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Ed grinned sheepishly. “Well, he’s a little underworked at the moment—will be until the place really gets going. I knew that would be the case, that’s why I gave him a golf club membership.”
“The course looks wonderful,” Holly said.
“I had the designer back to install some improvements, and we’re already under way. I’m keeping one of the three courses untouched while the other two are being worked on. That way, my members won’t be bothered with the construction.”
They finished their soup, and the waiter brought their main course.
“What is it?” Holly asked.
“It’s fresh sea bass, cooked in a potato wrapping, with an excellent sauce,” Ed said.
The waiter poured them a glass of white wine.
“And that’s a Batard Montrachet, ’eighty-nine,” Ed said. “The bastard of Le Montrachet.”
Holly tasted it. “Wow,” she said softly.
“Exactly. Now tell me, what’s up with you?”
“Oh, Ed, I’m up to my ears in a huge mess.”
“Tell me about it,” Ed said, concerned.
“Well, for a start, we found the guy who took a shot at you.”
“Hooray for that!” Ed said. “Who is he?”
“Was. His name was Carlos Alvarez, and we found him floating in the Indian River with a bullet in his head.”
“I never heard of him.”
“He was a hired hit man, the same one who killed the two Miami developers. He was quite a shot, too; you were very lucky.”
Ed gave a low whistle. “I guess I was. Who hired him?”
“I don’t know,” Holly admitted. “We’ve traced Alvarez back to some people named Pellegrino, in Miami.”
“There’s a restaurant by that name,” Ed said. “I’ve had dinner there; very good.”
“Pio Pellegrino and his father, Ignacio. Turns out the old man is a former mafioso from New York named Falcone. He disappeared a few years ago and turned up in Miami with his son and a new name.”
“So I had dinner in a Mafia restaurant?” Ed said, sounding delighted. “That’s a new experience. Are they the people who wanted me dead?”
“Yes, and whoever they work with or for. We haven’t gotten past them yet, although the FBI is working on it.”
“I guess they really wanted this property bad, then.”
“Yes, but you’re safe now, since you own it. There’s nothing in it for them to try to kill you again.”
“Who killed . . . what’s his name? The hit man?”
“Another hit man named Trini Rodriguez.”
“He doesn’t sound like Mafia,” Ed said.
“There’s all kinds of Mafia, Ed. We’ve even got a Russian involved in all this.”
“This is the craziest business I ever heard of,” Ed said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I’m out of it.”
