A Villa in Sicily: Vino and Death

by Fiona Grace

  “What are you doing?” a voice said behind her.

  Her entire body went stiff. She knew that voice.

  It was Detective DiNardo.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  “Hi, Detective!” she said brightly, smiling at him, hoping to disguise the fact that her heart was beating a million miles an hour and she was sweating now. “How are you? What’s new with the case?”

  He frowned back, motioning at the door with his chin. “Did you go in there? After I specifically told you not to?”

  “Well, you see …” She tittered. “Funny story, I—”

  “It’s not that funny. Especially considering that it’s grounds for me to arrest you. Tampering with a—”

  She threw up her hands. “I couldn’t help it! Detective … I messaged you …” She pulled out her phone and stared at it. “Twenty-six minutes ago. I needed to get in there. It was an emergency.”

  “Perhaps, but I told you that under no circumstance were you to—”

  “But a cat got hit by a car!” she shouted in her defense, gesturing wildly toward Lisa Cascarelli’s car, which was no longer parked in the spot outside her clinic. “I didn’t want it bleeding to death out here. Sue me for actually having a heart and doing what I’ve been trained to do, which is putting the care and health of animals over all else.”

  He fell silence, his lips pinched. Then he motioned to the door. “Show me.”

  The request came as a surprise to Audrey. “What?”

  “I’d like to see the cat that was hit by the car.”

  Of course, he didn’t trust her. And for good reason. Audrey let out an exasperated huff. At least she could show him the wounded animal, gain some of that trust back. What did he expect her to do? Ignore the poor thing? Really. How heartless did he think she could be?

  “Fine.” She marched inside, to the surgery. The door was partly open, but she pushed it wide, letting him go through. “There.”

  He looked in, his dark eyes scanning the room. “Where?”

  “There. Obviously. In the bed in the corner.”

  He squinted for a moment. “What am I looking at?”

  Confused, she peered in, standing on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder. Oh no. This wasn’t right at all. She was sure she’d left the wounded cat in that bed, to recover…

  But now, the cat was gone.

  Her heart stopped for a full ten seconds. Then, frantic, she broke into spastic action, scanning the room, the hallway. No cat. She even squatted to look under the exam table. A little part of her brain wondered what it would feel like to be snapped into handcuffs, and if the jail cells downtown were as horrible as they appeared on television shows. “She was just here! A yellow tabby cat with an injured paw. You have to believe me! I was just waiting outside, like a good citizen, for the police to arrive, when she came and—”

  “Hold on. Hold on. Calm down,” he said, putting his hands up.

  But she couldn’t. She was speaking a mile a minute, spittle flying from her mouth. Maybe this was the result of her going crazy. Or she was still hung over from last night. Could the cat have been some weird figment of her imagination? Maybe. She babbled, “Of course. I think I might have lost it. It was rather a big coincidence that Vito Cascarelli’s wife just showed up out of nowhere …”

  “Wait. Vito Cascarelli’s wife showed up here with her cat?”

  “No. Not her cat.”

  “So …some random cat?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s a coincidence.”

  “Right? That’s just what I said.”

  “Okay. Back up. Let’s start this from the beginning. You were waiting outside when … Lisa Cascarelli drove up with a cat?”

  She nodded, then dragged her hands down her face. “Oh! No, I don’t think I’m going insane. I really did treat that animal. I’m sure of it.” Her head was starting to pound. She vised her head in her hands. “I need air.”

  “Come with me,” he said. He led her down the hallway to the break room and sat her down, then fed her a little paper cup of water from the tap. She sipped it greedily, letting her breathing return to normal. When she looked up again, DiNardo was watching her, his face equal parts suspicion and concern. He stooped to her level. “Better?”

  She nodded, feeling a little like a drama queen. Collecting her thoughts, she started again. “I’m sorry. I did treat a cat here. And by coincidence it was brought in by Mrs. Cascarelli. She’d hit it on her way into town. But she didn’t touch anything, and neither did I. I just needed to bring the cat inside to take care of it. It had a twisted leg, but other than that … it must be fine because it’s gone now. But it’s got to be around here …” She twisted to peer under the table. “Somewhere?”

  He nodded slowly. “All right.”

  “And I’m guessing from the way you’re doubting absolutely every word I say that you have no more leads and I’m still the main suspect?” she asked.

  He pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. “Unfortunately, we do not have much to go on. We did meet with Mrs. Cascarelli, and she checked out. She was in Palermo with her boyfriend at the time. We met with a couple of other people who the inspector had failed, but none of it got us any closer to finding out who did this.”

  “Meaning that I’m screwed, big-time,” she muttered, slumping over the table. “And … you’re probably going to have to arrest me, right? You have grounds to, now. I trespassed on a crime scene.”

  He shook his head. “Hold on. Yes, you went against my explicit orders. But arresting you is not on my agenda right—”

  “You probably should. It’s not like my life could get any worse. I mean, at least, if you do that, I’ll have a place to spend the night and won’t have to be begging people for a spot on their couch. And they get three square meals in there, right? Without my clinic generating money for me to live on, I might not be able to do that for myself, soon.” She stuck her lower lip out.

  “Calm down, calm down. Look,” he said. “I came down here myself to tell you that we’ve gotten everything we needed from the place and that it’s no longer an active crime scene. So—”

  “Wait. What?” What was this, a blink of good news in the middle of all the bad? “You mean I’m allowed into the clinic without an escort?”

  “Now you are, yes.”

  “Really?” She clapped her hands. “Amazing! Thank you! Wait …” Suddenly something occurred to her. “Why were you sounding the alarm and freaking out about my going inside the clinic, then? I thought I was—”

  “Because it was up to me to tell you that. You knew the rules, and you went against them.”

  She sighed, the weight of his disapproving glare more like that of a father berating his daughter. “Okay. Fine. I’m sorry. But I did it for the cat.”

  “Right. The cat.” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. It was clear from his face that he still didn’t believe her. “Anyway, I did want to let you know that as soon as possible so that you could start seeing clients again.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Can’t. I still have the black mold problem.” She grabbed for her phone. “But at least Mason can try to fix it now. I have to text him right away. And maybe I can go to city hall and see if they’ll appeal the decision, in the meantime? I bet they’re backed up on inspections. It’s worth a shot, right?”

  DiNardo shrugged and stood up. “I guess you need to do what you have to do,” he said. “In order to keep the clinic rolling and getting yourself paying customers, I would say you have nothing to lose.”

  She was about to stand up, too, when she felt something brush up against her leg. She pushed away from the table to look at it when the yellow cat jumped into her lap, meowing excitedly. Grinning broadly, she pointed to its splint. “The cat, DiNardo. See? I told you.”

  He stared at it, his astonishment giving way to a smile. “All right, all right. But next time, Doctor … Try to follow the rules?”

  “I always try,” she said.


  He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth as if he was going to argue, but then clamped it closed, likely deciding it wasn’t worth his time. She followed him outside, petting the injured cat in her arms as he tore the yellow crime scene tape from the door.

  “Thanks for coming by,” she called after him. “Finally!”

  He paused to turn back and grimace at her. “I’m serious, Audrey. You know you are still our main suspect.”

  Right. He wouldn’t let her forget it.

  When DiNardo left, she quickly jabbed in a text to Mason: Operation GET RID OF MOLD in effect. I’ll leave the key under the doormat in case I’m not here when you get here. Then she rushed to take care of the animals. She had to get to city hall. This clinic needed to open. Time to get things rocking and rolling.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Audrey bought an apple from the corner market, took one bite, and gave the rest to her little friend. Nick stopped scampering alongside her to enjoy his treat. She waited for him, tapping her foot. “Come along, bub. We’ve got to get to city hall.”

  She rushed across the street to the main square, crossing past the fountain, where a number of people were sitting around on the green or on the benches, enjoying the beautiful morning weather. From the brightly colored banners hung over the square, it also appeared that there was a parade going on, too, to honor a feast day for Madonna dei Miracoli. A band was practicing in the alley and some ladies in bright-colored skirts and dresses were gathered together. Among the crowds, Audrey noticed Mayor Fanelli, standing at a grandstand in the corner of the square, testing a microphone.

  A couple of children were skipping rope and someone was handing out flyers for a new restaurant opening up on the corner. Audrey took a flyer, glanced at it, folded it, and stuck it in the pocket of her jeans as she reached the steps of city hall, sighing. If she had less on her mind, she’d have loved to join in the festival, check out the new restaurant. But not now.

  As she climbed the stairs, she crossed fingers on both hands, running over her little spiel in her mind. The black mold is being taken care of. We are working toward bringing the clinic up to code right now. But the animals in the clinic and the city are suffering and need me in there, operating under normal hours.

  By the time she pulled open the door, she was fired up. She marched down the hall, toward the Building Inspector’s Office, room 134, fists clenched and ready to attack.

  Of course, when she got there, the door was closed. The building was empty, likely due to the parade going on outside.

  She knocked on the door, tried the handle, and sighed. It was locked. She spun and stopped a young, twenty-something man in a suit. “Excuse me. Do you know where Inspector Dellisanti is?”

  “Not here.”

  Ha. Very astute. “Is he at the parade?”

  “Nope. Probably doing inspections. He’s never in the office during the week. Only on Fridays.” The man sped off without waiting for thanks or a follow-up question.

  Audrey sighed and meandered down the hallway, toward the mayor’s office. As she walked, she thought about what they’d been discussing right before they’d dissolved into chatter about vacations. It was something about revitalization efforts being ruined by Cascarelli. Dellisanti had come up clean, but what about the mayor?

  He had a motive, too. If Cascarelli was pushing back on the mayor’s efforts to make himself look good, maybe there’d been some kind of friction there. Maybe she needed to look into him more closely.

  Outside, a microphone screeched, and someone, likely the mayor, began to speak. Audrey gnawed on her lip. Yes, she just got done telling Detective DiNardo she’d be sure to play by the rules, but when would she ever get such a perfect opportunity like this one?

  Before she could think twice about it, she gripped the handle. It turned, and she easily slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

  When she was in the massive, darkened office, she let out a breath of relief. She could totally do this. Even though she’d been in this office before, it’d been for such a brief time that she hadn’t had a chance to look around. Large paintings loomed over her, full of pictures of distinguished men in uniform, likely figures from Mussomeli’s history. There were two tufted leather chairs in front of the desk, which had a seal on it like the one on the door. It was all very official and stuffy, and smelled slightly of cigar smoke and furniture polish.

  She quickly crept across the thick, royal red carpet to the solid oak desk. Skirting around it, she stared at his empty blotter, just as outside, the band began to play a lively march. She stood there, hand on her chest, trying to control her rapidly beating heart.

  What exactly am I looking for here?

  The first thing she noticed was that Fanelli was not exactly a techie. His desk was remarkably clear. There was no computer, no laptop, not even an electric typewriter. Instead, at the very head of his desk, next to a cup holding various pens and a gold frame with him next to a smiling, older, blonde-bobbed woman who must be his wife, was a desk calendar, filled with his appointments for the day. Squinting in the darkness, she read:

  9:00 AM: Lacardo

  10:00 AM: Scarzi

  11:00 AM: Parata @ Piazza Grande

  11:30 AM: Pranzo @ LMV

  Pranzo. Lunch. And LMV? What was that?

  The answer came to her almost immediately. La Mela Verde.

  Proud of herself from deciphering that clue, despite it meaning absolutely nothing, she reached forward to flip the page to see what had been on his agenda for the previous day, when Cascarelli died.

  A sound of someone shouting outside jolted her. She froze, holding her breath, her heart beating in her ears. She stared at the doorknob, willing it not to turn. It didn’t. She let out another sigh of relief and looked back at the page.

  Just more meetings. What did you expect it to say? 10PM – Kill Vito?

  But she needed to get moving. So far, the only thing she’d found out was that the mayor was a fan of G’s cooking, too. She needed to find something good. Something damning. Some dirt about the renovations that might tie into why Cascarelli had been murdered.

  She leaned over and pulled open one of the drawers, looking for anything of interest. All she found was a stapler, a few paper clips, all the ordinary things a desk would have.

  She opened the bottom drawer to find files upon files. Not sure where to start, she glanced through the different tabs. She pulled the first one out and found that it was just a bunch of receipts from some hotel opening in 2012.

  Nope, not it. She stuffed it back into the drawer. Come on, Audrey. Keep looking. What renovation was Cascarelli interfering in? You’re on the right trail. I can feel it.

  She scanned the rest of the tabs until she found one marked piano di sviluppo. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was the only tab that was in all caps, which made her think it was important.

  She pulled it out, spread it over the blotter, and started to go through a stack of documents, two inches thick. There were papers, contracts, receipts, letters, and blueprints and maps of the town.

  Though it was all in Italian, as she paged through it, she started to get a very sick feeling in her stomach. The mayor clearly had big development aspirations for Mussomeli. One of the maps showed quite distinctly a ten-year plan to develop the city into some kind of commercial center of Sicily. She wasn’t absolutely sure, but what it looked like was that once the dollar-homes were sold to expats, they’d put up shopping malls and big-box stores that would surely put the little guys out of business. Not only that, it’d totally ruin the character of the town.

  These were the big revitalization plans the mayor had in mind for Mussomeli? No wonder Cascarelli had tried to shut them down. She paged through, contract after contract, letter after letter, finding more and more to be sick about. A giant new supermarket. A department store. Three strip malls. A family fun center?

  She snorted. “Really? He can’t be serious. If I wanted to live in America, I’d have
lived there.”

  Outside, the sounds of the band’s upbeat march had faded away. That meant it wouldn’t be long before people came back. Grabbing her phone, she spread the map out and took a few pictures of the relevant plans and letters, hoping to decode the rest of it later. Setting her phone down, she went through the rest of the file cabinet, trying to see if there was anything else of interest. Then she closed the folder and stuffed it back into the drawer.

  Suddenly, her phone buzzed, making her jump nearly to the ceiling. She glanced at the glowing display to find a message from Mason: I’m here. Where are you?

  She imagined him sitting outside, waiting for her. Didn’t she tell him that she’d left the key? She looked around. If she told him the truth, he’d never believe her. Or he would believe her, and insist she see a psychiatrist, and probably wouldn’t let her sleep on his sofa anymore.

  She opened the door and peered outside. The hallway was still empty. She slipped out and walked away from the door, heaving a breath of relief. When she got to the main lobby, she looked out the revolving doors. The crowd was dissipating, and the mayor was nowhere to be found. He’d probably gone on to his lunch date.

  Stepping outside, she typed in: At city hall. For the parade?

  A moment later, he replied: Nice that you have time to enjoy yourself. Get your butt over here.

  She frowned. She’d told him no way was she ever going in that dark, spider-filled hole. Couldn’t he just handle the repair himself? Yes, it was her clinic, her responsibility … but the most she’d be able to offer him was moral support. Besides, she had other things on her mind right now.

  Big things.

  She typed in: Just let yourself in with the key. I’ll be there in half an hour, pocketed her phone, and broke into a run down the staircase, toward La Mela Verde.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Audrey stopped short when she got to the café. What am I going to do? Go in there and confront him in front of everyone? Accuse him of trying to ruin the town? That’s rash and insane, even for me.