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Theywere paired with black shoes with platform soles and even higher heelsthan the ones he'd been wearing when he arrived. The headdress was alsodifferent. Rather than concealing his hair completely, like the ones hewas used to wearing at the convent, this one sat on top, allowing hislong, wavy black tresses (which seemed to him to have grown at anartificially fast rate during his time In captivity) to cascade down tohis shoulders and frame his artfully painted face.With some adjustments to his makeup, including a much bolder shade of redon his lips (a suggestion by Sister Chastity that he had to agree wentbetter with the new outfit) and an even brighter coating for hisfingernails, he was ready to go. He had to admit, admiring his reflectionin the wardrobe mirror, that he had never looked sexier. Not, he added tohimself with a quick mental qualification, that he wanted to look sexy.But if that was what it took to make the senior nuns happy, and preservehis chances of getting away. ’ The hunt was on. Nearly 900 men from the Caruso and DiAngiolla families hit the streets of Brooklyn from one end to the other. The other families were advised, of the problem. They added their manpower to the search. A small army, in search of four hundred, one gallon, cans of olive oil. Three hundred and ninety-nine would not do. Estelle Beauchamp did her Saturday morning shopping, at the large grocery store like everyone else. However, for her veal cutlets, sausage links, pancetta and other Italian specialties, she went to Fusco’s Italian market. The lines were often fourteen deep and everyone took anumber, sat down at the tables and drank a free cup of coffee or espresso. Today, with her order, she also took agallon of Mama’s Olive Oil. It would be her last day on Earth. She got home, put the groceries away, and decided to make the veal cutlets for dinner. She did not listen to the radio, nor watch television to hear about the recall of the oil, because she liked to listen to the.
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Mr. Earl juggled it for me.’ ‘Yeah, old Will’s a prince all right,’ I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Why?’ she asked, concerned. ‘Did you two have a fight or something?’ ‘No,’ I said, not wanting to tell her about the phone number incident. ‘I guess I just thought he was something he’s not.’ She eyed me skeptically, but thankfully let the subject drop. We finished up our lunch and went back to Torch. I wished her a good trip and she gave me a soft kiss goodbye, leaving me wet and wanting. But, of course, there was always my client coming in a few hours. Maybe I’d at least get off. * * * * * I was confused and more than a little nervous. My outfit for the night consisted of two things: a long black trench coat that covered everything all the way down to my ankles and a pair of black boots. There was also a box on the bed with strict instructions not to open it until the client was present. God only knew what was in there. Probably some new torture device. When Beverly called.

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