Read Online Programmed for Peril by C. K. Cambray - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C. K. Cambray
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widened, a bizarre sight, really. “You know what they say: The older the stag, the harder the horn!”
“Stop it! Or I’ll think you’re a lot less a nice old man than an old goat.”
Mario gave her the box. “You get to a certain age, you don’t have to behave no more. It’s a trade for not being able to... never mind.” He turned toward the kitchen. He shouted in Italian. Then translated: “Trish is here! The computer cutie!”
Trish said, “Mario, you don’t have to—”
“So? Big deal!” Dino’s gruff baritone rumbled, muted by plywood and distance.
Mario chuckled. “He has to be macho. I used to be that way, too, till I got old, poor, and ugly.”
Dino ambled into view wiping his sweaty hands on a black apron. “What’s up, lady?” he growled.
“Oh, you know, Dino. Good and bad.” Why was she reddening?
“How’s your bambina —what’s her name?”
“Melody’s fine.”
Several customers came in, occupying Mario’s attention. Dino busied himself with straightening cookies in a display case. He had a solid face and jaw. Good match for the dark eyes and tight curly hair. He was in his mid-forties, she guessed, because he told her he had been in Vietnam. He had worked as a baker in Chicago. When an uncle died and left him some money he decided to return home. An ad announced the sale of a bakery and all its equipment. He bought it all at a good price, then moved it from a poor location across town to this slightly better one. Business so far hadn’t been that great, but he was hopeful he would soon make a go of it. Mario’s willingness to work long hours in the heat for small pay was an important contribution that Dino greatly appreciated.
She was about to turn and leave when he looked up from a tray of devil’s food cupcakes and said, “So what’s ‘bad’? In your life, I mean. You said it wasn’t all good.”
She hesitated. She had cultivated habits of discretion. Being close-mouthed meant less chance of revealing close California matters. She recalled she had considered talking to Dino about Rocco. Maybe she should have followed her intuition. “You got a couple hours?” she said.
“How about fifteen minutes? I was gonna have a smoke out back.”
It took longer than fifteen minutes for Trish to tell her tale of threats and suspicions and her ambiguity about Rocco being guilty.
Dino threw away his butt and folded his arms. His glance was frank. “I see maybe you’re not starting at the right end of this. Are you saying you don’t want to sell? Or are you saying he isn’t offering enough?”
She hadn’t expected that question. The problem about what to do with the business after she married had risen to her consciousness from time to time. She surely wouldn’t need PC-Pros for financial reasons. “I might consider selling after my wedding in the middle of September.”
Dino grinned. Nature, or more likely a good dentist, had given him white, even teeth. “Who’s the sucker?”
Trish shook her head in vexation. "Why did I decide to tell you my problems? You don’t even care—”
“Hey, I just asked a question, okay?”
“His name is Foster Palmer. I don’t think I have time to describe him. He’s a wonderful guy.”
“Every fiancé is wonderful. Then he becomes a husband.”
“What do you know about it? You ever married?”
He shook his head. “Single’s the way for me to go.” He looked up at her, grinning. “Things don’t work out in your marriage, you can always look me up.”
Just like an Italian, she thought. All macho talk. I’m the greatest lover in the world. And I want to spread it around. Then some woman gets him by the ear, and he rolls over at home like a puppy. She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks just the same. I’m sure Foster and I will be quite happy.”
He shrugged. “So what about this DeVita guy?”
She explained how she couldn’t read him but feared him just the same. Throwing some caution aside, she told Dino she very
“Stop it! Or I’ll think you’re a lot less a nice old man than an old goat.”
Mario gave her the box. “You get to a certain age, you don’t have to behave no more. It’s a trade for not being able to... never mind.” He turned toward the kitchen. He shouted in Italian. Then translated: “Trish is here! The computer cutie!”
Trish said, “Mario, you don’t have to—”
“So? Big deal!” Dino’s gruff baritone rumbled, muted by plywood and distance.
Mario chuckled. “He has to be macho. I used to be that way, too, till I got old, poor, and ugly.”
Dino ambled into view wiping his sweaty hands on a black apron. “What’s up, lady?” he growled.
“Oh, you know, Dino. Good and bad.” Why was she reddening?
“How’s your bambina —what’s her name?”
“Melody’s fine.”
Several customers came in, occupying Mario’s attention. Dino busied himself with straightening cookies in a display case. He had a solid face and jaw. Good match for the dark eyes and tight curly hair. He was in his mid-forties, she guessed, because he told her he had been in Vietnam. He had worked as a baker in Chicago. When an uncle died and left him some money he decided to return home. An ad announced the sale of a bakery and all its equipment. He bought it all at a good price, then moved it from a poor location across town to this slightly better one. Business so far hadn’t been that great, but he was hopeful he would soon make a go of it. Mario’s willingness to work long hours in the heat for small pay was an important contribution that Dino greatly appreciated.
She was about to turn and leave when he looked up from a tray of devil’s food cupcakes and said, “So what’s ‘bad’? In your life, I mean. You said it wasn’t all good.”
She hesitated. She had cultivated habits of discretion. Being close-mouthed meant less chance of revealing close California matters. She recalled she had considered talking to Dino about Rocco. Maybe she should have followed her intuition. “You got a couple hours?” she said.
“How about fifteen minutes? I was gonna have a smoke out back.”
It took longer than fifteen minutes for Trish to tell her tale of threats and suspicions and her ambiguity about Rocco being guilty.
Dino threw away his butt and folded his arms. His glance was frank. “I see maybe you’re not starting at the right end of this. Are you saying you don’t want to sell? Or are you saying he isn’t offering enough?”
She hadn’t expected that question. The problem about what to do with the business after she married had risen to her consciousness from time to time. She surely wouldn’t need PC-Pros for financial reasons. “I might consider selling after my wedding in the middle of September.”
Dino grinned. Nature, or more likely a good dentist, had given him white, even teeth. “Who’s the sucker?”
Trish shook her head in vexation. "Why did I decide to tell you my problems? You don’t even care—”
“Hey, I just asked a question, okay?”
“His name is Foster Palmer. I don’t think I have time to describe him. He’s a wonderful guy.”
“Every fiancé is wonderful. Then he becomes a husband.”
“What do you know about it? You ever married?”
He shook his head. “Single’s the way for me to go.” He looked up at her, grinning. “Things don’t work out in your marriage, you can always look me up.”
Just like an Italian, she thought. All macho talk. I’m the greatest lover in the world. And I want to spread it around. Then some woman gets him by the ear, and he rolls over at home like a puppy. She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks just the same. I’m sure Foster and I will be quite happy.”
He shrugged. “So what about this DeVita guy?”
She explained how she couldn’t read him but feared him just the same. Throwing some caution aside, she told Dino she very
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