I put my hand on top of the Doctor’s. “I think you have the wrong idea, Doctor. I’m very well compensated for what I do. And what I do is write stories.”
“I’ll bet you do. And I’m sure I’d like to read a few. Especially the one you’re working on right now.” The Doctor slid his hand from my cheek to the neck of my tank top, then slightly lower, and pinched my breast.
In one swift motion, I lifted my arm, raised my knee to the appropriate spot, and kneed him between the legs, sending a clear message—hands off!
The Doctor doubled over immediately, and I put my hand on his back.
“Are you alright?”
Some onboard might have thought the boat had lurched, the water choppy, and the Doctor merely lost his balance, but both the Doctor and I knew better.
The Doctor waved me off. “I’m fine.”
I doubted the doctor was fine. If he was testing me, trying to get close to learn if I was on to the Gang of Eight, or if he thought I’d be an easy target for his company along with a bit of compensation for allowing him to paw me, I had made it very clear I wasn’t interested. Either way, Doctor Jon hadn’t counted on my martial arts skills and took a seat at the rear of the boat by himself while I turned my attention back to taking photos.
Our tender turned out to be more of a tour boat than a direct shuttle to the island. And, with the doctor now clearly out of my way, I was able to shoot Capri’s Blue Grotto, the three giant Faraglioni Rock formations that jutted from the sea, and the Green Grotto with her emerald-green colored water without being hassled.
Once on the island, I did my best to get lost on the Via Camerelle, a pedestrian street jammed with small designer shops. The walkways were so narrow and crowded with tourists that it was easy to blend into the crowd and dart from one area to the next. If anyone from the Gang of Eight had been following me, they would have had trouble keeping up. By the time I took the chairlift to the top of Mount Solaro for a panoramic view of Capri and the Bay of Naples and got back, I’d barely time to race back to the Marina to catch my tender to Athena for Chef Louie’s class.
* * *
Chef Louie was a wall of a man. Dressed in his double-breasted cook’s jacket and tall toque hat, he was almost seven feet tall, and adding to his overwhelming presence was a butcher knife that he wielded like a quick-draw cowboy. Noting that Marco and I had entered late, the Chef twirled his knife in the air and, catching it by its handle, pointed to those already present, asking them to make room for us at the demo table in the front.
I sat across from the Chef, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. Few things make me as nervous as knives, and being close enough to see the perspiration on Chef Louie’s brow as he chopped, sliced, and diced a row of carrots caused me to wonder, had he ever missed? Subconsciously, I counted the fingers on Chef Louie’s left hand, the knife a hair’s breadth from his sausage-like fingers.
I whispered to Marco. “Please tell me this guy’s not one of the Gang.”
“Hardly. The Inspector’s wife’s not a fan. If Camile had her say, Chef Louie wouldn’t be here. She doesn’t like anything on his menu. But then, look at her. I don’t think the woman eats.”
Louie put the knife down, wiped his hands, and looked at me. “Now you.”
“Me?” The last time I took a knife skills class was in the seventh grade, when my grandmother had signed us up for a cooking class, and I nearly sliced my thumb off.
“Yes, you. You are a journalist, right? Maybe you include me in your story and make me famous? No?” Louie slapped a raw carrot down on the table in front of me. “You try.”
I sat back and held up my hands. “I’m really more of a baker. I’m better with dough than vegetables. Maybe someone else should try.”
“No. I insist.” Louie spun the knife around on the table like a roulette wheel, waited for it to stop, and then slid the blade closer to me. “Try.”
Marco elbowed me. “Go ahead.”
I sighed, picked up the knife, and, positioning the carrot on the table, began to cut. The first slice of carrot rolled off the table and onto the floor.
Louie put his hand on top of mine. “I think is better you leave chopping to me. You write story.”
Relieved, I surrendered the knife back to Louie. He holstered it and wiped the table. Then, clapping his hands together, he addressed those who had come to see Athena’s famous Chef prepare his signature dish, Guazzetto with baby octopus.
“Today, I show how to prepare my specialty. I make for tonight’s party. Very fresh. Very good.”
I took my camera from my bag and snapped several candid shots of Louie. He played it up for the camera and smiled a big, friendly grin with a pairing knife in one hand and a baby octopus in the other.
Satisfied I had the pictures I needed, I took my notepad from my bag and began to scribble the recipe as Louie explained step-by-step how to prepare.
The ingredients were simple. Baby octopus, tomatoes, white wine, a glass for preparation, and another for the cook. Olive Oil. Parsley. Garlic. Salt and pepper.
“Twenty minutes to prepare and two hours in the oven and…” Louie kissed the tips of his fingers, then extended his hand above his head.”Deliziosa. But for now…you must take my word and wait to taste tonight…for Aunt Ida’s birthday. It is her favorite. I hope to see you all there.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Lido Deck was decorated with thousands of little white lights streaming from bow to stern, the pool had been covered with a wooden floor for dancing, and around it, small tables were set with flowers and glass candle lanterns to celebrate Ida’s birthday. Overlooking it all was an elevated platform set beneath a canopy for the honoree and her entourage, Ida, her sister, Irene, Captain Byard, and their host, Neil Webster. Neil had spared no expense to make this night special, including fireworks and a string quartet that had come aboard that afternoon as we set sail from Capri.
By the time I arrived, at least a hundred people were milling around the top deck with drinks in hand. The men were all fashionably dressed in Tommy Bahama-style shirts and women in long caftans with dangly earrings and lots of bangles. The bar was crowded, and small groups had begun to pair off. There was a low hum of activity, the casual buzz of voices, and the sound of the string quartet playing a medley of popular music in the background.
I snapped several pictures, all part of my job and cover, and spotted Elli standing at the bar with Antonio.
Antonio looked drunk and, from the wide-eyed-come-help-me expression on Elli’s face, he was standing a little too close. As I approached, Antonio turned his back and ordered another drink from the bar.
I pulled Elli a few steps away and whispered. “Do you need rescuing?”
“I’m fine, but Antonio’s had too much to drink.”
“What’s going on?”
“He offered me a job. That’s what’s going on. I don’t get it. Why would Antonio try to steal me away from Neil? I thought they were friends?”
I glanced back at Antonio. I didn’t think Antonio had friends, not real friends anyway. Just people he used. I noticed he had both elbows on the bar, and judging from the smile on his face, he was happily engaged with the barmaid.
“Did he say what the job was?”
