balance.
Dieter parked next to the HankMed van and Boris climbed from the backseat.
âHow is your patient doing?â he asked me.
It never failed to amaze me how Boris seemed to know things. Like he had a fly on every wall in the Hamptons. Who knows, maybe he did.
âYou heard about that,â I said, more a statement than a question.
He shrugged.
âHeâs in surgery, so weâll see.â
He turned to Jill. âAnd you, Miss Casey? I imagine youâre quite busy with your health fair preparations, no?â
âThereâs a lot to do.â
âAnd your fund-raising? Has it gone well?â
âVery. Weâre ahead of our goal.â
âExcellent.â He hesitated for a beat. âPerhaps I could help? If it isnât too late.â
âItâs never too late for donations.â She stopped suddenly, eyes wide. âIâm sorry. I assumed thatâs what you meant?â
Boris gave a curt nod. âThatâs exactly what I meant. Iâll have Dieter bring a check around.â
âThatâs very kind of you.â
âAnonymous, no?â
âYou can count on it.â
âI do.â He nodded toward the bottle of wine. âAnd perhaps a second bottle of wine.â
âThatâs not necessary,â I said.
He casually waved a hand. âSomething that will go with the excellent meal Evan is preparing.â
Boris nodded again, turned, and walked toward the front door. Dieter gave a half bow and followed.
I watched them go while wondering how Boris could know what Evan was making. If he did, that is. But if he didnât, how would he know which wine to select?
Boris the enigma.
Even I didnât know what Evan had planned. I wasnât sure Evan did. I think more often than not he simply opened the fridge and threw together whatever was in there. Usually not much. But somehow he always seemed to make it work.
My brother the chef.
âWhat was that all about?â Jill asked.
âI guess he wants us to have an expensive wine with our dinner.â
âNot that. I was talking about his offer to donate money to the health fair.â
âItâs just Boris being Boris,â I said. âYou know heâs always giving money in situations like this.â
âI know. But I didnât ask him for money.â
âMaybe Evan did.â
âMaybe. Anyway itâs very generous of him to offer.â
âLike I said, Boris being Boris.â
âHave you talked to Boris recently?â I asked Evan as I walked into the kitchen.
Evan stood at the stove, spoon in his hand, wearing a dark green apron that said KISS THE COOK in white lettering.
âNo. Why?â
âHe just offered Jill a donation for the fair and I thought maybe you had talked with him about it.â
âNope.â
âSo how did he know we were gathering donations?â Jill asked.
âBecause Boris knows everything,â Evan said.
I shrugged. âIt does seem that way.â
âHeâd make a good spy,â Evan said. âLike me.â
I let the editorial comment slide and said, âMaybe Boris is a spy.â
Evan stopped and stared at me. âYou think so? That would be so cool.â He looked at Divya. âMake a note to ask him.â
âI think not,â Divya said.
âWhy not?â
âBecause what Boris is or isnât is none of your concern.â
âBut us spies have to stick together.â
My brotherâs delusions know no bounds. I started to point that out but instead said, âI think most real spies donât advertise the fact that theyâre spies.â
âUnlike you,â Divya said to Evan.
Evan shook his head but somehow managed to stifle any retort.
Jill placed the wine on the table. âWhat are you making? It smells delicious.â
Evan ran through the menu.
While Divya and I were seeing our follow-ups, Evan had finally