by Fiona Grace
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was after two when Audrey finished up with her appointments for the day. Exhausted she slumped into the chair at the reception desk and fired off a bill to the last customer, then clutched her growling stomach. Why are you acting like this, stomach? Was it something I ate? Stop!
She checked her appointments for the following day, thinking about her conversation with Rafael. Now, she felt a little better that he wasn’t from the mob . . . but she wasn’t one-hundred-percent on that. Her gut told her that no, he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. She hoped.
So that left the person with the polka dots.
Which wasn’t helpful. She’d never seen anyone wearing polka dots, anywhere in town.
And really, who were either of them to recognize that person? She and Rafael were both outsiders. What she needed was someone who knew this town and its inhabitants, inside and out . . .
Light bulb. She needed G.
Suddenly, the growling in her gut became so loud, it practically drowned out her own thoughts.
After a minute, she realized the reason: Oh. I haven’t eaten anything all day.
Another light bulb. She needed to get to La Mela Verde, right away.
At that, her stomach let out a sharp, piercing cry, like, Finally she gets the picture.
“Concetta!” she called into the back room as she gathered her purse. “I’m going to get something to eat. Want to come?”
No answer.
It was only when she wandered into the back room that she remembered she’d given Concetta the day off. I’m totally losing it. I need a meal. Sleep. Time to think.
She decided to close up shop for an hour and get something to eat at La Mela Verde. At least there, she’d meet one friendly face and pick his brain for a nice, quiet lunch.
As she walked through the town, she tried not to dwell on the fact that she might be a mob target. There were boys playing a card game on a front stoop of a house, and people sitting out, enjoying the warm weather in the piazza. No one seemed to be looking at her suspiciously, which was a good thing. Even so, she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder, expecting some man with a machine gun to emerge from a dark alley and shoot her dead.
You’ve got to get a grip, Audrey, she thought, even as she picked up the pace and crossed the street.
As she passed her home, she noticed something.
Her heart crammed itself in her throat as she neared the door.
Yes, she wasn’t imagining it. There was a note, the size of a large post-it, attached to it.
She crept closer, cringing at the thought of opening it to find a mob love-letter: You’re next! scrawled in blood.
But instead, she could see rather neat, boxy handwriting, that looked rather familiar: Stopped in to fix that leak but you were out. Tonight?-- M
Mason. Oh. Right.
Her momentary relief gave way to panic as she realized she hadn’t emptied the bucket since last night. She rushed inside, sloshing through a quarter-inch puddle of water that was stretching out over the kitchen floor.
“Oh, no no no!” she shouted, opening the cabinet door. Sure enough, the bucket was full. She grabbed it, took it over to the front door, and emptied it.
Stuffing it back under the cabinet, she growled to herself. Her tile floor would likely be fine, but the throw rug she had by the kitchen table was drenched. She grabbed a broom and half-heartedly started to sweep the water out the front door. Then she sighed. I can’t deal with this right now.
Throwing the broom down, she locked up her house and went on her way. She was halfway up the street, within a block of the café, when she heard a commotion, two male voices, raised in anger.
Great. What now?
One of the men was wearing an apron and a flat-topped hat, standing in front of a street cart that sold gelato. Audrey had bought some from him, several times, and he’d always been very pleasant. But now, his face was red, and he was gesticulating wildly. The other man, a bearded, large bear of a man, was doing the same. It was like they were having a shouting match, but since they were speaking Italian, Audrey had no idea what they were saying.
People were starting to gather around, watching the spectacle. Audrey didn’t have time for that. Her stomach was begging for food, and unfortunately, these men were in her path.
As she broke through, intending to go past them, the bear of a man clenched his fist. Were they really going to come to blows?
Audrey couldn’t ignore it anymore. She said, “What seems to be the problem?”
The bear man looked at her, relief on his face. “You speak English?”
She nodded. “I’m American. What’s going on?”
“I’m from the mainland. I just asked this man where I can get some real food, and he starts yelling at me. This is real food, or something. All I want to do is sit down somewhere and get a nice meal. I no understand these Sicilians.”
“Ohhh,” Audrey said. She’d long since heard the distaste that Sicilians and mainland Italians had for one another, but she’d never seen it in action. “I understand. I’m actually heading to the best café in Mussomeli right now. You can follow me, if you’d like.”
He sighed, clearly happy by the invitation. “I’d love that. Thank you.”
Audrey smiled at the food cart man and patted his arm. “It’s all right,” she said, smiling. “I will take care of him.”
He let out a grunt and started to wheel his cart away, and the crowd began to disperse.
As Audrey walked with the man, she realized how large he was. From the gray in his sideburns, she gathered he was probably about sixty, but he hadn’t yet gotten smaller or frailer in the way some older men did. He was built like a linebacker. She barely reached his shoulder, and he was as wide and round as a barrel. That food cart guy had a lot of guts, yelling at him. He looks like he could’ve killed him in two seconds flat.
Determined not to get on his bad side, she said, “So, what brings you to Mussomeli?”
“Passing through,” he said shortly. “Why are you in the area?”
“I bought one of those one-dollar houses on a whim. So I’m fixing it up.”
“Is that so? I’ve heard of that. I’d be interested in that. What is the area like?”
“Oh, it’s really nice. Nice, small town feel. People are very friendly,” she said, and almost as if to prove it, a woman she’d seen a couple times before waved at her. She waved back.
“Is there a lot of crime?”
“Crime? Oh, no. Not at—” She stopped. “Well, to be truthful, there was a murder here yesterday. Someone was shot in the back. Outside of town. But that was probably just an odd occurrence.” I probably shouldn’t talk of the other two murders. I’d scare him away for good.
“Odd occurrence? You mean, they don’t know who did it?”
“No. The police are looking into it. It’s a small town, so I’m sure they’ll probably find out who it was, soon.” Though they might need my help.
“There’s a criminal element in this town?”
“Well, there is talk that it might have something to do with the mob.”
“The mob?” Now, he seemed really interested. “I did not know Cosa Nostra reached this far inland. That’s fascinating, their power. I thought they were all but dead.”
“They probably are. Honestly, I wouldn’t believe any of the talk you hear around here. This town gossips about anything and everything. The thing is, it’s very safe to walk these streets, even at night. It never bothered me at all. This place gets very quiet after sundown,” she said with a smile. “So if you are thinking of buying and bringing your family here, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
He nodded. “I suppose I’d need to find the right property.”
They’d reached the end of the road, and the sign for La Mela Verde came into view. She pointed to it. “Well, this is it. Prepare to be dazzled. G makes some of the best food in town. If I were you, I’d have his arancini.”
He smiled.
“I’m grateful. What’s your name?”
“Audrey. I’m Audrey Smart. I’m the town veterinarian. My clinic’s on Barcellona.” She extended her hand.
He shook it. “Marco. Good to meet you.”
“Likewise! Have a good lunch.”
He held the door open for her as she walked into the busy café. Right now, she had to seek out G. She had some questions to ask him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Principessa!” G shouted across the busy café as she approached, his voice so loud that it drowned out all the other noises. “Finally, I see you again!”
Once again, La Mela Verde was busy, full of expats and locals alike, all enjoying the cozy atmosphere. The place was decorated in grape vines, with wine casks everywhere, and most of the tables were small and packed close together, to make the most of the limited space. Everyone, of course, was smiling, because that was the effect G’s food had on a person—it simply was impossible to be in a bad mood after eating his delicacies.
She smiled as she stepped up to the counter, happy to see that her spot, at the end of the bar, was open. She slid onto the stool. “Ciao.”
He passed a glass of water over to her. “So what is going on in the good doctor’s world? It is like I have not seen you in ages!”
What hasn’t been going on, is the real question, she thought, taking a sip of the water. “I’ve been dying for your ciambotta. Please.”
“Ah, it’s been one of those kinds of days, eh?” he said, scooping some of the golden stew out of a giant vat and handing it to her, with a hunk of crusty bread.
“One of those lives.” She smiled. “What else is new?”
He laughed and leaned up against the counter. New customers arrived, and he motioned to one of the waitresses to take care of it. “You Americans do live exciting lives, no?”
“I don’t know about that. It’s only since I moved here that my life has been crazy. In Boston, I was boring,” she said, scooping some of the vegetable stew into her spoon and bringing it to her lips, pausing a moment to inhale. This was, by far, her favorite food of all the new flavors she’d sampled since coming to Sicily. Warm, delicious, and simple, it was like a big bowl of mac n’ cheese, at home. The best kind of comfort food.
And she really needed the comfort right now.
She tasted it and smiled. “Mmmm. So good. I needed that.” She smacked her lips.
He chuckled. “So what’s been on your mind? Something with the clinic?”
“No. Not really. You know that murder?”
He nodded. Of course, he’d be familiar with it. There was no gossip that spread through this town without G catching wind of it. He gave her a curious look. “Don’t tell me . . .”
“Yes. I found the body. Again.”
He stared at her in astonishment. Then he burst out laughing and slammed his palm into the counter. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make light. But that is a very odd thing. We had almost no murders before you came here. And since then, three.”
“And I found all three of them. I know, I know.” She slumped over the bowl and scooped more into her mouth.
“How did you stumble upon this one?”
“It’s weird. I got an anonymous call about an injured animal, down by the orange groves. I went there and found the body. He’d been shot in the back.”
“The orange groves. You mean, Tivoli?” When she nodded, he said, “That was the place we were just talking about. The subject of all the mafia rumors.”
“Right. I know you said it was ridiculous, but a dead guy being found there . . . shot in the back . . . it almost makes it seem true.”
“Did you see the owner?”
She nodded, looking away. I had lunch with the owner, but I’m not telling G that. “He doesn’t seem like a cold-blooded killer.”
“Ah. Well, I’m sure the police will find out who did it.”
“I don’t know about that. Dinardo seems to think I did it.”
G laughed again, pounding the counter so hard this time that the silverware rattled. “He can’t.”
“He does. I think. I don’t know. They don’t have any other suspects. And—” She looked around carefully to make sure no one was listening and then added, “At first I thought Rafael was mafia, and possibly paying them off to suspect me. But now, I don’t know.”
“Rafael?”
“Yes. Rafael Piccolo.”
“Piccolo?” G’s tan face went ashen. He stroked his chin. “That was an old clan family. But they’ve been gone for a while.”
“But maybe their roots go deep,” she whispered, repeating the article she’d read.
He shook his head. “I know Dinardo. He’s a good man. He can’t be bought. He will find the killer.”
“I hope so.” She finished her ciambotta and placed the spoon down. “That was one thing I wanted to ask you. Do you happen to know anyone who wears a white scarf or hat with red polka dots?”
His eyes danced with amusement. “Is this the clue to solving the whole mystery?”
“Possibly. I could’ve sworn I saw someone out in the grove, wearing that, right before the murder. But before I could get a closer look, the person was gone.”
G crossed his arms, thinking. “Come to think of it, I do. Ugo. Ugo Telemaco. He’s kind of a crazy old man. Lives not far from the grove, in fact, in a shack, next door. Keeps to himself. But he wears a hat like that.” He made a face. “You might not want to go there, though. He’s not the friendliest of men.”
Ooh, that sounded like a lead. Here, she’d thought the convivial G didn’t have an enemy on the whole island. “Not the friendliest of men? What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “There’s a reason he lives outside of town. He likes his privacy. But you’ll see, because I know you. No amount of my warning you away will do any good. You’re going to go there, anyway. Right?”
She gave him an innocent shrug. “Well . . .when I get curious about something, I get an itch. And I can’t stop until it’s been scratched.”
He reached under the counter and pulled out a cup of his famous pistachio gelato. “On the house.”
“Thank you,” she said, grabbing a dessert spoon and digging in. She was still hungry. “You definitely know the way to this girl’s heart.”
He leaned on the counter, closer to her. “Which reminds me. Friday night was fun. When do we do it again?”
She froze. Looked away. And here, she’d almost gotten off without a scratch.
“Oh. Um. Soon,” she said, licking her spoon, then grabbing her purse and pulling out a few euros. She set down the money and slipped off the stool. “But I forgot. I have something back at the clinic to do. Thanks for the meal. We’ll talk later?”
They said their goodbyes and she went outside, muttering to herself. Why had she mentioned the way to her heart? Like she even knew what her heart wanted, now, with everything going on.
Right now, she had one thing on her mind, and that was meeting Ugo Telemaco, the man with the polka-dotted hat. She had to find out why he was there, in the orange grove, at the time of the murder.
*
Audrey’s legs ached as she took the steps for the second time that day, down to the grove. She knew it would only be worse, coming up, but that the trip would be worth it.
She’d only hoped to close the clinic for an hour. She was blowing that out of the water. But she didn’t have any appointments, and the animals would be okay for a little longer. She had to know.
But when she arrived at the path that ran adjacent to the orange grove, she didn’t know which way to turn. All she could see were orange trees, in all directions. Because she’d gone right, before, and that had led her around to the mansion, she took a left. The path gradually narrowed more and more until it was just a thin passage of trampled grass, into a heavily wooded area.
When she emerged from it, she saw the rusted metal roof, nearly invisible under a thick covering of vines. Walking closer, she saw a shack with a single win
dow, shade drawn tightly.
Now here is someone who definitely does not want to be found. Too bad. I have to know why he was out there.
She paused there, thinking.
If he is the murderer, he really won’t want to be found. Not only that, he’ll probably have a gun.
Wiping her sweaty palms on her hands, she moved a bit further, until the pathway forked in two. One trail led off in the direction of the shack. She took it, trying to decide exactly what she’d say when she approached the man. The path wound around the shack, giving her a good idea of its size. It was little larger than an outhouse of old, on the prairie, and looked about as well-kept as one, too. At least it didn’t smell like one—it smelled like the forest around it, like earth and decay and flora.
The front door was just three planks of wood, nailed together—completely windowless, as if its owner was perfectly content to shut away the outside world. She could only imagine how dark it was inside.
Audrey went up and, taking a deep breath, rapped sharply.
The door opened to reveal a man with a gray, unruly beard, in a white ribbed undershirt. He squinted at her, his eyes obviously unused to the sunlight.
“Hello, Mr. Telemaco?” she asked brightly. “I’m Audrey Smart, a veterinarian in town. Do you speak English? Lei parla inglese?”
He stared at her. “Huh?”
I guess that’s a no. Audrey had been getting better with her Italian, but she was still lagging woefully behind. It hadn’t helped her much, having Concetta to rely on at the clinic. Usually, she just looked at her assistant for help with translations. I wish Concetta was here. “I’m a doctor. Dottore?”
He stared at her. “Dottore? No. No necessità.” He went to close the door.
“No!” She shoved her hand in the way before he could. Pain ripped up her forearm as the door bounced off her elbow. He stared at her in surprise as she rubbed it. “Sorry. But I—”
“Oh, leave an old man be, would you? Can’t you see I want to be left alone?” He groused, in perfect English.
Her eyes widened. “Oh. So you can speak English.”