by Jayne, Chris
“No. Not really. He just wanted us gone.” Lori replayed the scene in her head, trying to come up with a better answer, then shook the train of thought away. “It doesn’t matter. Obviously, I have to go back. It’s my wallet, my computer, everything.” Lori looked at the table. Brandon was still crying and Lori knew when it was time to throw in the towel. “Brandon would you like to go to McDonald’s with Simone?”
“Can I come home after?”
Lori’s heart sank. “No. No, Bran, you have to go to school.”
He stared at his waffle plate. “I don’t like school,” he whispered. “My tummy hurts.”
Lori sank down into the empty chair next to her son. “Bran, tonight, how would you like it if you and I, just the two of us, went to Charlie Cheese and maybe you can tell me why you don’t want to go to school. And whatever it is, honey, I promise I’ll fix it.” She paused. “Sound good?”
Grace looked up, her lip already moving into full-on pout position. “Not fair!” she stated, with all the outrage a ten-year-old could muster. “Why does he get to go to Charlie Cheese and I don’t?”
Normally, Lori was not quite so indulgent, but she had to solve this problem and the last thing she needed was Grace having a meltdown. Lori brought out one of the big guns. “You and Simone can go for pedicures. How does that sound?”
Problem solved. “Okay.” Grace beamed up at Simone and Simone beamed back, nodding with a big smile.
“Can I stay home from school forever?” Brandon asked.
“No, Brandon, no. We’ll talk about it. Tonight. For right now you go to McDonald’s with Simone and then be a good boy at school today, all right?”
In the days, weeks, and months to follow, Lori would think about that morning, and about Brandon’s request to stay home from school forever and she would realize that at least one of them had gotten something they wanted.
As Simone hustled Brandon and Grace into the little Toyota she drove, Lori checked her watch, trying to put her schedule together. It was already 8:30; there was no way she could get out to Raoul Saldata’s house and back to the vet by 9:00. So, she’d have to go to the vet first, then on to the Saldata’s, then back to the house to drop Sasha off, then on to her home visits, the first of which was scheduled for 11:00. She quickly reviewed where the home visits were. One she knew for sure, and the other she was not positive of without her computer, but she had no choice. She needed her computer; it would be tight, but she thought she could make it.
Twenty minutes later Lori was in her Range Rover, speeding towards the vet. Thank God she’d had her phone in the pocket of her apron last night, so at least that had not been left behind. Suddenly she realized she may have made a miscalculation. Would anyone even be home at the Saldata’s? Lori knew for a fact that Mrs. Saldata was not there; her absence was, allegedly, the reason that Mr. Saldata had hired Lori’s catering company, Top Hat Catering, to do the dinner party. Lori had in fact never met a Mrs. Saldata and wasn’t sure she even lived in the U.S. As much as she didn’t want to talk to Mr. Saldata, she knew she couldn’t just show up unannounced, and reluctantly she brought up the number in her phone and hit dial. However, sixty seconds later, she was no better off, because no one had answered at the house, neither Mr. Saldata nor the housekeeper. Now what?
Sitting in the vet’s office, Sasha obediently curled up at her feet, Lori suddenly remembered that she’d put the housekeeper’s cell number in her phone as well. But what was her name? Lori thought for a moment, frustrated, because, of course, the notes for the job were in her laptop, which was in her bag, but maybe her name was… Rodriguez? She scrolled through her numbers until, yup, Maria Rodriguez and in the note field: Saldata. She hit the number and breathed a sigh of relief when the woman’s voice came over the line on the first ring.
“Mrs. Rodriguez, it’s Lori Dovner.” Silence. “Top Hat Catering? I did the party last night at Mr. Saldata’s.”
“Oh, si, si. Miss Lori, how are you? How did the party go?”
“It went well. It was fine, but, are you at the house?”
“Oh, no señora. No, no. I am off Saturday, Sunday and Monday.”
“Do you know if Mr. Saldata is there? I left something at the house. I called and he didn’t answer.”
“He no like answer telefono.”
“Do you think he’s there?”
“No se. He come and go and never say de nada to me.”
“Is there any way, I hate to ask, but could you meet me there? I wouldn’t ask, but it’s my wallet. I don’t even have my driver’s license.”
“Oh, señora, I am so sorry pero I am visiting my daughter in Orlando. I am four hours away. I cannot help you.”
“Well, thanks anyway,” Lori spoke slowly, trying to think of a plan. “I’ll just go over there, and hopefully Mr. Saldata will be there…”
There was a long pause. “Miss Lori, I no should do this, pero he no answer the gate buzzer, here is the code. The code for the gate is 7-2-7-2-9. And the back door is 1-9-7-5.”
“Hold on.” Lori hurried up to the desk and grabbed a pen and a post-it note from the secretary. “Tell me those numbers again.”
Maria Rodriguez repeated the codes, speaking slowly, obviously making sure she got the numbers right as she translated Spanish to English. “Don’t tell no one I give you. He say I never give anyone the code, pero he not there, what can you do?”
“Thank you. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Buenos dias, señora.”
“Buenos dias, Señora Rodriguez.”
Twenty minutes later Lori was winging her way towards the Saldata residence. The vet visit, just routine yearly shots, had gone quickly. Lori was hopeful she could get in and out of Saldata’s in just a couple of minutes. That would give her nearly an hour to get home, drop Sasha, change into business clothes and get to her first visit.
Top Hat Catering specialized in private dining, high-end seated dinners served and usually prepared in the clients’ own homes. For that reason, an essential part of Lori’s workday was what she cynically referred to as “location scouting.” What dishes, pots and pans, and kitchen set-up did the client have? More than once in her early days she’d been assured by a client that “we have everything,” only to arrive and discover that “everything,” was a couple old frying pans, and grandmother’s china for eight that the hostess thought Lori, using her super powers, could somehow magically stretch to serve twelve.
That certainly had not been the case at the Saldata’s. It had been a beautiful, fully equipped kitchen in a lovely residence, all top-shelf. Everything had been perfect - until the moment last night when Mr. Saldata had walked into the kitchen and basically kicked them out.
As she drove, she couldn’t help but replay the incident in her head, sick to her stomach. That party was the sort of event that Lori needed to go well. One of Mr. Saldata’s guests had been Senator Kyle Michaels, current United States senator from Florida; a second guest was the assistant chief of police in the Miami police department. Precisely the kind of people whom Lori wanted to remember Top Hat Catering favorably. She had a moment of disquiet as she reviewed it, though. It had been an odd party in one way. While she occasionally did high-end bachelor parties, and those were all-male affairs (at least until the entertainment arrived), it was practically unheard of for her to do formal sit down dinners that were male only. But this one had been.
Not her problem. The client paid; Lori cooked. Delicious food, beautifully presented, in the comfort of the client’s own home. That was Lori’s mantra, and that’s exactly what had gone down, right up until the moment that Mr. Saldata had walked into the kitchen. Lori had just taken the individual apple pies out of the oven and was ready to plate the desserts when he came in, and with no preamble, told her it was time for her and her staff of two to leave. Astonished, Lori had tried to query him as to whether there had been a problem with the meal. He had assured her that it had been fine, but without engaging in any further discussion, h
e’d announced, “Please be gone in five minutes. Don’t worry about the cleaning. The housekeeper can do it.” With no further word, he’d turned and left the kitchen, leaving Lori, open-mouthed, with Salvadore and Michelle, all staring speechless at his back.
Not knowing what else to do, Lori had quickly gathered up the cooking things that were her property, her high-end knives, her special soufflé pan. She’d shepherded her two staff members to the door. And, with what-the-hell expressions on their faces, hardly speaking, they had left.
As Lori continued to drive, she suddenly thought about her staff members and knew a moment of hesitation. Could one of them have grabbed her bag, accidentally carrying it to their car, and then forgotten to tell her? Best call and check, Lori realized.
Quickly she punched in Michelle’s number, praying that they had her bag. That way she could avoid this errand altogether. Michelle and Salvadore were a couple, and had driven to the Saldata residence together. Lori didn’t know for sure, but she assumed they’d be together.
“Lori.” Michelle’s sleepy voice came on to the phone line. “Everything okay?”
Quickly Lori explained about her catchall. “I was just wondering if there is any chance you guys grabbed it and put it in your car.”
“I wish,” Michelle responded. “Sorry. I never noticed it.”
“No worries. I’m on my way there now. I just thought I’d call before I got there on the chance you might have it. The housekeeper’s not there, so this means I’m going to have to wake Mr. Saldata up. After last night, that’s the last thing I want to do.” She paused. “Wasn’t that just about the strangest thing ever?”
Because Salvadore and Michelle come in their own vehicle, and no one had wanted to linger in the driveway for a chat, they had not gotten an opportunity to discuss the odd situation the previous night.
“Hold on,” Michelle said. “Sal is still asleep.” Lori could hear the rustle of bedclothes as Michelle moved out of the bedroom. In a few seconds, her voice came more loudly. “Sal and I talked on the way home, Lor. Listen to me. Something’s wrong there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sal heard Mr. Saldata speaking Spanish to one of the guests. He says that Spanish is not his first language. Saldata spoke it very well, but Salvadore could tell. He had an odd accent to his Spanish. Sal couldn’t place it.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“Because if you live in Miami, and your name is Saldata, you speak Spanish. Period.” Michelle paused for emphasis. “You speak Spanish, your mother speaks Spanish, and your grandmother speaks Spanish.”
“Could Saldata be a Brazilian name?” Lori tried to make sense of it. “They speak Portuguese.”
“Maybe,” Michelle allowed, “but there was something else. That senator? The so-called guest of honor? Sal said he was miserable. Spent most of the night looking like he was scared out of his mind.”
“What?” That was the last thing she wanted to hear. “Really.” Lori’s role at events like this was to prepare and manage the food. Salvadore was the server, and Michelle bridged the gap: helping both Lori in the kitchen and Salvadore in the dining room. Lori had barely set foot in the dining room and had only caught a brief glimpse of the senator.
Lori certainly trusted Salvadore’s instincts and information, and if he said that Mr. Saldata was not a native Spanish speaker and that the senator did not look happy to be there, Lori believed him. But what did it mean? Unless the senator was unhappy about the food, there was nothing Lori could do about it.
She ended up just shaking her head. So, what? Some clients just didn’t work out, and Lori was going to put Raoul Saldata into that group. Whatever the deal at Saldata’s, she was going to get her bag, leave, and not go back. If he called again, she’d politely turn him down.
She said a quick goodbye to Michelle, just as she pulled onto the expressway for the short trip to the Key Barca waterway and Saldata’s house.
Two minutes later, Lori was parked by the side of the road listening to the NPR announcer in astonishment.
Chapter 5
“So far, Fred,” the reporter was saying, talking to his host in the studio, “Miami Police are not releasing many details.”
“Well, Carl, what do we know?” Fred the Host asked soberly.
“Pretty much only that Senator Kyle Michaels, junior senator from Florida, was shot and killed last night in Miami, in an apparent carjacking. Miami police are treating the death as a homicide, but do not believe that the senator was the target. Apparently, the senator was out with friends, with no security, in an unmarked vehicle.”
“So, it was a random attack?”
“That’s what our sources are saying.”
“And where and when did this occur?”
“On South Miami Boulevard sometime after 3:00 AM.”
“Do you know if there are any suspects in custody?”
“So far, Miami police aren’t saying. A news conference is scheduled this morning at 11:00. Meanwhile, the President has released a statement offering his condolences to the Michaels family.”
Lori listened for a few more minutes, but after they repeated the same information for the third time, she knew that was all they were going to say for now. She looked numbly over her shoulder onto the road at the cars whizzing by. What the hell should she do?
If it were anything other than her wallet, her day planner, and her computer, she’d wait until tomorrow, connect with the housekeeper again, and go from there. But all of her planning apps were on the computer; it was almost pointless to go to the home visits she’d booked without it. At least one of the women she was scheduled to see had left work to be home for the visit, so there was no way Lori could cancel. And really, without her wallet she shouldn’t be driving at all. She needed those things, and she needed them now. She’d never, in her adult life, lost a purse or a computer, and Lori was shocked at how disoriented she felt without those items.
To say nothing of the news that had just come over the radio. She’d served the senator a meal, and five hours later he was dead.
Suddenly, one of the reporter’s comments clicked. “Shot and killed,” the announcer had said, “with friends, in an unmarked vehicle.” With friends. What if one of those friends was Mr. Saldata? The announcer had said nothing about any other injuries, but the famous person might be the only one mentioned in the national news. Maybe that was why Saldata wasn’t answering. If he’d been with Senator Michaels in the car and he’d been injured, he was in the hospital. If he wasn’t injured, he was probably still talking to the police or the FBI. And if he were dead, Lori guessed cynically, she wouldn’t have to face turning him down for future catering jobs.
But no matter what, she still had to get her purse back.
She checked the traffic and slowly pulled back out onto the expressway, feeling a lot more confident in her thinking. Sasha, who had sat up when they stopped, settled down again for more napping.
Lori reasoned it through. It was highly likely that Mr. Saldata wasn’t even home. She had the gate pad PIN and the electronic lock PIN for the back door, which she assumed would disengage the security system. And even if it didn’t, most of the systems had a ten or fifteen second lag on the motion detectors. She could grab her bag and be out the door again in half that.
All told, she could be down the driveway, into the house, and out of the house again with her bag in under two minutes. And then she could be done with the Raoul Saldata once and for all.
Lori arrived at the Saldata residence ten minutes later. The street was quiet, and through the foliage she could just see the waterway that fronted the property. Like most of the mansions along this street, the back of the house faced the street, and the opulent front faced the water.
Outside the gate, there was a standard call box: a pin pad with a call button to buzz the house. She hesitated one final time. After only a second of thought, decisively, Lori reached over and punched in the code. After all, Lori justified, th
e housekeeper herself had given Lori the key codes. In the unlikely event that she did get caught, she could always fall back on that. She acknowledged, a bit guiltily, that she would be throwing the housekeeper under the bus, but at this point, with her objective so close at hand, this was the only smart decision. After last night, she didn’t want to see Mr. Saldata, and what she’d just heard on the radio decreased her desire even more, if that were even possible.
The gate opened, smoothly silent on hidden rollers, and it closed behind her as she eased down the driveway. She’d seen this type of gate before; to open it from the street, you entered the code but once on the property, when a vehicle wanted to leave, the gate would open from the inside, just triggered by a motion detector.
Lori parked at the back of the house, where she’d been less than ten hours earlier. With a final, “I’ll be right back,” to Sasha, she headed to the back door.
Thirty seconds later, Lori was in the kitchen. She looked at the stove in astonishment. Whatever had happened here last night, dessert had not been on the agenda. The individual apple pies she’d so carefully prepared were still sitting on the cookie sheet, untouched in their ramekins.
Lori tamped down a brief moment of emotion at the “rejection” of her hard work; it was none of her business. This had been a $100 a plate dinner, $100 a plate in addition to the $500 event fee that Lori charged, and if the customer wanted to dance the Macarena naked using her pie for a hat, it was none of Lori’s business. Decisive, she grabbed her catchall, which was right where she’d left it on the desk, her laptop sitting beside it. She stuffed the computer into the bag, and slung it over her shoulder.
Then, Lori froze, realizing she’d forgotten one other thing. She turned slowly and looked. The individual pie ramekins themselves were also the property of Top Hat Catering. The fully equipped Saldata kitchen had not had anything suitable for the planned dessert, so Lori had brought her own. Lori looked at them, hesitating. They were high-end French cookware, enamel baked on cast iron. She couldn’t remember what she’d spent on them, but she was quite certain it was at least $50 per. That math was easy: ten of them cost at least $500. No way could she just let them go. And no way did she want to come back.