“It was a long time ago.” He waved away the idea that he was anything even remotely like a celebrity hanger-on. “Vic, he wasn’t quite as eccentric back then. I knew a guy who knew a guy who… well, you get the picture. I was invited to a game. I won.”
“Three hundred thousand dollars.” I was having a hard time getting past the figure. But then, I am a numbers person, and these numbers, they were enough to take my breath away. “You won three hundred thousand dollars from a notorious gambler in a poker game, and you don’t think that’s important? This Victor Pasqual is rich and, from everything I’ve heard about him, a little crazy, too. He sounds exactly like the kind of guy who might hold a grudge.”
“Which means…” Jim said this, but I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t exactly anxious to hear my answer. He had that look on his face, the one that told me he saw the wheels in my head turning and he was afraid of where they might take me.
Which is why I answered as matter-of-factly as I was able. “We’re going to need to talk to Victor Pasqual.”
“The man never leaves the penthouse apartment at his hotel.” This from Jim.
“Except to play poker,” Norman added.
And they couldn’t see where we were headed?
My muffin and coffee finished, I got up from the table, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door. “Then we’re going to need to play poker with him,” I said. “And I know exactly where I can learn to do that.”
THESE DAYS, IT DOESN’T TAKE A DETECTIVE TO FIND people.
I mean, really, all you need is the Internet and a few smarts.
I had both, and within an hour of leaving Jim’s, I was parked in another part of town in front of a tiny brick house with a neat front walk and flower beds where marigolds bobbed their heads in the evening light.
It was the kind of house I’d always dreamed of owning.
The kind I’d been saving for.
The kind I’d had ripped out from under me when Peter left and took half our bank account (and half the down payment we’d saved over the years) with him.
It was the house Peter and Mindy/Mandy bought after they’d married.
I did my best to set aside the anger that assailed me when I considered this. After all, it wasn’t why I was there.
I reminded myself of the fact as I rang the bell, then stepped back and waited.
Peter was the only person I knew who played poker.
I needed to learn to play poker.
So-
“Hi!” When the door was opened by a trim blonde in white shorts and a purple tank top, I tried to be as friendly as possible. As much as I’d heard about Mindy/Mandy (and believe me, I’d heard plenty) we’d never actually met face-to-face.
She was shorter than me. She was slimmer. And younger. Her hips weren’t as round, her hair was cut short, and there wasn’t an unruly curl in sight. She had a ring in her belly button.
“I’ m Annie,” I said, and I knew exactly when the pieces fell into place and she realized which Annie, exactly, I was. That would have been when she looked a little as if she’d bitten into a lemon. I looked past her into the house with its sleek, modern furniture and walls that were painted an especially appealing tone of beige (though truth be told, the shade was a little dark for my tastes).
“I hate to bother you, but I was wondering if I could talk to Peter for a minute.”
Mindy/Mandy stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her.
“You don’t know.”
My blank expression said it all.
Mindy/Mandy shrugged. Her tank top gaped and, like it or not, I saw that her breasts were round and firm and perky. As much as I hated to even think about it, I could see why Peter had been attracted. I wondered what she wore behind the counter at the dry cleaner’s, and if the day Peter had first walked in there and been smitten on the spot, she was displaying her pierced belly button for the world to see.
“Peter, he said he’d seen you.”
Mindy/Mandy’s words snapped me out of my thoughts, and it was just as well.
“He stopped in,” I said automatically. “To the restaurant where I work. And the gourmet shop where I work and…” No doubt that sounded as weird to her as it did to me so I simply added, “He just stopped in to say hello. To talk. That’s all. I don’t want you to think-”
Her laugh stopped me cold and Mindy/Mandy opened the door and stepped back inside. “I’m sorry I can’t help. Peter isn’t here. He doesn’t live here anymore. In fact, we’re getting a divorce.”
Thirteen
WAS I SURPRISED?
Not really.
Not by Mindy/Mandy, or by anything she’d told me.
Suddenly, the whole thing about Peter showing up again in my life was starting to make a whole lot of sense.
The real question was how I felt about it.
And the real answer to that question?
The next Monday night, I told myself I’d better figure it out, and I’d better figure it out fast. Peter was on his way over to Bellywasher’s, and before our cooking students left and he showed up, I needed to have a plan.
As to how I’d found Peter in the first place after striking out at Mindy/Mandy’s… well, like I said, these days, you don’t need to be a great detective to track people down. Of course it helped that his soon-to-be-second ex-missus knew which extended-stay hotel Peter was staying at and didn’t mind giving me the number.
Contacting Peter and asking him to give me some poker pointers was a better plan than dwelling on the fact that he was soon to be a free man, and I was the free woman who’d once dreamed that he’d see the light, walk away from Mindy/Mandy, and come crawling back to me.
It was also way better than brooding, and brooding was exactly what I did when I thought about how divorces worked. I certainly didn’t know the ins and outs of Peter’s relationship with his current wife, nor did I want to. But I guessed that Mindy/Mandy was soon to be the sole owner of the house that should have been mine.
“Annie!”
I shook myself out of my thoughts and found Jim watching me. A couple seconds ticked by before I realized where I was-in front of the cooking class-and what I was supposed to be doing-showing them how to use a variety of citrus juicers.
Considering that at the beginning of the evening I’d demonstrated a kitchen torch-with less than successful results-I had to give Jim a lot of credit. At least he was willing to give me a second chance. Apparently, he didn’t hold a couple of singed aprons and a siren blast from the smoke alarm against me.
“Citrus juicers!” I beamed a smile at the students gathered around me and, call me paranoid, but I saw the way they backed away from the table when they realized I’d be the one doing the show-and-tell.
“You’re safe. This one doesn’t even plug in.” I held up the brightly colored heavy die-cast aluminum juicer for the class to see. Because I couldn’t decide, I’d brought them in all three colors: orange, yellow, and green. “You put a half of a citrus fruit in here.” I demonstrated with a lime, setting it into the rounded end of the bright green juicer. “Squeeze the two handles together.” I did. “And the halved fruit is turned inside out.” I showed them, along with the nice bit of juice I squeezed into a glass.
“For bigger jobs…” I moved on to the electric juicer on the table. “This one even has a filter that separates juice and seeds.” I had a halved orange nearby and made a glass of juice, lickety-split.
“Very nice. Thank you.” Jim gave me a smile before he turned his attention back to the class. “Just a couple of the gadgets that can make your cooking life easier. I think Annie’s got a few more she brought with her…” He glanced my way and I nodded. “So when we’re done with this next bit of cooking, she’ll show you how to make the perfect cup of coffee.”