Chapter 5 - THE DINNER BELLAROSE DID NOT EXPECT
Z
Carmine did not cancel his meeting with Bellarose.
Nell thought he had lost his mind.
“You know he’s watching you.”
“Yes.”
“He knows someone entered the basement.”
“Yes.”
“He knows I’m connected to you.”
“Probably.”
“And you’re going to dinner with him?”
“Yes.”
Nell stared.
Carmine buttoned his suit jacket.
“You could occasionally use more than one word.”
“I could.”
She threw up both hands.
Benny, standing near the door, looked away to hide a smile.
Carmine continued.
“Bellarose expects me to withdraw.”
“That would be reasonable.”
“He would learn nothing from reasonable.”
“What exactly are you trying to learn?”
“How frightened he is.”
“He ordered someone to find me.”
“That already tells you he’s frightened.”
“Not enough.”
Nell folded her arms.
“What are you going to do?”
Carmine looked toward the kitchen.
“You are going to cook.”
She laughed.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He waited.
Nell shook her head.
“I am not cooking dinner for Conrad Bellarose.”
“You won’t.”
“Then who?”
“Me.”
That stopped her.
Carmine continued.
“Bellarose believes the ledger contains evidence.”
“It might.”
“But he does not know what we found.”
“We found recipes.”
“And a photograph.”
“And numbers.”
“Nothing directly proving fraud.”
“Not yet.”
Carmine picked up the recipe book.
“So we make him tell us what he thinks is inside.”
Nell understood.
“You want to scare him.”
“I want him to make a mistake.”
“With food?”
“With memory.”
Two hours later, the Orsini dining room looked exactly as it had the night Carmine first tasted Nell’s pecan pie.
Same white linen.
Same chandelier.
Same polished silver.
But only four places had been set.
Carmine.
Bellarose.
Benny.
And one empty chair.
At eight, Bellarose arrived.
He wore a dark navy suit and brought a bottle of wine older than Nell.
He smiled at Carmine.
He smiled at Benny.
Then he noticed the empty chair.
“Another guest?”
“Possibly.”
Bellarose’s smile did not change.
Dinner began.
Oyster soup.
Duck.
Potatoes with rosemary.
Nothing unusual.
Bellarose spoke about contracts.
Carmine listened.
Benny ate.
The empty chair remained empty.
Then dessert arrived.
Odette carried it herself.
One pecan pie.
Bellarose stopped speaking.
Only for one second.
Carmine saw it.
The pie was placed between them.
Bellarose laughed softly.
“Old-fashioned.”
“My grandmother likes it.”
“Palmira always had excellent taste.”
Carmine cut one slice.
He placed it on Bellarose’s plate.
Bellarose looked down.
His fork did not move.
“Not hungry?”
“Full.”
“You negotiated eleven restaurants through three courses and suddenly found your appetite limited by pastry?”
Bellarose smiled.
“Are you interrogating me about dessert?”
“No.”
Carmine cut himself a piece.
“I’m asking why you recognized it.”
Bellarose’s eyes lifted.
“Recognized what?”
“The pie.”
“It’s pecan pie.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Carmine took a bite.
Bellarose looked toward the kitchen doors.
And that was when Nell entered.
She wore the same plain blue dress she used for church and formal staff events.
No apron.
No gloves.
Her hair was pinned back.
Bellarose went pale.
He recovered quickly.
But not quickly enough.
“Nell Brisco,” Carmine said.
Bellarose placed his napkin beside his plate.
“We’ve met?”
“No,” Nell replied.
His eyes remained on her.
She walked to the empty chair.
She did not sit.
Carmine said, “Miss Brisco made the pie.”
Bellarose’s hand tightened around his glass.
“Talented.”
“Her father thought so.”
Silence.
Nell watched him.
Carmine continued.
“Emmett Fontaine.”
Bellarose leaned back.
The performance ended.
His face became harder.
“So this is what we’re doing.”
“What are we doing?”
“Digging up old business disputes.”
“Was it a dispute?”
Bellarose looked at Nell.
“Your father made mistakes.”
Nell’s voice remained calm.
“Which ones?”
“He borrowed money he couldn’t repay.”
“From whom?”
“That hardly matters now.”
“It matters to me.”
Bellarose turned to Carmine.
“This is embarrassing.”
“For you?”
“For everyone.”
Carmine took another bite of pie.
Bellarose stared at it.
Then something slipped from him.
“Emmett always used too much vanilla.”
Nell’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Carmine put down his fork.
“You knew his recipe.”
Bellarose realized what he had done.
Too late.
He shrugged.
“I ate there.”
“This isn’t his recipe,” Nell said.
Bellarose looked at her.
“It’s mine.”
Silence.
“I wrote it when I was thirteen.”
Bellarose’s face changed again.
Nell stepped closer.
“My father preserved it in the ledger.”
Now Bellarose knew.
They had the book.
He did not ask.
That would confirm too much.
Instead he smiled.
“Congratulations.”
Carmine watched him.
“What was in Lydia’s envelope?”
The smile disappeared.
Bellarose stood.
Benny remained seated.
No one blocked the door.
That was worse.
Bellarose looked at Carmine.
“You are involving yourself in something that ended twenty years ago.”
“It seems active.”
“It isn’t.”
“Someone searched Nell’s apartment.”
Bellarose’s gaze flickered toward her.
“Wasn’t me.”
“I never said it was.”
Another mistake.
Tiny.
But there.
Carmine stood.
“Lydia Brisco died in your car.”
“A tragic accident.”
“She had an envelope addressed to Emmett Fontaine.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You remember pie from twenty years ago.”
Bellarose said nothing.
Carmine stepped around the table.
“What was in the envelope?”
“You think because you run docks and frighten men with less money than you, everyone owes you answers?”
“No.”
Carmine stopped six feet away.
“I think you came into my office offering me millions of dollars to make your fraudulent distribution chain look legitimate.”
For the first time, Bellarose’s composure truly broke.
Only for a heartbeat.
But Benny saw it.
Nell saw it.
Carmine saw it.
Bellarose picked up his coat.
“Careful.”
Carmine tilted his head.
“Is that advice?”
“It’s history.”
Bellarose looked toward Nell.
“Your father spent his life chasing ghosts.”
Nell stepped forward.
“No.”
Her voice was steady.
“He spent his life remembering exactly who stole from him.”
Bellarose laughed.
“Your father barely remembers your name.”
The room changed.
Carmine’s face became unreadable.
Nell went completely still.
Bellarose had gone too far.
He knew it immediately.
But the words could not return to his mouth.
Nell approached until only the table corner separated them.
“My father may forget my name.”
Her eyes did not leave his.
“But he remembered seven minutes.”
Bellarose frowned.
“He remembered enough to keep my recipe.”
She pointed toward the pie.
“And you remembered enough to be afraid of it.”
Bellarose left.
No one stopped him.
The front door closed.
Nell’s hands began shaking.
She hid them behind her back.
Carmine noticed.
“He knew about your father’s condition.”
“Yes.”
“He’s been watching him.”
“Yes.”
Nell turned.
“I’m going to the facility.”
Carmine reached for his coat.
“So am I.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I know.”
That answer stopped her.
She looked at him.
He was not going because of Bellarose.
Not entirely.
He was going because she was.
Nell looked away first.
At the long-term care facility, room 14 was empty.
The bed had been stripped.
The water glass was gone.
Nell stared at the nurse.
“Where is my father?”
The nurse looked confused.
“A man signed him out this afternoon.”
Nell’s blood went cold.
“What man?”
“He said he was family.”
“I am his only family.”
The nurse’s face changed.
Nell grabbed the visitor log.
One signature appeared beneath hers.
A name she had not seen in nineteen years.
Lydia Brisco.
Nell dropped the clipboard.
May you like
Her mother had been dead for eleven years.
And someone had just used her name to take Emmett Fontaine.
