“Just this once,” he said. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Yeah, it would. Further protest died on my lips.
“Thanks to you both for all this inconvenience.” I glanced over my shoulder at AudreyAnn in the backseat. Usually dour faced, she was actually smiling into the rearview mirror. She bent forward and ran a finger through the curly hair at Chip’s nape. “Tell Deva your big news, honey.”
He took his eyes off the road to beam at me, his round face lit with a grin.
“The Alexanders want me to be their celebrity chef at the February Wine Festival. Imagine that. Me. Chip Salvatore. A celebrity chef at the biggest social event in Southwest Florida. There’ll be fifteen celebrity chefs at fifteen different mansions, and I’ll be one of them. We’ll each cook for thirty guests. Altogether that’s four hundred and fifty philanthropists.” Eyes twinkling, he glanced across the seat again. “What do you think of them apples?”
“That’s ‘wow’ news. I’m thrilled for you.” A warm, bighearted guy, Chip deserved an ego boost. Somehow, I doubted he’d had many in life. For making him so happy, I owed Ilona a thank you.
“Yeah, I figured you’d be pleased. It’s for a good cause, too. Raises millions every year for needy kids. And you made it possible for me, Deva, giving my name to the Alexanders and all.” His chins began to wobble.
I hoped he wouldn’t cry. “You’ve earned the honor, Chip. You make a killer lasagna.”
“This time, I’m going fancy. No lasagna at a big event like this.”
“But everybody loves it.”
He shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be competing with fourteen giants. My food’s gotta stand up to a lot of competition.”
“The chefs will be at fifteen different houses, Chip, so you won’t really be competing, will you?”
“You don’t understand. You know who these guys are?” Chip turned to me again, taking his eyes off the road so long, I gripped the arm rest with my intact hand and braced myself for another trip to the ER.
“No, Chip, I don’t…but the road?”
“Oh yeah.” He swiveled his attention back to his driving. “They’re famous. The cream of the crop. Tony Mantuano from Spiaggia’s in Chicago, Obama’s favorite restaurant. Emeril, for gosh sakes. Wolfgang Puck.” He raised his hands off the wheel. “Everybody!”
“And Chip Salvatore,” AudreyAnn chimed in from the backseat.
I sent her a grateful smile over my shoulder. It was the first compliment I’d ever heard her give Chip. It was nice to hear, and when I turned back in my seat, nice to see him grip the wheel again.
“Mrs. Alexander…” Chip cleared his throat and took a quick peek in the rearview mirror, “…Ilona…called last night to tell me the news. She was going to call you next. She wants you to work on the festival, too.” His expression did a one-eighty. “But after the publicity you got in this morning’s paper, she maybe changed her mind.”
Chapter Thirteen
The pundits claim there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but when I got home and read the newspaper account of last night’s attack, I groaned. The
The headline read Design Shop Vandalized. Owner Injured. They’d even included the shop address. Beneath it, the whole of last night’s episode and a recap of the double crime at the Alexanders. Chip was right. After reading all that, I did need a nap. I’d become notorious and the shop along with me. We were both doomed.
Under Chip’s watchful eyes, I ate my soup then went to bed and slept like the dead until five o’clock. The phone woke me. I groped for it with my good hand.
“Deva? How y’all feeling?”
“No, not at all. That’s why I’m calling. People crowded the shop from nine o’clock until just a minute ago. All the sales items sold and a lot of the regular merchandise. Two ladies who want design work left their names and numbers. Oh, and Mrs. Alexander phoned. Something about a wine festival. She said she’d call back.” Lee dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Officer Batano’s here. He’s going to escort me to the bank with the proceeds. So I have to go now, but I’ll be in tomorrow. Don’t worry about a thing, Deva, the shop’s doing just fine.”
Just fine without me, she meant. I hung up and lay there limp as a discarded dishrag. Nobody needed me for anything…not even to run my own business. I was wallowing in self-pity when a knock sounded.
Gluing on a happy face, I called, “Come in.”
AudreyAnn peeked around the edge of the door, stern as a cigar store Indian. “You all right?” Not exactly Mother Teresa but she meant well.
“Except for needing a shower, yes.”
She eased the door wider. “I’ll help you.”
Get naked in front of AudreyAnn? Not in this life. I tossed off the covers and sat up, a little lightheaded, on the edge of the bed. “Tell you what. If you’ll bring me the plastic sleeve the
A frown creased AudreyAnn’s forehead. “You strong enough to stand?”
She really was concerned for me. Severe, no-nonsense AudreyAnn. Who would have guessed?
“It won’t take long. Besides, the water will revive me.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” She found the plastic sleeve and slipped it over my arm. “I’ll be in the kitchen with Chip, but I’ll leave the bedroom door open a crack in case you need me.”
When she left, I shed Jack’s old pajama top and stood. As I made my way to the bathroom, the lightheadedness disappeared. In the shower, shielding my left arm from the spray with my body, I let the soft, warm water wash away the hospital odors and the ache in my muscles, along with my brief lapse into self- pity.
Now if only I could rinse away the fear and tension. What a situation I’d been thrust into-my shop vandalized two weeks after I discovered a multimillion-dollar art theft and a murder victim, and now, to top off everything else, as many stitches in my arm as in a Chinese tapestry.
At least I knew who the shop vandal was. But what about the murder and the Monet? The perp could be someone I didn’t know, or worse, someone I did. Even someone as obvious as Trevor, though he and Ilona had been in Europe at the time of the robbery. Still, they could have accomplices. I’d seen bank heist movies…
I turned off the water and, wrapped in a towel, sat on the bathroom stool to dry off and think. The possible role of Morgan Jones and George Farragut in all this still bothered me. The connoisseur and the financial analyst. What one didn’t know, the other did. Who was to say they hadn’t cooked up a plot. And what about Simon? He’d recommended me to the Alexanders in the first place. Funny, I’d never asked him if he’d actually been in the house and seen the Monets. Though he’d mentioned them…and Ilona’s good looks. Then there was Merle, the rat fink. And though I hated dwelling on it, whenever the Alexanders had a party, Paulo tended bar.
No, I shook my head. I was being ridiculous. Targeting people I knew when someone I had never even met could have gained entrance. Maria and Jesus might have admitted anyone.
Jesus!
The name lifted me off the stool to my feet. Good God, could Maria’s husband have killed her? Could she have caught him in the act of stealing the Monet and protested? A horrible idea. Something else to drop at Rossi’s feet. But if I’d come up with that thought, no doubt the police had, too, and with every other half-baked theory I’d hatched. I’d better let them do their work and stick to mine. And God knows, I had enough to do. Even though Lee said the shop had done well today, what would tomorrow bring?
I tossed the towel over a rack and eyed my mirror image. Since Jack’s death I was ten pounds lighter, my stomach flatter, my waist narrower. A terrible way to lose weight. With a sigh, I slipped on a billowy lime green caftan and let my hair riot around my head like crazy. It had a mind of its own, and for once I didn’t argue with it.
