Death Under the Venice Moon (17 page)

Maledizione
. I turned to go looking for Larry, who was a few feet away, all smiles walking to the car with what looked like two
cappuccini
, all steam and foam.

Before he had a chance to speak, I grabbed one of the disposable cups and handed him my phone. "Here, let's get in the car and call that idiot son of mine."

"Your…? What's happening? I was gone five minutes to get us something warm to drink." He unlocked the car. "Is he okay?"

I shrugged, got in, and fastened my seatbelt. In spite of my bad mood, I could see out of the corner of my eyes that Larry was fiddling with the phone. He set his cup in one of the holders and appeared to search for Kyle's phone number. Poor Larry, so cute. I was a true bitch.

"I'm sorry." I put my cappuccino next to his, took the phone, clicked on the callback button, then handed it to him. He took it but didn't let go of my hand. I could hear the phone ringing. I inched toward the driver's side. He freed my hand and encircled my shoulder, pulling me as close as possible in spite of the dividing console.

He was nuzzling my ear when I heard Kyle's voice say, "Hello?"

"Hi, Kyle. How are you? Is your mom giving you a hard time?" He winked at me. "Yes, that sense of entitlement for being in her native country? Oh, I see. Do I need to take notes? Got it. Go ahead. I'm listening."

I relaxed back against my seat. Kyle must have been giving Larry directions to Lazise. I couldn't wait to see Larry's reaction once we arrived there. It was a small, very old town on Lake Garda. Full of history and art galleries. I remember visiting with Mom when I was small, and eating gelato while watching as a wedding party took photos down by the old harbor. It was my turn to visit the place with my son, Circle of life.

"Who is Giada?" Larry had trouble pronouncing the name. "Finally I feel needed. Kyle wants to discuss some of the details related to Pia's accident."

"Officially Giada is De Bernardi's assistant. And her boss seems to run the show from behind the scenes. By 'show' I mean show business stuff related to this movie Kyle is in along with the missing actor, Cruz. Is this making sense to you?"

He nodded. "And unofficially?"

"I think Kyle is having an affair with her."

"And?"

"And nothing. I sort of like her, but Kyle isn't talking about his private life, at least not with me. Sort of like Olivia did to you, I guess."

He didn't answer, but started the engine. I must have hit a nerve.
Mio Dio
, it was as if I had pulled the freezer door wide open and frosted us into our seats. What just happened? I mentioned Olivia.

"What happened between you and Olivia? Please stop pushing me away. I can see it on your face, and avoiding my eyes isn't working in your favor either. She was probably stressed, scared. Talk to me, damn it."
Did I really say that?

"She spat at me." The words came out as casually indifferent, as if he didn't want to show how hurt he was. Poor, poor Larry. I fought the urge to reach out and stroke his arm. I had to let him come to me.

"She probably didn't mean it."

If he heard me, he didn't acknowledge it. The car's speed picked up. And that was the only show of emotion. "Olivia spat on me as the flight attendant charged with taking care of her forced her to board the flight. She spat and said, 'Wipe that up and give it to your buddies at the DNA office so they can let you in on the joke—Daddy dearest.'"

I waited to see if there was more. I had no idea what that meant. Unless—
oh, no
. "Maybe I'm way off. Honestly, this is confusing. It sounds like you think, or like she said…was she implying you are not her father? Oh, Larry, certainly you don't believe that for a moment. She was angry, lashing out. She wanted to hurt. That's all."

"It doesn't matter what I believe; the doubt is there now, and I need to face it."

"If you had doubts, maybe you should have had a DNA test done when she was born."
Why can't I keep my mouth shut?

He turned to glance at me, and this time I was sure he really saw me. He smiled, his eyes as unreadable as the first time we met. "Sweetie, there was no DNA test back then. We're talking over twenty years ago, and frankly, I had no reason to doubt Jennifer." He turned back to look at the road. "All that changed, of course. Nothing I can do about it until I get back to California. I might as well try to set all that aside and enjoy the moment."

"You can do that? Set it aside and enjoy the moment? It would be eating me alive. I would be miserable and driving everyone around me crazy. I—"

"I know what you would do. I've been with you for the last two years, and I'm familiar with your reactions. I also know you wouldn't hurt a fly, not on purpose. My behavior is the result of learned discipline and surviving skills. And by the way, I like you just the way you are."

I got all choked up and punched his arm lightly to deflate my emotions.

"Oh, spoke too fast, I think you just killed a fly."

We drove the rest of the trip in a comfortable silence.

Lazise did not disappoint. We parked the Mercedes as instructed, found Kyle waiting for us, and after exchanging the traditional greetings we headed toward the small harbor. This was my first true leisure time in Italy with Larry.

We walked hand in hand under the ancient arched portals, like any typical couple, except there was little that could be defined as typical in the present situation. Our steps resounded against the cobbled streets. I sensed Larry's interest by the way he looked around, hardly speaking. It was the same reaction I had when I visited with my mother so long ago.

I was also aware of the deep sadness lingering in my son's eyes. Pia's death affected him more than I would have guessed by the way he spoke of her while she was alive. We cut through the historical center of the small town. Traces of its Roman past were still visible on walls and buildings.

Giada, wearing a tailored black pantsuit, sat at an outside table of La Grotta Restaurant. Her green eyes were more striking than ever, thanks to the simple outfit and little makeup.

The glass-enclosed patio faced the small harbor and the old dockyard.

A Monday in mid-October guaranteed us a quiet lunch. Kyle made the introductions; two stem glasses with ruby-colored liquid were on the table where Giada and Kyle sat.
Aperitif
.

Great, I could use one. I knew deep in my soul that Giada and Larry were studying each other. I went only on instinct, as both of them would make great poker players.

She took charge of ordering, her familiarity with the place and the menu quite evident by her lack of indecision.

"Finally a place where everyone understands me," Larry said.

"Understands your language." Giada's comment, so uncalled for, breathed some frost on the mood.

That didn't stop Kyle from pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen, scooting his chair closer to Larry's, and writing a few names on the paper. Was he starting his own investigation of Cruz's disappearance? Was that the reason he wanted Larry's company?

"Kyle, what are you doing? Are you dragging Larry into this mess?"

He looked at me for so long I didn't know what to make of it. His stare was so intense I found myself getting nervous. Nervous because of my son? Enough nonsense.

That was when he spoke, choking on his words. "I need to do something. The guilt is eating me inside. I introduced Pia to Cruz. I feel responsible for her death. Helping her relatives for the transport of her body back home isn't enough. If Cruz is alive, I must find him. I need to know what happened. Was there something I missed? Could I have helped prevent the tragedy? Pia is dead. Roberto is still in the hospital, and you, my mom, have been vilified just for being the last one to see Cruz, or so they assume. His disappearance seems to be the logical link"

"Who is Roberto, and why is he in the hospital?" Larry's question indicated he was more than willing to get dragged into the mess. Of course.

"Cruz's agent. He tried to commit suicide. Apparently he paid Augusta, the concierge, to keep an eye on Cruz when he stayed at the Chioggia condo. She told Roberto something was going on between Pia and Cruz. She didn't know what but overheard a conversation about a trip. Roberto dismissed the whole thing as just another of Cruz's sexual escapades. Now he feels guilty for not having looked into it and perhaps preventing it," Kyle said.

"He was paying that witch?" My cheeks on fire and my voice quivering with outrage were enough for three pair of eyes to shift and stare at me.

Kyle nodded. "Has been for years. He was safeguarding his main source of revenue, although I think he genuinely loves Cruz like a son. He has been his agent from day one."

The
cameriere
arrived with a tray of drinks. We toasted to Italy. Larry sipped his Campari. His expression relaxed. He liked it.

Kyle went on. "When the Italian cops analyzed Pia's and Cruz's cells, the only phone calls were to each other for the last few hours. And that was right after the evening of the spilled wine." He looked at me. "The same day Mom arrived. Cruz made a phone call to Roberto late that evening, and I have to assume it had to do with the boat and the trespasser. After that, he only exchanged calls with Pia. Both cells stopped receiving and sending messages on the same day, same time, approximately twenty-four hours after Cruz's call to Roberto."

"Kyle, how do you know all this? Are Italian detectives generously sharing information with persons of interest?" Larry sounded like himself, a cop.

A priceless smile lit up Kyle's face. He glanced at Larry in a devilish way. "Yes and no. There is this one detective. Well, I don't know what his Italian title is. Anyhow, his father is Italian, American mother. He earned his degree in criminology from UC Irvine, then decided to settle in Italy. I met him while I was waiting to see Pia at the hospital. He came to talk to me after she passed. I mentioned your name and the fact that you were a short distance away." He turned to me. "I didn't say a word about you, Mom. Everyone thinks you're still holed up in your room at the Century."

A platter of food deposited in the middle of the table stopped the conversation. I was ready to eat and curious as to what Giada had ordered for us to share. A bottle of mineral water followed shortly, a basket of rolls and two carafes of wine. Would we drink local products? After all, we were in the province of Verona. The town exported wine all over the world. I transferred some
sopressa
from the platter to my plate and couldn't wait to try the bread. Heavenly.

Larry followed my lead; he examined the
sopressa
.

"It's homemade," I said. "Probably by some local farmer. You don't find that type of salami in the States."

He took a bite and nodded his appreciation.

Giada smiled.

"My dear, I'm so impressed. You even know about local food." I liked her more every minute.

"I spent many summers on Lake Garda. My family has a place on the other shore."

She poured sunlight-colored wine into our glasses.

Other people sat at tables in the regular dining room, but we were the only ones on the patio. Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence. Perhaps Giada arranged for us not to be interrupted.

The temperature was perfect, and I liked watching people walk by. From there I could see the same spot where the bride and groom had been photographed that day when I strolled with my mother. I had been taken by the bride's dress, white and long, and ruffled like the dress my older cousin wore for her first communion. I had wanted to stop and look. My mother had practically dragged me along, and I'd let my ice cream drip on my Sunday clothes.

All those memories, hurling at me. I longed to run outside and chase moments long gone. I didn't. Music came from overhead speakers, stirring more buried emotions. I couldn't tell the words or the singers, yet I knew I'd heard it all before.

Stay focused on Kyle and Larry, and stop thinking about the past.

More platters of food arrived with cooked cutlets, roasted potatoes, and polenta. My stomach growled. I would have to pace myself. I wanted a taste of everything. This was like old times back home, family meals at the local
trattoria
.

I should have been firmer and insisted with Nick that he let our son visit my mother during summer vacations. But I hadn't. Now my mother was gone, and Kyle had missed getting to know the Italian side of his family. Tears welled in my eyes. I kept chewing, not wanting anyone to notice, but I wasn't sure will power alone would stop the flow. I excused myself, grabbed my purse, and went looking for the bathroom.

The black and white sign with a large arrow next to the letters WC was easy to spot. Only four tables were occupied in the main dining room—no, five. At a corner table sat a lonely man. There is one of those in every public place.

Men left door, women to the right. The bathroom was spotless and the piped music louder. I still couldn't catch all the words of the song, but the voice was unmistakably that of Lucio Battisti. Damn. More ghosts from the past. I spent time splashing cold water on my face and composing myself.

I wasn't going to be poor little Lella again. When I knew it was safe to go back to the table without breaking into sobs, I ran the comb through my hair and left. I opened the door and nearly knocked someone to the ground. What? The man excused himself, and I watched his brown leather coat disappear into the men's room. Strange. Was he just standing there? Couldn’t he read the signs?

I crossed the dining room on my way to the patio and noticed the corner table where the lonely man had sat was now empty.

I hadn't been missed. Larry and Kyle seemed engulfed in animated talking and happy eating. Giada winked at me, nodding in the men's direction, as if she and I shared some endearing secret, and in a way we did.

She brought a finger to her lips as if hushing me, then pointed the same finger toward the potted plants on the other side of the glass enclosure. I stretched my neck, curious to see what she found so interesting. A cute black cat played with a dry leaf that must have fallen from the plant. As a light breeze lifted the leaf, the cat leapt, but missed as the leaf moved farther away.