A Villa in Sicily: Vino and Death

by Fiona Grace

  “No. No, of course not. Luca, now listen to me. Don’t panic. They have no reason to put you in jail at all. You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did I.” She looked over at the woman behind the register, who was still shooting eye-daggers as she rang up another customer. “Feel free to tell your mother that. The last thing I need is to be banned from your store. I need you guys for my renovations.”

  He shrugged, sheepish. “But that’s my mama. I don’t think you’re bad. I like you. I tell her that. She don’t listen. She’s …” He waved her away and spun a finger near his ear. “Cuckoo.”

  “I was as shocked as you were to find out about it,” she said, shuddering once again as the thought of poor Vito floated through her brain. “That’s why I wanted to come see you. You walked the dogs, right?”

  He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the spare key. “Yes. I tell all this to the police. I was there for about an hour. After dinner. Sun was just going down.”

  She took the keys and shoved them in her purse. “And nothing was amiss?”

  He shrugged. “No. Nothing.”

  “You didn’t see the inspector at all?”

  He shook his head. “I saw no one. Even when I walk the dogs. I didn’t pass a single person. I just walk them, fill water bowls, clean the litter. Fed the rabbits, like you show me. No problem. Everything normal. No dead body.”

  She nodded. That meant that the murder must’ve happened in the night, like DiNardo had said. At that time, she and Mason were on their way back, or at his house. They’d had a couple drinks and talked a little in the kitchen, but they’d both been tired from their explorations, so they went to bed at around ten. Separately, despite what Brina would’ve liked.

  That meant that really … she didn’t have much of an alibi. Mason’s wonderful couch was just steps from the door. She easily could’ve slipped out and back in.

  Darn it.

  “Luca,” she said carefully, not wanting to cast any blame on her volunteer, “when I got there this morning, the door was open a bit. It didn’t appear to be forced. Did you lock it?”

  His eyes widened and he rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. “Er … I … I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay if you didn’t. I mean, you’re not in trouble or anything.”

  He let out a sigh. “I might have not. I am sorry.” He lifted his phone from his pocket. “I got a call as I leave. From girlfriend.” He whispered the last part, like it was some big conspiracy. “From school. She make me all crazy in the head.”

  “Oh.” Audrey winked, as if she was in on it. “It’s all right. I get it. Then you went back home?”

  He nodded. “Yes. That’s it.”

  “And you saw no one at all on the way there, or the way back? Anything suspicious at all?”

  A wrinkle appeared above his brow as he thought. “No … well …”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I did see a black car. Tiny one. It go down the street, very slow. Like it was looking for something. I thought that funny. Usually cars go down that street slow, but not this slow. I could not see in. Windows were dark.”

  “Oh. Did it stop in front of the clinic?”

  “No … it just roll forward, real slow. That’s all.”

  “Okay. Well. Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. I was no help to police either. I think they never find out who kill that man. I bet he had many people who no like him.”

  That was right. It wasn’t just her. Hadn’t Vito said that before? He was going hard on a lot of people at the urging of his supervisors. A lot of people were angry at him. Sure, he’d been found in her clinic, but that meant absolutely nothing. After all, if she really wanted to murder him, she could think of about a million places to do it that would be better than her own clinic.

  “I think they will,” she said, stepping back toward the double doors to the hardware store. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go back in there and subject herself to the torture that was Luca’s mom.

  Besides, she had an idea. An itch. A hankering for the truth.

  Whenever an injustice like this presented itself to her, she couldn’t simply sit by and do nothing. She had to act, even if it got her in trouble. And there were plenty of people who had reason not to like Vito Cascarelli. She just had to find the right one.

  I’m sure they will find the killer, she thought to herself. Because I’m the one who’s going to make it happen.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Dead?”

  Audrey sighed. “Yeah. He’s dead. The inspector you were so fond of speaking ill of. He was found lying dead, stabbed, in my reception area.”

  Mason usually didn’t show surprise, but his mouth dropped open. “Heck. Really? I was just heading over there with my supplies to—”

  “Well, forget that. It’s a crime scene. They’re only letting me in to care for the animals. I don’t know when it’s going to open now.”

  He crossed his arms and stooped a little to look in her eyes. She averted them. “You’re all shook up about this.”

  “Duh. Of course I am. I found a dead man in my place of work. I think I deserve to be a little freaked out.”

  “All right. So what are you doing?”

  She couldn’t tell him what she had in mind—that she wanted to snoop. He was firmly against her doing that, since she’d stuck her head in the lion’s jaws plenty of times before, only to almost get it snapped off. “I don’t know. I have to go back to the clinic.”

  “You want company? You know, because of …”

  Because of the dead man that was found there? She shuddered again, but shook her head adamantly. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure? You look rattled. Come on. Why don’t you forget the clinic right now? I’ll buy you lunch. I’ll let you pick the place, as long as it isn’t that—”

  “No,” she said, more forcefully than she’d have liked. His face fell. He was probably catching onto the fact that she didn’t want him with her, no matter what she did, so she decided to soften the blow. “Raincheck? I really do have to get back to the clinic to check on those bunnies.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  It was only when she got outside that she heaved a sigh of relief. She peered up at his house, at the windows, feeling bad about lying. But right now, she wanted answers.

  Needed them.

  It wasn’t hard to find the homes of other people who’d had their Certificates of Occupancy revoked, thanks to the glaring white paper on their doors. When Mason had mentioned a couple of his buddies had gotten the same treatment she had, he’d motioned up the street, so she had a pretty good idea of where to go.

  She stopped at the first house, a red-painted, impossibly narrow home, sandwiched between two others. It had pretty shutters with starburst cutouts on them, and was actually kind of charming, in a woodsman’s cottage kind of way. There were cans of paint lined up at the front door, and there was a ten-speed bicycle hooked over one of the railings. As far as Audrey could see, the only thing wrong with it was the Attenzione! notice on the front door.

  Checking down the street to make sure Mason wasn’t following her, she crept closer to the notice. Sure enough, there was a name written on it: Roberto Gonzales. Underneath, someone had scribbled something in Italian: Se stai cercando Roberto, sta Hotel Paladino, via Maria.

  Audrey quickly plugged that into her trusty translation app on her phone, already having a good idea of what it said: If you’re looking for Roberto, he’s at the Hotel Paladino on via Maria.

  Which, luckily, wasn’t too far from the clinic. She passed it every day on her way over there.

  And, even better, it was out of sight of Mason’s possibly prying eyes.

  Not that she didn’t want him to know what she was up to. Okay, well, she didn’t. If the last few scrapes she’d gotten into were any indication, if she told him she was poking around, she knew exactly what he’d do. He’d try to talk her out of it, tell her it was to
o dangerous.

  But talking to a couple of his friends wouldn’t be dangerous. It was fine. Perfect, she thought.

  The hotel was a nondescript little building that looked like one of the many abandoned properties surrounding it. The only difference was that instead of having a sign on the door announcing that it was available to buy, this sign said Hotel Paladino. The sign was wedged against the only window in the place, behind a cage of metal bars that gave it an overall “prison” ambience. When she pulled the door, a smell like burnt popcorn mixed with cigarette smoke and garbage wafted out.

  Gathering her courage, she walked across the cramped room, which had dark-paneled walls and was full of mismatched furniture in bright rust and avocado colors, likely from fifty years ago. There was a coffee table scattered with old newspapers, and an ashtray full of cigarette butts.

  Holding her breath as she crossed to the reception, she was about to ring the service bell when a woman with bright burgundy hair, who was hiding behind the desk reading a magazine, muttered an unenthusiastic, “Ciao.”

  She said something else, still not looking up from her reading material, but Audrey didn’t understand. “No, I don’t want a room,” she said. “I wondered if you could tell me if you have a guest named Roberto Gonzales?”

  The woman looked at her, a confused expression on her face. She’d looked younger at first glance, but now, the lighting was so bad that Audrey could see the woman’s heavy cake-makeup, seeping into every little line and crack on her face. Her eyes lit up, and when she smiled, Audrey saw lipstick on her teeth. “Roberto? Ah, Roberto!”

  She ripped a little Post-it off a pad and scribbled something on it, then handed it over. It said 2B. The woman pointed through doors to a dark narrow stairwell that looked a little frightening, like a stairway to hell. “Thank you.”

  Audrey made it to the door without much trouble, except the stench seemed to get worse now, with the addition of something close to cat urine. At 2B, she knocked.

  At first, no one answered, so she knocked again. And one more time. Just as she was about to leave, a voice started shouting through the door in Italian. She weakly translated it to, “I don’t need housekeeping!”

  She knocked again. “Roberto? I’m not housekeeping. I’m Audrey Smart. I wanted to talk to you.”

  The door opened a crack, revealing a dark-skinned man with a shaved head and bushy beard. His bloodshot eyes, which suggested he’d had a rough night, scanned her from head to toe. “Audrey?” he said with a bit of an accent she couldn’t place.

  She nodded.

  “You American?”

  She nodded again.

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  Definitely Latino. “I saw that you had your CO revoked by the inspector. Mine was revoked, too. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about it.”

  A male voice behind him said something. He looked back into his apartment and muttered, “Some woman. She wants to ask me questions about the inspector.” He looked back at her. “We both did, me and Dom.”

  “Oh. You’re both here? Can I talk to you?”

  He shrugged, then threw open the door as an invitation. The room was about the size of a closet, with no windows, and a stuffy, overwhelming wall of heat hit her. Any invitation she got from his gesture was one to stay away. For a moment, the impulse to flee almost overwhelmed her, but once she took the first step forward, she was able to take another.

  As Rob trailed back to a lumpy mattress and threw himself down on it, she realized he was only wearing a pair of tighty-whities. Averting her eyes, she landed on Dom, a tall blond guy who was at least in the process of throwing an old T-shirt over his skinny, pimpled chest.

  Dom at least had some manners, because he extended his hand. “Hey. I’m Dom. From New Zealand.”

  “Hi. Audrey Smart. Nice to meet you. You said your place wasn’t up to passing, too?”

  He nodded. “Busted sewer line. Thought the city should take care of it. Apparently not.”

  He motioned to a harvest yellow pleather chair, which was the only furniture in the room, aside from two small twin beds and a night table that was covered with take-out cartons and a couple of empty bottles of liquor. The chair had someone’s permanent backside-print on it. There were two pieces of artwork on the wall: one, a small wooden cross, which was hung in such a way that it seemed crooked, and just under it, a print of Davinci’s The Last Supper.

  Audrey preferred to stand.

  “So what’s this all about? You think we can get a group of us together and try to fight it?” Dom said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It won’t work. I camped out at city hall. They told me the only way I was going to pass was by fixing the problem. I told them, it’s their problem. It has to do with the sewer line running into the house. But they got stuffing in their ears. They don’t listen.”

  She said, “Actually, no. It’s about the inspector. Vito Cascarelli?”

  Roberto rolled over in bed, scratched his armpit, and reached for his cigarettes and a lighter. He poked one in his hairy mouth and started to light up. “What about him?”

  “He’s dead.”

  The cigarette Roberto was lighting fell from his mouth, and he almost lit his beard on fire. “No kidding.”

  “Murdered.”

  The two men exchanged looks. “I don’t believe it. Murdered?” Dom asked, as Roberto realized he’d lost his cigarette and pawed around the pile of sheets for it.

  She nodded, proud to have had the desired effect of knocking an entire room silent. “In my clinic. Someone stabbed him.”

  Dom ran a hand through his long, shaggy hair, his mouth an exaggerated O. “Wow. So what are you here for?”

  “I was just wondering where you two were last night?” she asked, trying to sound innocent. But really, there was no way to make I want to know if you killed this guy sound innocent.

  The corner of Dom’s mouth quirked up. “You think one of us did it because we held a grudge against the man? Is that it?”

  “No. I’m just trying to piece things together. It happened at my business last night, so naturally the police are coming to me. I’m assuming from the shock on your faces that the police haven’t interviewed you.”

  They both shook their heads.

  Great. Two perfectly credible suspects, and the cops were dragging their heels on it again. Of course, there could be dozens of people on the list of homeowners who failed inspection. Maybe hundreds. Maybe the police just hadn’t gotten to them yet.

  “Look,” Roberto said, finally succeeding in lighting that cigarette. “Last night, we were at a bar called Costello’s on the north side until closing, which was about three. We have about twenty people who were there with us and can verify that. Then we stumbled home together and went to bed. The lady downstairs probably has it on the video camera in the lobby. That’s it.”

  She nodded. “Thanks. Well, you’ll probably have to tell the police the same thing in a bit.” If they do their job right.

  Roberto let out a large cloud of smoke and started pushing stuff on the table aside before picking up his ashtray and setting it in front of him on the bed. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Audrey hated cigarette smoke, but she was curious. “So did you guys know each other before this?”

  Dom shook his head. “Nope. Just met here two months ago and are already best mates.”

  “That’s nice,” she said. She thought about asking them about Mason, but her eyes were watering from the stench, so she decided to make her exit. “All right, well—”

  But before she could thank them and get away, Dom said, “What’s wrong with your place?”

  “Oh. I have a hole in the ceiling. You have a sewer issue?”

  He nodded and motioned to his friend. “Rob’s got a little of everything.”

  Rob looked at the ceiling. “Don’t remind me.”

  She smiled. “And I thought I’d bought the worst property in Mussomeli
.”

  Rob sighed. “I call my place the Little Red Hell. Something has gone wrong with it every day. I’m handy, but at this point, I think the place is laughing at me.”

  “Are you trying to fix it?” She coughed.

  He nodded and flicked the ashes off his cigarette, into the ashtray. “Eventually, when I get the money. Hey—maybe the next inspector will be a woman and we can charm her into passing us?”

  He actually posed that question to Dom, who nodded as if it was a great plan. Audrey rolled her eyes. No wonder Mason hung out with these dudes. They all thought they were so smooth with the ladies. But Audrey’d seen more charm in a field of donkeys.

  “Well, thanks, again,” she said, feeling like she’d hit a dead end. “Hey. Do you know of anyone else who failed their inspection?”

  Roberto shook his head, but Dom said, “Yeah. Actually. There was a guy we met. Big guy, looked like Arnold. Kind of angry. German. Uh …” He looked over at Rob. “Remember? At the bar? He left early, too.”

  Roberto nodded. “Right! Yeah, what was he so angry about?”

  “His renovation, on via Camilla. He’d just failed. Remember? What was his name? Hans?”

  “Horst.”

  “Right. Horst. That’s it.”

  Audrey smiled. An angry guy who’d left early that night and had also just failed his inspection? That looked good. Very good. “You said he’s on Camilla?” she asked, backing toward the door. She’d already begun choking on the cigarette smoke and was probably only seconds away from hyperventilating. As they nodded, she opened the door. “Thanks, guys. Good luck with your renovations.”

  She escaped out into the hallway, taking deep breaths of air before remembering this air was almost as foul. She hurried outside and finally took her first breath of clean air. The bright sun was shocking compared to the enclosed, dark dreariness of inside that hotel. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she smiled.

  No, she didn’t have answers, but she’d done what she needed to do. And now she had a new lead. That was probably the best she could hope for.