.
“Any further news about Ilona?” I asked Rossi.
“She’s out on bail and singing like she’s on American Idol. We’re keeping an eye on her. She’s a flight risk. But that’s nothing new. She has been right along.”
“What’s that mean? Right along?”
“Since the Monet was stolen. Her polygraph was inconclusive.”
“You never let on. You held out on me, Rossi.”
“Had to. That’s my job.”
“Well, she knew where the painting was, and she knew who had killed Maria. No wonder she flunked the test.”
“Well, flunk is strong. Let’s say the results were cloudy. The technician thinks she did something to skew her answers.”
“What could she do? I thought the answers were involuntary?”
“They are. But when you answer the baseline questions, if you bite your lip or your tongue, or step on a tack in your shoe, the pain can change your response.”
“So it’s harder to spot a lie on the graph.”
“Exactly.”
“I was at the house the day Ilona took the polygraph exam. Afterwards, when Trevor kissed her, he had a trace of blood on his lips.”
Rossi nodded. “That could be the answer. Chances are the blood came from Ilona. Trevor passed the poly with flying colors.”
“So you were on to Ilona from the get go?”
“Pretty much. The feds followed her to Hungary after Christmas. She called on an art dealer in Budapest with known ties to the Russian art world.”
“A fence?”
Rossi shrugged. “Probably. We couldn’t do a thing without proof. You supplied that when you figured out where they hid the Monet. Good detective work, Deva.”
“But I was dead wrong about George Farragut. He was innocent all along.”
“Told ya.”
“Okay, you can gloat.” I was too ashamed to mention I had also harbored suspicions about another innocent guy, Simon Yaeger.
But before I could beat up on myself anymore, Rossi said, “Not all leads are good, not all suspicions are correct. The thing to remember is that some are right on the money. You lose a few, you win a few. And Deva, you won the lottery-you found the painting and you found the killer. Those are A pluses in anybody’s book.”
What do you know? For the first time in my life, I was on the A list.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Like a neatly tied package, the affaire Alexander was all wrapped up with no dangling loose ends. Except for one.
Lee had never mentioned Paulo’s painting of Ilona. The fact that I knew about it but she apparently did not weighed on me. Though Paulo had nothing to do with the murders or the theft, why hadn’t he spoken about such an important commission? What did he have to hide?
Even with the notoriety swirling around the Alexander name-or perhaps because of it-the publicity could only enhance Paulo’s career. That and a subject like Ilona, who was so very beautiful. A mystery for sure, and one I worried about for Lee’s sake. Yet every time I was tempted to ask her if she knew about the portrait, I couldn’t bring myself to pose the question. It was none of my business. Besides, Paulo would have many commissions over a lifetime. Lee wouldn’t know of each and every one. Still…why the secrecy?
I expected them to drop by tonight. With their wedding just two weeks away, they wanted to meet with Chip and discuss the wedding dinner menu. My feet propped up on an ottoman, I sat in a club chair and waited for them, telling myself not to worry, everything would be all right. On the plus side, my right foot had completely healed, and I was down to a light dressing on the left. Most of the time these days I didn’t even need the crutches.
Da da da DA.
“Come in,” I called. “Door’s open.”
Chatting and laughing, Lee and Paulo burst into the living room in a whirlwind of excitement.
“Look at this, Deva. Look!” Lee ran over to me and held out her left hand. “From Paulo!” A diamond solitaire adorned her slim ring finger, its small, round stone as brilliant as a tiny star. “I declare, I’m still in a state of shock.” Like the ring, Lee’s eyes sparkled with star shine.
“Some day when my commissions are better, I’ll replace the diamond with a larger one,” Paulo said with a happy smile.
“Never!” Lee flung her arms around him. “I want to keep this one for my whole life. And I want to keep you for my whole life.” She rested her left hand on his shoulder and gazed at her new ring. “Mr. Alexander was a smart man to pay you to paint his wife. You’re going to be famous.”
“I hope so for his sake.” Paulo laughed. “My portrait of Mrs. Alexander is the only painting he’s keeping. He’s selling everything else. Even the Monets. It’s pretty flattering to be preferred to a master.” He shrugged “The subject’s the reason, not the artist. No matter, I wanted to surprise Lee, and I did.”
The front door opened, and Chip sauntered in, glum as I’d ever seen him. Slump-shouldered and quiet, he still hadn’t gotten over losing his chance at being a celebrity chef.
Lee held out her hand to him. “Look at this, Mr. Chip.”
At the unmistakable happiness in her smile, Chip smiled back. “Paulo’s a lucky man.”
“I’m lucky too,” Lee said. “I have Paulo, and now I have y’all cooking my wedding dinner. What could be better than that?”
I could almost hear the un
spoken answer echoing in Chip’s head. Being a celebrity chef. But all he said was, “That’s a great compliment, Lee. So what would you like me to cook for you?”
“Italian wedding soup would be nice, if that’s all right, Mr. Chip. Then maybe an antipasto.”
“Lasagna?” Paulo sounded hopeful.
“For dessert, besides wedding cake, how about some spumoni on the side?” I asked.
Chip groaned. “Every grade-B spaghetti house has that stuff on the menu.”
“It’s what we all would love to have.” Like a Southern lady, Lee uttered her request so sweetly, what man could refuse?
Though his shoulders remained slumped, Chip nodded.
“It’s the bride’s day, after all, Chip,” I said, anxious to coax another smile out of him. “Besides, I know you’ll do a wonderful job. Everybody loves your food.” I tried to sweeten the deal. “If you have some cards printed, I’ll put them out in the shop. Talk you up. I’ll bet in no time you’d have a catering business going. If you want one, that is. You could be a celebrity chef right here in Naples.” I spread my arms. “After that, who knows?”
“I’ll think about it.” He spoke in a monotone, but his face brightened as he turned to Lee and Paulo. They were sitting side by side on Nana’s sofa, so close you couldn’t slide a piece of paper between them. “Lee, for you I’ll get out my mother’s secret meatball recipe. It makes a killer lasagna.”
“Y’all are such a sweetheart.” She leaped up and gave him a hug.
His cheeks bright red, Chip fled my living room for home, and Lee sat back on the sofa holding Paulo’s hand as if she never wanted to let it go.
“Just two more weeks till our wedding. I can’t hardly believe it, and it can’t come too soon. Paulo was in and out of that Alexander house every time they had a party. What if something bad had happened to him before we even…I mean, before we did…I mean, I want to marry him,” she finished, running out of words. No more were needed. Her flushed face said it all.
Paulo grinned and kissed her cheek. “The only bad thing that could happen to me would be losing you.”
“Did y’all hear that, Deva? Isn’t he wonderful?”
“Without question.”
He laughed and kissed her again.
“Will you be my matron of honor, Deva?” The shy note in Lee’s voice said she wasn’t sure I’d accept.
“I’d be thrilled to.”
“Do you think the lieutenant would stand up for me?” Paulo asked.
“I think he’d love it.”
Remembering the other reason for her visit, Lee reached into a tote and removed a sheaf of papers. “These are the week’s receipts. I made daily deposits to the bank.”
“Thank you, Lee. That’s awesome. How did we do?”
“Business has been good. Better than good. Since the paper reported how y’all found the murder suspect and nearly got killed fighting him off, people have been jamming the shop. It’s been so busy Paulo came in afternoons to help out. The accessories are pretty much gone, so I brought the manufacturers’ catalogs for you to do some more ordering. And here are the names of several ladies who want you to design for them.”
A worried frown creased Lee’s forehead as she handed me the receipts. “I know the Dr. Jones job was a big one. What about the furniture and what not y’all ordered for his house?”
“The wholesale costs are covered, so I haven’t lost anything. I’ll have the furniture delivered to the shop and set it up for sale. We’ll be crowded for a while, but I think the pieces will sell. The murder-mystery provenance might actually help. People love a story.”
She nodded, sat back and reached for Paulo’s hand. I smiled. It would be a long two weeks’ wait for both of them.
Then out of the blue, I suddenly said. “I’ve made a decision.”
“Y’all have?”
“Yes, Lee. I’m closing the shop-”
She drew in a quick shocked breath.
“For the next three weeks. You get time off with pay, and I get more time out to recuperate.”
Delighted, she flung her arms around Paulo. “We can have us a honeymoon. Right in your apartment!”
What neither of them knew, would never know, was I owed Paulo big time, and this was my way of repaying the debt. For days I had suspected him of-yes, I’ll admit it-cheating on Lee with Ilona. Shame all over me for such a suspicion. These two were so much in love no one could ever violate their devotion to each other. If I were Jimmy the Greek I’d lay odds on it. And so would Jack. I just know he would.
* * *
The wedding morning dawned flawless and blue, not a cloud in sight. With only one small Band-Aid covering the last few stitches, my feet slid into low-heeled sandals without any trouble. I slipped on an apricot lace halter dress and smoothed it over my hips. Yesterday I’d had a manicure and pedicure. And I’d had my hair cut short enough to tame my curls but long enough to please Rossi. I screwed on pearl earrings and clasped my grandmother’s pearl bracelet on my right wrist. A little blush and apricot lip gloss. Taupe shadow on my eyelids and new super mascara guaranteed to make my lashes look like bird’s wings.
As a finishing touch, I spritzed on some Diorissimo and stepped away from the bathroom’s full-length mirror to view the effect. A happy, smiling Deva looked back at me and winked.
I plucked my bouquet from the refrigerator where I’d stashed it to keep fresh. For sentimental reasons, I’d chosen a multicolored cluster of grocery store blooms from Publix Market and cobbled them together with a long apricot streamer.
The kitchen clock said five to ten. Rossi would be here soon. Always punctual, he wouldn’t be late, not today.
Sure enough, the chimes rang at ten on the dot. I opened the door to a Rossi I nearly didn’t recognize. He was all decked out in a navy blazer, tan slacks, striped tie, and a starched white shirt. With the tail tucked in.
“Wow,” I said.
His eyes widened at the sight of me. “The wows are all mine. You’re absolutely gorgeous.” He peered closer. “What’s with the eyes? You look like you could fly.”
“It’s-”
“Whatever it is, I like it. I like everything.” He pointed to my bouquet. “That’s the kind of flowers I buy.”
“I know. I’ve always loved them.”
He stuck out an elbow. “Well then, shall we?”
“Oh, yes, let’s.”
We reached Moorings Beach in plenty of time for the wedding. Like love birds released for the occasion, gulls soared overhead, riding the warm air currents; the Gulf water lapped softly on the shore, and the sun shone over all, flawless and golden. The bride had made her own gown and was a vision in a cloud of white tulle. On a minor note, I’m pleased to report I had no problem walking on sand. But Lee and Paulo? Well, throughout the ceremony Lee and Paulo were walking on air.
And later, for their wedding feast, just as he had promised, Chip served a killer lasagna.
Salute !
JEAN HARRINGTON
***
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The Monet Murders Page 23