On our way to the nearest bank, a SunTrust branch on Tamiami Trail, I peered through the rearview mirror, fully expecting to see Francesco and Donny in hot pursuit.
Nada
. I relaxed against the cushions as best I could. Francesco was probably making a beeline for his lawyer’s office.
I snuck a peek at Rossi’s craggy profile. He didn’t look worried, and in the back seat Chip and AudreyAnn were holding hands like teenagers in love. Chip wasn’t even wheezing.
When we reached the bank, Rossi turned around to them. “Let me get Deva inside with the money, then I’ll come back and help you both in.”
AudreyAnn didn’t look happy with that plan, but Chip’s fast “Okay” settled it.
One hand on my elbow, Rossi escorted me into the bank, strode over to a customer service rep and showed her his badge. “We need a conference room. Please ask the bank manager to join us.”
She dropped her pen on the desk and leaped up. “Right this way, Officer.”
Rossi gave me a wink, and we followed the girl into a small windowless room with a conference table and several chairs. She snapped on the overheads.
“I’ll be right back,” Rossi said as he left to get AudreyAnn and Chip.
Gripping the oilskin packet, I sat down and looked around. There wasn’t much to see. A pelican print and beige walls was about all. The beige was that boring shade that passes for corporate solidity. Why people equated dull interiors with fiscal wisdom I didn’t understand. Never did. The room cried for something sunny and tropical—papaya, say, or tangerine. SunTrust Bank, right? Wouldn’t an orangey shade work great as a subliminal logo? Or...
“Good morning. I’m Loren Miller, the branch manager. How may I help you?”
Tall, thin and balding, Mr. Miller was one of the few men in southwest Florida unlucky enough to have to wear a suit, shirt and tie to work. My fingers cramping around the oilskin, I upped my chin at the door. “The gentleman who needs your help is coming in now.”
Rossi closed the conference room door behind AudreyAnn and Chip and took care of the introductions before saying, “Deva, show Mr. Miller the packet.”
I lifted the bag off my lap and dumped the contents onto the conference table.
For a man used to handling money for a living, Mr. Miller jumped back as if I’d unloaded a live cobra. Initial shock over, he took a step forward and stretched out a hand. “May I?”
Rossi nodded. “I wish you would. And can you authenticate these bills? At least one to start with?”
“Certainly.” Mr. Miller turned a Grover Cleveland over in his hands, handling it carefully, almost tenderly. “In all my years in the banking business, I’ve never seen one of these.”
“No kidding,” Chip said. “I just found them. All of them. They’ve been hidden away.”
His eyes full of Grover, the manager nodded. “They’re so rare, they’re collectors’ items. Worth more than the face value.”
“Wow!” Chip said.
“Depending on condition, of course. But if they’re all as clean as this one, they could be worth several thousand each.”
“Holy Toledo.” Chip turned to AudreyAnn sitting beside him. “Did you hear that, honey? We’re rich.”
She flashed a triumphant, I-just-won-the-lottery smile around the table, though it dimmed a little when he added. “We’ll be able to help Tomas’s widow. She’s got to be hurting real bad. She and Tomas were crazy in love.”
“I believe this is legal tender, but let me test it,” Mr. Miller said and hurried out with one of the bills.
“You need an attorney, Chip,” Rossi said. “Do you have one?”
Chip looked at me and we both nodded. Simon.
“Simon Yaeger,” Chip replied. “He used to live at Surfside. He’s a tax man.”
“Excellent choice. I know Mr. Yaeger.” Rossi pulled out his phone to hunt for Simon’s number.
“It’s 555-8871,” I told him.
“Instant recall?” Rossi frowned a little though he had no reason to.
Simon had lived at Surfside for a while before purchasing a penthouse on Gulf Shore Boulevard North in the brand new Peninsula Building. Originally a sales model staged by a New York designer, his new condo was a gorgeous bachelor pad for a gorgeous, successful...divorced...available Simon. He was a nice guy, too, a very nice guy. We’d dated a few times, but in comparison to Rossi he was just a well-dressed suit.
Rossi handed me his phone. “Yaeger’s number’s ringing. I think you’ll have the best shot at getting him here ASAP.”
True, apparently. In a matter of minutes, from his office in nearby Northern Trust Towers, Simon strode into the conference room dressed impeccably as always. Today he wore an ivory silk shirt, hand-tailored slacks and custom-made loafers.
Rossi, on the other hand, lit up the room in a purple hibiscus number. That was fine with me. The conference room needed a jolt of color.
When Simon spotted Rossi, his face fell a bit, but ever the professional, he rallied and shook hands all around, secretly stroking my palm when he took my hand. Or maybe not so secretly, 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 know that he did.”
“Nor that he did not. The reason he gave for parking by the kitchen door was flimsy at best. And why was he out of range when the explosion occurred?”
“I want to do what you ask, but this time I simply can’t. The business needs a cash infusion. You know that. With any luck at all, my work on the Grandese house will get my name into the upscale community. There’s no telling what the ripple effect will be. A design business grows on word of mouth. Besides—”
He stopped my tirade with a kiss. One of his best ever. A long, lingering kiss. A kiss to drown in, to sink into and not care if you ever breathe again. It lasted forever, and when it did, finally, end, Rossi held me at arm’s length and gazed at me with those eyes that turned me to mush. To avoid the plea in them, I looked over his shoulder at the temporary plywood wall as if it were an architectural wonder. No question, he had my welfare in mind, but I couldn’t give in on this. Not with success so tantalizingly close.
“Well?”
I shook my head. “You’re asking me to swim in the shallow end of the pool.”
He put a finger under my chin and tilted my face toward him. “No, that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking you to take care. I want you safe.”
I forgot the plywood. Gazing straight into his craggy face, I raised a hand to stroke his cheek, feeling its stubble, feeling its strength. “I want you safe too. You live in harm’s way every day. But I’m not asking you to give up your work for me.”
His turn to look away, to stare at the jury-rigged wall. “My work’s my life, though it’ll never make me as wealthy as Simon Yaeger. So if that’s a problem, tell me. Just don’t play games.”
He was jealous, an insight that made me happy and sad at the same time. “I do want to play games with you, Rossi. But not head games.”
I grinned, trying to coax a smile out of him. No luck.
As always, at the worst moment, a cell phone chirped. Mine this time. I fished it out of my bag and glanced at caller ID. It was the painting contractor. “I’d better get this,” I said. “Tom Kruse is calling.”
Rossi’s jaw dropped. “
Who
?”
He looked so comical I had to laugh. “Not to worry. You’re sexier than any movie star on earth.”
