Читать книгу The River to Glory Land - Janie DeVos - Страница 13

Chapter 2

Blindness of Convenience

“Follow me, please,” I said as I took two menus from a stack on the maître d’s podium. I led the way through the Hibiscus Room to Floyd “Buddy” DeMario’s usual table in the corner. A woman was with him that I’d never seen before. She was an orangey-redhead, and towered over the short mobster from Detroit by several inches. The smell of her rose-scented perfume was enough to knock a person over. As I walked back to the front of the restaurant, the scent still lingered heavily in the air.

At 11:25 a.m., the restaurant wasn’t open, but Buddy DeMario always arrived five minutes early for his lunch. His daily reservation was listed in our reservation book under the alias “Sam Smith.” Oddly enough, the crime boss from Michigan chose to eat lunch at The Spinnaker every day even though he owned two burger joints. Additionally, he had partial ownership of a couple of the hotels on Miami Beach and the Lemon Tree speak-easy. I couldn’t come up with a reason for his loyal patronage, other than that he loved the food. He sure made it easy for one of his enemies to find him if they chose to, and I assumed he had plenty of them. He usually sat with his back to the wall, and we seated him before any other patrons arrived. It was not his usual habit; however, to show up with a woman who was not his wife.

It was no secret that as powerful as Buddy DeMario might be in Detroit, Eunice DeMario ruled the roost. She was a tiny, sweet-looking brunette who ruled with an iron fist. Rumor had it, she arranged permanent departures for her beloved Floyd’s past conquests. Today, as Buddy sat in the corner eating Shrimp Louie with Miss Rose Hips, his small dark eyes darted furtively around the room. I figured Buddy would be better off locked in a room with his enemies, than facing the wrath of his wife.

As if he’d read my mind, Peter, the restaurant’s manager, said, “If Eunice finds out, he’s a dead man.” I didn’t hear him come up behind me, and his voice made me jump since I was picturing a nasty death for Buddy.

“Lord, you scared me,” I laughed, turning to face him.

Peter Nielsen looked as Scandinavian as his name implied, with his blond hair framing a tanned face, making his bright blue eyes stand out brilliantly. Peter had been employed at The Spinnaker for a little over two years. Prior to that, he managed Keens Chophouse in New York. My grandparents considered hiring him a coup. Now, with Miami’s economy in such a downward spiral, I wondered how long they could afford to keep him.

“I’ll tell you one thing, Peter, if my grandmother catches Mr. DeMario in here with any woman who isn’t his wife; the man’s going to be in just as much trouble as if Eunice had caught him.”

“But your grandmother has no problem feeding a mobster,” he laughed.

“She has her limits, you know.” I smiled, turning back to see if the waiter assigned to Buddy’s table had seen him arrive, and he had. At that moment, he was filling Buddy’s water glass.

I understood Peter’s confusion over my grandmother’s contradictory ethics. Grandma knew that if they didn’t feed Buddy, another place would, and they’d make good money doing so. Besides, the man didn’t conduct his illegal business practices in her hotel.

Having said that, she couldn’t turn a blind eye when the man brought one of his “hussies” into her establishment, especially since she knew Eunice. When I questioned her about her convenient moral blindness, she replied that it was a “woman thing.” She explained that women needed to draw a line when it came to allowing men to walk all over them, as many were quick to do. As women, we had to watch each other’s backs. I remembered that credo when I heard Peter welcome Dr. Neil Aldrich and his wife, Laura, to the Hibiscus Room.

My heartbeat increased immediately, and I felt my face flush. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I turned around and greeted the tall, auburn-haired doctor.

“Good mornin’, Dr. Aldrich,” I said, glancing up at him but not quite meeting his dark brown eyes. I quickly looked down to greet his tiny raven-haired wife. “Mornin’, Mrs. Aldrich.” The first time I saw the alabaster-skinned, dark-eyed beauty, I couldn’t help but think of the song, “My Irish Rose.”

“Morning, Lily,” Neil replied, and when I glanced back up at him, his eyes met mine.

“Lily?” Laura said, drawing my eyes back down to her. “Is there a table available out on the veranda? It’s such a lovely day, and I was hoping…”

“You can have your pick, Mrs. Aldrich. It’s early and there’s no one out there yet. Follow me, please.” Though I tried not to, I liked her. I didn’t know a soul in town who didn’t. Laura had come down from Ocala to join her husband two months after he arrived to help with the hundreds injured in the hurricane. She immediately rolled up her sleeves and got waist-deep in the misery without complaint. Though she was a music teacher by training, she unselfishly set aside her sheet music for bed sheets and bandages. There wasn’t a bad bone in her body. Unfortunately, I knew the same couldn’t be said about me.