Part 19 (1/2)
”Elena Franco,” she answered. ”I was just telling Daphne I haven't lived here long enough to figure out the driving rules.”
Mari wore a bronze-colored sequined c.o.c.ktail dress, its three-quarter sleeves slit from the shoulder to the elbow. I was one very lucky woman...as long as she stayed out of jail.
”The first few months are dangerous,” Mari said. ”If you live long enough, you'll catch on. Daphne did.”
”Kill or be killed,” I added sardonically. The glow from my pocket confirmed my phone was now streaming the hockey game, and I clicked the power b.u.t.ton on my Bluetooth earpiece.
”What else do I need to know about Miami?”
We bantered with senseless small talk until the inevitable swapping of business cards.
”Oh, you're an investment advisor. Just what I need.”
Mari didn't exactly pounce on her, but she was clearly interested. ”If I can help with anything...”
”Maybe you can. I sold my stake in a paper company last year and got out of the business. Right now that cash is sitting in a steady growth fund at Morgan Stanley, but I think it could be doing more. And now that I'm here in Miami, I want to work with someone local.”
Diaz had definitely done her research on Mari, enough to know she'd love to steal a client from Delores's firm. Or more likely, Delores had suggested it.
”I'd be happy to talk with you. We've got several growth funds that are doing well and a few aggressive instruments too, if you don't mind the risk.” The aggressive instrument was the Iberican Fund.
”I'm willing to take on some serious risk for the right return.”
”Daphne, I've been looking for you.” Gisela appeared behind me smiling and said a brief h.e.l.lo to Mari and Diaz. ”I want you to come over and meet Fernando Rojas. He's our new HR contact with the county.”
The band kicking off its set mitigated the horror of being dragged away from Mari by my boss. I'd never been so happy to hear salsa music.
Throughout my conversation with Rojas, I kept Mari in my line of sight. She was smiling and laughing, which I took as a good sign, since she wouldn't joke around about investments. It was obvious they had to talk loudly to be heard over the music.
Rojas politely excused himself, prompting Gisela to ask me for an update on the contacts I'd made so far. I'd just finished my rundown when she waved enthusiastically at someone behind me.
”It's Marco Padilla. Did I tell you he brought someone else to our board? Rob Jacobs, the CEO at Jacobs Building Supply. He's a perfect fit for the foundation.”
”So, Gisela...that business about Mr. Padilla wanting to invest the foundation's funds. That blew over, right?”
”Oh, I meant to tell you about that. Our investment manager looked over the fund and thought it would be a good idea after all to move some of our a.s.sets into it. It truly was too good an opportunity to pa.s.s up. In fact, Jorge cashed in one of our mutual funds and gave it to Marco to invest too.”
I almost spewed white wine in her face. Not only was the foundation going down the tubes, my boss and her husband were right behind it. When this blew up, their photos would appear in the Miami Herald among the prominent local victims, and I'd waltz away scot-free because I didn't have any money of my own to lose.
Now more miserable than ever, I worked my way across the room to see the last contact on my list, keeping an eye on Mari. Pepe was closing in on her and Diaz. The three of them chatted and laughed like old friends the entire time I was talking up Bacardi's volunteer day with their VP for public relations in front of the business writer for the Herald. By the time I worked myself free Diaz was gone.
”That was certainly worth getting dressed up for,” Mari said as she slid an arm around my waist. ”I'm about to steal nine million dollars out from under Morgan Stanley's nose. That calls for a daiquiri.”
”You told her about the Iberican Fund?”
”We didn't get a chance to talk specifics. We could hardly hear each other, but then Pepe came over and I let him know she was a major prospect. He asked her to dinner on the yacht tomorrow night. You'll come, won't you?”
”Oh, I wouldn't miss it.”
Chapter Twenty-One.
From my balcony, I could make out the lights of small boats pa.s.sing underneath the MacArthur Causeway into the shallow waters along the Venetian Islands. The night was perfect for sailing unless, like me, you'd been praying for gale force winds and torrential rains. Unfortunately, it was too late in hurricane season for that kind of mayhem.
I'd come home early so I'd have plenty of time to obsess over what to wear. The casual boat pants I'd bought for last time were pretty much the only game in town, but they didn't have pockets to hide the electronics store I needed to disrupt Diaz's wireless signal. I first settled on a dark brown rayon s.h.i.+rt with breast pockets and sleeves I could roll up and tie off.
By the time I got everything tucked away, I felt like a shoplifter with aluminum breast implants. My Bluetooth earpiece hung from the drawstring inside my pants, my iPod was rolled up inside my left sleeve, and my cell phone occupied one of my breast pockets. The other pocket held a battery-operated ultrasonic emitter I kept under my kitchen sink to repel c.o.c.kroaches. It didn't actually work on the bugs, but I thought it might give Henry an earful.
The problem was I looked ridiculous, which led me to my current ensemble-a thinner top with a lightweight denim jacket, stylishly faded yet not too ragged for the occasion. The best thing about the jacket was its four pockets, each perfect for concealing a potential signal buster.
The door suddenly slid open over at Edith and Mordy's.
”...and I'll take them all the way to the Supreme Court if I have to. It's a violation of my First Amendment rights to freedom of religion.” Mordy was angrier than I'd ever heard him, and that said a lot. ”Just because some dimwit catches her curtains on fire, they want to ban candles in the whole building. Not all of us are idiots.”
I tiptoed toward my door so they wouldn't know I was outside.
”This memo says they recommend flameless candles that operate on a battery,” Edith said. ”We can't do that either.”
”Don't they know the Sabbath means we can't turn those little suckers off and on? That's the problem with this place. Everybody thinks we all should do things the same way. They don't respect that people have their own customs.”
I wondered if Mordy had any idea he'd come full circle on his own beliefs, or that he'd brought me with him. I had come to appreciate Miami's diversity in ways I never could have imagined a few short months ago. Where else could I work alongside an African-American foreman, share Seudah Shlis.h.i.+t with Jews on the Sabbath, and fall in love with a woman whose family was exiled from Cuba?
The truth is I'm quite crazy about this city now, quirks and all.
The moment I stepped inside and latched the door, my cell phone rang. Diaz.
”Glad I caught you, Daphne. Wanted to let you know how much we appreciate your help last night. It couldn't have worked out better because it gave us exactly what we wanted-dinner on the yacht.” By her chummy tone, one would have thought we were best friends. ”Now that it's all set up, you can feel free to skip this little boat ride tonight. You might not want to be anywhere around when this goes down.”
”I told Mari I'd be there. Won't she get suspicious if I cancel at the last minute?” As if I would.
”I doubt it. These money types all have one thing in common. When you wave dollar signs in front of them, they don't see much of anything else.”
”I see what you mean.” You contemptible b.i.t.c.h. I didn't press it out of fear she might order me to stay clear, but I had no intention of missing dinner, especially since it meant I could watch Diaz pull her hair out as she tried to get her electronics to work.
With our days getting shorter, it was dark at a quarter past six. I parked next to Mari's Porsche in the garage at Bayside and strolled leisurely out to the marina. Diaz was already aboard and seemed genuinely stunned to see me.
Mari sprang from the sundeck, all smiles in brown tights and a pale orange linen tunic. ”I was starting to think you weren't coming.”
”And miss Benito's pork tenderloin? Not a chance.”
The waiter emerged from the galley in his white jacket. ”One mojito?”
”Thanks, Eddie. No one makes a mojito like you.”
”You just made his day,” Mari whispered as she guided me up the steep staircase.
”His mojito will make mine.”