by Fiona Grace
“Oh,” Audrey said, feeling foolish. “That’s great that it all worked out,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m a little on edge because I found the body this morning.”
“You found the body?” he repeated, his face turning sympathetic. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard for you.”
“Thanks, it’s—”
“It’s really hard to believe Vito’s dead. Our families were tight,” he said with a sigh. “Really tight. We did everything together. When I heard—”
He stopped speaking and looked away, trying to collect himself. For a moment, Audrey thought she saw tears in his eyes.
“All I could think was, his poor wife.”
“He had a wife?”
He nodded. “Lisa. She’s a lovely woman. An artist. Our wives were best friends, years ago. Before they moved to Sutera. I believe that recently, they were having their troubles, going through a divorce. But she loved him very much. She must be devastated.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.” Now she felt worse than ever for the poor man. He had family. Friends. People who cared about him. Including Tomas Dellisanti.
No, he wasn’t the killer either.
And that meant she was at another dead end.
But maybe there was someone in his personal life who could shed some light on the man that he was. Someone who could lead her closer to the killer. Lisa Cascarelli, from Sutera.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was too late to go all over the place, looking for the ex-wife. Audrey could’ve gone back to her house and tried to figure out how to fix her floor, but by then, she was too exhausted to think of even doing that. When she returned to Mason’s house, she found a tarp there. She lifted it up and found what looked like a bunch of cleaning supplies.
She smiled. He’d bought these to help fix up her clinic? How sweet.
She stood outside the door, wondering if she should knock; after all, she lived there, if only temporarily. She decided she should, just to be on the safe side. She rapped lightly. Then harder.
No answer.
She tried the knob. It was locked.
And she didn’t have a key.
Wonderful.
A chittering noise caught her attention. It was Nick. He jumped up on the railing and peered down at her.
“Do you know where he is?”
Nick simply licked his paws.
She slumped down on the front stoop with Nick at her feet, and searched up and down the street, wondering where her lovely host had gone, and how long he’d be. After all the excitement of today, she was bone tired. So much for curling up on the sofa with a glass of wine. She also could’ve really gone for one of his nice, delicious Southern meals. But she guessed she was out of luck.
Tapping her feet on the stone walk, she found herself getting antsy. It was like there was so much to do, but she was being held immobile.
But no, there were some things she could still do, even here.
She pulled out her phone. She hadn’t looked at it in a while, but she had at least twelve messages from her sister, both voicemail and increasingly frantic texts, wanting the scoop on the murder. She’d have to call her back later.
“Okay, Mr. Vito Cascarelli. Let’s see if I can find out anything about you and this lovely wife of yours,” she murmured, typing his name into the search bar.
The search results didn’t show much. There were a few websites in Italian that she couldn’t read, and he was listed on the city of Mussomeli’s website as an employee. She searched more and found a website which listed his address, in north Mussomeli.
There was also an address listed in Sutera, which turned out to be a small town located south. She vaguely remembered passing it on the way to Agrigento. She clicked on the link and noticed that the deed to the property belonged to a Vito and Lisa Cascarelli.
Bingo.
“I wonder if she moved back to Mussomeli, too,” Audrey murmured. If so, maybe she had something to do with the murder. Maybe she could question her.
She looked up the name, “Lisa Cascarelli Sutera” and found a website for “Lisa Cascarelli Designs.” She clicked on it and scrolled through pictures of brightly colored pottery, to the bottom. It looked like the art studio itself, a small place with plenty of color and artistic flair, was still located in Sutera.
Then Audrey clicked on the “news” section of the website, to find an article about the opening of the pottery business, from only a few months ago. In it was a picture of an older woman, holding one of her creations. She had curly dark hair and a broad smile. Audrey scanned the article, trying to make out the words in Italian, and was proud of herself that she didn’t have to use her Google Translate once. It said:
“Lisa Cascarelli has opened up a new pottery business in the heart of Sutera. After ten years of marriage and living as a housewife, a recent bitter divorce left her unsure of her next adventure. The opening of Lisa Cascarelli Designs, she says, has been a healing experience for her, allowing her to do what she loves while bringing beauty and joy to the Sutera area.”
Bitter divorce? That sounded promising.
Maybe they weren’t quite as in love as Tomas Dellisanti remembered. It was a possibility …
But also, a problem. The widow still lived in Sutera, and Audrey was under firm orders from the police not to leave the city. That meant no going after her, asking questions. She’d done that once before, when trying to get answers about another murder, and it was like the police had a radar for her. The second she even attempted to cross over the border, they’d lunged at her.
It was a good thing she’d gotten to go to Agrigento when she had. If not, maybe she’d really feel trapped.
She found herself thinking of Mason, holding her on that stone wall and smiling down at her, and warmth spread over her chest.
She realized she was grinning goofily when her phone started to ring in her lap.
It was G. She stared at it for a moment. She hadn’t spoken to him since the night of the taste-testing. So much had happened since then. “Hello?”
“Principessa!” he called. “How are you?”
“Hi, G. I’m fine.”
“I’ve been missing you. It has been a while. Are you doing well?”
“Yes. Very well. But it’s only been a couple days!” She felt guilty now, for the way she’d run out on him. For the way she’d misinterpreted his invitation and assumed he wanted more, then got angry at him when she realized his true intentions. It wasn’t his fault, and she’d been kind of short with him. She said, “I wanted to apologize for leaving you so abruptly last t—”
“No. Not at all. You were lovely, as always. But you have much on your mind, eh?”
She sighed. “You heard about the inspector.”
“Si.” That wasn’t hard to believe. Everyone in town had by now, and G knew just about everyone. She’d have been more surprised if he didn’t know. “In the clinic, yes?”
“Yes. I found the body.”
He tutted. “I came by to see you at your home today, but you were gone, Principessa. There was a notice on your door. Were you forced out?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Don’t remind me. It’s been a little bit of a whirlwind since I last saw you, that’s for sure.”
There was a pause. “Principessa. I’m not working dinner tonight. Let’s say you and I go for a walk? I can pick you up in five minutes?”
She smiled. She really did need someone to talk to about all this. “How about dinner? I’m starving.”
“Dinner it is. I know a place on the edge of town. Very quiet.”
Very romantic. The words drifted through her head, but she stamped them down. She’d been through that rodeo before. No need to get her hopes up again. Besides, she wasn’t sure, after everything with Mason, she wanted things to go in that direction. “All right. But actually, I’m not at my house, for obvious reasons. I’ll come find you. Are you at the café?”
“I am. I’ll see you soon?”
She en
ded the call and looked across the street at the empty lot. The place across from Mason’s had once been a row home, but now it was nothing more than a burned-out shell. That was probably better than Nessa’s prying eyes and accusing tongue.
“Come on, fox,” she said to Nick, jumping to her feet and rushing down the street. The last thing she needed now was for Mason to catch her while on the way to go out to dinner with G.
Not that it was anything more than dinner. Completely innocent.
Or…
No. She refused to think about that. Maybe G could help her sort out some of this murder stuff, and give her some ideas on where to go next to get out of this mess. Right now, that was what she needed most.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Principessa!” G shouted when she was still several buildings away from her. He rushed up to meet her, put two hands on her shoulders, and kissed each cheek warmly. “You look beautiful!”
Audrey looked down at herself. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, what she’d been wearing the whole day, and her hair was a mess. She felt like she smelled from taking care of the animals and traipsing over creation, trying to get clues to this murder. She surely didn’t feel beautiful.
But G was eyeing her in the same way he had when she’d put effort in and worn that flouncy little number to the dessert taste-testing. Either he was pulling her leg, or he was blind.
And G? For the first time, she’d barely recognized him. He wasn’t wearing his normal skull cap and white apron over jeans and a white T-shirt. He was wearing a khakis and a nice button-down shirt, and instead of his delicious creations, he smelled of aftershave. Had he dressed up for her?
“Thanks.” She yawned. “Sorry I’m not better prepared for dinner. I’ve had a busy day. I can’t wait to sit down and relax. I’m dead on my feet.”
“Ah. Nonsense. You are perfect. But let us go before you fall down. Unless you would like me to carry you?” He winked.
She laughed. “No, I can make it.”
They walked north, with Nick scampering a bit behind, toward a part of town that she wasn’t as familiar with. Everything she’d needed thus far—the hardware store, the market, the clinic, city hall—had been south of her place, so she’d never gone farther north than to La Mela Verde. But as they walked, the streets became almost impossibly narrow, the buildings tighter and more pressed together, and the streets zigzagged in a way that looked like Tetris blocks trying to fit together. They made so many turns as they walked that Audrey was sure she’d have gotten lost, if it weren’t for G.
G, on the other hand, walked the streets without paying any mind, as he chattered on about how his dessert menu was working out. A native of Mussomeli, he probably could’ve walked the route blindfolded. “And yes, all of the desserts are a big hit,” he said proudly. “I have been selling out of everything. More people see them in the case and have been ordering them. It’s good.”
“That’s great,” she said, though right now, her mind was on other things.
“All because of you. If you hadn’t given me your opinion, I don’t know where I’d …”
“Hmm,” Audrey mumbled. “I’m so glad. Of course everything you make is amazing.”
She took another few steps before she realized that G wasn’t with her. When she stopped and turned around, he was standing still, staring at her. “Is everything okay?”
He smiled. “That is what I wonder about you. Your mind is very troubled. Am I wrong?”
She shook her head. “You’re not. Sorry. First I found out my house was condemned. Then I learned the clinic was in violation, too, and now I can’t use either place until I fix them. And then, with the inspector …” She groaned. “I can’t fix the clinic until the police clear the crime scene. Of course, people think I did it because I was frustrated over him giving me those citations. But really, if I were going to murder him, I wouldn’t have left him in reception. I’d have found a smarter place to hide the body!”
Her voice had been steadily rising as she said that, and when they passed a man and a woman, strolling toward them, the couple eyed her suspiciously. She cleared her throat and spoke quietly. “I have no idea why his body wound up in my place. Absolutely none.”
They’d walked to the end of a narrow alley. In America, a place like this would be where people kept their garbage cans. But G swerved her to a nondescript, windowless door, its paint chipping. It looked like an entrance to a speakeasy. He pulled it open and motioned for her to go in.
She peered inside to find, among the darkness, a faint reddish light, glowing from within, down a long hallway. She heard the faint chatter of voices coming from somewhere nearby. “After you,” he said with a sweep of his hand.
Audrey eyed the passage and cringed. Nick paused there, too, and if he was wary, then there was big problem. This definitely looked like a place where some bad, illegal things went down. “What is this, a torture chamber?”
He laughed. “It is some of the most delicious meals in town. Other than mine, of course. Come.”
She paused and knelt beside Nick. “You stay here. I’ll bring you a treat.”
G smiled down at the animal. “You have a faithful pet.”
“He is indeed. Mostly because I give him the food.”
“Oh, no. What gentleman in his right mind wouldn’t want to spend all the time he can with you?”
She blushed. There he went again, with that Sicilian charm.
G took the lead, then, holding the door only long enough for her to pass through, then slipped his hand in hers and guided her down a narrow hallway with an uneven floor that seemed to tilt and rise as they walked. It opened up to a candlelit room, with a handful of people at tables, enjoying meals and talking. The place was a windowless wine cellar, bordered on two sides by a latticework of wine bottles. It should’ve felt cold and damp, but with that many bodies in such a small area, it was warm, and not uncomfortably so.
“G!” a stout man in a dirty apron shouted from across the room. He approached and gave G the double-cheek kiss. Then he said in Italian, “It is always an honor to have you.” Audrey was happy that she could translate; it meant her language skills were indeed getting better.
G grinned. “It has been too long, yes?” He motioned to Audrey. “This is my guest, the lovely Dottore Audrey Smart. Audrey, this is Arturo, the best cook in Mussomeli, besides me. Arturo, my friend …Do you have a table for us?”
He chuckled. “For you? I have the best table in the place!”
He led them out of the room and placed them at a table that was away from the rest of the crowd, where there were giant barrels of wine. They were the only ones in the room. It was quiet there, and though the walls were stone and seemed to be weeping a bit, it was warm because of a large fireplace with a roaring fire. The table had a little handkerchief print tablecloth and tiny forget-me-nots in a bud vase, beside mismatched salt and pepper shakers. Quaint and rustic, it was definitely romantic, too.
Not that she was thinking about that in the least.
Arturo pulled out the chair and, when she sat, deposited a menu in her lap. He poured from a cask of red wine two glasses for them, without even asking. Audrey assumed it must’ve been the house wine. She took a sip of it and squinted at the menu, trying to read the choices in the dim firelight. Even in her limited Italian knowledge, everything looked so good.
“What do you recommend here?” she asked as Arturo left.
She looked up and noticed Arturo hadn’t even given G a menu. He winked. “I always ask for his special. It’s usually the best, no matter what it is.”
She closed the menu. “Okay. Well, that makes it easy.”
“So tell me,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Principessa. What has been troubling you? The murder?”
She nodded. “And other things.”
“You say both properties were condemned?”
“Well … not exactly condemned. They had their certificates of occupancy revoked unt
il I can make repairs. So I was working on it. Luckily, the animals can stay in the clinic, because it was supposed to be a very quick fix. It’s black mold. I arranged to have someone to fix it, but then the body of the inspector was found in my reception area. So now they’re not letting anyone in or out except me, to care for the animals. And when I go in, I have to have a police escort, even just to feed and take care of them. So I have to make an appointment to do that. Can you believe that?” She grabbed her phone and started to jab something in. “Which reminds me. I have to make an appointment to check on those bunnies tonight.”
“Bunnies?”
“Yes. Wild ones. They need a lot of care.”
After all that, her throat was dry. She drained her wine glass and began to feel a little light-headed. Then she poked a message in to the detective. Can I have an officer in the clinic at 8? I need to take care of the animals again.
He came back with, Someone will meet you there then. She frowned at it. He’d been accommodating, but those poor animals. She hated having to make all those arrangements, just to go in and see them. It didn’t feel right.
“You have had a busy week.”
“Right. So I can’t get the place back to normal, where I can see appointments and save strays and do what I was put here to do, until the police figure out who killed Vito Cascarelli. Time is of the essence. At least, for me, it is, if I want to keep the clinic running and not have to declare bankruptcy. And I get the feeling they’re not working hard enough. Not to mention that they think I’m the one behind it, again.”
“They can’t think someone like—”
“G. Come on.” She leveled a get serious look at him. “I may look like an innocent teenager, but that didn’t stop them from suspecting me in the past.”
He nodded slowly. “So what do you do now?”
“Since I can’t work, obviously, I’ve been doing a little poking. Turns out the inspector was being forced to go really hard on expats, in order to keep them in compliance, and he was nearly having a mental breakdown, with how many COs he had to revoke. So there were a lot of people who were upset with him. Not just me. I went around and checked on a few of them, but all of them had alibis that checked out. Then I checked into the guy who stood to take on the inspector’s job, once he was out of the way. But he was friends with Cascarelli; actually felt bad that he was dead. So it’s probably not him, either. I’m at a dead end.”