“RUTA’S. IT’S ON Christopher Street. I know just where it is,” the cabbie said.
Alec Harnett glanced at his watch, then surveyed the gridlocked traffic on Sixth Avenue through the cab window. He reached into his briefcase and picked out the file folder labeled LUPESCU. The corners were dog-eared and the label was yellowed owing to the age of the file. Inside, he found a detailed listing of yearly visits to Ruta Lupescu’s shop by his father, Simon Harnett, written offers that had remained unsigned, and a stack of property appraisals that increased in value with every year that passed. In addition, there were copies of reports by the building inspectors, claiming that, despite his father’s insistence, Ruta Lupescu was in compliance with all New York city building codes.
The old Gypsy woman had been a thorn in his father’s side for nearly thirty years, ever since his father took over Harnett Property Development from Alec’s grandfather, George Harnett. And now that Alec had been named president of the company, the problem of Ruta Lupescu had fallen onto his desk.
He’d been headed to Ruta’s earlier that morning when he’d been knocked to the sidewalk. Alec smiled as he recalled the beauty who had caused the accident. He’d known more than his share of women in Manhattan, one more beautiful than the next. But this woman was different from all of them.
Alec had always been drawn to willowy blondes, the all-American beauty, cool and aloof, except in bed. The woman he’d met that morning was the opposite. She had an exotic beauty, every feature magnified just enough to make it extraordinary. Her mouth was wide, her lips lush, her skin like silk. Her violet eyes were ringed with dark lashes, and her raven hair tumbled around her face, creating a perfect frame for her beauty.
“You payin’ a visit to Ruta’s?”
Alec glanced up and the cabbie grinned, watching him in the rearview mirror.
“Do you know her?” Alec asked.
“Oh, yeah. Ruta is the best in the city. I met her back when I was working with NYPD. Now I see her whenever my luck goes south at the track.” He chuckled. “If she devoted herself to the ponies and lottery numbers, she’d probably be a millionaire. That woman has some scary psychic powers.”
“Interesting,” Alec said. His eyes came to rest on the cabby’s photo. Mario Capelli. He wondered if Mario knew that Ruta Lupescu was sitting on a multimillion-dollar lottery ticket. She owned a piece of property that every developer in Manhattan would trade his mother to own.
In the past twenty years, real estate values in the Village had skyrocketed. Most of the undeveloped property had been scooped up long ago in a mad race to provide housing and retail space to a growing population of very affluent New Yorkers. But Ruta Lupescu had acquired her building fifty years ago, before Greenwich Village became one of the city’s most attractive neighborhoods.
Now her building sat smack in the middle of a row of six properties owned by Harnett Property Development. With all seven in hand, they could build something special-a new hotel, luxury condominiums, or maybe a shopping complex with a movie theatre. But without Ruta’s property, plans for anything big were put on hold-unless Alec could convince her to sell.
His father had always considered the property to be his to begin with and had never made a reasonable offer, preferring instead to badger the old Gypsy into selling. But Alec took a more pragmatic approach to the problem. Everyone had their price, even Ruta Lupescu. It was his job to find it.
“What can you tell me about her?” he asked.
“Ah, she’s a sweetheart. Always willing to help a person in need. Why, most of those folks who live in her building are on fixed incomes. She barely asks for rent.”
“Seems a bit silly in this day and age,” Alec commented.
Mario shrugged, glancing over his shoulder. “I suppose it does. But Ruta came from nothing. She and her mother were refugees back in the late thirties. They came with only the clothes on their back. Just a few years after they arrived, her mother died. Ruta was a teenager. She told fortunes on the street and lived in the basement of an old building until she saved up enough to rent her shop. The story goes that one night, her landlord stopped in and she told him his fortune. And when it came true, he gave her the building, free and clear. A whole building for one fortune. Like winning the lottery, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Alec murmured. He’d heard the story a million times, but told with much less awe and reverence. His grandfather, George Harnett, had been the man. And Ruta’s fortune had predicted good health and a long life for Alec’s grandmother Judith, who had been seriously ill for nearly a year. The very next day, Alec’s grandmother had miraculously gotten out of bed, and within a week, she was her normal cheery self.
“Back then, the Village wasn’t the best place to live,” Mario commented. “But things have changed.” He laughed, shaking his head. “That Ruta could live like a queen, but she’s still telling fortunes for ten dollars a pop.”
“What about her family? You’d think they’d want her to be comfortable.”
“Her daughter moved to Missouri with her husband a few years ago. She wanted Ruta to come with them, but the old lady was determined to stay. I don’t blame her. She loves that place. And everyone in the neighborhood loves her.”
Alec sat back, glancing around the cab. The interior was decorated with photos. At first, he assumed they were of Mario’s children, but upon closer examination, Alec found smiling couples, many of them dressed in wedding wear. “What are all these pictures?” he asked.
“Ah, most of them are fares. At least, that’s how they started. Once in a while, I make a few introductions and one thing leads to another and before you know it, they’re walking down the aisle.”
“You’re a matchmaker?”
“I guess you could call me that. Are you looking for a wife?”
Alec chuckled. “No, not at the moment.” But he couldn’t ignore the image of the violet-eyed beauty that drifted through his mind. He imagined she was a woman who could keep him interested for a long time. He’d find out tomorrow morning, but for now, Alec had to concentrate on the job at hand.
Mario pulled the cab over to the curb, then pointed to a brick five-story. “That’s Ruta’s. Say hello for me and tell her I’ll see her tomorrow afternoon. I take her out to Brooklyn every Thursday. She tells fortunes for free at a retirement center there.”
Alec paid the cabbie, then hopped out. He walked along the sidewalk, back and forth in front of the shop, as he collected his thoughts. His father had always come away frustrated from his meetings, unnerved by the yearly curse she had put on him. She’d even become a legend around the office. Whenever the photocopy machine broke or important paperwork got lost, it was blamed on the Gypsy’s wrath.
Alec took off his jacket and draped it over his arm, then loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. All he had to do was keep his cool, listen to her concerns and then address them, logically and calmly. His father had never tried that approach, so it might just work the first time out.
A tiny bell rang above his head as he entered the shop. The interior was a hodgepodge of old wooden display cases, thick tapestries and threadbare furniture, just another in the mix of odd establishments scattered throughout the Village. He wandered over to the counter and bent down to examine Ruta’s merchandise, if it could be called that.
There were birds’ nests and the jaw from some sharp-toothed animal, a small bowl of amber crystals and a bottle of dark green liquid. Everywhere he looked, there was something more bizarre-feathers and pickled eggs and dried roots and berries. His gaze halted on a stuffed weasel that sat above the cash register. The place was downright creepy-and empty. “Hello?” he called.
An instant later a slender figure popped up from behind one of the counters. Her long black hair tumbled around her face, and when she brushed it back, he met familiar eyes of a strange violet color. For a long moment, they didn’t speak, a tiny frown marring her smooth brow.
“It’s you,” he finally said. “From the sidewalk this morning.”
“Yes,” she murmured. Her fingered fluttered up to her necklace and she rubbed the pendant nervously. “How are you? How did you find me?”
“You work here?”
She nodded. “I do. My grandmother owns this place. Ruta Lupescu.”
“Your grandmother,” Alec said very slowly. “Ruta is your grandmother.” He fought the urge to step back out to the sidewalk and regroup. Either this was incredible luck or terrible irony. He’d been thinking about this woman all day and now here she was, as if destiny had put her in front of him.
