Courting Disaster

by Joanne Pence

  Angie went back into the dressing room and switched to a different pale blue dress with a halter top and ruffles from knee to floor. Serefina’s reaction was even more negative.

  Next, Angie tried a pale blue dress with a lace bodice and bell skirt. It made her look like a schoolgirl. That one, Serefina liked. Angie didn’t, so she moved on to a pale blue bias-cut one-shoulder number that dropped to the floor in a straight skirt.

  “Not bad, but why do you choose nothing but light blue?” Serefina asked, sitting now. “It’s so drab on you. You look better with warm colors. You know that.”

  Angie had to admit it was true, but the more she thought about the purple cake, she feared the entire décor might be purple. A soft blue dress would look much better than the yellow Dior she loved.

  Besides, her party was now only eight days away. Since she was having no luck finding out anything about it from anyone, she’d come up with this plan.

  “Blue is a color that will go well with any décor,” she said, then added pointedly, “I don’t want to clash with the decorations or the cake, for example. Lots of them are in strong colors these days. Colors like, oh, for example, purple.”

  “Purple?” Serefina looked at her as if she’d grown two heads. “Who uses purple for engagement parties?”

  “What? No purple?” Angie was both shocked and relieved. “What about…black doves?”

  “Are they dead?” Serefina asked, horrified.

  Angie’s relief was so great she could have waltzed her mother around the boutique. “Well, maybe my yellow dress will be fine after all.” She turned back to the dressing room. Serefina followed.

  Back in the dressing room, Angie had to wonder: if Serefina wasn’t behind the strange phone calls and dove delivery, who was? Her sisters didn’t have that warped a sense of humor. No way would Connie or Stan do it. That left—Angie scowled—Nona Farraday!

  It had all started after she met Nona at the Fairmont. That rat! That snake in the grass!

  “Can we leave now?” Serefina asked. “I’m tired.”

  “We’ll go.” Angie started to change to her own clothes. Feelings of relief and revenge filled her, but she didn’t want to think about that now. “By the way,” she said, “Did Papà say anything to you about his meeting with Paavo last week?”

  Serefina gasped. “He met with Paavo?”

  Uh-oh. Angie gulped. “I saw them together at Moose’s. Paavo won’t say why.”

  Serefina’s lips pursed. “Your father’s been acting peculiar lately. Now I learn he’s sneaking into the city without telling me! He’s up to something and I’m going to find out what! You need to help me, Angelina.”

  Her mother’s reaction, her expression, were strange. Angie felt suddenly uncomfortable. She didn’t want to know about trouble between her parents. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe they just decided to get along, like they said. For the sake of the party.”

  “Humph!” was Serefina’s reply. Angie agreed.

  She finished dressing and stood before Serefina in a red and black Donna Karan suit.

  Suddenly tears sprang to Serefina’s eyes.

  “Mamma, what’s wrong?” Angie asked, horrified. “Is it about Papà?”

  “No. You!” Serefina fished a handkerchief from her black Coach bag.

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “I remembered when you were just a little girl in frilly dresses. Now you’re a sophisticated woman, hawking stuff on television—”

  “Hawking?”

  “—and soon you’ll be a bride.” More tears flowed. “My little girl. Soon all my daughters will be married women, with families of their own. You won’t need me or your Papà anymore.”

  Angie was near tears as well. Hands clasped, she moved toward her mother. “We’ll always need you, Mamma. How often does Frannie come running back home when she gets mad at Seth?”

  “I wouldn’t wish a marriage like that on you and Paavo!” Serefina wiped her eyes, dropped the hankie back into her purse, and smoothed her hair. “Marriage does change a person, though. There’s a reason it’s called settling down.”

  “Mamma, it’ll be all right.” Angie tried to give her mother a hug.

  “Don’t be so mushy, Angelina! Of course it will be fine.” She brushed her off and took out her compact to check her eye makeup. “Those were tears of joy. Now, before we leave, I saw an Hermès scarf I want to buy.”

  Angie wondered if she’d ever understand her mother. At least they enjoyed shopping together.

  Paavo was beginning to understand Sal Amalfi a lot better, which was why he was certain he should drive by Elizabeth Schull’s apartment building on her day off.

  Sure enough, just like the other night, Sal’s red Lincoln was parked a few doors from it, as big and ugly as a neon sign flashing STALKER. If Elizabeth ever had any doubt that he was watching her, it had to be gone now.

  Paavo parked and walked up to Sal’s car, while Sal scowled at him through the window. The passenger door wasn’t locked. He opened it and got in. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

  Sal’s eyes narrowed. “I know what I’m doing, but I don’t know about you. I’m watching her! I want to follow her to see what she’s up to. If she goes near Angelina or Serefina, I’ll run her down.”

  Paavo decided he hadn’t heard the threat, but more than ever, he was going to have to keep an eye on Sal. If Angie’s father ended up in jail, she’d never forgive him. “Don’t you think Schull will recognize your car?” he asked.

  “Why should she? I never drive it to the stores. I hire a limo, or let Serefina drive. This car is special. Besides, it’s comfortable for surveillance work. You can easily stretch out in it—at least, you can when no one’s with you. Why don’t you get out of here?”

  In the car was a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, a thermos of coffee, and an empty Cran-Apple bottle with a screw top. Obviously, Sal had been reading up on how male private eyes do surveillance and had come well prepared.

  “What would you do if she tried anything?” Paavo asked, working hard to keep calm and resist the urge to wrap his fingers around the man’s scrawny neck and squeeze some sense into him. “You don’t dare to confront her.”

  “I’d call you.”

  “Well, that’s good, at least,” Paavo said.

  “Not that it would do any good,” Sal muttered.

  The garage door to Schull’s apartment building opened and an old blue Ford Escort pulled out. “It’s her!” Sal cried. He handed his coffee cup to Paavo and started the car.

  The Escort put-putted down the street, sounding and looking like a lawn mower with a roof over it, and turned at the corner. Sal cranked the ignition and the Lincoln roared to life, but then he checked the rear-and sideview mirrors, pushed the lever into drive, wriggled it to be sure it engaged, put on his turn signal, and slowly eased the behemoth into the street.

  Sal drove so slowly Paavo was sure if he got out and walked, he’d have reached the corner long before the car did. Once at the intersection, Sal stopped, slowly and carefully looked both ways, then turned.

  At stop signs, Sal not only stopped, but even waited a beat before proceeding. Paavo was ready to shout, This is California! Nobody came to full stops here but out-of-state drivers.

  Fortunately, Schull’s driving wasn’t any zippier. The whole thing was like watching a football replay with a slo-mo camera.

  Schull turned into the Safeway parking lot. When Sal finally reached it, the Escort was empty.

  Sal pulled into a space at some distance from the Escort, yet with easy eye contact, and then took back his coffee cup. Not a drop had spilled. He drove so slowly and steadily Paavo doubted any of it sloshed. Not even going around curves.

  “You want a doughnut?” Sal asked.

  Paavo’s jaw was clamped so tightly it ached. “No, thanks.”

  They sat and waited, and after about twenty minutes, Schull came out pushing a cart. Driving slowly as ever, Sal followed her back to h
er house, where she entered the garage.

  Sal parked back in the space he’d used earlier and looked at Paavo with disgust. “You do this kind of surveillance work often?” he asked.

  “Sometimes,” Paavo admitted.

  “Your job is sure boring, isn’t it?”

  Earl White warmly greeted Angie at the Wings of an Angel Restaurant. “Long time no see, Miss Angie.”

  “Things have been a little…hectic,” Angie said. After saying good-bye to her mother after their strange series of conversations at the boutique, she decided a glass of wine would be just what the doctor ordered. A glass of strong wine. Fortified, in fact.

  He led her to her favorite seat. “I s’pose so, what wit’ your engagement party an’ all.”

  “My engagement party, yes.” She shuddered. All that wasn’t happening with it made her a little sick. At least she now could be certain that the cake and doves were nothing to worry about.

  “What’ll you have?” Earl asked.

  “Port.”

  “No food?”

  “I’m not hungry. Tell me, Earl, do you know anything about the Athina Restaurant down at the wharf? It’s just a little place. The owner’s name is Eugene Leer.”

  “Can’t say I know it, but I’ll ask Vinnie and Butch. Why? You aren’t t’inking of making dat your favorite restaurant, are you?”

  “Of course not! There’s something strange going on there, and I’d love to know what it is.”

  “Somet’ing strange? Hey, I’d love to know, too. I don’t like strange. We gotta keep everyt’ing on da up and up.”

  Angie nodded and managed to keep a straight face. Earl, Butch, and Vinnie had met at San Quentin while they were all doing time for scams or burglaries. Considering their continuing interest in the shadier side of life despite promises to the contrary, Earl’s talk about the “up and up” was more than a little hypocritical.

  “Thanks, Earl. I appreciate it,” Angie said.

  She was halfway through her wine and calming down when her nerves made a U-turn. Nona Farraday stuck her engagement-party-meddling head in the door. “You’re here!” she said, marching toward Angie’s table. “I was driving down Columbus Avenue and saw your car parked outside. I have to talk to you.”

  “Speak of the devil. I was just thinking about you. Have a seat,” Angie invited, eyes narrow. She supposed Nona had come by to learn how well she was holding up under the strain of a party in shambles. Wouldn’t she be disappointed?

  Earl came over with a menu, but Nona just wanted a glass of Riesling.

  “Don’t laugh,” Nona said before Angie could get a word in, “but I want to ask about your neighbor.”

  That wasn’t expected. “You mean Stan?”

  “What’s going on, Angie?” Nona asked peevishly. “You told me he was a good guy. I believed you! When he didn’t call, I decided he was shy and kindly took the first step. I went to his apartment and it looks like he’s got a wife and child! I don’t like being played for a sucker. What’s with the two-timing bastard?”

  How could Nona sound so serious about Stan Bonnette? Maybe this was an act she was pulling to throw Angie off track. “I don’t know,” Angie said innocently. “Maybe he doesn’t like black doves.”

  “Doves? What are you talking about?” Nona asked.

  “Or strippers!” Angie practically spit the word at her.

  “Who said she was a stripper?” Nona pressed her fingers to her temples. “I can’t take it, Angie! I’m really sick of the men you throw at me. First that bossy Calderon, and now two-timing Stan. Don’t you know anyone decent?”

  Angie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know about the black doves and purple cake?”

  Nona gawked at her. “I’m out of here. The whole world has gone mad.”

  “Wait. Stan’s no two-timer,” Angie said, wondering why it was suddenly her job to defend Stan. “He met the woman at a restaurant, the Athina. She was pregnant, needed help, and turned to Stan.”

  “Help? Bone-crushingly desperate sounds more like it!” Nona sneered. “And what’s this Athina business? Are you sure it’s a restaurant? I’ve never heard of it, and I know all the restaurants in town. In my line of work, I have to, you know.”

  Angie hated it when Nona talked about her job. It was like rubbing salt in a wound. In fact, she was tired of being pushed around, used, lied to, and accused of having worthless friends. “You don’t know the Athina?” Her eyes opened wide and shock reverberated in her voice. She might have been wrong about Nona and the engagement party, but she wasn’t wrong about Nona in general. “I simply can’t believe it!”

  Nona’s face hardened. “So, are you going to tell me or not?”

  “It’s the new in-place.” Angie lowered her voice as if she were letting Nona in on a deep secret. “Shabby chic. It looks very prepossessing, frankly, but the singles crowd loves it. Which is why I don’t go—being engaged and all.” How she loved using her own brand of salt, so to speak. “But those who aren’t attached hang out there. Especially Stan. He says the food is excellent. Apparently, he thinks the kitchen help is, too.”

  Nona blanched. “She’s a kitchen helper? I thought she was a customer.”

  “No.” Angie smoothed an eyebrow.

  “He dumped me for a dishwasher?” Nona began hyperventilating.

  “Finish your wine, Nona,” Angie said. “Looks like you need it.”

  Melinda Stuart, legal secretary at Mills, Eddington and Farnsworth, stood staunchly over Paavo and Rebecca as they looked through the date books and other recent records of Sherlock Farnsworth III, Esquire. Every so often, a tear trickled out of the far corner of her eye and she wiped it away with a crumpled tissue.

  From the records they saw, it was clear Farnsworth had kept up with a variety of aspects of the law, especially tenants’ rights.

  “Here’s something different,” Rebecca said after she opened a new file on his computer, “though I don’t understand it.”

  Paavo stood over her shoulder, as did the secretary. “He never mentioned anything to me about that,” she said.

  It was a list of references to case law studies, and from what they could tell, all had a common theme: smuggling.

  Chapter 15

  Angie feared she’d have to drag Connie to get her to return to the Athina for dinner. She’d called Paavo at work, hoping he could join her before that evening’s TV appearance, but she had no luck reaching him. That was happening a lot lately. When he was working, she didn’t like to call his cell phone unless it was an emergency. She’d interrupted him in the middle of an important, delicately balanced interrogation one time too many and didn’t want to hear any more lectures about it. Instead, she’d turned to her best friend.

  She had to admit that the more she was learning about Hannah, the more curious she grew about her and the restaurant. Besides, the food was excellent. That was when inspiration struck. “You didn’t try the baklava last time,” Angie said, “but I’ll tell you, it’s to die for.”

  Connie decided the restaurant wasn’t so bad after all. They discussed their strategy on the drive over. They didn’t want to ask questions outright, since Hannah had been afraid of something or someone there and they didn’t want anyone to think they knew more than they did. They also agreed not to say a word about Stan or the baby.

  Instead, they’d find a friendly face and see what developed.

  Rather than the familiar Tyler Marsh or Eugene Leer greeting them, however, the hostess was an older woman with short brown hair, attractively made up.

  She showed them to a booth against the wall and soon a waitress they’d never seen before greeted them. Her hair was dyed black and her black-penciled brows were long and sweeping in a classic Greek look. She must be Eleni Pappas, Angie thought, the mother of Tyler’s jealous girlfriend, Olympia.

  After ordering stuffed artichokes and pastitsio for herself, and moussaka for Connie, Angie decided it was time to ch
eck out the place. She headed for the women’s room. A short hall at the back of the restaurant led to it, but when she entered the hall, she opened the first door she came to. It was a closet filled with brooms, mops, and cleaning supplies. Quickly, she shut it.

  The bathrooms were farther down the hall. Instead of going toward them, she hurried across the dining room and marched into the kitchen.

  People always say not to enter a restaurant’s kitchen if you ever want to enjoy a meal in it again. To a degree, that was right. She’d seen worse, but the smell of fish, more than the grease and the generally old pots and pans and appliances that were being used, was the most distasteful.

  Michael Zeno turned and scowled at her, capturing her with deep-set hazel eyes. She couldn’t move. “Ah, the little restaurant critic,” he said. “What do you want, to inspect the restaurant’s kitchen now?”

  “No. I must have been daydreaming. I’m looking for the women’s room. I guess I walked past it.”

  He strolled toward her, a large man, yet with a strong, almost animal-like sexuality about him. Her mouth went dry. “What are you looking for? Or should I say whom? Hannah, perhaps?” His lips tightened. “I saw her with your friend. Everyone did. She was a good, obedient girl until you two came along. Now she’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “If you see her, tell her I want her back. Tell her Michael will take care of her.”

  Angie’s heart was thumping wildly as she hurried from the kitchen. After a quick trip to the bathroom to maintain her cover story, as well as to regain her composure, she returned to Connie. “Nothing, except Michael Zeno may be on to us and Hannah. He asked me where she is.”

  Connie’s face went pasty white. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  As they ate, another couple walked into the restaurant. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with graying blond hair slicked straight back off his forehead. The woman with him was also blond and looked about twenty years younger.

  Eleni grabbed menus. “Welcome,” she said, “right this way.” She started toward Angie and Connie.