Death, Taxes, and a Chocolate Cannoli (A Tara Holloway Novel) (25 page)

Knowing now on whose behalf I was likely working, my resolve was renewed. Nobody would take that cute smile off that little boy’s face if I had anything to say about it.

I deleted the browser history and headed out to my car.

I was scheduled for an early ten
A.M.
to two
P.M.
lunch shift today at the bistro. On the drive over, my language CD taught me the Italian words for many occupations. Nurse
—infermiera.
Architect
—architetto.
I wondered what the Italian word was for extortionist.
Extortolini,
maybe? The CD continued. Lawyer
—avvocato
. Mmm. That last one put me in the mood for guacamole.

Bendetta stood in front of the bistro, her Italy-shaped key chain in her hand, unlocking the pull-down doors that had been installed the day before. They rattled as she slid them upward, the noise loud enough to penetrate the closed windows of my car.
Waitress—cameriera.

“
Buon giorno,
Benedetta.”

She offered her usual warm smile.
“Buon giorno, cara.”

I noticed she had the zippered bank bag tucked into the outside pocket of her purse. I knew she went to the bank early each morning to deposit the preceding day’s cash intake, but I found myself wondering this morning whether any of the money she’d deposited was the cash Tino had extorted from his clients. It would be easy enough for Cole Kirchner to bring the funds back to Cyber-Shield, and for Tino to then take them home to Benedetta.

I entered the bistro on Benedetta’s heels. Elena was off today, but Luisa was working with me. We prepared the tables, stocked the glasses and plates, and carried desserts to the refrigerated display to entice the takeout customers. I was becoming very efficient at the restaurant routine. Maybe I really could open my own eatery someday. If I did, I’d call it Mom’s Southern Cooking and put my mother in charge of the kitchen.

After as the restaurant opened at eleven, Nick called in with an order. “Any chance you can deliver it?” he asked. “We’ve got a customer in the gallery looking at pieces and we don’t want to leave while he’s here.”

“Of course.” I rang up his total on the register. “It’ll be thirty-nine sixty-seven.”

I went to the kitchen and turned in his order. Dario was back today, sliding a Margherita pizza into the brick oven. I held up the ticket. “Got a to-go order for you.”

He nodded in acknowledgment as I placed it in the queue.

As I continued to wait on the tables, I kept an eye on the movement at Cyber-Shield. As usual, there was only minimal activity. I found myself wishing for Superman’s X-ray vision so I could see through the wall separating Benedetta’s Bistro from Cyber-Shield. By my best guess, Eric’s cybercave would sit just on the other side of the wall from the last booth, and would continue down the hallway to the kitchen door.
Hmm.
Was there an air duct that connected the two spaces? Maybe a pipe? An electrical socket even?

I rang up two takeout orders, bidding the customers good-bye with
“Ciao.”
Using my newly acquired Italian language skills, I was feeling quite worldly for a person who’d been born, raised, and lived her entire life in the state of Texas.

When Nick’s food was ready, I grabbed the bag. As Luisa came into the kitchen with dirty plates, I said, “I’m running this across to the gallery. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait!” called Benedetta from behind me. “Take this, too.” She handed me another container.

“What’s that?”

“Tiramisu,” she said. “Those boys at the gallery are becoming some of our most loyal customers. Might as well thank them with free dessert, right?” She leaned it to whisper to me. “It’s leftover from yesterday. But you won’t tell them, will you?”

I pretended to lock my lip and throw away the key. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

I could only wonder what other secrets Benedetta might be keeping …

chapter thirty-one

A
Fresh Tactic

I left the restaurant and walked through the lot. A silver Mercedes sat in front of Gallery Nico. Could it belong to the customer Nick had referenced?

I went inside to find Nick speaking with a fortyish man whose dark hair was pulled back into a man bun, a small lock on one side left free, probably on purpose to create an artsy, asymmetrical effect. The man stood bent, his hands on his knees, as he peered into the hourglass Mallory Sisko had filled.

“Such originality,” the man said.

Nick pointed me to the door that led to the office. I carried the bag back to the door and knocked. Kira answered and waved me in, and I left the door halfway open behind me.

I unpacked their food, setting it on the desk, and lowered my voice to a whisper. “What have you found out about the catering? Does it look like money’s being laundered through the account?”

“See for yourself.” Josh grabbed a file folder and handed it to me.

I quickly paged through the paperwork inside. The file included catering invoices dating back three years. The invoices appeared to be primarily for one-time events. Weddings. Family reunions. Office parties. Nothing immediately stood out. One company had been a repeat customer, but given the regularly scheduled dates of the luncheons the catering appeared to be for some kind of quarterly staff meeting. Plus, the amounts that the company spent weren’t excessive, adding up to around forty thousand dollars per year. Surely Tino’s extortion brought him more than forty grand a year. If not, why bother?

I closed the file. “I don’t see any obvious red flags. I assume you checked things out?”

“Of course,” Josh said, taking the file from me. “Most of the weddings were announced in the newspaper, and there were photos of the bride and groom all over their Facebook pages. Some of them even included photos of the food.” He went on to tell me that he’d called the companies listed on the invoices and posed as a new caterer soliciting business. “I asked them who normally provided their catering services. Some told me it was Benedetta’s. A few of them wouldn’t give me the information, but I sensed it was because they either didn’t know or didn’t want to bother looking it up.”

Or they figured it was none of his business. “So the catering account is a dead end?”

“Looks that way,” he said, “but take a look at this.”

He handed me another file. Inside were separate invoices for liquor sales to catering clients. It was not unusual for food and liquor to be invoiced separately. After all, special taxes applied to alcohol sales, so it was important that revenues from liquor be separately accounted for. In addition, the file contained records for events where a cash bar was offered. In these instances, rather than the host being charged for the liquor consumed, the drinks were paid for by the individuals who ordered them. And those individuals paid in cash.

Josh gestured to the paperwork. “There are several weddings and holiday parties where the liquor bill seemed excessive or the cash bar brought in three or four times the amount of the catering bill.”

Kira looked up from where she worked at her computer. “You’re dealing with Italians, right? They love their
vino.
”

She had a point. Of course, Americans loved their wine, too, as did the French. Really, who didn’t like wine?

“This could be something,” I said, looking over the reports, “then again, it could be nothing.”

My mind went back to the April fifteenth parties Martin & McGee threw when I worked at the firm. They’d always treated the staff to a nice buffet of food but, rather than risk bankrupting the firm, they’d provided only a cash bar. After three months of twelve-hour workdays seven days a week, we CPAs tended to tie one on. I could only imagine how much the bar took in on those crazy nights.

“It’s definitely something for us to keep an eye on.” I handed the file back to him. “Have you had any luck hacking into Cyber-Shield?”

Josh grabbed his blond curls with frustrated fingers. “We’re screwed. Kira can’t get into their system, either.”

Kira huffed a frustrated breath. “I’ve tried every trick in the book. I’m out of ideas.”

“If you two can’t do it,” I said, “no one can.” I racked my brain, trying to figure out what our next step should be. “If we can’t get into Cyber-Shield virtually, what if we planted a bug or something?” Maybe we’d overhear something that could help us bust Fabrizio.

Josh sat up straighter and his gaze narrowed as he appeared to be thinking things over. Josh loved gadgets. In earlier cases, he’d supplied me with a GPS tracking device that had helped me keep tabs on an errant minister, as well as a ballpoint pen loaded with a spy camera. Surely he’d have some type of listening device we could plant at Cyber-Shield.

I pulled the napkins and plasticware out of the bag. “Got something I can hide in a cannoli? Maybe a bug that looks like a chocolate chip?” I knew how those chips could get away from a person and fall to the floor. Instead of eating the chocolate bug, though, I’d kick it under Tino’s desk where it could transmit his conversations to us.

“I’ve got all sorts of bugs,” Josh said. “Most of which would work on the usual targets. The problem here is that we’re dealing with experts in security. Surely they use TSCM technology.”

“Speak English, Josh,” I spat, “and speak it fast.” I’d already been over here long enough to leave the food and collect the payment. I needed to get back to the bistro ASAP before Benedetta began to wonder why I was taking so long.

“Technical surveillance countermeasures,” Josh said. “You know, bug sweepers? Virtually all bugs transmit radio waves or a magnetic field or heat that a bug sweeper or thermal camera can detect.”

He went on to say that there were some ways to lower the chance of detection, with burst transmissions, for instance. I had no idea what a burst transmission was and was about to ask, when he said, “I think the safest bet here is to place some type of recorder in his office. We won’t be able to listen in real time, but we can listen after we retrieve it.”

Kira pulled the lid off her takeout container, releasing the enticing scent of pesto. “How will you get the recorder into his office?”

Josh’s eyes met mine. It was clear to us how it would have to be done.
I
would have to place it there. I was the only one who had access to Tino’s office.

“I’ll sneak it in when I make a food delivery,” I said, nearly trembling at the thought. If Tino caught me trying to eavesdrop on him, he’d probably drop me from the roof.

“I’ll get you a recorder that looks harmless,” Josh said. “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” I let loose a snort. “You just pointed out that Fabrizio’s business is security. Won’t he be familiar with these types of recorders?”

“Maybe,” Josh said, “but commercial security companies don’t use these types of devices. Besides, with any luck he won’t even spot it, right?”

Better hide it good, huh?

“I’ll talk to Agent Hohenwald,” Josh added. “Before we do this, we need to make sure the warrant allows it.”

“It’s a plan,” I said, switching from federal agent to waitress mode. I held out my hand. “That’ll be forty bucks for the food. Plus tip.”

chapter thirty-two

S
afecracker

As I left Benedetta’s later that day, I spotted a plain white sedan pulling up in front of Cyber-Shield. The driver’s door opened and out came Detective Veronica Booth.

Holy crap!
Clearly something had gone down that the rest of us didn’t know about yet.

She glanced my way, but showed no signs of recognizing me. Either the red hair had thrown her for a loop or she was intentionally pretending not to know me. The safest option was to assume the latter and to pretend not to recognize her, either. I continued on to my car and drove back to my apartment.

Two hours later, a text came in from Hayden Beale, the alter ego in my contacts list for Agent Hohenwald.
Meet me at On the Border on Knox. We can sit in our favorite Booth.

Given the capitalization of the
b,
I realized the word referred to the detective.
Clever.
I replied with
On my way.
Looked like I might get some guacamole, after all.

I deleted the text, left my apartment, and drove to the restaurant, taking a roundabout route and using evasive maneuvers in case I was being followed. I was alternately excited and fearful. Had Booth found evidence that would put Tino away once and for all? Or had he struck again, murdering one of his henchmen or a Cyber-Shield client who dared to defy his demands?

I parked and began to make my way to the restaurant’s door, when a
“psst”
caught my attention. I turned to see Agent Hohenwald sitting in his unmarked car. Detective Booth, who sat in the passenger seat, lifted her chin in acknowledgment. I scurried to the car and climbed into the back, scooting over on the seat until I was centered. So much for that guacamole.
Waah.

Booth told me why we were meeting at the restaurant. “After I stopped by Cyber-Shield today, Tino had me followed back to police headquarters. I think he’s got eyes on the place, at least for the time being. I was able to sneak out in the trunk of a squad car. I’ve got two men making sure we’re not spotted here.”

My eyes scanned the vicinity, spying a Dallas PD cruiser in the parking lot of Restoration Hardware across the street. That must be our lookouts.

Booth leaned in, speaking quietly. “Tino struck again. One of his clients was robbed Monday night.”

Hohenwald exhaled a sharp breath. “Which one?”

“The Magic Genie Hookah Lounge.”

I’d heard of it. Along with the hookah pipes, it provided its patrons with specialty coffee and tea drinks with an Arab flair. The place was popular with college kids and hipsters.

My throat felt tight, but I somehow managed to squeeze the words out. “Do we have another body on our hands?”

“Thankfully, no,” the detective said.

My body relaxed of its own accord, making me realize just how much tension my muscles had been holding. If this case didn’t wrap up soon, I’d need to get a massage or visit a chiropractor.