Read Online An Image of Death by Libby Fischer Hellmann - Free Book Online Page B

years ago.” He made a small sound in the back of his throat. “Course it’ll never happen.”
    “Why not?”
    “There aren’t enough Jews in the village for a minyan .”
    The waiter came and took our order, then took it over to the chef, who was hunched over a huge wood-fired grill in the middle of the room. Orange flames erupted into plumes, then obediently subsided, like children who’d been roundly disciplined. I was staring at the flames, thinking about David, his mother, and a village near the Black Forest, when a movement near the grill skipped across my peripheral vision. Three people were heading in our direction. When I recognized one of them, I slouched in my seat.
    “What is it?” David asked.
    “Don’t look, but Ricki Feldman’s got us in her sights, and she’s zeroing in.”
    “Who?”
    I explained.
    “The woman who recruited you for the video?”
    “Yes, but—”
    David turned around. “She’s a knockout.”
    I inched a finger up the stem of my wineglass. Gee, thanks.
    “Good evening, Ellie.”
    “Hello, Ricki.” I pasted on a smile as Ricki, accompanied by two men, came over. Her hair was down tonight. That, combined with the silky dark brown outfit she was wearing, intensified her eyes. Which were wholly focused on David.
    “My, my, who is this?”
    I grudgingly introduced her to David.
    “You’re the one who got Ellie involved in Transitions,” he said.
    “That’s right.” She flashed him a dazzling smile before withdrawing her hand. Slowly.
    “Ellie’s been telling me about it. It sounds like a wonderful program. I—I was a foster child myself.”
    “Really.” She flicked her gaze back to me. “Doing research, are we?”
    “Actually, David and I met last year. He’s…he and I—”
    “Have a lot in common,” David cut in.
    “I see.” Again, a dazzling smile.
    For some reason, I thought back to a comment Jordan Bennett made during our meeting. Something like “No wonder Ricki wanted you on the project.” Could it be she already knew about David? But how? That would mean.… Before I could dwell on it, one of the men with Ricki cleared his throat.
    “Oh, dear.” Ricki turned to her companions. “Where are my manners?”
    I nodded politely as she made introductions. I recognized Stanley Lawrence’s name from the green-and-white signs that dot most of the construction sites around the North Shore, but I didn’t know her other companion, a short, rotund man with thinning gray hair and eyes that bugged out so much they seemed to eat up his face.
    “This is Max Gordon, an old friend of my father’s. He started Gold Coast Trust.”
    He came around the table, and we shook hands. He couldn’t have been much taller than five four, but he sported a large diamond ring, a Cartier watch, and a suit that had to have been custom-tailored. Though he looked prosperous and respectable, something about him made me think of a wizened Pillsbury Doughboy.
    David extended his hand. “We’ve heard great things about Gold Coast Trust.”
    Gordon moved over to shake David’s hand. “Are you in the business?”
    “I’m the director of foreign currency trading at Franklin National Bank in Philadelphia.”
    “Is that so?” A flicker of interest swept across Gordon’s face. “We specialize in international markets.”
    “Max is just about to build the first major skyscraper in downtown Chicago in twenty years,” Ricki said importantly.
    “Congratulations,” David said.
    Gordon smiled and rocked back on his heels. Why is it small men always build big buildings?
    “Well now, Ellie.” Ricki returned her attention to me. “Are you going to interview David for the video? I’ll bet he’d have some fascinating input.”
    I felt my face flame. David’s turned crimson, too, except his was from pleasure—mine was pique. Only Ricki Feldman would have the chutzpah to tell me how to produce a video. I should have expected it. Last year when I was shooting the Glen video, Ricki