“No, but it wasn’t on the beach. We had another fifteen minutes to drive before we were there.”
“Was it after this that Carlos had more money?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago did this meeting take place?”
“About six weeks. I remember because we were celebrating my birthday. It was a couple of weeks after that when Carlos seemed to have more cash. He bought the ring not long after that and asked me to marry him.”
“Did you ever see him with this man again?”
“No, but I think I was with him when he talked to the man on the telephone.”
“What did he say that made you think so?”
“At one point in the conversation he called the person on the other end of the phone something like‘pisan,’ which, I believe, is Italian for ‘friend.’ ”
“Do you know about any other contact he may have had with this man?”
“He would get calls on his cellphone when we were together. I noticed that he would answer the cellphone every time it rang, when, before, he would sometimes shut it off. He never failed to answer his cellphone after that.”
“Did Carlos ever tell you how much money he was getting?”
“No, but I think it must have been a great deal, because when I had the ring appraised for my insurance, it was valued at thirty-five thousand dollars.”
“Can you think of anything else that might help me in my investigation?” Holly asked.
Marina thought for a moment, then shook her head.
Holly had a thought. “Was Carlos interested in guns?”
“Yes, he owned a couple of pistols; he kept them at the shop, in case of thieves, he said. He went once a week to a shooting range in North Miami, called Miami Bullseye.” She looked down. “Tomorrow night would have been his night for that.”
Holly stood up. “Thank you, I won’t keep you further.” She handed Marina her card. “Will you call me if you think of anything else?”
“Yes, I will.”
“And I think it might be best if you didn’t mention our talk to Pedro.”
“I think you’re right.”
Marina’s mother came back into the living room with the tea.
“Won’t you please stay for tea?” Marina asked.
“Thank you, but I have to go.”
Marina followed her out onto the front porch.
“Marina, I want to express my sympathy for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I lost my fiancé a little over a year ago, so I understand how you feel.”
Marina began to tear up, and Holly embraced her. The two women stood on the front porch, holding each other, for another minute before Holly left, tears in her own eyes.
28
Holly walked Daisy and fed her some of the dry food and water she kept in her car, thinking the whole time. So Carlos had come into money? He wouldn’t have been paid so much to bug her phones and jimmy her alarm system, but Carlos had other talents. For the wiretapping and for three murders, he’d be very well paid indeed. Of course, he’d missed Ed Shine, but he’d been very successful with the other two.
But why would the people who’d hired him murder him? Because they were finished with him, of course, and maybe because he’d failed with Ed Shine, and the property went to another buyer.
She wasn’t driving back to Orchid Beach tonight; she had two other stops to make in the area, and she began thinking about where to spend the night. There were a lot of motels in the area, but would they take dogs? Then she remembered something. The year before, when she had been working with the FBI on a case, they had put her up at the Delano, a jazzy and elegant hotel in South Beach. What the hell, she was a woman of means, Jackson had seen to that in his will, and she deserved a good night’s rest. She called the Delano and made a reservation, getting an okay on Daisy, then she started driving.
She spent half an hour at a mall buying some extra clothes, then headed south. Fifteen minutes from her destination she saw a sign with a familiar name, and she braked hard, nearly throwing Daisy off the seat. She whipped into a parking spot. “You stay here, baby,” she said to Daisy. “It’s time for your mama to have dinner.” Daisy was used to waiting in the car.
She walked into Pellegrino’s and looked around; she saw the man almost immediately, talking to customers at a nearby table. He left them and approached her.
“Good evening,” he said. “May I help you?”
He was as Marina had described him, sleek and well dressed, about fifty, she reckoned.
“I haven’t made a reservation,” she said. “Do you have room for one for dinner?”
“I’m very sorry,” he said with a regretful smile, “we’re fully booked, but you can have dinner at the bar, if you wish. The menu is the same.”
“Thank you, I’ll sit at the bar.” She offered him a smile of her own.
He led her to the bar, which was half full, and pulled out a seat at the less populated end. He snapped his fingers for the bartender, who came quickly. “Perhaps you’d be my guest for a drink while you’re looking at the menu,” he said.
“Thank you, I’d love one. A bourbon on the rocks?”
“Any special brand?”
“Do you have Knob Creek?”
“Of course.” He nodded at the bartender, who went to pour the drink, then he handed Holly a menu. “Would you like me to recommend something?”
“Why don’t you order for me?” Holly said, handing back the menu.
The man beamed. “Of course. How hungry are you?”
“Very.”
“In that case I will start you with our famous antipasti and continue with our specialty, the osso buco.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“May I introduce myself? I’m Pio Pellegrino.”
“I’m Helen Benson,” she said. “You’re the owner, then?”
“It’s a family business,” he replied. “My father, over there, is still the owner, but we run it together.” He nodded at an elderly man sitting near the kitchen door, eating pasta. “He likes to sit there because it’s near the waiters’ station, and he wants to be sure they don’t steal the cutlery.”
Holly laughed. “A smart businessman.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Excuse me, I’ll order your dinner.”
Holly sipped her bourbon and looked around the place. It was handsomely designed, fairly large, and filling up fast-obviously a popular place.
Her antipasti arrived, and she had a bit of everything. Delicious. Then came the osso buco, and Pio, with half a bottle of red.
“I hope you’ll drink some wine,” he said. “With my personal compliments.”
“Thank you, yes.”
He poured the wine, a very good Chianti Classico, and she made appreciative noises. He left to seat other customers.
Holly loved the osso buco, and when Pio returned, she had finished it. “Thank you so much for ordering for me, and for the wine,” she said. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Not in my own restaurant,” he said, “but I’d be delighted to have one with you.” He spoke to the bartender in Italian, and two glasses of a golden liquid appeared.
“What is it?”
He settled on a stool next to her. “Strega, an Italian apperitif.”
She liked it and told him so.
“So, are you from Miami?”
“No, from out of town.”
“How did you choose my restaurant?”
“Pure luck; I was driving past and saw the sign, and I was in the mood for Italian.”
His smile turned into a leer, but he didn’t rise to the line. “Where are you staying?”
“Over on South Beach.” She looked at her watch. “In fact, I’d better be going. I’m meeting my boyfriend at our hotel, and I’m late.”
His face fell. “I hope you’ll come back again,” he said. “And alone. I enjoy your company.”
“That’s very kind of you; I’ll keep it in mind. I’m here for a few more days. May I have a check?”
“There is no check,” he said grandly.