With Private Eyes Part 12

"Coincidence."

"Probably."

"Oh, come on. You don't believe in curses."

"Not really. Only ... well, a lot of bad stuff has happened to various Barones on Valentine's Day. My uncle Luke was stolen from the hospital nursery on that day over forty years ago. I think most of us stiffen up in spite of ourselves when February 14 rolls around."

"The tasting was scheduled for Valentine's Day."

"I suspect someone was trying to make a point: 'See, Ma, no curse!' Only it backfired. The one person I know was pleased was old Lucia Conti. She never forgave my grandfather for marrying someone else. If I could see any way that she could have tampered with the gelato, she'd be my prime suspect. That old woman has built her life around her curse, like the thorn thickets that grew up around Sleeping Beauty's castle. She never married, and she looks like a witch now, all long, stringy hair and hoa.r.s.e cackling."

That startled a laugh from him. He'd seen Lucia Conti. "I guess her appearance does lend a superficial authority to the curse."

"Yes." A thoughtful line formed between her eyebrows. "But even though I could imagine the old woman cackling as she peppered our gelato, I can't picture her or any of the others burning down the plant. We-the Contis and my family-haven't always played nice with one another, but it's been little stuff. One-upmans.h.i.+p. Not arson."

"Hmm. A couple of people in your family have mentioned the Contis as suspects."

"Not everyone in my family has good sense. Which is why Sal Conti hired you, I a.s.sume." She thought that over. "You know, this feud has gone on too long."

He grinned as he came to a stop at the light. "You say that as if you thought you could do something about it."

"Not right away, I suppose. Priorities. Speaking of which..." All of a sudden she unfastened her seat belt, twisted up onto her knees and leaned over the back of the seat.

"What the-sit down!" He grabbed for her, got a fistful of sweater and tugged.

"You're going to stretch it all out of shape," she told him severely.

He could get a better grip and yank her back down in the seat, but he couldn't think of any way to keep her there. Ethan sighed, let go of her sweater and glanced over his shoulder. "You want to tell me why you're ransacking my files?"

"Do pay attention to the road, please. My position's a little precarious and I'd hate ... ah, here it is." She righted herself, a red binder in one hand.

The report Nicholas had given him. That was what she'd gone after. "It's a little dark in here for reading."

"I have lamps at my place."

"But I'm not going to let you take my only copy." Inspiration struck. "We could stop somewhere, grab a bite to eat. Someplace well lit, so you could read."

Claudia tapped the report with one finger. "A business dinner?"

"Of course." Pears. That was what her b.r.e.a.s.t.s made him think of-pretty white pears, blus.h.i.+ng at their tips.

"You going to charge it to your client?" She grinned. "I'd like to see Sal Conti's face if you do. I don't think a Conti has bought a meal for a Barone since Marco worked at Antonio's."

"I'll take that to mean yes. Any suggestions for where to go?"

"Paprikas is close to my place, and the light's good enough to read by. You can park in my s.p.a.ce. Turn right at the light."

"Okay." It's just a dinner, he told himself as he followed her directions. No big deal. He hadn't realized how sick he was of eating alone, though. The prospect of sitting across from Claudia while he ate had him smiling in antic.i.p.ation.

She'd be good company, too, not just good scenery, though heaven knows she was that. He wondered what she'd make of the report. Claudia's brain might not travel along predictable routes, but she was plenty bright. He found he was looking forward to discussing it with her, and frowned slightly. There was a lot he shouldn't discuss, dammit. Her brother, for example. If she knew what he was beginning to suspect about Derrick, she'd lob her dinner at him instead of eating it.

A pang struck, sharp and unexpected. If he was right about Derrick, Claudia was going to be hurt. He wished there was some way ... hold it, he told himself sternly. No call to get all protective. If ever there was a woman who could handle herself just fine without a man running interference for her, it was Claudia Barone. She was strong all the way down.

But strong didn't equal invulnerable. She could be hurt-had been hurt, he thought, remembering a fleeting look he'd glimpsed in her eyes a few times. Stubborn, prideful woman. She preferred to hide her hurt, and he could understand that. But that didn't make the pain less real.

d.a.m.n that brother of hers.

A meal is no big thing, Claudia a.s.sured herself as they walked the block from her parking s.p.a.ce to the restaurant she'd suggested. People eat together all the time. Shoot, she'd bet not a single couple at the restaurant would fall all over each other in the middle of their chicken paprikash.

"No, it doesn't make sense," Ethan announced suddenly, just as if they'd been arguing the whole way. "There's no earthly reason to rent parking if you don't own a car."

She glanced at him and chuckled. Ever since he found out her parking s.p.a.ce was available because she didn't have a car, he'd been all bent out of shape. He could not get his mind around the concept. "Not owning a car doesn't mean I never need parking. My s.p.a.ce came in handy tonight, didn't it?"

"You rent parking so other people can use it?"

"I like to know my guests can park safely."

He brooded on that for a moment. "But what if you want to drive up to the Cape for the weekend?"

"I rent a car or go with someone who has one." She patted his arm. "I can tell it's a shock to your system, but I find it simpler not to keep a car. It's not that big a deal, Ethan."

"But..." He shook his head. "I just don't get it."

"That's obvious. Look, here we are." Paprikas was one of Claudia's favorite guilty pleasures. The food was fabulous, it was within walking distance of her apartment-and not one item on the menu could possibly be mistaken for low fat or low calorie. It was just the type of place that would appeal to Ethan, she suspected.

Unfortunately, it appealed to a lot of others, too. The foyer was full of people waiting on tables.

"I am sorry, Miss Barone," Henry told her regretfully. "There will be a short wait. Would you and your escort care for a gla.s.s of wine?"

"Maybe some of that nice merlot I had last time. Thank you. Ethan?"

"Ah..." He'd been gazing off to her left. His attention returned to her face. "Nothing for me, thanks." He took her elbow.

She turned her head, wondering what he'd been staring at. "What was so- Ethan! Quit yanking on me."

"We need to get out of the traffic lane."

"In case you hadn't noticed, we're elbow to elbow in here, and there is no spot that's..." Her voice drifted off. The couple immediately to her left moved off, and she spotted a familiar profile.

Drake. Tall, blond, lean as a whip and as elegant as ever. His suit was dove-gray silk. His movements were quick, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with barely suppressed energy. He shone brightly, Drake did, and he knew it. He had a way of making those around him fade into the background.

She'd wondered sometimes if that was what he'd disliked most about her. She didn't fade.

"So what do you recommend?" Ethan asked a shade too loudly.

"Hmm? Oh, the chicken paprikash. It's the house specialty." How wearisome, she thought. How annoying. She still felt that same little clutch around her heart when she saw Drake. Not l.u.s.t or liking or infatuation, certainly-just the sad little ghost of foolish dreams.

"Is it spicy?" Ethan asked. "I like it hot."