Part 1 (1/2)

Courting Disaster.

An Angie Amalfi Mystery.

Joanne Pence.

Dedication.

To three special friends-.

Peggy Staggs, Cheryl Maude, and Jane Jordan.

Chapter 1.

A fat, salty tear trickled down Stanfield Bonnette's narrow cheek. He pulled a Kleenex from its cellophane packet. The tissue tore apart and he ended up with half in his hand, the other half still stuck in the packaging. A metaphor for his life.

Real men don't cry. He'd heard that often enough from his father, and believed it, even as he fought to stop his tears while walking down the steep hills away from his top-of-Russian-Hill San Francisco apartment.

Real men especially didn't cry out of self-pity over losing girlfriends they never had who were engaged to men they didn't like. Men who were more macho, more s.e.xy, and definitely more exciting.

They didn't even cry when they had a job they despised, a father who scorned them, and they received no respect from anyone, ever.

Another tear formed in the corner of his eye and he wiped it away, even more disgusted with himself.

Outwardly, he had everything-a well-paying job at a bank, good looks, a nice apartment, and access to his father's money whenever he needed it. He was in his early thirties, single, slim, with silky brown hair, brown eyes, and boyishly handsome looks. Back in the days when Hugh Grant was young and wildly popular, people said Stan reminded them of the English actor. Now both seemed a bit dated.

As he crossed Union Street he faced San Francis...o...b..y and Alcatraz-old, solitary, and squalid, much the way he felt.

At the foot of Russian Hill, where the ground became level and flat, past the old red brick Cannery that had been converted into tourist shops and eateries, he reached Jefferson Street, the heart of Fisherman's Wharf. To his right were famous restaurants and tourist attractions, but where he stood the buildings were wooden, single-story, and windowless, with company names painted over doorways or garages, all a part of the real world of fis.h.i.+ng boats, warehouses, and fisheries.

Many of the area's restaurants featured Italian food, yet another reminder of the woman he was mooning over, Angelina Amalfi. Okay, maybe it was true that they'd never seriously dated, and she'd never indicated that she felt anything for him other than friends.h.i.+p. But as she talked about her upcoming engagement party, he suddenly realized how much she meant to him. He had no doubt her engagement party-being planned by her mother-was going to be the biggest and most lavish ever held in the city of San Francisco.

If his mother were to plan an engagement party for him, it would probably consist of Kentucky Fried Chicken and Hostess cupcakes. To say his mother wasn't thrilled with him or the way he was living was an understatement. And her disappointment was exceeded only by his father's.

At times like this, he couldn't help but think his parents were right. After all, he'd lost Angie, and now he would never have a chance to convince her that their relations.h.i.+p might become more than friends.h.i.+p.

No, that wasn't exactly true, either. He'd tried. More than once. She'd never noticed. What did that tell him?

He sighed woefully. She would have been perfect for him, too. Beautiful, smart, ambitious...rich...and a great cook. He loved food. Loved to eat. Day. Night. Midday. Middle of the night.

Angie's kitchen was one of the Seven Wonders of the World. He could knock on the door to her apartment right across the hall from his, she'd invite him in, and he'd head for her refrigerator. It was like a magic box, filled with the most delectable leftovers the world has ever known.

And soon, once she was married, this wonderful, scrumptious, mouthwatering phase of his life would be over.

Tears threatened again.

Not that he cared about her only for her culinary skills. She understood him. She never nagged or pressured him, but just accepted him for what he was. Or wasn't. In fact, he had a longer relations.h.i.+p with her than he'd had with any other woman.

Maybe something was to be said for not dating women he liked.

With a heavy sigh he wondered what delicious feast Angie's mother would serve at the engagement party. At least he had that to look forward to.

For some unknown reason, still thinking about Angie, Stan turned down one of the small roadways off Jefferson Street that led back to the rough wharves where fis.h.i.+ng boats were docked. It was an area where tourists never ventured and homeless people sought shelter-smelly and dingy, with gulls swooping overhead and salt water, oil spills, and worse at his feet.

A small building, separate from the others, caught his eye. A sign in Greek-style lettering proclaimed ATHINA RESTAURANT. One story with a flat roof, the once-white paint was now gray and peeling. The windows had scrolled bars over them in a pretty design, but bars nonetheless. In the window, a cardboard sign read FRESH FIs.h.!.+ GREEK SPECIALTIES SERVED HERE.

Stan stepped closer to the Athina and sniffed. A blend of lemon, cinnamon, and clove wafted over him. All his thoughts about Angie's kitchen had made him hungry. Perhaps a little nourishment would help allay his sorrows.

Angie Amalfi sat curled up on a pet.i.t-point sofa in the living room of her penthouse apartment. She was a pet.i.te woman with big brown eyes, and salon-added auburn highlights in short dark brown hair. Behind her, the picture window held a view that stretched from the Golden Gate to the Bay Bridge. At her side, the Yellow Pages were open to ”Banquet Facilities.” A phone was in her hand.

”Postrio. Can I help you?” The woman's voice sounded pleasant.

”h.e.l.lo,” Angie said cheerfully. ”I'm wondering if you can tell me if you have a large party booked there for the evening of Sat.u.r.day, May fifth?”

”A party? Let me check the calendar....”

”It would be for somewhere between three and five hundred people, I'd imagine,” Angie added.

”That's quite a group. Let me put you on hold.”

Hold? Angie didn't get a chance to protest before the line went dead. How long did it take to look up a date on a calendar?

She didn't have time for this. Her engagement party was only nineteen days away-less than three short weeks-and she still hadn't found out where it would be held. That might sound strange, but it was true. Unfortunately.

When she agreed that her mother could handle the engagement party as long as Serefina would leave the wedding planning completely to Angie, it had seemed like a heaven-sent arrangement. All she had to do was come up with a guest list. She did better, and had an A list, B, and even a C list of invitees-and knew Serefina would add a bunch of her own.

Angie remembered how every one of her four older sisters had torn their hair out over Serefina's meddling in their wedding plans. With this arrangement, that wouldn't happen to her. She loved her mother dearly, but Serefina was an elemental force of nature. Tidal waves, tornadoes, and hurricanes had nothing on her. Unstoppable, when she set her mind to something you simply battened down the hatches and hoped to survive with minimal damage.

Also, at the time Serefina had made the suggestion, Angie was desperately trying to find the perfect dress for the party and was so frazzled she would have agreed to almost anything. She'd gone to nearly every store and boutique in the greater Bay Area, and was giving serious thought to a trip to Los Angeles or New York, when a beautiful Dior in a rich, deep b.u.t.tercup yellow arrived at one of her favorite shops. It was floor-length, fitted and slinky, with a plunging V in front and back. It was s.e.xy, slimming, and made her look almost tall. In a word, it was perfect.

She was prepared for an equal struggle to find a new suit for her fiance, San Francisco Homicide Inspector Paavo Smith. The second one she picked out, however, he liked. She had to agree it was gorgeous, as were the tie, s.h.i.+rt, and shoes she chose to go with it. He was so easy to shop for he took half the fun out of it.

That done, she was ready to take on whatever came next, especially since she was currently between jobs. Actually, the way her career was going, it was more honest to say that when she did work, she was ”between unemployments.”

With nothing else of a serious nature to occupy her, every detail of the party suddenly loomed large in her mind with problems she needed, wanted, ached to solve. After much careful thought and hours of watching shows about engagement and wedding parties on the Lifetime Channel, she approached her mother with suggestions. She wanted a romantic setting, ice sculptures and champagne fountains surrounded by yellow orchids to complement her dress. As guests oohed and aahed, she would step onto the dance floor for the first dance of the evening. A small band would play something loving and emotional, like ”I Will Always Love You” or ”You Are the Wind Beneath My Wings.” Paavo thought both songs were schlocky, sentimental, and overwrought, but she was sure she could convince him they were perfect for this.

She was bursting to tell her mother all her ideas...and that was when life as she knew it fell completely apart.

Serefina refused to tell her anything about her party at all. Instead, she planned to ”surprise” Angie with the party arrangements-all the arrangements, including the location. Angie was surprised, all right. Not to mention flabbergasted.

”h.e.l.lo.” The woman came back on the line. ”We do have a big party coming in that day.”