“You’re right. Murray’s Cheese, Amy’s, and Faicco’s all on the same block, but I guess I was feeling a little nostalgic.” She picked up a goat cheese raviolo in pancetta and shallot sauce, chewed on it slowly. She hadn’t been back to Little Italy since Rob left her. She hadn’t visited Papa’s grave since then, either, always finding an excuse when Ellie asked Lori to accompany her. What had stopped her, she wondered. Was it shame? Did she feel that by getting divorced she had let Papa down? He hadn’t been in her life for so many years—Lori was eleven when he died—but he had been the only significant man in her life before Rob. Maybe when she thought of him, she turned into the little girl she had been when he was alive, the same way she had remembered Little Italy as it was when her father took her there. Yes, that was it. Lori, the girl, was ashamed of having been abandoned. Lori, the woman, was trying to deal with it.
“Have you gone on a trip?” Jonathan asked.
Lori gave an apologetic smile, embarrassed by her rudeness. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking how unnecessarily complicated we make our lives.”
“Right you are. I’ve been looking into apartments for my mother, but she turns everything down. She can’t stand the idea of having to downsize, but I can’t stand the idea of her living with me much longer.”
“I thought she had found an apartment she really liked.”
“She told you that?” He seemed surprised.
Lori nodded.
“I understand Mother wanting a view of Central Park, but she doesn’t need three bedrooms.”
What had Margot said about him? Something about losing money in one of his real estate deals. Lori bit into another raviolo and was willingly distracted by the tart taste of the goat cheese contrasted with the sweetness of the pasta and the saltiness of the pancetta. Delicious. She must buy the cookbook. But now to business.
“Jonathan, I need your help.”
“I know. Beth asked me if I could dig up some info about Valerie.”
“I was thinking more about Rob’s business dealings. I know that Rob was trying to get people to invest with him to buy some real estate. Do you know anything about it?”
Jonathan took a long sip of his white wine. For a moment Lori thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Sure,” he finally said, putting his glass down carefully on the wine coaster. “Rob asked me to invest, but I was short of cash and had to turn him down, and I’ve been kicking myself ever since. He was trying to put together an investment package to buy into Waterside Properties in the Bronx, part of the city’s effort at gentrification. The land is on the water with some abandoned buildings on it. I forget how many acres the city was offering, but to invest you had to raise five million dollars, twenty-five percent of the total cost. Not much by today’s standards. The return was projected at doubling your money and now, from what I hear, it’s going to triple it if not more. It hurts in the gut to think about it.”
“Then Rob didn’t lose any money from it?”
“He never went through with it. I’d know if he had. Either changed his mind or couldn’t come up with the money.”
“If he had the money now, could he still invest?”
“No. The deal closed last week.”
Lori polished off her plate with a misplaced sense of relief. With Waterside Properties out of reach, Rob didn’t have a motive to kill Valerie, she thought, not focusing on Jonathan’s words, or couldn’t come up with the money.
Jonathan called the waiter over to refill their wine glasses. Lori watched the golden wine slowly being poured into her glass, knowing she had a long drive home and a lot of cooking to do, but she wanted to relax and enjoy herself in this beautiful Greenwich Village restaurant in Jonathan’s company. Dressed in a beige linen shirt, with dark tan slacks and smiling eyes to match, he was very handsome company.
With his elbow on the bar counter and chin in his hand, he peered at her with an intense expression.
“What?” she said.
“I’m glad we’ve met.”
“I am, too.” She meant it. There was something fun and out of the ordinary about Jonathan, like a glass of champagne you only had on special occasions.
“I like you,” he said. “Your face, your hands. I won’t embarrass you with the rest, but I like you more than is comfortable.” Jonathan sat up and twisted his stool to face the bar again. “What about Portale’s inimitable flourless chocolate cake?”
Hoping she wasn’t blushing, Lori agreed to take a bite of the cake and asked for a double espresso.
The cake was astoundingly good, so light it felt as if she was swallowing sweet air. “Did you find anything out about Valerie?” she asked.
“Her friends were mostly superficial ones, the kind who meet at parties or dinners and accuse each other of not calling, but only really want to talk about the great vacation they’ve just had or the fabulous dress they’ve just bought. I’m sure you know the type.”
“Luckily, I don’t.”
“I should have known.” Jonathan smiled and gave her a look that made her feel as if she were being caressed. It was sexy and infuriating at the same time. “She was dating Warren for a while,” he said, “but I think Margot already told you that. And Margot told you about Ruth, right?”
“Yes. She’s Valerie’s cousin.” She took a sip of her double espresso. It was hot and bitter, just what she needed to jolt her out of the wine haze.
“There’s more to the Ruth story,” Jonathan said, “if my mother is to be believed. Of course, she doesn’t remember what. Supposedly something happened when Valerie and Ruth were little. If there was something, I’m sure it had nothing to do with Valerie’s death, but my mother is like a terrier with a bone. She’s calling around to friends, the few that are left, to jog her memory. If there’s anything to it, I’ll let you know, but don’t count on it.”
“I like your mother, Jonathan.” Lori didn’t like him putting Mrs. Ashe down. It made him small.
“And I like your mother.”
Lori finished her coffee in silence.
CHAPTER 20
* * *
Lori sat at her bedroom window that overlooked her small garden. Tomorrow she would have to weed, deadhead, fertilize, make her garden shine again, but for now she just wanted to sit, chin in hand, and take in the sights and sounds of a Saturday summer morning. The air was cool, the sky clear except for a few low wisps of white far on the horizon. Sprinklers ticked almost in unison. Sprays of water, looking like so many swirling tutus, glinted in the early sun. A mockingbird went through the different notes of its repertoire. A basketball smacked a backboard and bounced with a dull thud on the asphalt of a driveway. In the distance, a too-diligent husband or son started mowing the lawn.
The rude noise was an unwelcome reminder that it was time to shake off her lethargy and start working on Mrs. Ashe’s dinner again. Last night she had poached the veal, made the tuna mayonnaise, and assembled the dish so that the taste of the sauce would have twenty-four hours to penetrate the meat. She had blended and dressed the artichoke hearts and grated the various cheeses for the cheese puffs. Today she still had to buy vegetables, make the tomato soup, roast the peppers, and cook the orzo for the pasta salad. Later, at Jonathan’s apartment, she would assemble the hors d’oeuvres; while the guests ate the main course, she would roast the peaches for dessert.
Jonathan. She leaned her head to one side of the window, her thoughts going back to yesterday. He had kissed her outside the restaurant. On the street. In broad daylight. In front of people walking by. Rob had barely touched her if there was a chance someone might catch him at it. Earlier boyfriends had limited their kissing to cars, doorways, fraternity rooms. Jonathan had reached for her, turned her around, and kissed her. She didn’t push him away.
The kiss had been gentle, his lips soft on hers, his hands warm and firm against her back, simply holding her, without pressing his chest against her breasts. He held his lips to hers for a long time, broke away only to rest his cheek against
hers. She had felt awkward and excited all at the same time, like the young girl she had once been, starting out in a more naive sexual world than the one Jessica had to maneuver through.
“I want to see more of you,” he told her, cheek to cheek. “Lots more of you.” The sudden twinge she felt between her legs had made her pull away and toss her head to shake off the embarrassment of his kiss, his words, and her reaction.
During the night, Jonathan made love to her. In a dream. How long had it been since she’d had the real thing? A year? A year and a half? She ached for a man to skate his hands down her body, to kiss her breasts, to push himself inside her and rock her with him. But the only man she had ever made love with was Rob. He had known her when her breasts sat up, her stomach was flat, her skin was taut. When he made love to her older, bigger, softer body, she had always assumed that he held on to the sight and the feel of her twenty-year-old self. A new man would have no such memory to enhance her in his eyes. Lori thought of Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment, facing a horny Jack Nicholson in her negligee. How embarrassed Lori had been for her, how convinced such a humiliating moment would never happen to her.
Could she do it? Lori wondered. Expose her middle-aged nakedness to strange eyes? Toss off her clothes and jump into bed with a man she barely knew?
Lori left the window. Like Scarlett, she’d think about it tomorrow. Today, she had work to do.
“Need any help?” Beth asked on the phone as Lori was leaving the vegetable market. “I think I can be trusted to chop onions without getting blood all over your kitchen.”
Lori was tempted. She wanted to talk about Jonathan, about having casual sex at their age, about Beth feeling like “meat for sale” when she dated. About the murder. “Thanks for the offer.” Lori turned onto King Street. Home was only ten minutes away if she didn’t hit traffic on the Merritt. “I’d love the company, but with you in the kitchen, I might end up pouring wine in the soup instead of broth. We’ll catch up tomorrow.”
“Actually I hate chopping,” Beth said. “What I was really hoping for was a tasting. And an update on Valerie’s murder.”
“I haven’t heard anything new.” She hadn’t told Beth about Ruth being Valerie’s cousin, but that could wait until tomorrow. “I do want us to put our heads together and see what we know so far, but today’s not the day.”
“I know it isn’t,” Beth said. “Listen, Janet called me this morning. She grilled me about what I knew. You told her something about being off the hook, and she wanted to know who was the new suspect. She sounded nervous, upset. I debated telling you because I know she’s helping you out with this dinner. I didn’t want you to get worried. What I’m trying to say is that if for some reason she doesn’t come through at the last minute, I can pitch in. With me tending bar, those ladies would make some mean whoopee.”
Lori laughed despite herself. “Again, thanks, but Jonathan is tending bar, not Janet.” Lori didn’t believe Janet would let her down at the last minute—she was too loyal and generous a person—but, just in case, she was glad she had planned a cold meal. With dessert being the only last-minute preparation, she could manage serving dinner by herself.
“I can help serve,” Beth offered.
“That would be a great way to end my catering career before it starts.” Beth had, in the first two years of marriage, managed to break almost every plate of her grandmother’s Tiffany service. What was left—three bread plates and two soup bowls—she’d hung on the kitchen wall, out of harm’s way. “You’re sweet to want to help, but I’m sure Janet is going to do a great job. Maybe she had a fight with Seth or the kids are driving her crazy.”
“I don’t know,” Beth answered. “All she talked about was the murder. We all pledged to help you to try to find out more about Valerie, and maybe Janet has gotten too emotionally involved in the outcome. She’s had a rough year, but listening to her, I thought she was scared.”
“Thanks for telling me. If she’s still upset when she comes to work, I can try to make the evening easier for her. I’ll talk to her while we’re cleaning up and see if there’s anything we can do.”
“Good. I know your dinner is going to go off without a hitch. See you tomorrow at eleven. Don’t bring a thing. I’m picking up two quiches for us, mushroom and leek, from Callie’s before she closes tonight.”
After saying goodbye, Lori switched off her speaker phone and veered onto the exit for Hawthorne Park. Beth’s call had reminded her she had a question begging for an answer. She looked at the car clock. Nine thirty-five. She had time to take a detour.
Saturday morning, half the town came for breakfast at Callie’s. Lori had to walk past a long line to get to the coffee shop. It was the worst time to get Callie’s attention, but she couldn’t just go back to her kitchen and cook tomatoes. She had to find out what Callie meant by her warning to be careful of friends.
Eugenia, Callie’s daughter, was standing by a booth in the front, stacking dirty dishes on a tray while her sixteen-year-old daughter, Vicki, wiped the table clean. “I need to ask your mother a quick question,” Lori said, not catching sight of Callie.
“She’s not here,” Eugenia said, “and this is no time to ask any of us questions. If you want to eat, get in line, if not . . .” Eugenia lifted the tray above Lori’s head and walked back toward the kitchen without another word.
Vicki leaned toward Lori and whispered, “Grandma’s at the cemetery,” before waving in the next customers.
Lori thanked Vicki and walked out onto the street, back to her car. Callie at the cemetery, probably visiting Nick, her husband. His picture, showing a handsome burly man with a snazzy moustache and a thick head of wavy black hair, hung in a black frame in the coffee shop, over the cakes display. It was Nick’s life insurance money and a bank loan that had allowed Callie to buy the coffee shop and provide for her family.
Lori sat in her car. It smelled funny. The police must have sprayed some chemical on the seats. She opened all the windows and picked up her cell phone. She didn’t have time to come back today, and tomorrow, Sunday, the coffee shop would be closed. She would have to wait until Monday, after breakfast with the girls. Lori punched in her mother’s phone number. When Ellie answered, she said, “I’d like to go with you to go visit Papa tomorrow.”
There was silence at the other end of the line.
“I know, it’s been a long time.”
“You’ve still got Margot’s Mercedes?”
“Yes.” Beth was going to help her return the car tomorrow.
“Come by at nine and honk the horn. I want Mrs. DeRosa to bite her tongue from envy.”
Lori laughed to herself. Mrs. DeRosa was Ellie’s sworn enemy because Papa had once, under the influence of too much wine at a block party, declared for everyone to hear that there wasn’t a finer specimen of womanhood in the entire block than Mrs. Ernestine DeRosa.
Lori pressed the speaker button and started the car toward home. “How’s Joey Pellegrino?”
“Lonely. His family’s gone to Long Island for a couple of weeks. I was thinking of inviting him over for some food.”
Lori didn’t like the sound of that. “He’s a vegan?”
“Don’t go huffy on me. I can still remember how to make a meat sauce that’ll put hair on your chest.”
“I’ll remember that if I should ever need it.”
“I didn’t raise you to be a sarcastic daughter.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that—”
“Loretta, don’t go there. There’s nothing wrong in feeding a lonely man.”
“Mom, a married lonely man.”
“All right, Miss High and Mighty, we’ll take up this discussion after you’ve been without a man’s company for years, and now I’ve got this to tell you. This married man is clamming up on me. He’s just remembered that he may be retired, but he’s still a cop and if he leaks anything out it might compromise the investigation. See you at nine sharp and don’t forget to honk real
loud.”
Lori parked in the garage next to Margot’s car and sat back against the seat. She was sorry she’d been patronizing and sarcastic with Ellie. She had no right to interfere, especially since she’d always resented her mother butting in on her life. And who was she to make moral judgments? It was only a dinner. It didn’t have to mean anything else. How had Rob’s affair with Valerie started? Chit-chat between drillings, then a friendly lunch to keep each other company? Lori knew that her role as betrayed wife made her very sensitive about married men stepping out on their wives, but it was the yearning in Ellie’s voice that had gone straight to her heart. The realization of how great her mother’s neediness was, the extent of her loneliness, hurt terribly. Ellie had hidden it well behind an in-your-face attitude of independence. Or maybe Lori, smug in her married happiness, had never stopped to read between the lines of Ellie’s bluster as she had never spotted Beth’s unhappiness. Now she hurt for her mother and her friend. She worried for herself. Was loneliness her only future, too?
While the peppers were blistering in the broiler, the pasta water was reaching a boil for the orzo, and the tomato soup was waiting to be strained, Lori’s doorbell rang. She took a quick peek out the kitchen window. A car she didn’t recognize sat next to her driveway. Whoever it was, a reporter, a Jehovah’s Witness, the Ten Million Dollar Sweepstakes people, she didn’t care. Right now she couldn’t deal with anything except Mrs. Ashe’s dinner. She checked the broiler. The peppers were nicely charred, the peel already curling away. Lori used a pair of tongs to remove the peppers and drop them into a paper bag, which she folded over to let them steam and cool down. The doorbell stopped ringing. The lid on the pasta pot started rattling. Before Lori could reach the stove, the lid lifted and foamy water gushed out of the pot. She ran to lift the lid and cried out. The lid dropped to the floor. Her fingertips throbbed. She went to the windowsill, tore off a leaf from the aloe plant, pierced the stalk open with a fingernail and pressed it against her fingers to let the gooey juice soothe the burn. A tap on the window made Lori look up.
Camilla T. Crespi - The Breakfast Club Murder Page 16