Killer Getaway (20 page)

“I lied,” Olivia told her old flame.

I
HONESTLY DON'T
remember the next few minutes all that well, but the gist of the ensuing heated argument between Daniel and Olivia was that Daniel had believed that his high school girlfriend was back for good, just waiting for her asshole boyfriend Gianni to get tired of Magnolia Beach.

Olivia had promised Daniel that Gianni had the attention span of a chipmunk (true), and once Jessica was no longer across the street at Vicino, Gianni would get bored in Florida. Olivia and Daniel could take over the daily operations of Gianni Mare, and eventually buy the place from the chef.

Gianni, Barclay, and the Colketts had set up a top-­notch restaurant, which Gianni would sell to Olivia for next to nothing once Jessica was gone.

“Once I got down here and had to see you every day, I realized again how much I hate you,” Olivia told Jessica. “And since Daniel and I haven't been able to scare you into leaving town, I'll just have to kill you.”

“But you said we were going to terrorize Jessica,” Daniel argued. “Not, you know, stab her.”

“I can't wait anymore,” Olivia told her hapless ex. “I gave you a week to run over Jessica, plant the bad clams, and send her the live fucking alligator—­and you see her! She's still here!”

“I'll leave town,” Jessica promised, her voice trembling.

“Feet-­first is the way you'll be leaving,” Olivia told her. “Get in the walk-­in freezer. You, too,” she told me.

“Oh my God! I hate the freezer,” screamed Jessica, finally losing her cool (so to speak). “Please don't make us go in there!”

“That sounds pretty bad,” Daniel agreed.

“Shut up!” Olivia told him. “You were in this with me the whole time, and there's no way you're getting out of it now. And stop screaming!” she hissed at Jessica.

O
LIVIA OPENED THE
walk-­in freezer door, which was of heavy galvanized steel, and gestured to me and Jessica to get inside. I knew the freezer had an interior safety release to make sure nothing except food got locked inside, but Olivia had worked in enough restaurants to have planned for this. She was just reaching into an expensive tote bag and pulling out a length of chain when the kitchen door suddenly burst open. It was dark outside by now, but there was just enough light from a corner lamppost that I could make out a tiny form in a caftan—­and Joe, who had what appeared to be a tire iron in hand.

“Drop everything,” Joe told Olivia. “Put that knife down, Olivia.”

“Are you kidding me?” she said scornfully. “You don't scare me.”

“He might not, but I definitely do,” said Detective Zack Safina, who walked in after Joe and Sophie and flicked on the overhead kitchen lights.

 

Chapter 23

T
HE MORNING AFTER
Olivia tried to turn us into human Popsicles, I slept 'til 10:00 a.m. Holly was still at The Breakers with Howard, which I took as a good sign.

As for myself—­I was packing up my Old Navy and Target dresses, and Waffles's kibbles and food bowl. It was definitely time to head home, since I couldn't keep up the Magnolia Beach pace. The dinners, the late nights, and Gianni's nutty girlfriend almost freezing us to death had given me a new appreciation for the non-­eventful month of January at home. I mean, it was cold in Pennsylvania, but it wasn't as scary as being locked in the walk-­in at Vicino.

I knew Bootsie wasn't ready to leave yet, but I could work around that. I'd rent a car, and Waffles and I could make the trek north tomorrow. We could leave at 3:00 a.m.

John Hall, horrified by last night's events, was taking a few days off from his bovine project out west and was heading home. And so were Waffles and I!

“It makes no sense that you're leaving now, when no one's trying to kill you,” Bootsie informed me as I tossed an unworn bargain bikini into my suitcase. Luckily, I'd only worn two of Holly's fancy outfits, so hopefully she'd change her mind and return the stuff that still had tags on them.

“That's okay!” I told her. “Honestly, I need to get back to work.”

The work excuse was true, but mostly I just wanted to go home. And get away from crazy leather-­pants-­wearing killers.

“Okay,” Bootsie shrugged. “If you've made up your mind, you can take the Range Rover home. I talked my editor into letting me do a travel story on the Keys, and I'm trying to convince Joe and Sophie to come along. I'm renting a Mustang convertible.”

“Thanks!” I told her.
Maybe I should leave right now!
Then again, it would be scary driving once it got into the middle of the night, and I needed to find Holly and say good-­bye.  . . .

“Ya should say good-­bye to Mrs. Earle, too,” Sophie pointed out. She was in a great mood this morning, given that she was taking a large share of credit for saving my life, and Jessica's, last night.

She and Joe had just started sipping their drinks at Tiki Joe's when Sophie, overcome by guilt, had insisted they come back and help me finish up the kitchen. As they'd approached the kitchen door to Vicino, they'd overheard the shouted argument between Daniel and Olivia. Sophie had immediately texted Zack Safina.

What was even better, though, was Sophie's pride in Joe.

“My Honey Bunny was so manly when he grabbed that tire iron out of his rental car!” Sophie told us about three thousand times this morning. “I'm still turned on!

“Let's go into town, get some lattes, and stop over at Adelia's place,” she added. “We can tell her all about that cuckoo Olivia!”

W
E STOPPED AT
the espresso place, got coffees for ourselves, Joe, Adelia, and Ozzy, and turned toward Adelia's.

I couldn't bear to look at Vicino. I shivered just thinking about that walk-­in freezer. I averted my eyes, gazing instead at Gianni Mare, where I figured we might see the Colketts futzing around with the patio plantings or sipping their morning cocktails. At least we knew Olivia wouldn't be there.

She'd gone on an ugly rant to us as we'd waited for more police to arrive. And she'd thrown Daniel even further under the bus than he'd already been, revealing that he'd been a complete pawn.

Olivia had bitterly told us she'd been working behind the scenes to get the Food Network to give her and Gianni their own show—­based in Beverly Hills, this time.

Her real plan hadn't included Daniel at all. She'd just been using him to get rid of Jessica, and once she and Gianni got the TV deal to open a restaurant in L.A., Daniel would be history. In her crazy world, Olivia even thought she could get
Channing
—­once he was done mourning Jessica—­to move out to California and fall in love with her. So basically, she'd steal everything Jessica had once had.

“Hello! Paging
Single White Female
!” Bootsie had remarked when we'd told her Olivia's nutty scheme.

Right now, in the bright light of day inside Bootsie's car, I shivered again. Then I noticed that the Gianni Mare sign was being pried from the lintel above the restaurant's elegant white frame-­and-­batten front door, and an enormous moving truck was parked around the corner.

Bootsie, similarly intrigued, two-­wheeled it into a parallel parking space, and I noticed two well-­tailored, sport-­coated backs visible just inside the open French windows of Gianni's place. They were bubble-­wrapping the expensive Chinese blue-­and-­white vases that decorated Gianni Mare. Or what had been Gianni Mare.

“Hey, Tom and Tim,” Bootsie shouted, jumping out of the Range Rover as Sophie and I trailed her. “What's going on?”

“Moving!” Tom told us. “To . . . drumroll please . . . Beverly Hills! Gianni got the Food Network gig, so he's closing this place and opening up a new restaurant in L.A.”

“It turns out this really
was
a pop-­up restaurant,” Tim added. “And Olivia had been pitching the Food Network like crazy. Last night, right after they arrested Olivia, Gianni got a call that the Food Network was sending movers here to close up this place and take everything to California.

“The network doesn't want Gianni trying to run a place here in Florida as well as his places in Philly
and
in California, so Gianni's bagging Magnolia Beach! We're packing up and taking all the furniture, the window treatments, the Ralph Lauren plates, everything that isn't nailed down—­and a few things that are, like the banquettes and the antique mahogany bar.”

“We're flying to California today to oversee design and installation for the new restaurant, which is right around the corner from the Beverly Wilshire Hotel,” said Tom, as Bootsie's fingers flew over her phone, furiously texting her editor. “And not to brag, but we'll be making a pile of cash as recurring characters on Gianni's show!”

“That's great,” I told the Colketts, happy to hear about their good fortune. “That sounds really fun! Will you guys still have the florist business in Bryn Mawr, though?”

“Oh, sure,” said Tom. “We figure we'll help Gianni get the new place up and running, and then jet back and forth to work at both Colkett Florists and our new interior design business.”

I blinked, taking in the implications of this surprise development. Gianni was abandoning Magnolia Beach and heading for California—­just as poor, crazy Olivia had wanted all along. And Channing and Jessica could proceed with running Vicino without Olivia, Daniel, and Gianni sabotaging their every move. With the help of Adelia and her rich friends, Vicino would soon be filled with moneyed diners again.

“What about Barclay and Scooter, not to mention J. D.?” asked Bootsie. “Didn't they sink a few hundred grand into Gianni Mare here in Florida?”

“Fuck Barclay! And Scooter, too!”

Naturally, these words came from Gianni, who'd suddenly appeared from the restaurant's interior.

He popped through a French door and began yelling at the workmen to be careful with the handmade zinc sign, then turned back to us, his gold earrings glinting and intricate tattoos visible on his bulging biceps.

Gianni looked good with his Florida tan, much as I hated to admit it. In anticipation of his new West Coast lifestyle, the chef had added a bandanna tied in a sort of '90s-­rapper style over his bald dome, and he'd switched up his trademark orange Crocs for a new pair in black.

I couldn't really explain it, but I couldn't deny it:
There was something weirdly attractive about Gianni.
He was the tattooed, muscled-­up Vitamix of every guy you'd ever gone out with against all your better instincts, and who then hit on your friends and cheated with your coworkers. TV would be the perfect medium for his undeniable charisma, not to mention a good showcase for his Emmy-­worthy tantrums.

“Barclay gonna lose like three hundred grand on this place, but who cares? He can afford it! Plus, he signed papers that said he understood restaurant is a big investment risk!” Gianni told us, looking happy as he recounted how he was sticking it to Sophie's ex. “And Scooter and Alvarez, they only put in like five thousand each. I tell them they can invest in my new Gianni Mare if they want to—­maybe they get a ­couple minutes on my TV show. Probably not, though!”

He gave an evil little laugh and consulted his watch.

“Hey, flowered pants woman, I forgive you for harassing me at my hotel,” Gianni told my nosy friend. “You can take quick picture of me as I leave town for your paper,” he added. “Hurry up though, I got
Esquire
and
Food & Wine
coming out later, then I leave on six p.m. flight from Miami. I see all of you back in Bryn Mawr—­if I don't sell my restaurant there. I might be too famous to come back!”

While Bootsie snapped a few pics and took some notes to e-­mail back to the
Bryn Mawr Gazette,
I considered the fact that Gianni had once again come out on top.

It was official. The guy was unstoppable. He'd been named one of America's rising-­star chefs last year. He'd told his staff, his customers, and anyone else who would listen that he'd have his own TV show by the time he was forty—­and now he'd actually done it.

And I had no doubt he'd be mingling with celebrities within a few weeks of landing in Beverly Hills. He'd probably spend next summer doing cannonballs into the Mediterranean from the deck of Leonardo DiCaprio's yacht.

Unfortunately for Olivia, she wouldn't be going to Beverly Hills, too.

 

Chapter 24

“T
HIS DAY IS
turning out awesome!” Sophie shrieked when we got to Adelia's, handed around the cappuccinos, and relayed the tale of Gianni's imminent adventures in Hollywood.

“First of all, we're not dead,” Sophie said, giving Joe a squeeze as he came in from the dining hut, where he'd been overseeing the La Tente installation.

“Also,” Sophie ticked off her mental list, “Barclay lost a truckload of cash on the restaurant
and
he got whacked in the head again. And with Gianni gone, and Olivia not trying to fuck everything up at Vicino, Channing and Jessica will get Vicino back as the number-­one spot in town.”

“I have some good news, too,” Adelia told her, sipping a cappuccino, though she looked like she'd rather have had something stronger. “Bingo and Susie both got back in town late last night, and Susie already filed an injunction this morning against anything being torn down, sawed down, or even a blade of grass being cut at the old schoolhouse.”

A
FEW MINUTES
later, all members of the Simmons clan arrived at Adelia's, summoned by Susie to this neutral location. Bingo greeted the tobacco heiress with a big hug, and Susie wafted an air kiss to Adelia, while Scooter and his wife, Mary Simmons, came in wearing sour expressions. Soon, the family meeting devolved into a verbal brawl.

Scooter began a three-­minute monologue during which he explained that Chef Gianni had gathered his investors in Gianni Mare for a guys' weekend in Miami back in November, soon after he'd signed on to do the HGTV pop-­up place.

Gianni had known he couldn't put together the kind of place he wanted for fifty grand, and he'd lured Barclay down with the prospect of screwing over Sophie vis-­à-­vis her investment in Vicino. Scooter and Barclay were introduced at a boozy group dinner, where Scooter had tipsily bragged to Barclay about the prime piece of real estate that his family held. Barclay had at once jumped at the chance to get in on a high-­end condo development in such a ritzy town.

Poor Scooter realized he'd been manipulated and forced into the deal to build the condos, now that he really thought about it. At least, that was the version he was now serving up to his stepmother.

“It was all her husband's idea!” said Scooter, pointing at Sophie.

Susie Simmons seemed immune to her stepson's woeful tale.

“Scott, what did I tell you and your brother about tattling?” said Mrs. Simmons.

“That it's bad,” Scooter mumbled.

“That's right,” said his stepmother. “And one other thing. Remember how we used to ground you when you lied to us as a teenager?”

Scooter nodded.

“Well, it's happening again,” Mrs. Simmons told him.

“You can't ground me, Susie! I'm forty-­one years old!” screamed the hapless lawyer-­slash-­developer.

“Oh, yes, I can, because I still have control over your allowance,” said Susie Simmons, who seemed rested and energetic after her classic-­film cruise. “And as of an hour ago, the accounts are all under my control, and I'm giving your former monthly stipend to Mary.”

She nodded at Scooter's estranged wife, who couldn't help a small triumphant smile. Scooter, for his part, looked pretty upset as he reached for a decanter and sloshed brown liquor into a glass.

“Mary and I will be in charge of the money, and you're not to go to restaurants. Or drink.” She gave a pointed look at Scooter's drink as he gulped it.

“Susie, please,” said Scooter hoarsely.

“All right,” Mrs. Simmons said, relenting. “You can drink with me, since Mary and I have decided you should stay over at my house for a while, until she decides if she wants you back. We'll have a two-­drink maximum, though, and I'll consider adding a glass of wine for you at dinner if you behave yourself.”

“Okay,” Scooter whined.

“If you want to come hang out at the yurt, you're welcome anytime,” Bingo told his brother forgivingly. “You might want to start meditating with me.”

Scooter didn't look too interested in this idea as he sipped his cocktail, but I thought it was remarkably nice of Bingo.

“Aren't ya mad at this jerk?” Sophie demanded of Bingo, pointing at Scooter. “And why the heck didn't you bust out of that spa you were in?”

“Scooter's on his own path in life,” Bingo told her serenely, while the rest of us tried not to roll our eyes. “He may still become a man who's connected with the earth at a deep level.”

“I doubt that,” Scooter told him.

“Anyway, I love my brother no matter what!” Bingo told us. “As for the technology addiction lodge, it's a very interesting place,” he added. “It's filled to capacity with really stressed-­out ­people who haven't put down their iPads or phones or computers for years, so when I begged to make a call to my lawyers to try to stop the schoolhouse project, they locked me in an isolation room.”

Bingo explained that all the tech addicts at the spa eventually freaked out and claimed they'd been kidnapped and were being held there against their will—­which, of course, Bingo actually
had
been. But none of the staff had believed him, so he'd eventually just decided to wait it out until his weeklong stay was over. Then Arizona state troopers, alerted by Zack Safina, had come to pick up Bingo and take him to the airport.

Bingo said he didn't hold a grudge against the tech-­rehab staff, or against Scooter. “I just knew that somehow that schoolhouse would still be here,” Bingo said serenely.

“Ya know, I like your style,” Sophie told him admiringly. “Maybe I'll try to work on forgiving Barclay, too. Well, probably not, but ya got a good attitude!”

A
FTER THE
S
IMMONS
family left, Sophie had another thought.

“If Barclay had money in this condo deal, he ain't going to give up so easily,” she told us. “He'll sue Scooter, not to mention Bingo and his mom. My ex loves stuff like that.”

“Mr. Shields waived legal action,” Adelia said. She picked up a folder and waved it. “All four of the condo partners agreed. That Gianni person only had a few thousand dollars invested, so he was easy to get rid of. And Scooter, Mr. Alvarez, and Mr. Shields—­your ex,” she said, nodding to Sophie, “signed this dissolution of partnership. There's also a letter here that the property stays untouched until at least 2025.”

We all took in this surprise development for a moment.

“Why's Barclay giving up so easily on the schoolhouse?” Joe wondered, voicing my own thoughts. “It seems weird that he'd let the condo deal go just because Scooter dropped out. Even a head injury and a hospital stay wouldn't usually stop Barclay.”

“Yeah, I could see Barclay trying to sue Scooter for breach of contract,” Bootsie said. “He'd love to find some loophole and force the Simmons family to sell the property.”

“Ya got that right,” Sophie said. “Are you sure he signed this non-­suing agreement?” she asked Adelia.

“I'm positive,” Adelia said, a little note of triumph in her voice. “Because I went over to the hospital with my lawyer, and I bribed him.”

We all stared at her as she sipped at a frosty glass, smiling happily in her lemon-­yellow Oscar de la Renta silk caftan and hot-­pink lipstick.

“I don't know Barclay, but I don't appreciate him helping Scooter with his schoolhouse plans,” Adelia told us.

We all nodded, having overheard Adelia regaling the Reptile ladies the day before with how bad the traffic and construction noise would be if the condo deal went through. “I'd expect it from Scooter, and that Mr. Alvarez is so good looking that it's hard to get mad at him, but I decided we needed to take care of Mr. Shields, once and for all.

“Of course, I didn't know that you three were being almost-­murdered at the same time, but, anyway, Ozzy and I packed up a little suitcase with some cash I had in the safe, met my lawyer, and drove over to the hospital. I told Mr. Shields that the best thing he could possibly do in this situation was take the money and leave the schoolhouse alone,” finished Adelia. “I explained that my lady friends and I may look elegant and have good manners, but we don't screw around.”

“Mrs. Earle brought her gun, too,” commented Ozzy.

“That's so Jersey of you!” Bootsie shrieked admiringly.

“So, this suitcase you gave Barclay: How much cash are we talking about?” asked Joe.

“It was about two hundred and fifty thousand,” Adelia said. “He could have made a lot more on the condos, but if the whole town turns against him, it wouldn't be worth it. I like to deal in cash, and I think Mr. Shields respected that. He told me he was packing it in and heading to Miami for a ­couple months. He might do some condos down there.”

We all nodded, thinking Barclay might enjoy Miami more, honestly.

“That still doesn't explain who knocked Barclay on the head the other day,” mused Bootsie. “Olivia confessed to everything else, but she swears she and Daniel had nothing to do with that.”

“Oh, that was me and Ozzy, too,” Adelia said, nibbling a cashew from a Sevres bowl on the coffee table.

Adelia told us she and Ozzy had picked up an extremely heavy, three-­arm Christofle candelabra from her dining room sideboard, waited for Gerda to go jogging, and done the deed. The meatball hoagie delivery had just been a coincidence. “When Gerda told me how poorly he's been treating Sophie here, I got so mad I decided he needed a little Southern-­style justice.”

Ozzy nodded, a note of pride in his eyes. “The guy went down like a bowling pin,” he said.