Chapter Four
Inez was on her knees, mopping up the last of the mucky vase water with the rag she usually used to polish the piano played by her students, trying to keep her dark gray skirts from soaking up the extra in the process. A key scraped in the back door lock and she looked up, half-expecting Carmella again, triumphant, with Jamie Monroe in tow. Before she left, Carmella had thoroughly talked herself into believing the longshoreman was wrong. It was a mistake, she insisted. It could be anyone who met such an unfortunate end. In fact, she ought to hurry home, because there might be a note waiting for her or even Jamie himself!
The door swung open to reveal not Jamie and Carmella, but Nico Donato, Carmella’s older brother, owner of the store, violin virtuoso, and the musician most often requested to play for Signori Huntington, Hopkins, Crocker, and Stanford, and those of their ilk. Or so Nico frequently proclaimed.
Nico looked around, puzzled, before his gaze traveled down to Inez, still on her knees like a common washerwoman. In one hand, he held the key. In the other hand, a large, ornate bouquet bursting with flowers the colors of autumn: golds, reds, oranges, with green fern fronds and leaves adding highlights.
Dark eyes questioning, brows creased in a slight frown, he said, “Signora Stannert, what are you doing?” Then he held out the flowers, tilting them to bring them to Inez’s eye-level. “For you,” he said. Then added, “For the office.”
It was only then that Inez realized that Carmella might have been subtly, or not so subtly, testing Inez’s interest in her brother.
He was a handsome devil, there was no denying, what with his regal bearing, his wavy dark hair, his classical nose, and long-fingered musician’s hands. It seemed Nature had also been dazzled by his good looks, for she had additionally bestowed upon him an inordinate amount of charisma. The total effect was never more apparent than when he was dressed for an evening appearance in an ensemble that, without variation, included a black swallow-tailcoat, white bow tie, white low-cut waistcoat, black trousers, a blindingly white shirt, and highly polished pumps. Even in the warmest of San Francisco evenings, not that there were many of those, he invariably topped it all off with a cloak that complemented his dramatic style—black with a white-and-black ermine collar.
Over their months of association, Inez had observed how skillfully he used his appearance, confident bearing, and dazzling charm to full effect on the wealthy and well-connected men of San Francisco, and especially on their wives and daughters.
With San Francisco’s eligible and not-so-eligible women at his feet, why in the world did Nico constantly bring her flowers? Inez often wondered. The first time, Inez had been taken aback, then puzzled, and finally, suspicious. He always claimed they were for the office, so she never demurred in accepting them. However, his attitude toward her when he presented his offerings varied. Sometimes he was all charm, which put her on her guard. Other times he almost seemed to sulk or want to drop them at her feet and run away, which made her want to roll her eyes. Now, when he showed up with his ostentatious offerings—they were always huge, expensive arrangements, hardly fit for putting on the desk—Inez was bemused.
“A minor accident, involving one of your flower vases, I’m afraid.” Inez tugged at her long skirts preparing to stand. Nico stuffed the key into the pocket of his morning coat and offered to help her up. She eyed his glove—spotless, immaculate—and thought of her own less-than-clean bare hands. “Thank you, Mr. Donato, but I can manage. You look as if you are dressed for an engagement.”
She rose to her feet as quickly as she could to forestall any insistence on his part and brushed her skirts, which now had water stains. “The vase was from the display window. It had a handpainted scene on one side with a blue tree and varicolored flowers. I hope it wasn’t one of your especially valuable curiosities.”
“Ah, the Japanese Imari.” He sounded dismissive. “It was flawed. Why did you not wait for John Hee to arrive? He would have taken care of the cleaning. You should not be bothering with such. I know you have other work to do.” He glanced at her overflowing desk. “No matter, Signora. Do not give the vase a second thought.”
Seeming to recall the bouquet, he repeated, “For you, Signora,” and placed it on the table with no more élan than if he were handing off a sheaf of invoices. “I will go and find another vase.”
Circling the table, he stopped suddenly and picked up one of the loose advertising cards from the stack that Carmella had left. His mouth curved up into a satisfied smile as he examined the front and back. “Ah! They arrived! And you are pleased, Signora Stannert? Yes?”
Inez opened and closed her mouth. From his tone, it was very clear that he was pleased. In any case, she decided, this was not the time to dive into the whys and wherefores of the store name. There were more pressing matters at hand. “They are lovely, indeed. Carmella did a wonderful job in helping design them. They should be an asset in increasing business at the store.”
He shot her a measuring look. “Carmella was here this morning?”
Inez prepared to weave a story of the morning’s events, most of them true, but embroidered with a small white lie. “Oh, yes, she was here early,
