Read Romano and Albright 01 - Catch Me If You Can (MM) for Free Online Page B

pack them Wednesday morning first thing, if need be. I’m off Monday and Tuesday. Uhm. Did you take any with you last night? Did anyone take one home?” What a stupid question.
    “I wish. Okay, listen, don’t deliver the Trump to the lucky bastard who got it. You can sell the JT if anyone comes in and wants it, but they can’t have it until after Mallory’s done.”
    “Right-o.” I sounded like Nana. “Will do. Any other sales that…I should…know about?” I hated stammering. It was an affliction I was prone to during times of stress.
    “What’s wrong with you? You still drunk? Great party, Caesar. Jesus Christ, man, you can throw me a party anytime. Maybe do my next wedding when the time comes.”
    Wedding planning? “I’m not actually doing that for a living—”
    Jean Luc clicked off.
    Hell. “Take my jacket off, Shep. Call Estelle and tell her you have thirty minutes to vacate because I need to leave.”
    “What crawled up your ass?”
    Exasperated, I threw my hands in the air again. “Are you effing kidding me?”
    “I love when you do that. The hand thing.” He mimicked me. “Fahgettaboudit!”
    “I do not do that.”
    The gallery line rang and we both stared at the phone. “Stuhlmann Gallery,” I murmured, using no Italian hand gestures whatsoever—except for the one that employed my middle finger, which I waved at Shep.
    “Caesar? It’s Mallory Albright.”
    Of course it was. I dropped my hand. Sitting tall, I adopted Mallory’s cultured waspy tone. “Good morning, Mallory. How are you today?”
    “I’m very well, thank you. What an interesting evening. I had a lovely time. Have you spoken with Jean?”
    “Yes. Just now, as a matter of fact. He said you’ll need the Trump. You know, Mal”—here I went for my most conniving—“you should use the Son of Sam. It’s very…compact. And it’s regional and…the found pieces…particularly the buckles at the neck, are representative of New York justice overcoming—”
    “No. The Timberlake. We’ll raise the price and it’ll sell. It’s pivotal to the show. Did you use that kind of bullshit at Manhattanville? It won’t work on me. I’ve heard it all.”
    I said meekly, “Whatever you’d like, naturally.”
    “I knew a girl who dated a cousin of that man—that Son of Sam man. It was all quite tragic.”
    “I’m sure it was.” If Mallory’s assistant Stephanie put in her notice by nine on Monday, maybe things would work out. I’d have a new job. I could find the bust myself or call for help. I thought again of Detective Dan Green. Maybe a private eye would be better. Did they even have those anymore? A dick. I looked at Shep. He raised his eyebrow and then went to the kitchen.
    “You may meet me Wednesday morning. Ten thirty, yes? Steph’s out this morning. I need the telephone number for your little caterer friend. Can you email that to me? I’ve misplaced it from the last time.” Her carefully modulated tone turned crisp.
    “Yes. Absolutely.” Poppy had more work than she could handle, but whatever this woman wanted, she was getting if I had to cater it myself. Which, come to think of it, I could. “Whatever you need, Mal, you know that.”
    “Thank you.” She hung up. I had time. I could find this thing. I opened my drawer and reached for a roll of Butter Rum Life Savers and the Pappineau catalogue. Justin Timberlake’s strangely accurate face stared sexily back at me. I popped a Life Saver and grabbed a pen. I needed to make a list of everyone who had stayed after I left.
    It wasn’t much of a list: Jean Luc, Poppy, Peter, Rachel, Brandon, Andre…and Shep. Maybe a few of the other waiters. Mallory. I’d have to check.
    “Who’s Mal?” Shep reappeared in the doorway, snacking on a handful of grapes he’d clearly swiped from my refrigerator. He’d made a skirt out of his tablecloth and looked like an extra for 300 . He offered me a grape, smiling in that friendly, heartbreakingly handsome way of