Read Online Crushed Velvet by Diane Vallere - Free Book Online Page B

still sat by the keyboard. In light of everything else going on, I wondered if there was another reason she showed up when she did.
    I abandoned the inbox and jiggled the mouse. The files that had been left open were now closed. I launched an Internet browser and searched for a listing for “Special Delivery trucking company.” I couldn’t find a website, but a handful of favorable reviews showed up on Yelp. As I scrolled through the reviews of Rick’s delivery service, I heard a knock on the front door. I waited a few seconds, expecting the person to go away. The knocking became more insistent. I powered off Genevieve’s monitor and went to open the door. A squat man in a navy blue jog suit that zipped up the front stood outside. He had short black hair worn in a Julius Caesar style.
    â€œThe shop is closed for renovations,” I said, pointing atthe sign. “Jitterbug is across the street and Lopez Donuts is about a mile down Bonita.”
    He held his hand out. “I’m here to talk to Genevieve Girard about her tea,” he said in a voice that sounded like rusted pipes.
    â€œShe’s not here.”
    â€œAnd you are . . . ?”
    â€œI’m Poly Monroe. Like I said, Genevieve’s not here.” I stepped back and started to close the door, but he put a hand out and held it open.
    â€œAre you in business with Mrs. Girard?”
    â€œI’m managing her renovations.”
    â€œYou’re a decorator?”
    â€œNo. I own a fabric shop. What do you do, Mr. . . .” My voice trailed off as I realized I hadn’t caught the gentleman’s name.
    â€œTopo di Sali.” He handed me a business card with a flourish. “I work in Italian food distribution. I find products that are produced on a small scale like your friend’s tea and I increase the demand to grocery stores throughout California. Ever hear of Presto Pesto? That was me. I took it from a grandmother’s kitchen and now it’s in a hundred and forty grocery stores up and down the coast.”
    â€œBut Genevieve’s whole theme is French. How did you find out about her tea?”
    â€œHer husband told me about it. Met him on one of my trips. When he learned what I do for a living, he suggested I branch out and get in touch with her.”
    â€œGenevieve has a lot on her plate and I don’t think the timing is right for her to consider expansion.”
    He stepped forward. “She’s got troubles with money. I can solve those troubles.”
    â€œWhat’s your take?”
    â€œHalf.” He bent over and coughed a few times. When he spoke again, his voice was as raspy as before. “She doesn’teven have to make the stuff. She can sell me her recipe and I’ll make it happen. Or sell me her name and let me work up the recipe. The girl’s got options.”
    I looked at the business card again. There was no address on the card, only a phone number. His name, Topo di Sali, was above the phrase “The Italian Scallion,” and along the bottom it said, “Serving the Greater Los Angeles Area.” The back of the card asked the question, “Who says you can’t buy good taste?”
    â€œLike I said, I don’t think she’s interested in selling out.”
    He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his feet. “You might want to let her make that decision. From what I’m hearing on the street, she might not have much of a choice.”

Six
    I didn’t like the insinuation. “The next time I see Genevieve, I’ll tell her you were here.”
    â€œI’m on my way to San Fran for business. If I don’t hear from her by the time I return, I’ll be back.” He stared at me with eyes the color of glass cleaner. “You tell your friend to remember it’s a two-way street.” He held my stare for another second and then left.
    I didn’t doubt that, in