that the gag-gifts were in order. Or usually, that they weren't. My employees called me daily. Only
once or twice a day, if I was lucky, usually more often when there was a crisis. And there almost always was a crisis.
And Wayne didn't usually go into the city to visit La Fete a L'Oiel, his restaurant-cum-art gallery till afternoon. But Ingrid—
"I called in sick," Ingrid murmured with a pout. "I want to know—"
It was time to change the conversation.
"So, Lou," I interjected, smiling at Yvette's impossibly beautiful husband. "How do you happen to know CPR?"
"CPR?" Ingrid asked.
"Cardiopulmonary resuscitation," Lou told her. "I work for a chain of hospitals—"
"I know what CPR is," Ingrid told him, her petulant voice rising. "I want to know why —"
"Hey," Yvette cut in, putting her hand out, palm forward. "Will you let him flickin' finish?"
Okay, Yvette wasn't all bad, maybe—
Lou cleared his throat and began again. "I work for a chain of hospitals. Emergency training is mandatory, even for accountants .. ."
I lost the rest of his words. The cold slap of astonishment had stunned me. This gorgeous hunk was not only married to Yvette, he was an accountant?
"Lou, may I ask you something?" Wayne's quiet voice came from my side. Lou nodded. "Why did you stop Dean from helping Shayla?"
Lou's brown skin pinkened. "People have fallen asleep before," he muttered softly.
"Yeah, yeah," Yvette agreed with apparent good nature. "It happens. Some people aren't good listeners, so what the fu-hell? Dean's the really interesting one, anyway. Do you know what his real relationship to Shayla was?"
I realized she was looking at me. And actually waiting for an answer.
"No, I don't," I admitted cautiously.
"Huh!" she snorted. Then she leaned forward. "Let's put it this way. He had more of a relationship with Shayla's husband than with Shayla." Then she leaned back, smiling.
"All right, I'm hooked," I told her. "What do you mean?"
"Come on, honey," Lou objected before Yvette could answer. "I think Dean and Scott's relationship is no one's business but theirs."
Suddenly I was on Yvette's side. Why was Lou getting in her way? Did she mean something sexual? Or something else?
"Not when murder's involved," she replied, still smiling.
"Murder!" Ingrid squeaked.
And then the phone rang again. I let the machine take it, but then I heard my warehousewoman's voice coming through the speaker.
I had to pick it up.
"Kate, this is Jade," Judy said. Judy was still searching for the name that really matched her spiritual essence. This week it was Jade. "You wouldn't believe what's happening here..."
I would, and did, believe what was happening. Another crisis. One box of shark earrings for the attorneys was missing and the new shipment had just arrived with half of the sharks hanging upside-down. Right in time for spring sales. (We always sold a lot of shark earrings in spring. I was never exactly sure why.) And that was just the beginning of Judy's news.
Twenty minutes and too many crises later, I got off the phone. Lou and Yvette were gone. But Ingrid still remained.
"Why are you guys acting so weird?" she was demanding of Wayne.
Wayne took my arm and hustled me down the hallway to our bedroom.
"Ivan wants us to look into this," he hissed, once the door
was locked behind him. "So I told him I'd call Ted Brown, maybe Mr. Quadrini—"
"I'll talk to Zoe and Winona," I offered eagerly.
"Kate," Wayne warned with a plea in his voice, "this is dangerous. It's not a game. Don't be like Yvette—"
"Like Yvette!" I yelped. "How can you—"
The doorbell rang again.
This time Ingrid beat me to the door. But when I saw who was standing there, I was just as glad. I turned to slink away. Too late.
"Ah, the lovely Ms. Jasper," Raoul Raymond sighed and slithered his way past Ingrid.
Jh, mon amour,' 9 Raoul murmured, grabbing my right hand.
I snatched it back and executed a quick tai chi backstep. He was about to kiss my
once or twice a day, if I was lucky, usually more often when there was a crisis. And there almost always was a crisis.
And Wayne didn't usually go into the city to visit La Fete a L'Oiel, his restaurant-cum-art gallery till afternoon. But Ingrid—
"I called in sick," Ingrid murmured with a pout. "I want to know—"
It was time to change the conversation.
"So, Lou," I interjected, smiling at Yvette's impossibly beautiful husband. "How do you happen to know CPR?"
"CPR?" Ingrid asked.
"Cardiopulmonary resuscitation," Lou told her. "I work for a chain of hospitals—"
"I know what CPR is," Ingrid told him, her petulant voice rising. "I want to know why —"
"Hey," Yvette cut in, putting her hand out, palm forward. "Will you let him flickin' finish?"
Okay, Yvette wasn't all bad, maybe—
Lou cleared his throat and began again. "I work for a chain of hospitals. Emergency training is mandatory, even for accountants .. ."
I lost the rest of his words. The cold slap of astonishment had stunned me. This gorgeous hunk was not only married to Yvette, he was an accountant?
"Lou, may I ask you something?" Wayne's quiet voice came from my side. Lou nodded. "Why did you stop Dean from helping Shayla?"
Lou's brown skin pinkened. "People have fallen asleep before," he muttered softly.
"Yeah, yeah," Yvette agreed with apparent good nature. "It happens. Some people aren't good listeners, so what the fu-hell? Dean's the really interesting one, anyway. Do you know what his real relationship to Shayla was?"
I realized she was looking at me. And actually waiting for an answer.
"No, I don't," I admitted cautiously.
"Huh!" she snorted. Then she leaned forward. "Let's put it this way. He had more of a relationship with Shayla's husband than with Shayla." Then she leaned back, smiling.
"All right, I'm hooked," I told her. "What do you mean?"
"Come on, honey," Lou objected before Yvette could answer. "I think Dean and Scott's relationship is no one's business but theirs."
Suddenly I was on Yvette's side. Why was Lou getting in her way? Did she mean something sexual? Or something else?
"Not when murder's involved," she replied, still smiling.
"Murder!" Ingrid squeaked.
And then the phone rang again. I let the machine take it, but then I heard my warehousewoman's voice coming through the speaker.
I had to pick it up.
"Kate, this is Jade," Judy said. Judy was still searching for the name that really matched her spiritual essence. This week it was Jade. "You wouldn't believe what's happening here..."
I would, and did, believe what was happening. Another crisis. One box of shark earrings for the attorneys was missing and the new shipment had just arrived with half of the sharks hanging upside-down. Right in time for spring sales. (We always sold a lot of shark earrings in spring. I was never exactly sure why.) And that was just the beginning of Judy's news.
Twenty minutes and too many crises later, I got off the phone. Lou and Yvette were gone. But Ingrid still remained.
"Why are you guys acting so weird?" she was demanding of Wayne.
Wayne took my arm and hustled me down the hallway to our bedroom.
"Ivan wants us to look into this," he hissed, once the door
was locked behind him. "So I told him I'd call Ted Brown, maybe Mr. Quadrini—"
"I'll talk to Zoe and Winona," I offered eagerly.
"Kate," Wayne warned with a plea in his voice, "this is dangerous. It's not a game. Don't be like Yvette—"
"Like Yvette!" I yelped. "How can you—"
The doorbell rang again.
This time Ingrid beat me to the door. But when I saw who was standing there, I was just as glad. I turned to slink away. Too late.
"Ah, the lovely Ms. Jasper," Raoul Raymond sighed and slithered his way past Ingrid.
Jh, mon amour,' 9 Raoul murmured, grabbing my right hand.
I snatched it back and executed a quick tai chi backstep. He was about to kiss my
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