Chapter 27
One
Ugly
Americano
One thing I knew for sure: El was not in the best of moods. Nor did I blame her. In fact, never had I seen her so bummed out, not even when she’d turned in her novice veil. As for Lorenzo, I’d heard most of what he’d told her: his relationship to Fonso and the gypsy community; but more importantly, the wife El didn’t know about, the wife who’d entered the
Twilight Zone
. Shades of
Jane Eyre
, I couldn’t help thinking, not that I was promoting death by fire. This woman floating around in the garden, a slew of cats lapping up milk; Lorenzo in denial … erase that, Lorenzo living a lie of convenience. My poor sis, misled, both of us nearly murdered. Oh, yeah. We’d done our bit in the name of Italia, for the good of Monterosso al Mare and the tourist industry as a whole.
El and I were ready to leave
for the police station when she told Lorenzo it wouldn’t be necessary for him to go with us.
“
Ah, but I must,” he said. “Dante is expecting me.”
Really, I had my doubts but like it or not, I still felt like the third wheel of a bicycle built for two. That said
, the three of us walked to the station in silence, except for a comment about the weather and Lorenzo making hurried small talk with a few shopkeepers along the way. As soon as we arrived at the station, Nicco Rizzi popped into the reception area to greet us. After the usual exchange of
buongiornos
minus the hugs and kisses I would’ve relished, we followed Nicco down the hall to where Commissioner Novaro was waiting for us. Call it the height of déjà vu—same room, same people, same story … well, almost but not quite.
Coffee was offered. We all refused. I just wanted this over, and wasted no time in getting to the point with my first question.
“Has that idiot Trevor confessed?”
“Only to being an idiot,” the commissioner replied. “And that he most certainly is. It seems Trevor Connors
followed your taxi, not in another one but as a race through the streets by foot.”
“Just as the Roma
predicted he would,” Lorenzo said.
“You mean the gypsies,” I
just had to say. “What a super colossal farce.”
El chimed in with, “How could you, Lorenzo.”
Signorini, please,” Nicco said. “Let the commissario continue.”
Dante Novaro cleared his throat before he spoke.
“Grazie, Nicco. As I was saying, Trevor Connors did indeed arrive at Lorenzo’s apartment around the same time as when the taxi delivered the two of you. It seems he wanted to make an impression with his resourcefulness. Since Lorenzo was not expected to return that evening, Connors hoped you would invite him in for a drink, perhaps more.”
“Then what: s
lit our throats.”
“I think not since the w
eapon we found beneath him was nothing more than a butter knife.”
“A dull one at that,” Nicco said.
“Unlike the one used on those two victims who bled out,” I said.
“T
hat is correct, and please do not ask me to provide more information about the actual weapon.”
El started rubbing her neck around the same time I did.
Nicco, who had the decency not to smirk, went on to say, “It seems your friend—”
“More like an acquaintance,” El said. “We only met
him the day before.”
I jumped in with,
“A few drinks and mindless conversation, nothing more. Last evening after dinner he and Jonathan from Iowa stopped by our table and chatted for a while. They helped us into the taxi … well, you know the rest.”
“In any case, he picked up the butter knife at the ristorante, a cheap souvenir, if you will
and not all that uncommon for tourists visiting the Cinque Terre. When Trevor Connors witnessed your attempts to retrieve the keys to Lorenzo’s building, he made the foolish mistake of pretending to hold you hostage, hoping you would be both amused and relieved to learn it was nothing more than a prank.”
“
Not funny,” I said. “He deserves to rot in jail.”
“That will be for the court to decide
, if the case gets that far. Already the man has secured a prominent lawyer, on my recommendation. Assault and battery, not necessarily a serious crime, when one considers the bizarre circumstances. Should you agree not to press charges, who knows, he may be asked, more like ordered, to leave the country.”
“An ugly
Americano
if ever there was,” I said. “Also incredibly stupid, what with Trevor thinking he had a chance with me—ugh. How gross is that. Are you sure he had nothing to do with the murders of those two gypsies?”
“We are checking out his alibis, the places he claims to have been, and with whom. He will occupy a cell
here in our facility until we are confident of his innocence.”
“I suppose the firing squad would be a bit too extreme.”
“Unlike America, here in Italy we do not have capital punishment. Again, should you decide not to press charges, he may have his freedom within days.”
“What about
the keys to Lorenzo’s apartment,” El said. “None of this would’ve happened had I not lost them.”
“They must’ve fallen out of your purse at the ristorante,” Lorenzo said. “The
waiter returned them to my zio, Bernardo Cozzani.”
“Too bad your uncle didn’t return them to me.”
El said.
If looks could
kill, Lorenzo would’ve been toast. Never have I seen such anger plastered over El’s face. She almost knocked over the chair when she stood up. “Thank you, Commissioner. Unless you need anything else, do my sister and I have your permission to leave?”
“
For now this is not a problem,” he said. “However, within the next few days we will need the cooperation of both of you to provide the proper depositions.”
“That seems reasona
ble, provided a few days don’t evolve into a full week. After the depositions we plan to leave Cinque Terre and it’s doubtful we will ever return.”
All of a sudden this light bulb went off in my head. At the same time Lorenzo’s perfectly brewed coffee from two hours ago started rumbling
in my stomach. I leveled my finger to the commissioner, and said, “Hold on. Aren’t we forgetting the most important ingredient in this super colossal mess? If you know that idiot Trevor did not attack me in the alley, then who did? And why have you not apprehended that idiot yet.”
“At no time have
we stopped working on our investigation, signorina. Still, I regret to say as yet we do not have any suspects, prime or otherwise.”
Enough, I’d had enough and threw up my hands. “That’s it
. We are so out of here and I do mean Cinque Terre. Right, El?”
“Later, Margo, this is not
the time or the place.”
Chapter 28
Pick a Place, Any Place
Let me repeat: i
nside or outside this police station was not the time or the place for emotional outbreaks or rash decisions, all that heart-thumping and gut-wrenching that separated the irrational Margo from the more rational me. Our differences also explained why she could fall in and out of love faster than bunnies hoping from one to the other. I, on the other hand, had waited far too long for my first hop, my first chance at love. A pity it happened to be with a man who couldn’t give me what I wanted more than anything else—respect, marriage, and perhaps a family though I could’ve been just as happy without kids. Was that asking too much?
Although
Lorenzo followed Margo and me into the street, I neither looked at him nor did I want any part of him or his lame excuses. What a fool I’d been, giving myself to the first man who showed a sliver of interest in me, all because I wanted to know love first hand and not through the eyes of a third person. A third person—Margo would’ve loved that. Or hated it, at least she had stuck by me when Lorenzo came clean about his wife. And I had stuck by Margo when Giorgio found a reason to dump her. But that’s what sisters are supposed to do. Lovers, however new or however temporary, were supposed to be loyal and attentive until the time came to move on.
Still, I waited for
Lorenzo to make some kind of move and when he placed his hand on my shoulder, I was relieved he’d given me a reason to stop walking.
“Please let me explain, Elena.
None of this is as it appears to be.”
“Oh, really, then
please explain to me what is real as opposed to what only appears to be.”
“We should go somewhere,” he said. “Perhaps
have a cappuccino.”
“Not before you explain the keys I supposedly lost at the ristorante.”
“You did not lose the keys. One of Fonso’s men saw Trevor Connors take them from your purse while he was giving you an affectionate hug.”
“You mean the tourist from Ireland?”
“More like the man who speaks in the accents of countries from his youth. After Trevor took your keys, Fonso’s man took them from Trevor.”
“At which point he could’ve returned them to me.”
“The objective was to draw out the killer.”
“Using El and me as bait,” Margo said. “Thanks for nothing.”
“Not for nothing, you did agree to cooperate with the Roma. For that you have earned their respect, which is no small accomplishment. As for Trevor, he seemed like a good possibility but not every possibility becomes a reality.”
“I take it the commissioner didn’t know about the Roma and their involvement.”
“Granted, Dante is my friend but I do not share everything with him. Nor, does he with me. Now, shall we continue our walk or continue our talk?”
“
I for one, vote to walk,” Margo said. She draped her arm over my shoulder, gave it a squeeze for good measure. “Either way, you know I’m with you, El.”
“In that case,”
I said, “andiamo.”
After walking a while longer, we
approached the tourist area at which point Margo slowed down and tugged on my sleeve.
“If it’s not a problem for you, I’d like to do
some exploring on my own,” she said. “Do not, I repeat do not, get excited if you don’t see me for a few hours, more like the rest of the day. I might hop a boat or take a train, anything for a change of scenery. Make that a fresh outlook, okay?”
The image of
the Roma Tania with her throat slit flashed before my eyes, which didn’t seem fair to Margo because I wouldn’t want her worrying about me if the situation were reversed. Still, I managed to show my concern when I said, “By yourself?”
“Maybe I’ll catch up with Jonatha
n, now that he has no one to bum around with. Or Franz or Max, come on El, give me a break and also the apartment keys. I don’t like being side-lined.”
“Just make sure you
don’t stay out after dark unless you’re with people you know and trust.” Yes, I was starting to sound like our mother. Worse yet, act like her when I dangled the keys in Margo’s face until she grabbed them from my hand.
“Yes, mommy dearest, I promise. And don’t you be calling me all day.”
No need to worry about that, sister dearest. I had my own agenda. At the next corner we parted company when Margo turned right and headed toward the shops. Lorenzo raised his brow and offered me one arm, which I hesitated to take but did anyway although my leg no longer hurt, even after the cheerleader spill. Not that I needed an excuse, not after all we’d done together in the course of several days but would not be doing any time in the future.
“
If you’re still interested in a cappuccino, there are several good options around here,” Lorenzo said. “Or we could return to my apartment.”
All the way back to his apartment f
or cappuccino, or whatever else he had in mind, I didn’t think so. Not after certain principles I held dear had already been compromised. “That won’t be necessary. Just pick a place, any place.”
Two blocks later foun
d us in a trattoria new to me, one I hadn’t passed by before, perhaps because it was located down a side street, away from the throngs of tourists Margo had since joined. As with every place I went with Lorenzo, he greeted this proprietor as an old friend and introduced him to me as Flavio. After a quick visit to the restroom, I returned to find the two of them discussing business and local politics, a conversation they continued until our cappuccino arrived. The perfect cup, its foamy topping swirled into a heart-shaped design. After Flavio excused himself, I wasted no time throwing out my first question to Lorenzo.
“Is there anyone living in
Monterosso you don’t know?”
He sat back in a
manner more relaxed than any I’d seen that morning. “Off hand, none that I can think of,” he said. “The apartment building here has been in my family for generations, as has the villa in La Spezia.”
“Whi
ch place did you spend more time as a boy?”
He thought
before answering. “I think Monterosso rather than La Spezia. Even now I prefer being nearer to the sea, the smell of it, the salty breeze, the excitement of tourists and the local industry.”
“What about
the lemons and anchovies?” I asked. A question Mom would’ve called fishing.
“
Yes, of course, and the sunsets.”
“T
o die for … not literally, you know what I mean.”
He covered my hand with his.
“How well I know, especially these past few days with you, never will I forget those sunsets that now have a new meaning for me. I do have one regret, however.”
At last we were getting somewhere. “And that would be?”
“Those earrings you admired. I should’ve bought them for you that very day. Later, when I telephoned to have them set aside, they’d already been sold.”
“Tell me about it. I was with Margo when she bought them for herself.”
“Now I am sorrier than before. But I will make it up to you. This I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”
I pulled my hand away and took a risk with my next question. “About your wife, where did you meet her?”
A pause
followed, awkward beyond words until he said, “There are some things one does not ask of another.”
“Not this time, Lorenzo. That may have worked with your business interests. It may have worked before you made love to me. It may have worked before the gypsy fiasco. It may have worked when I thought your wife was dead. But it won’t work now that I know she’s still alive.”
For the second time that morning he banged the side of his fist on a table, and while cups rattled in their saucers, he shoved his face into mine, and spoke in a hushed tone. “I do not wish to discuss Anita.”
It was a side of Lorenzo I hadn’t seen before
that day. Understandable considering the short time I’d known him. So what if he’d all but curled his lip and bared his teeth, at this point I had nothing to lose. “Shall I make inquiries around Monterosso? Surely someone remembers your wife.”
The rim of Lorenzo’s ears flushed. Before he could answ
er my question, Flavio showed up at our table and asked if we wanted more cappuccini.
“
Si, grazie
,” I held up two fingers.
“Due.”
Flavio
turned to leave. Not so fast—I called him back, and asked, “Do you remember Anita Gentili.”
“
Flavio does not speak English,” Lorenzo said.
I repeated a phrase I’d been practicing in my head.
“Ti ricordi Anita Gentili?”
Flavio smiled before
a sad expression clouded his face.
“Bella, bella, mori troppo pesto.”
She died too young
, that much I got but not the rest because Flavio was talking too fast, or so it seemed to me. After he backed away and returned to the kitchen, I threatened to get up and leave unless Lorenzo gave me a detailed rundown of Flavio’s comments.
Lorenzo sighed, lon
g and hard before answering my question. “Flavio said everyone remembers her … that she was beautiful, inside and out … that everyone loved her but not as much as I did. She was my passion.”
“Flavio said she was your passion?”
“No, those were my words.”
“Not once have I heard
anyone ask how she’s doing now. At least that’s my impression from the little Italian I know.”
“To the people of Cinque
Terre and those in La Spezia, Anita died years ago. This is my way of protecting her and a topic I do not wish to discuss any further.”
Flavio brought the cappucc
ini, every bit as perfect as our first order. I spooned off some of the foam and held it in my mouth until nothing remained but the sweet aftertaste.
“And yet
you associate with her people,” I said, “Fonso and the other Roma.”
“To keep
Anita’s condition from them would be impossible. They know what I’m thinking before I do.”
“What do they think about me?”
He lifted his head to the ceiling, as if to find answers in the ancient rafters.
I tapped my fingers, and said, “I’m waiting.”
“The Roma find you amusing: an obstinate woman at odds with the beauty of her body, one who has yet to be fully awakened although they encourage me to keep trying.”
“Obstinate … g
ood grief … I … uh, who said that?”
“No one but me
,” he said with a smile, “and to no one but you.”
It was my turn to blush. Or laugh … I may have done a little of both.
“As for what they think I think about you does not matter. I only know what I think and that is I want to take you into my arms, take you into my bed. I want to practice making love to you, over and over again until I get it right and neither of us has anything left to learn. All of which will take a very long time.” He stood up and held out his hand to me. “
Now
will you go back to the apartment with me?”