A Villa in Sicily: Orange Groves and Vengeance

by Fiona Grace

  Dumb, dumb, dumb. All of it. She didn’t want to stay another second in this place.

  Maybe her father had felt the same way.

  That was when a woman stuck her head out from the nice bungalow next door. She waved slightly. “You’re looking for Miles Smart?” she said in an accent that sounded vaguely Australian.

  She nodded, excited. “Yes. That’s right. Have you heard of him?”

  The pretty woman nodded. “He’s not here anymore. Hasn’t been here for at least ten years. Are you his daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled. “I can tell. You have his smile.”

  “You actually met him?” Audrey asked, looking at her. She was older, old enough to be Audrey’s mother. Of course, her father and this woman would’ve gotten along. He’d probably helped her with her repairs, which was why her house was nicer than most on the street. Maybe they were even lovers. Audrey had been young when her parents had separated, but her memories of her parents’ marriage were rocky ones, full of loud arguments that seemed to last long into the night. But her mother never spoke of him at all. She didn’t even know if they’d gotten a divorce.

  Of course, she knew her father had moved on. But somehow, seeing this woman, the woman he’d moved on to, faded her excitement over finding someone who actually knew him.

  “I used to call him Smile Smart,” she said with a girlish giggle, much to Audrey’s annoyance. But the woman was so caught in a memory of her father, she didn’t seem to notice. “He had the nicest smile. I’m Dinah.”

  Audrey wasn’t in the mood for introductions to the woman who’d spent time with her father that was supposed to be hers. She opened her mouth to say more when Dinah added, “Audrey, right? Or are you Sabrina? He spoke about you often. You look like Audrey. He showed me your picture.”

  He had? She had a burning desire to know exactly what he’d said, but instead, she asked, “Do you know where he went?”

  She laughed. “He moved on. Your father didn’t strike me as the type of person who wanted to put down roots. One day, he just up and left. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

  Audrey let out a sigh. That sounds familiar. “You never heard from him again?”

  “Oh, no. I did. I get postcards, now and then. Very rarely. The last one I got was about a year ago. Maybe two.” She pushed away from the window, found something out of view, and held it out to Audrey. “I kept it on my icebox because it was so pretty. Here. You can have it.”

  She took it and looked at the photograph. It was of another beach, somewhere, with white sands and a castle in the distance. She turned it over. The postmark was smudged, just a jumble of letters, so she couldn’t tell where it’d been sent from. Of course. Underneath was a sweeping script she didn’t recognize.

  Hello, Dinah, love! And greetings from my new corner of the world. Don’t think I’ll be here long; too much wind! But the sea is deep blue, just the shade of your eyes. So every time I look out the window, I think of you. And I hope one day to see you again. All my love, MILES

  Audrey stared at it, her stomach sinking. He’d loved other women, since Audrey, her mom, and her sister. And now he was gone, possibly off to love even more other women. Maybe he had dozens of them, in towns all over the world.

  She turned it over and gazed at the picture, trying to determine where it was from. The postcard was a clue, and yet how was it possible to say so much and give away so little? It was almost as if Miles Smart didn’t want to be found.

  And maybe that was the point.

  Maybe, she should just let sleeping dogs lie.

  “He likes to travel,” she mused.

  “Always. A tumbleweed. That’s what your father always called himself.”

  Audrey pointed to the picture. “Where is this? Do you know?”

  Dinah shrugged. “No clue. I think it might be the French Riviera, but I’m not much of a vagabond myself. He asked me to go along with him, but I was too happy, right here. But he did love the beach. He said he was going west.” She looked as if there was something she wanted to say, paused, and then said, “I should let you know . . . your father told me that with you, and your sister? He stayed as long as he could. Fifteen years. He said it was a record for him. He really wanted to raise you, but he kept feeling that pull. He couldn’t resist it. He wanted to be there.”

  But he wasn’t. Not when I needed him most. Which might have been worse than if he was never there at all.

  She sighed and said, “Thank you for the information, may I keep this?”

  Dinah nodded. “Of course.”

  “Also, may I use your phone, if you have one? I have a flight to catch.”

  The woman nodded and opened the door for her. She thanked her and went inside, already exhausted at the thought of travelling back, so soon after she’d gotten here. But this was a dead end. She had to resolve in her heart that there was a good chance her father would never be found.

  *

  Audrey’s cab finally pulled into Mussomeli at a little after six o’clock. She had the driver stop at her clinic. The second she stepped onto the curb, she saw her pet fox, Nick, waiting for her. It was the nicest thing she’d seen, after an altogether disappointing day.

  “Hey, Bub!” she said as the animal wrapped itself around her calves like a cat, excitedly wanting a pet. “I missed you, too. One second. Let me see what’s up at the clinic and then we’ll be on our way home. Want an apple?”

  She lifted him up and he licked her face. She laughed, then went inside, yawning. There is nothing like a warm-and-furry to make all your worries melt away.

  Concetta was just opening the door to let the last appointment of the day out. She looked tired, like it’d been a hard few hours. “Hi, Concetta!” Audrey said as she dropped her bag on the floor. “Hard day?”

  The model-pretty girl with the long light hair yawned. She was a veterinary student in Palermo, trying to get her clinical hours so that she could become a full-fledged veterinarian, and had been, over the past few weeks, Audrey’s lifesaver. “Just long. Appointments, morning to night. But routine.”

  “Any problems?”

  She shook her head. “What about you? Did you find your father?”

  “No. Seems like he was there, years ago, but he left.” She pulled out the postcard and waved it. “So I have another clue. Not that it’s much of a clue.”

  Concetta took the postcard and read it. “Where is this?”

  “No idea. It doesn’t look familiar to you?”

  “No, it is not much to go on, is it? That’s sad.”

  “I suppose it might be the Universe’s way of telling me I should give up and forget about it. After all, my dad’s probably forgotten about me. So maybe there’s no point.” Even though Dinah said he mentioned me often. If he did, why did he never send ME a postcard? He’d spent fifteen years with my family but wiped his hands of us. Why did he completely cut me out of his life?

  She waved those thoughts away. She’d spent the entire flight back, thinking about it. Unfortunately, the mission had been a failure. She’d set out, hoping to answer questions, but instead, she found herself with more confusion, a bigger mystery to solve. And she definitely didn’t need that right now. Not when . . .

  “So did you decide which of your two hunks you’re going to date this weekend? You have your first one tonight, right? With G?”

  Audrey winced at the question. She hadn’t decided squat.

  “I don’t know what to do! Tell me.” When Concetta just shrugged, she said, “This is terrible. I’m no closer to making a decision than I was when I left.”

  “Well, you could always—”

  “I know. I’ll flip a coin.” She rifled through her bag and pulled out a quarter she’d been holding onto since she left America. “Heads, I’ll go out with Mason. Tails, I’ll go out with G.”

  She flipped it into the air, meaning to catch it, but she missed it when she tried to snatch it from the air. It skidded across the tile and landed
underneath one of the waiting room chairs. She rushed to it and stooped. “Heads.”

  “What does that mean, again?” Concetta asked.

  “It’s . . . I think it meant I was going to go out with Mason. Or was I going to send regrets to Mason? Ugh!” She threw up her hands. “I can’t remember.”

  She fell back on her butt and ran her hands down her face. “I’m going to go crazy.”

  “Well, what I was going to say, Audrey, is that you haven’t committed to either of them, have you?”

  Audrey looked at her, eyes bleary. “No. Of course not.”

  “So, you’re allowed to date both of them. That’s what dating is, isn’t it? To see if you like a man? Like, you try, see if you like? No one said you had to be exclusive.”

  “But . . . they don’t know about each other. So isn’t that kind of like . . . cheating?”

  “Cheating?” Concetta laughed. “How can you be cheating if you’re not committed?”

  Not committed. Audrey mulled that over. She hadn’t made any promises to anyone . . .

  Suddenly, it was as if a light bulb clicked on in Audrey’s head. What the young girl said was absolutely true. And it was exactly what her older sister Brina would’ve told her, had she been here—Brina had dated a new guy, practically every day, in college, until she met her husband. “You know, you’re right. I never thought about it like that, but that makes sense.”

  She nodded. Though she was probably ten years Audrey’s junior, she’d probably had a lot more man-experience than Audrey did. Audrey’s love life in Boston had been pining after men who wanted her for nothing more than a tumble in the coat closet.

  Right now, as Audrey stared at Concetta, the answer seemed so simple. So obvious.

  “Then I’ll do that. And I don’t have to let anyone down . . . yet. That’ll be okay, right?”

  “Right!”

  She checked the time on her phone. It was just after six, which gave her a couple hours to get ready. G had told her that they’d go out for a late dinner at a bistro by his house, at around eight, eight-thirty. Sicilians were pretty flexible on times. As a resident of the town since birth, he knew Mussomeli and all of its inhabitants, and they all loved him. He spread light and cheer wherever he went, not to mention he was an amazing cook. Not to mention, he was strong and handsome, a little bit of a bad-boy, with his dark Italian looks and tattoo sleeves up each arm. She definitely could do worse than having G as a boyfriend.

  “All right. I’d better get home and—”

  Just then, the door opened, and a woman stepped in with a small teacup poodle, cradled in her arms. Worriedly, she started to speak in Italian, her words coming in such a staccato, rapid-fire way that Audrey couldn’t translate a single one of them. She looked to Concetta.

  Concetta said, “She said Bambino, here, ate a small pinecone today. She thought he coughed it up and would be fine, but he’s been acting strange, all day.”

  One look at the dog confirmed that Bambino wasn’t quite right. His head was lolling on his owner’s arm, and he looked miserable. “Has he had diarrhea? Vomiting?”

  The woman continued to gesticulate as she spoke. Concetta gasped. “She said he had a seizure!”

  Audrey sprung to action. “Hand him to me,” she said, gathering him into her arms. “He’s going into anaphylaxis due to the sap in the pinecone. We’ll need to inject him at once and get him on an IV.”

  The women rushed into the surgery room, where Audrey instructed Concetta where to find the epinephrine. Once she had it, Audrey told Concetta, “Get the IV started.”

  Audrey administered the life-saving medicine. Concetta started the IV, and the animal was too tired to protest to any of their work. This was the sign of a very sick animal.

  Once she was finished, she went out to the front and said to the owner, “Yes, he’s very sick. But it’s a good thing you brought him in when you did. We’ll keep him here tonight for observation, of course, but I think your Bambino will be just fine in the morning.”

  Concetta translated, and the woman clutched at her heart. “Grazie! Grazie mille!”

  She hugged Audrey and Concetta with relief, then went in to pet Bambino and kiss his cheek. Audrey smiled as she watched the obvious concern in the pet owner’s eyes. It was a nice thing to see, and even nicer to be able to help little animals and their owners in this way. That was why she’d never get tired of this job. The look of gratefulness in their eyes almost made up for her terrible day.

  Concetta walked the pet owner to the door, telling her that all would be okay as she gently rubbed her back. When the woman left, Audrey clapped her hands.

  “Well, I guess that settles it. I can’t go on my date tonight. I have to stay here with Bambino.”

  Concetta shook her head and pointed for the door. “Go. I’ll stay here. There’s nothing you can do anyway that I can’t do. That is an order!”

  “But—”

  “I have absolutely nothing to do, tonight! So stop making excuses,” Concetta said with a laugh. “You’d better hurry or you’ll be late for your date!”

  “All right, all right, I’m going!” she said as the younger woman walked her to the door. She scooped up her bag and turned. “Just t—”

  “Text you if I need anything. I know, I know,” she said, holding the door open. “Have fun on your date!”

  I don’t know about that, Audrey thought as she headed out. But I’ll try.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Audrey was deep in thought as she walked down one of Mussomeli’s narrow, cobblestone streets, toward her home, Piazza Tre. She nearly tripped over Nick three times, and waved absently at the owner of il Mercado del Pepe, who was pulling in the sidewalk bins of vegetables. As he often did, he gave her a paper bag filled with the ripest tomatoes and peppers and apples he hadn’t been able to sell.

  She hardly realized what was happening until she’d taken a few steps with the bag in her hand. She whirled. “Scusi,” she said. “I mean, Grazie. Buona sera, Luigi.”

  He tipped an imaginary hat to her. “Have you heard the latest news, cara?”

  She stopped. It was a small town, and yet the people here seemed to love their gossip. Last week, while she’d been in Lipari, one of the town boys had gone to the mainland to race sportscars. Before that, the main piazza had been filled with smoke because Mama Rivalta had left her pasta sauce cooking when she went to church, and it’d blown the lid of her pressure cooker so hard and so high that it’d embedded itself in the plaster of her ceiling. The photographs had been on the front page of Mussomeli’s local newspaper. “No. What is it now?”

  “There are new owners in the Tivoli estate.”

  Audrey frowned. “The Tivoli estate? Where is that?”

  Just then, his wife, Carmen, came out. “Tivoli. You see. Oranges?” She pointed vaguely.

  “Oh!” Audrey understood, now. She’d definitely seen the estate, because it was perfectly visible from the large picture window in her bedroom. A sprawling hillside with rows and rows of pretty orange trees, and beyond that a gorgeous white mansion with a burnt sienna tiled roof, baking under the sun. It had one of those courtyards, the walls climbing with vines, that reminded Audrey of a Spanish mission. But as beautiful as it was, there was nothing more wonderful than the smell of citrus that greeted her, every time she threw open her shutters. “Oh, I know it. What about it? It was for sale, right? Probably for more than a dollar, huh?”

  With my luck, the new owners will probably knock it down and put a shopping mall there. Just what I need, to escape America to live in view of another shopping mall.

  “Si. The owners—not so good.” His thick gray brows knitted into one.

  “Not so good? What does that mean?” she asked, now genuinely curious.

  He leaned in closer. “The Piccolo clan used to live there. And I think there are more of them in there, now. The clan is one of the meanest and worst. Cosa Nostra,” he whispered.

  “Cosa . . .” She gasped. “Wait. Y
ou mean mafia?”

  He nodded and pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. But yes.”

  She looked around. The street was empty. What did he think—they were spying on him with satellites from outer space? She knew the mafia were good and had eyes everywhere, but they weren’t that good. Were they? “Have you seen them?”

  “No. No one has. The “for sale sign” come down, though. They do everything the same—in the middle of the night. No witnesses.”

  That sounded shady. She blinked, wondering if she could see them and all their illegal goings-on from her bedroom window. Would that make her a witness? A wanted woman? She’d seen a Lifetime movie about that, once.

  Knowing my luck, probably, and they’ll make a Lifetime movie about me, too.

  “A good girl like you must stay away from them. You hear me? They are not good to get tied up with.”

  “Oh. Great. I’ll keep that in mind.” She sighed. Unless they had pets, she probably wouldn’t see them at all, considering how much she worked at the clinic. “Have a good night, Luigi.”

  She was vaguely aware that he was watching her curiously as she made her way toward her home. “You be careful! You have much on your mind, Dottore.”

  She nodded. Tell me about it.

  She didn’t want to add mafia to the list. Though she’d agreed with Concetta that dating two different men in the same weekend wasn’t a problem because neither was a proposal of marriage, she still felt, well . . . dirty about it. Part of it was because though G and Mason knew each other, they didn’t exactly like each other. And no matter which way she sliced it, neither would be happy to know she was spending time with the other one. She wouldn’t tell them, of course, but what if they found out? They’d be upset. So it felt like a betrayal.