Funny how I recognized his voice right away even though we’d met only two days earlier.He stepped out of the elevator and strode toward me in a black suit, white shirt and striped tie. I was impressed. In Florida, a man’s pants rarely matched his jacket.“You’re looking very handsome,” I said, meaning it.“Thank you.” He smiled, causing fine lines to crinkle around the edges of his eyes. In the bright sunlight, a sprinkle of gray showed at his temples. Just enough lines and just enough gray to make him distinguished. Clothes didn’t make the man; it was the other way around. So I guess it really wasn’t the suit I admired.“What’s the occasion?” I asked. “I can see my face in your shoes.”He ran a finger under his collar though it didn’t look tight. “An initial meeting with some major clients.”Yesterday, he’d told me his firm—Yanish, Devine & Bilodeau on Fifth Avenue South, in the heart of old-money Naples—handled tax and estate planning for the city’s biggest movers and shakers.
