Something's Cooking Read online

  She fluffed out her skirt, feigning nonchalance. The housekeeper nodded and walked away.

  “I see why you told me not to bring a corsage,” Paavo said as he slowly approached her, eyeing her bare shoulders. “You look…beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, her eyes sweeping over his tall, powerful figure. He wore a black tuxedo with a black bow tie. Rather than making him appear awkward, it accentuated his underlying strength. His hair had been carefully brushed into place, and only one wayward lock had sprung loose onto his forehead. “You, too, look very nice today.”

  “I feel like a maitre d’,” he said, looking down at the tuxedo.

  She smiled. “I have something for you!” From the desk she picked up the white silk handkerchief she had ordered for him. She moved close to him, close enough to smell the spicy musk of his after-shave, and tucked the handkerchief into his breast pocket. She rubbed her hand against the material to smooth it, feeling the hardness of his chest beneath her fingers.

  “Perfect,” she whispered. As her fingers stilled, he covered her hand with his own in what began, she realized, as a defensive gesture by a man not used to being touched. As their hands met, though, instead of brushing hers aside, his lingered, creating a confusion of feelings within her. She pulled her hand away and stepped back.

  He quickly turned, forcing his attention toward the room. He put his hands in his pockets in a gesture that reminded her of a little boy told not to touch anything. “This house is beautiful,” he said.

  She followed his gaze to the vaulted ceilings, the tapestries, and the mahogany furnishings of the library.

  “It’s nice,” she said in a flat voice.

  Just then, Serefina entered the room. She was wearing a floor-length gold dress with an overblouse of yellow chiffon that billowed wildly as she walked.

  “Buon giorno, Paavo,” she said, taking both hands and kissing his cheek. “You are so handsome today! Bellissimo!”

  “Thank you. You look lovely, Mrs. Amalfi,” he responded.

  She turned, grabbed her handbag, and headed out the door. “Andiamo. We’ll take my car.”

  Paavo took Angie’s arm and followed Serefina. Angie wished she had a picture of Paavo’s face as the chauffeur, Grayson, drove up with Serefina’s silver Rolls Royce.

  “Hurry.” Serefina shooed Angie into the car. “You can be late to your own wedding, but not to your cousin’s.”

  Serefina sat between Paavo and Angie. Serefina talked the whole way to the church.

  When they arrived, the church was already filled with people. Angie felt herself grow tense as she looked at the crowd. Whoever was after her couldn’t be at her cousin’s wedding. Too many people were here. She was safe. Her hands felt suddenly cold and clammy. She was perfectly safe.

  She didn’t do more than wave at family and friends as she proceeded straight to an usher who led her and Paavo through the crowd to a place to sit. She breathed a heavy sigh and settled back in the pew.

  “There are enough people here,” Paavo said, turning one way, then the other, finally unfastening the button on his jacket so he could move more easily.

  “No one special. Mostly cousins.”

  He gave her a disbelieving look and continued to eye the crowd.

  The bridal march began, and the wedding guests rose as the entourage marched down the aisle. Cousin Gina looked resplendent in a full, white gown and veil.

  The guests sat, stood, and kneeled through the nuptial mass. As a soprano sang “Ave Maria,” Angie found herself watching Paavo out of the corner of her eye, surprised to see how wistful and soft the expression on his face had become. She decided she must be misreading him. He couldn’t possibly be touched by a wedding.

  After the recessional, Paavo led Angie out of the church. “Nice,” he said.

  Before she could say anything, a cousin grabbed her arm and pulled her over to a group of relatives.

  “Look, it’s little Angelina!” an old family friend shouted. Angie particularly hated that name—it made her feel akin to Tom Thumb. “How have you been?”

  “It’s the baby!” one of her father’s cousins said. “Look at how she’s grown! I remember when she played on my knee.”

  Someone else grabbed her. She stiffened. Where was Paavo? She turned her head to find him, but the crowd was too thick. She tried to pull back, even though she knew everyone around her must be finding her behavior strange. She usually joined right in with the whoops, shrieks, and hugs that accompanied greetings in these big family get-togethers, but instead she found herself unable to say anything. People laughed as they hugged and kissed her, all saying they had heard about the bomb and were so relieved she was safe, and wasn’t it terrible that the random act of some madman could touch their own family that way? She grew confused and dizzy as they spun her from one person to the next, and her anxiety mounted.

  Then Paavo was there, right in front of her, capturing her with both arms. He drew her toward him and tucked her against his side. “Thank you,” he said to the family group, “for bringing her back to me.”

  “Ooooh,” the crowd murmured approval at his words, then “Aaaah” as Angie, without thinking about what she was doing, wrapped her arms around him.

  She felt Paavo stiffen and she pulled back.

  “Let’s go,” he said, his arm around her shoulders as he led her to the Rolls.

  They climbed into the back seat. “I’m sorry,” she began, “but the crowd, even though it was my own family—”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I hate this, Paavo! I hate it and I don’t know what—”

  The chauffeur opened the car door for Serefina. “Ready to go?”

  Angie nodded to Paavo that she would be all right and took a deep breath before she turned to Serefina and found the strength to act as though nothing had upset her.

  They soon arrived at a modern redwood-and-glass building on a bluff, with the ocean on one side and a lake on the other. The late afternoon sun was warm, and there was a light breeze.

  Angie stopped at the ladies’ lounge to comb her hair, freshen up, and get over her anxiety. Her cousin Pia slinked to her side. Leaning against the vanity countertop, she eyed Angie for a second before speaking.

  “That’s some guy you showed up with. Goodlooking.”

  “I guess.” Especially when he’s not reading you your rights, she was tempted to add.

  “Hi, girls,” Angie’s second oldest sister, Caterina, called out as she walked in.

  “Love your hair,” Angie said, despite being appalled at seeing her sister as a platinum blond.

  “Thanks. Actually, your blond highlights gave me the idea.”

  Angie’s mouth dropped. She’d definitely have to reconsider her hair color.

  “I’m sure glad I got to see the mystery man you’ve been hanging out with,” her sister said in between quick swipes at her mouth with a tube of lipstick.

  “Mystery man?” Pia stepped closer.

  “Mamma told me about it,” Caterina replied. “He’s a detective, and Angie met him when that bomb went off. I can see why she’s spending so much time with him.”

  “That bomb!” Pia smoothed one eyebrow. “God, I heard about it so many times I feel like it went off in my kitchen!”

  She glanced at Angie and then tugged at the hips of her dress. “A police detective, huh? If you’re not serious about him, let me know.”

  “Hey, Angie,” her sixteen-year-old cousin Loretta stuck her head in the lounge, “your sexy friend is pacing around waiting for you. And about six women are closing in on him.”

  Without a word, Angie left, walked straight to Paavo, hooked her arm in his, and led him to the other side of the room, near the buffet table.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes intense on her flushed face.

  She glanced quickly at him. He was definitely not Pia’s type. “Nothing, nothing at all,” she replied and lifted two glasses of champagne from the tray as a waiter wal
ked by. She handed him one.

  Serefina joined them. “Paavo, caro mio,” she said, turning Paavo into an Italian word, “come with me. I want to introduce you.”

  “Mamma, I don’t think—” Angie began.

  “No, you don’t. But that’s all right, Angelina. Come along if you wish.”

  At that, Serefina dived into the crowd, pulling Paavo in with her. One hour, two more glasses of champagne, and untold numbers of hors d’oeuvres later, they came up for air on the far side of the room. Somewhere along the line, “Mrs. Amalfi” had become “Serefina” to Paavo, and they talked together like long-time friends. Angie tagged along, wondering why she bothered.

  When Serefina finally became distracted while talking to Bianca, Angie’s oldest sister, Angie took Paavo aside to whisper, “Sorry about that.”

  “Sorry?” He frowned. “Your mother’s a warm, affectionate person, able to make a stranger, even a cop, feel welcome. It doesn’t happen often. A lot of people could learn quite a bit from her.”

  She wondered if he’d include her in that group.

  During dinner, Paavo sat between Angie and Serefina. He hardly said a word as Serefina kept everyone near her entertained with her stories, and Angie filled Paavo in on who the numerous relatives were that Serefina was talking about.

  “You know, Paavo,” Serefina turned to him abruptly, “when I met my Salvatore, after only three days I knew I wanted to marry him. We were in Calabria, right after the war. The country was poor, and he found a job on a small freighter that would take him to America. He left only three weeks after we met. But I waited. And two years later, he spent his savings on boat fare for me to come to him.” She smiled knowingly at the two of them.

  Angie glanced at Paavo. His expression was suitably blank, but the look he cast toward Angie was one that should be inflicted only on mass murderers or child molesters. She wished she could dive under the table.

  After the meal, the guests milled about with coffee and liqueurs until the band started up. The bride and groom danced the first dance, then others began to join them.

  As the band finished its third rendering of “Volare” and began “Arrivederci, Roma,” Paavo held out his hand. “Angie?”

  She looked at him in astonishment. Surely, police inspectors didn’t dance!

  “I don’t think so,” she said, vigorously shaking her head.

  He turned to her mother. “Serefina?”

  She beamed. “Caro, I love to dance. But I’m such an old lady!”

  “You’ll show us all how it’s done, Serefina.” He lightly touched her back and escorted her to the dance floor.

  Angie folded her arms, her lips pursed, as she watched her mother and Casanova doing a fancy waltz step.

  “Pretty good, huh?” Bianca nudged her arm.

  Angie made no comment.

  When the song ended, Paavo helped Serefina, laughing and puffing, to a chair. He got her some champagne before she sent him back to Angie.

  As the band played, “That’s Amore,” Angie’s third sister, Maria, asked Paavo if he’d talk to her husband, Dominic, because his business had been burglarized three times recently and he wanted better police protection.

  “Well…” he glanced at Angie.

  “Go ahead, I’m fine.” She waved them away.

  “I’ll waltz him back to you,” Caterina leaned toward Angie and whispered. “Pia’s making a beeline for him right now.”

  “Super.” Angie sniffed and then folded her arms and watched her platinum blond sister disappear into the crowd.

  Bianca, still standing beside her, chuckled.

  “So where’s Francesca?” Angie asked, looking around for her fourth, and final, sister. “She should be next in line with Mr. Bojangles.”

  “Fran’s at the bar, sloshed. She’s having trouble with Seth again. American men are so difficult!”

  Angie rolled her eyes. Then she turned down a dance with her cousin Vince, who had sweaty palms and used to sock her when they were kids.

  Bianca gave Angie a scathing look. She felt obligated to accept Vince’s request to dance. Angie watched the two of them waltz off to “Non Dimenticar.”

  Suddenly, she realized she was alone in a room full of people. It was the strangest sensation. She looked from one person to the next, realizing any one of them, stranger or friend, could…No! Her heart began to pound, as dizziness swept over her. She hadn’t felt this way before, when Paavo was near. With him she was secure, protected.

  She shut her eyes, swaying, and then rushed blindly to the exit, needing to get away from the closeness of the room, away from the music, away from her horrible thoughts….

  She stepped onto the well-lit deck, gripped the railing, and gulped the fresh ocean air. As her head cleared, she felt foolish and disgusted with herself. She wondered if she could ever again be as carefree as she had been in the days before the threats had begun and her life had turned upside down.

  The sea breeze was cool against her skin, and she tossed her head back, savoring it.

  “Excuse me.”

  Startled, she looked down to see a pretty little girl holding out a champagne glass. “The man said you’d enjoy this.”

  “He did?” Angie took the glass. She looked around to see where the child had come from or if anyone was near. They were alone.

  “Tell me, was he a tall man who is very handsome?”

  The girl giggled and nodded to both questions.

  Angie smiled, relieved. “Tell him thank you, then.”

  After the girl turned and ran off, Angie put the champagne glass on the rail, cupping it and running her thumbs over the condensation that had formed on it. Paavo Smith could be a surprisingly thoughtful man.

  “Is anything wrong?” The subject of her thoughts appeared beside her. He put his hand out as if to touch her shoulder but then seemed to think better of it.

  “I needed some air,” she said softly, feeling flushed and more than a little foolish over her behavior. “Boring in there, wasn’t it?”

  The white of his teeth flashed in a wry smile. “You’re lucky to have a fine family.” She nodded and leaned against the railing, looking down toward the beach.

  He bent forward with his forearms on top of the railing. A full moon cast a corridor of light on the water, but the rest of the ocean and the night sky was lost in darkness. Just beyond the deck, the hillside dropped away to the beach far below.

  “My, uh, father used to take me bass fishing on the beach down there when I was a kid,” Paavo said softly.

  “Really?” Angie looked at Paavo’s proud profile. “My grandfather and I used to come fishing out here, too.”

  Paavo’s eyebrows rose as he turned to her. “Bet you never touched the bait.”

  “I did, too! My hands aren’t so delicate.” She reached out and placed her hand on top of his, gripping it as if to show the strength of her fingers. He rolled his hand over so that it was palm up. She placed her hand in his. “My grandfather used to take me duck hunting, too. I didn’t like it, but I’m good at skeet shooting. He didn’t have any grandsons, you see, so he taught me to fish and hunt instead. Fishing was my favorite, though. I’d like to again, someday.”

  “Oh?” His thumb lightly ran over her soft skin.

  “Yes, I would!” Her tone was defiant, but she left her hand in his a moment longer before she pulled it back.

  “Do you feel any better?” he asked gently.

  “A little.”

  He straightened. “Would you like me to take you home?”

  “I ought to stay a while longer. I guess we should go back in. I’m afraid you’ll have to listen to ‘Volare’ a few more times.”

  He grinned. “It could be worse.”

  “Right. It could be ‘O Sole Mio.’ Oh, my champagne.” She reached for it and lifted it toward her lips. “Thank you for sending it to me.”

  “Wait.” He grabbed her wrist. She jumped back as some champagne sloshed over the side of the glass. “Wha
t did you say?” he asked. “I didn’t send you any champagne.”

  She froze. “But the little girl said…”

  “That I sent it?”

  “No. A man…I assumed…”

  He lifted the glass from her hand and sniffed the champagne. “Do you carry perfume?”

  “Perfume?” She opened her handbag, dug around in it, and then held up a tiny vial.

  He put the champagne glass on the rail, unscrewed the top of the vial, and dumped the perfume over the deck.

  “But—” she cried. He glanced up at her. “That was three hundred dollars an ounce,” she whispered.

  He poured a little champagne into the vial, swished it around, poured it out, then refilled it with more champagne. He put the vial in his pocket.

  “You can’t believe…” she began, her voice quivering slightly now. She shivered at the hard, calculating look in his eyes.

  “I don’t know what to believe. We’ll find out for sure.”

  They found the little girl and Paavo quietly and gently questioned her and her upset parents. But the child was only four and could only say a tall, black-haired man had given her a dollar to carry the champagne to Angie. They walked around, trying to find the man again, but he was probably miles away.

  “Even here,” Angie cried when she and Paavo were alone again, “even here, with my family…. It can’t be any one of them. It simply can’t.” The thought appalled her.

  “A clever stunt.” Paavo ran his fingers through his hair as he looked over the crowd. “Who would question one more guest at a party this large?”

  Angie shook her head. “I give up, Paavo. I can’t bear it any longer!” To her dismay, her voice broke.

  She lifted her gaze to his. Their eyes met and locked as the band began the slow ballad “Al Di Là.”

  Without asking, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. Her stomach clenched as he stepped toward her, his face serious and shuttered as always. His arm circled her waist, drawing her closer, and she lifted her free hand to his shoulder, without will, without hesitation. Up close she could see that his eyes were even lighter in the center and sky blue on the edges, that his lashes were thick and dark. She could see the funny bend in his nose, the sensuous, well-defined shape of his lips. Similarly, his gaze slowly slid over her, his expression harsh as if against his will his arm tightened and the space between them closed to nothing. She shut her eyes as a tremor rippled through her, and she let herself lean against him, willing, for this moment at least, to lose herself in the arms of this quiet, puzzling man. She felt his cheek touch her hair as he, too, seemed to relax a bit. He tucked her hand against his chest and their steps grew slower and smaller until the music ended.