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Authors: Jean Harrington
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judging by Rossi’s scowl.
Rossi cleared his throat. “Chip has a story for you.”
Chip had just about finished telling Simon his tale when the bank manager returned with Grover. “This is the real deal. Shall we test them all?”
*
Rossi and I left Chip and AudreyAnn at the SunTrust Bank with Simon and Mr. Miller. The money—all authentic—would be stored in a safety deposit box, the police notified and a search for a possible legal owner begun. After a month of running ads in the nation’s largest newspapers and our local Naples Daily News , if no one surfaced with proof of ownership, the money would belong to Chip, free and clear.
Except for one tiny detail. Francesco. Chances were he wouldn’t give up that much cash without a fight.
“Let him try. We’ll be ready for him,” Simon vowed with a wry lift to his lips. “Though the best way to preserve the find is to avoid litigation. But that’s a problem for another day. For now, let’s take care of the initial legalities.”
As Rossi and I were leaving, Simon took my hand again, sandwiching it between his own. For some silly female reason I was glad I had worn the snug-fitting sheath in coffee linen and the Paloma Picasso pendant he’d given me last Christmas. And I was glad my Technicolor bruises had subsided.
“Thank you for helping with this,” I said.
“My pleasure,” Simon replied, gazing deep into my eyes. “Always at your service, Deva. Always.”
Rossi cleared his throat, and I slipped my fingers free. “I’ll take you to pick up your car,” he said. I doubted that this time the gravel in his voice was due to smoke inhalation.
When we reached the restaurant parking lot, we lingered in the old Mustang he used on the job—its dust and scrapes a strategy to fool suspects into believing he was a bumbling, inept operator. Nothing could be further from the truth. Rossi’s mind was a sword that could pierce metal. His hooded eyes alone gave him away, and he turned them on me now, full force.
“Your eyebrows are growing back,” I said
“And your bruises are mainly gone. Only a little lavender under one eye.” He fingered the spot ever so gently.
I caught his hand in mine and held onto it. “We’re healing.”
His face sober, he barely nodded. “Can you stay here for a few minutes?”
To try and lighten his mood, I faked a grin. “You want to make out?”
No smiles, just a hesitation, then, “I mean what I said yesterday. You’ll make a great mother some day.”
“Thank you.” But when that day would be I hadn’t a clue. The possibility seemed so remote, so magical, I couldn’t believe it would ever happen.
“I also meant what I said about the Grandese job. I don’t want you to take it.”
“Why not?” I asked, really wanting to know. “Arson didn’t cause the explosion. You said so your—”
“I said it appeared to be an accident. Appeared being the operative word. The arson squad couldn’t prove foul play, but questions remain.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Donny’s unsavory reputation for one. Grandese’s business dealings for another. He’s a wheeler-dealer apparently. Has real estate holdings here, in Miami and in New England. His affairs are a tangled web. It’s hard to believe Chip was targeted, but supposing Grandese was? If so, he’s in danger. And that places everyone involved with him in jeopardy too. For your own safety, the less you have to do with him the better.”
In his own Rossi way, he was pleading a case. He cared for me and didn’t want me harmed. Though the realization was heartwarming, I couldn’t give up the Grandese job so easily. Too much was riding on it.
“So far, arson hasn’t been proven, and Francesco has done nothing illegal. Right?”
Reluctantly Rossi nodded.
“So what happened to you’re innocent until proven guilty?”
“I’m concerned about your safety, not some point of law. What if Donny deliberately tossed that cigarette?”
“You don’t
Rossi cleared his throat. “Chip has a story for you.”
Chip had just about finished telling Simon his tale when the bank manager returned with Grover. “This is the real deal. Shall we test them all?”
*
Rossi and I left Chip and AudreyAnn at the SunTrust Bank with Simon and Mr. Miller. The money—all authentic—would be stored in a safety deposit box, the police notified and a search for a possible legal owner begun. After a month of running ads in the nation’s largest newspapers and our local Naples Daily News , if no one surfaced with proof of ownership, the money would belong to Chip, free and clear.
Except for one tiny detail. Francesco. Chances were he wouldn’t give up that much cash without a fight.
“Let him try. We’ll be ready for him,” Simon vowed with a wry lift to his lips. “Though the best way to preserve the find is to avoid litigation. But that’s a problem for another day. For now, let’s take care of the initial legalities.”
As Rossi and I were leaving, Simon took my hand again, sandwiching it between his own. For some silly female reason I was glad I had worn the snug-fitting sheath in coffee linen and the Paloma Picasso pendant he’d given me last Christmas. And I was glad my Technicolor bruises had subsided.
“Thank you for helping with this,” I said.
“My pleasure,” Simon replied, gazing deep into my eyes. “Always at your service, Deva. Always.”
Rossi cleared his throat, and I slipped my fingers free. “I’ll take you to pick up your car,” he said. I doubted that this time the gravel in his voice was due to smoke inhalation.
When we reached the restaurant parking lot, we lingered in the old Mustang he used on the job—its dust and scrapes a strategy to fool suspects into believing he was a bumbling, inept operator. Nothing could be further from the truth. Rossi’s mind was a sword that could pierce metal. His hooded eyes alone gave him away, and he turned them on me now, full force.
“Your eyebrows are growing back,” I said
“And your bruises are mainly gone. Only a little lavender under one eye.” He fingered the spot ever so gently.
I caught his hand in mine and held onto it. “We’re healing.”
His face sober, he barely nodded. “Can you stay here for a few minutes?”
To try and lighten his mood, I faked a grin. “You want to make out?”
No smiles, just a hesitation, then, “I mean what I said yesterday. You’ll make a great mother some day.”
“Thank you.” But when that day would be I hadn’t a clue. The possibility seemed so remote, so magical, I couldn’t believe it would ever happen.
“I also meant what I said about the Grandese job. I don’t want you to take it.”
“Why not?” I asked, really wanting to know. “Arson didn’t cause the explosion. You said so your—”
“I said it appeared to be an accident. Appeared being the operative word. The arson squad couldn’t prove foul play, but questions remain.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Donny’s unsavory reputation for one. Grandese’s business dealings for another. He’s a wheeler-dealer apparently. Has real estate holdings here, in Miami and in New England. His affairs are a tangled web. It’s hard to believe Chip was targeted, but supposing Grandese was? If so, he’s in danger. And that places everyone involved with him in jeopardy too. For your own safety, the less you have to do with him the better.”
In his own Rossi way, he was pleading a case. He cared for me and didn’t want me harmed. Though the realization was heartwarming, I couldn’t give up the Grandese job so easily. Too much was riding on it.
“So far, arson hasn’t been proven, and Francesco has done nothing illegal. Right?”
Reluctantly Rossi nodded.
“So what happened to you’re innocent until proven guilty?”
“I’m concerned about your safety, not some point of law. What if Donny deliberately tossed that cigarette?”
“You don’t
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