Maybe that was what had happened with Sylvestri. She just got in too deep. Wanted a studio and closed her eyes to the crimes that made it possible. It was a shame when bright people turned their talents to bad ends. Genetics, upbringing or something big went south in their lives. It wasn’t his job to feel sorry for the perps, though. It was his job to stop them.
“Grab that chaise, Rick, will you?” Bianca said, calling him back to the task at hand. Right now, he’d learn what he could from Sylvestri’s wife. He moved the chaise to where she wanted it, then two plaster columns, which were so heavy he felt like Samson in that old movie tearing down the pillars he was chained to.
Bianca tossed two velvet pillows at him. “Fluff those up and arrange them, please. See if you can wrap that red silk around the arch like a curtain, hanging down, but swept back.”
Good Lord. If Mark and his squad could see him now—fluffing pillows and draping curtains. He wanted to laugh.
When he’d finished, Bianca surveyed the results. “Not bad.” Then her gaze landed on him and stuck. “So, Rick, you’re a friend of Samantha’s?” She looked him up and down, like she was checking out a daughter’s prom date.
“Actually, I applied to be her assistant. This is kind of an audition, I guess.”
“So you need me to put in a good word.” She tapped her lip. “I’m glad she’s so busy she needs an employee. I’ve sent in all my friends and family to get their pictures taken.”
So the mobster’s wives and mistresses trotting in for photos over the last few weeks had been referrals from Bianca. The task force had assumed they were doing business for Darien out of the studio. Maybe not. Hmm.
“Samantha took a photo of me that saved my marriage.”
“A photo can do that?”
“When Sammi takes it, you bet. That woman knows how to yank out your beating heart and wave it under your nose.” She smiled. “That sounded positively Aztec, I know, but what she does is a pure miracle.” She sighed, adjusting a pillow.
“I can imagine,” he said, thinking she had to be exaggerating. It was just film, angle and light, after all.
“We still need something,” Bianca said, eyeing the set. “I know. Put the fat candles around that table, which should go there.” She pointed at each item in turn and Rick moved things as indicated.
As they worked, Rick asked questions and Bianca was happy to explain that she and Darien had come from Chicago to retire and that the “dear, darling man” was setting her up in the knit shop she’d always wanted.
Before long, Rick knew about the horse property they’d purchased and the electronics store Darien wanted to open on the second floor of this building. He memorized everything as best he could, wishing he’d requisitioned a mini recorder. First chance he got, he’d slip away to take some notes.
Mark ribbed him about how scrupulous he was about notes and reports, but being thorough and organized kept his head straight when he was undercover, helped him remember who he was, kept the lies in order.
Again, Bianca stepped back and examined the set, then beamed at him. “Nice work, Rick. I’ll definitely tell Samantha how helpful you were. And so easy to talk to. I’ve blabbed on and on….” She pondered him, speculating. Wondering why he asked so many questions? He braced himself to deflect her suspicion.
“Would you do me a favor, Rick?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“Convince our Sammi not to work so hard. She needs to get out more. My Darien has a nephew who would be perfect for her—handsome and successful…he’s in vending machines and concessions, I believe. There was a tiny misunderstanding with the authorities, but that’s been straightened out.”
“Sounds interesting.” And criminal, actually. The mob was all over the vending world. He wondered if Bianca even knew she was surrounded by wise guys. She seemed completely guileless. People were always harder to read close up, when you saw things from their side, heard their rationalizations, their hopes and dreams and plans to change, to go straight….
“So, with you taking over some of the work, maybe Sammi can go out with him. I’m not thinking marriage necessarily, but…you understand.”
“You bet. But first I have to get the job. If you could help her see I’m the guy she needs…” That hadn’t come out quite right.
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” she said, another speculative look on her face, as if she’d read a little too much into what he’d said. “For now, we need to light the candles.”