Free Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) by Christopher Smith Page B

can’t believe I came upon that.   I’m requesting that you take me through
that crowd and safely onto the pier or I will report you to Fondaras, who is a
personal friend.   You can look for
those two later.   One of them is
named Addy, which I assume will help.   The other one presumably is a baron.   Check your guest list and hold them
accountable.”
    The man nodded and apologized.
    And
Carmen, swept up in the drama of her own faux tantrum, pressed her gun even
more firmly against her thigh in an effort to make certain it was concealed.

 
 
 
 
    CHAPTER TWELVE

 
    Spocatti had no weapon, so he needed to find a suitable
one.  
    The logical place was the ship’s dining room, where the
guests soon would be seated for dinner.  
    He slipped inside as if to admire the space and found glowing
candles on dozens of round tables covered with white linen, beautiful china and
silver, and flowers sitting low in vases.  
    Larger flower arrangements towered in strategic places to
offer an element of surprise when the guests filed in.   Across the room, a white Steinway grand
gleamed.   Spocatti stepped farther
inside, reached for a steak knife on one of the tables when none of the staff
was looking and dropped it into his pants pocket.
    Now for the more challenging part—getting Stout alone
before Florence Holt’s body was found and this place turned into a horror show.
    He wandered around the ship with his bald head slightly
lowered and his eyes hidden behind his lightly tinted sunglasses.   He went to the bar and asked for a fresh
glass of sparkling water so he could seamlessly blend in with the crowd.   Then, across from him, he saw Epifania
Zapopa, the young new wife Stout married after being caught having sex with her
on his first wife’s priceless Aubusson rug.
    As beautiful and as chic as she was, she nevertheless looked
out of place in this crowd because she was, in fact, out of place.   While society couldn’t fully shun
Charles Stout because of his name, family and money, they absolutely could shun
Epifania, who had no education and who had been little more than a common maid,
in their eyes, when the truth about their affair, first conceived doggy-style
after she served him two heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream, was revealed.
    At the bar, she appeared at once stunning, lonely and
frustrated.   He could only imagine
that after they shared their one dance in which Epifania somehow shimmied to
“Fly Me to the Moon,” Stout had left her here so he could mingle alone without
the awkwardness Epifania brought with her due to her sorry pedigree.   Spocatti watched her take her phone out
of her purse and check it for messages.   She did it so quickly, it was obvious there weren’t any.
    He walked over to her.
    “I’m sorry,” he said.   “Aren’t you Epifania Zapopa?”
    She turned to look at him and, up close, he saw that she was
more beautiful than he had realized.   Her long, wavy brown hair framed an oval face that only had a trace of
makeup because anything more wasn’t necessary.   She looked to be somewhere in her late
twenties, but that could just be a trick of nature or the ship’s soft
lighting.   She wore a black cocktail
dress that accentuated her curvaceous figure, tall shoes that showed off her legs
and a diamond choker around her neck that boasted an unusually large sapphire
at its center.   “I’m Epifania,” she
said.
    Spocatti held out his hand.   “Antonio Benedetti.”  
    She shook it.   “Have we met?”
    “Unlikely.   I’m
rarely in the States and I’m just about to leave again in a matter of
hours.   But before I do, I was
wondering if your husband was around?”
    “I wonder same thing.”
    “Sorry?”
    “ Nada .   Why
you need my husband?”
    “I understand he’s now a consultant.   I hear he’s the best and I’d like to
speak to him about potentially using his services on a business venture I’m
exploring.”
    “How you know who I