Twice before noon, I found a moment to dial Paulo’s number, but got no answer. I left a message each time, avoiding Lee’s inquiring glance when I hung up.
By midafternoon, I knew I owed a huge debt of gratitude to the
An hour before closing, I shooed her next door to shop for a dress. She left reluctantly; should Paulo return my call, she wanted to be here. But I insisted and, too polite to refuse, she did as I asked. The minute she left, I dialed Rossi at the station.
When he picked up, his voice rough and gravelly, my heart skipped a beat before settling into its usual rhythm, though I should be used to that reaction by now. It happened every time we spoke.
“Lieutenant, this is Deva Dunne.”
I kept my voice all business. The call might be monitored. Who knew? There could be a kernel of truth in that old saw, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”
“I have a favor to ask, Lieutenant.”
A pause. “And that is?”
“Lee Skimp and I haven’t been able to reach Paulo St. James. Lee’s been trying for three days. All we have is a cell phone number. No address. I was wondering…could you possibly tell us where he can be located? It’s important.”
“You want me to give you Mr. St. James’s address…in other words, violate his privacy?” I could have made a weapon out of the steel in his voice. “That is not the function of this office. If you think there’s a problem, call back to the front desk. Ask for Missing Persons.”
The dull flat humming in my ear told me he’d hung up. Rude but right. I shouldn’t have bothered him. The man had his hands full trying to solve a murder and find an art treasure.
But somehow, I wasn’t sorry I’d called him. I’d been fighting the possibility that something had happened to Paulo. Every time he looked at Lee, his love for her came shining through his eyes. So why wasn’t he returning her calls? I hoped that Rossi, knowing Paulo worked for the Alexanders, might be worried enough to check on him. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I was sure he would, and it was only a matter of time before the phone rang with Paulo on the line. Or a police officer with bad news darkening the shop door.
By closing time, I hadn’t heard a thing.
Just before five, carrying her new cornflower blue dress in a pink Off Shoots bag, Lee left for home to change into her Irish Pub uniform. She’d be up until all hours serving drinks and food and then back in the shop at nine. A grueling schedule.
“Sleep late in the morning, Lee,” I said as she was leaving. “I’ll manage alone until you get here.”
She shook her head. “I can’t sleep, Deva. See y’all at nine.”
Before I could protest, she left with a little wave and a shaky smile.
Heeding Rossi’s advice, I locked up and turned the window sign to Closed. Faithful as a sunset, Simon pulled up outside my door at five on the dot.
I slid into the BMW’s passenger seat with a grateful sigh.
“Tough day?” Simon asked.
“Tough but good.” I held up a leatherette bag stuffed with the day’s receipts. “Can we swing by the Sun Trust Bank and drop this in?”
“Of course. And then an early dinner?”
I forced myself to tune out the hopeful note in his voice. “The surgery’s taken more out of me than I expected, Simon. I need to get home.”
Chip had left some minestrone in the fridge. That would be dinner and then early to bed with two aspirin for company.
Simon gave my knee a squeeze. “Our time will come.”
Would it? Too tired, suddenly, to reply, or to respond to his warm hand on my leg, I leaned back on the leather head rest without answering. From under half-closed lids, I watched his fingers slip from my knee and return to the wheel.
At my door, Simon gave me a brief kiss. “Good night. Rest well.”
Once inside, I kicked off my shoes and padded out to the kitchen to micro the soup. Before I opened the fridge, the doorbell rang. Had Simon returned? I hurried into the living room and peered through the plantation shutters on the front window.
“You listened to me for once,” he said when I flung the door wide.
“Meaning?”
“I drove by the shop. It was locked tighter than a drum. You left at five. As I suggested.”
“On the nose, Lieutenant.” I peered at him. For some reason, he was showing me a rare sight, his big white teeth. What a change from his attitude on the phone. Paulo must be okay. The knot in my stomach eased.
“How’d you drive with that arm?” Rossi asked, checking me over and frowning.
“Is this a social call?”
“Yes and no. I’ve still got the chief to consider.”
“Then it’s a no. So I guess I can’t ask you in.”
“Yeah, you can,” he said, stepping into the foyer and closing the door behind him. “I’m here in response to your inquiry about a Mr. Paulo St. James.”
“You found him?”
“That wasn’t a problem.”
“He’s well?”
“Yes. Physically.”
“Rossi, do I have to pull those teeth of yours? What happened?”
“Can I sit?”
I slapped my right hand on my hip. “In the six months I’ve known you, you’ve smiled once, maybe twice, and now, after sounding like the Ice Man when I called, you’re grinning like the Happy Buddha. What did you find out?”
“He’s in love with the girl.”
I blew out an exasperated breath. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“He’s Jamaican.”
“Keep going.”
“She’s not.”
Heavy as a bag of groceries, my arm in the sling dragged on my shoulder. Waving Rossi to a club chair, I sat on the sofa and rested my wounded wing on my lap. “Go on.”
“That incident Christmas Day with Merle Skimp…”
“Yes?”
“…it made him realize there’s a divide between himself and Lee that can never be bridged.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Rossi shrugged. With his toned torso, always an interesting move to watch. “I’m only the messenger here. He’s not afraid for himself. He’s afraid of involving Lee in a biracial relationship. Those are his exact words.”
“He wants to marry her.”
Rossi cleared his throat. “The M-word didn’t come up, but, yeah, that’d be my guess.”
“Now what?”
“Well, I am off duty, so-”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Half off his chair, he dropped back into it. “What happens next depends on just one thing. Love, Mrs. D. Love.” He looked away as if chagrined by his own admission. “Hey, the Bible tells us love is stronger than death,” he added, plowing on. “So, surer than hell, it’s stronger than racial prejudice.”
I nestled into the sofa. “Why, Rossi, you’re an out-and-out romantic. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
