Mozzarella Most Murderous

by Nancy Fairbanks

  • In a bowl, beat until creamy 3/4 cup and 1 tablespoon of butter and 1 cup of sugar.

  • In a separate bowl beat 6 eggs completely and add to the butter cream.

  • Add chocolate and almonds and then stir in 2 1/2 level teaspoons of baking powder and 2 tablespoons of a liqueur such as strega.

  • Butter a springform cake pan, 22 inches in diameter, pour in mixture, and bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees F for approximately 50 minutes.

  • Turn the torta onto a wire rack to cool and then dredge in confectioners’ sugar.

  • Decorate with mint leaves and shaved chocolate (optional).

  Carolyn Blue,

  “Have Fork, Will Travel,”

  Zanesville Bugle

  38

  Finally Capri

  Carolyn

  “Wake up, sleepy head,” said a disgustingly cheerful voice in my ear.

  Although I’d fumbled for the phone and mumbled something into it, I hadn’t opened my eyes. Now I opened one, held the phone away from my ear, and eyed it with intense dislike. It seemed only a moment ago that Jason had awakened me with cheerful whistling in the bathroom, which was all very well for him; he hadn’t gone through a trying day on the road and in Naples. He hadn’t had to fend off thieves and policemen who did not believe it was their mission to serve the public. He hadn’t been pummeled with heavy rain time and again. He hadn’t been awakened from a deep sleep at eleven at night by a phone call from an irate general who wanted to know what I’d found out during my trip to Naples and who wasn’t the least bit sympathetic about the rain and the dog and the police and the thief and the whole dreadful situation that had prevented me from asking Hank more than two questions the whole trip.

  “As far as I can tell,” I had said, “he was where he said he was when Paolina died, in a Best Western Hotel near Fiumacino and then on the road to Sorrento in that miserable convertible. Surely there’s someone in Rome who can check that out for you. And what have you found out about Constanza?” I asked sharply. I’m not all that cheerful when awakened from deep sleep.

  “The people she claims to have stayed with in Milan have left town, so no one can confirm her alibi. Shopping won’t do it. She could have shopped and taken a plane to Sorrento afterward. On the other hand, we have a good evidence-based case against her for killing her husband.”

  “Wonderful,” I’d said and hung up. Not very helpful of me, but I’d never been more tired in my life than I was after that trip home from Naples.

  And now some idiot was saying, “Wake up, sleepy-head” in my ear! I sneezed and said into the phone, “Who is this?”

  “Hank,” said the hoarse voice. He sounded as if he had a chest cold. “If you can get dressed and down to the entrance in twenty minutes, we can go to Capri. I’ve hired a boat and made reservations for lunch at a great Caprese restaurant. I even used the hotel’s hair dryer on the car, so it’s habitable.”

  “But what about the general?” I asked.

  Hank laughed. “I didn’t invite him. No, seriously, it’s okay. We don’t even have to take Gambardella along. The general must have crossed us off his list of suspects. So do you want to go or not? Bianca’s game.”

  “What about Albertine and Eliza?” I asked, but without much enthusiasm.

  “Didn’t invite them. I’ve about had it with Albertine’s dog and Eliza’s plant-and-Mafia fetish, not to mention too many people in the car.”

  “Amen,” I said. “Twenty minutes?”

  “Right. Take the elevator that goes straight down to the ground floor. I’ll have the car out front on the turnaround.”

  “But what about breakfast?” I asked plaintively, thinking that surely there would be time for a piece of fennel toast and—

  “Breakfast in Positano, lunch in Capri. Get moving. We don’t want to miss the boat.” And he hung up.

  Capri! I thought. Finally! It’s amazing how fast exhaustion can fall away when you have something wonderful to look forward to. I took note of the sunshine outside the balcony doors, showered and dressed in ten minutes, left Jason a note, and dashed out into the hall. Bianca was waiting at the elevator—no police guard to tell us we couldn’t leave the floor. Hank was waiting outside, top down, not a cloud in the sky. I wouldn’t even need the umbrella I’d prudently brought along.

  With me in the back, taking pictures at every opportunity, and Bianca in front, stretching her legs to ward off cramps, asking how long we could spend shopping in Positano, and announcing that she was going to gorge on fish when we got to Capri, we were a merry threesome. Even the lingering odor of Charles de Gaulle blew away as we sped across the peninsula, and then onto the cliff highway.

  Positano was a delight—white villas stepping down the steep cliffs right to the deep blue water below, winding streets, cafés, ceramics shops, fashion boutiques, cooking schools. I could see why it’s called the Pearl of the Amalfi Coast. Under a striped umbrella, sitting in cushioned chairs in a café overlooking the town and the sea, we sipped espresso and devoured rolls veined with hazelnut paste. Then we shopped while Hank sat on a bench and coughed.

  Bianca bought herself a beautiful lavender blue dress to wear after the baby was born. I had to wonder how many months it would be before she lost enough weight to get into it, but she was confident. Then she bought a brightly colored, round bowl that she intended to fill with candy for the children. While she was buying candy, I found a delightful sun hat with red and green streamers, a lovely shawl as delicate as a spider web, and a huge ceramic platter for which I had no use in mind and no idea how I’d get it home, but I couldn’t resist. I could have stayed all day, but Hank insisted that we’d miss our boat if we didn’t hurry. He stowed our purchases in the rear luggage compartment and hustled us into the car.

  “Couldn’t we have caught a boat from here?” I called from the back seat as I passed a cough drop forward. Obviously he hadn’t used soup to stave off the effects of yesterday’s rain.

  “There’s an overlook I wanted you to see, so I made arrangements to board further along the peninsula,” he replied, sucking on the cough drop, which seemed to help. When we turned from the main coast road onto one that wove downward, the traffic almost disappeared.

  “I wondered why we were going through Positano. It seems out of the way,” said Bianca.

  “Some sights aren’t to be missed,” said Hank. “Another half hour on the road is nothing compared to a view you’ll remember until the day you die.”

  I had to agree with that sentiment, clutching my camera in anticipation. Still, how could any place be more beautiful than Capri, whose mythology involved Lucifer stealing a piece of heaven and planting it in the blue waters off the tip of the Sorrento Peninsula? “Will there be time to see the Blue Grotto?” I asked eagerly, having read of its ethereal light.

  “Depends on the weather and finding a boatman to take us there,” Hank answered, his cough starting up again. “So what are you planning to eat on Capri, Carolyn, now that you’ve had insalata Caprese at least twice?”

  “Yesterday hardly counts,” I muttered resentfully. “Charles de Gaulle got most of mine, and I haven’t forgotten that Adrien said poodles were hunting dogs and meat eaters. Have another cough drop. You may need to see a doctor.”

  “The dog wanted to eat out of the same plate you’d eaten from,” said Bianca.

  “That dog is not in love with me!” I insisted. “I think Albertine turned him against me and then sicced him on me every chance she got. When she’s in her hotel room, she probably trains him to do awful things to me.”

  Hank laughed. “He’s a young, male dog. Don’t you remember how little boys expressed their affection? By being as obnoxious as possible.” He pulled off a few miles along the way and we got out on a narrow stone path between two towering rocks.

  “Maybe I’ll have ravioli Caprese,” I mused. “It’s a two-cheese ravioli in tomato sauce, and for dessert—what else?—torta Caprese. It’s a cake made of almonds, choco
late, and strega. Have you ever had strega, Hank? It’s a local liqueur.”

  “Sure,” he answered. “It’s great.”

  “Or maybe I should have Rum Baba. Capri is famous for it.” From the car we were picking our way through even larger rocks and around vegetation.

  “It has an interesting history. A Polish king, Stanislaus, liked to dunk pieces of a favorite German cake with some unpronounceable name in rum, so the king’s baker developed a method for soaking the cake in alcohol ahead of time to save his monarch the trouble. The king named it after Ali Baba in the Arabian Nights—although I have no idea why. Maybe it was his favorite bedtime story. Anyway, Stanislaus lost his throne and went to France—you know, I think his daughter was the queen there—and his dessert became popular in the French court, from which it was transported, with all things French, to the kingdom of Naples. Actually, since it’s really French, maybe I’ll stick with the torta Caprese.” At that moment we came to the edge of the cliff.

  “Capri,” Hank said, pointing to the shadowed rise of the island from the sea. “Best picture you’ll get of it,” he promised.

  I was enchanted and reached for my camera while Bianca looked over the cliff hundreds of feet down to the water crashing below. First I took several pictures of the island, then of foaming surf, bracing myself against a rock lest I fall.

  “Now ladies,” said Hank. “I have another surprise for you.”

  I turned, my head full of beautiful scenery and rich desserts, and he was pointing a gun at us. A gun!

  “We can hardly be seen here from the road. Perfect choice on my part, isn’t it?” he said, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket and blowing his nose with the gun-free hand.

  I was stunned speechless. What in the—

  “So you each have a choice. You can jump now, or you can lie down, and I’ll throw you over one by one. And I’ll take another one of those cough drops, Carolyn.”

  He looked quite serious about both the cough drops and killing us. Of all the nerve! He could cough until he choked before I’d give him another one of my Eucalyptus lozenges, I thought, incensed. In fact, maybe if his cough continued to worsen, we could overpower him. Or not. He was so large.

  39

  The Price of a Mistake

  Bianca

  Frightened out of my wits, I stared at Hank Girol, who was leaning against a rock, coughing and pointing the gun in our direction, while we, fools that we were, stood at the edge of the cliff. I realized too late that I had made some very serious mistakes. First, I should have taken that rental contract seriously. Second, even if I didn’t take it seriously, I shouldn’t have jumped at the chance to go to Capri. And third, I should have at least told Carolyn about the contract so she, who was not addled by advanced pregnancy, could have taken it seriously and refused to go anywhere with him. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked hopefully.

  “No, I’m not,” he replied, no charming smiles or good-natured banter now. “Jump or lie down where you can’t be seen if anyone should come down the road.”

  Carolyn hesitated, then lay down. For goodness sake! Wasn’t she even going to argue for her life? At least she didn’t lie down on the edge of the cliff where he could roll her off. She carefully eased herself down onto her stomach so that her head was directly in front of his feet.

  Hank laughed. “Throwing yourself at my feet, Carolyn? Or is that just the best you can do, besides hogging the cough drops, to make things difficult for me? I hope you realize, my nosy little detective, that I’m granting your wish. I’m pretty sure that you’ll be going to Capri. You should wash up there in a day or two.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I demanded. I was the one who’d be pushed over, obviously. No way could I lie down, certainly not on my stomach. Terror forced the blood into my face, and I felt as if I’d suddenly developed a high fever.

  “Don’t play dumb, Bianca,” he chided. “You know why it came to this. You just had to read those rental papers, and then as soon as we got back, you had to tell Carolyn. You practically dragged her into the elevator so you could pass on the news.”

  “I did not,” I protested. Oh, God! I was getting dizzy. I couldn’t faint! I took a quick peek at Carolyn, who was untying his shoes. Why? Hoping he’d trip while carrying one or the other of us to the edge of the cliff. “We were both soaking wet and wanted to get to our rooms,” I protested. “I didn’t tell her anything.” I side-stepped away from the edge so that I could put my back against a tall, safe rock. Hank just laughed at me.

  “Then it’s too bad she came along,” he said, “but since she’s here, she goes over too. No way I’m going to let you put me in Sorrento the night Paolina died.” He wiped his nose as he scowled at me.

  “Then you killed her?” Even at this point, I found it hard to believe that he had killed Paolina. “Why would you?” I was taking deep breaths in between each sentence, trying to overcome the dizziness induced by abject terror.

  “The bitch had the intercom on, making notes on a conversation I had with Ruggiero in Catania. She snapped the machine off as I was coming out the door and shoved the notebook in her desk. Probably thought I didn’t notice.”

  His voice, hoarse and angry, gave me the shivers, as if I wasn’t already terrified. Still, I had to keep him talking because Carolyn, when I glanced at her, was now messing with both his shoelaces. I didn’t know what she was up to, or what good it was going to do, but maybe we had a chance if I could keep him from looking down.

  “Couldn’t you have stolen the notebook? Or bribed her to keep quiet?”

  “Not too bright are you, little Miss Italy.” Another spasm of coughing hit him. “I did try to get the notebook,” he snarled. “Ruggiero and I searched the office after she went home, then I followed her home and fucked her, and searched her apartment as soon as she went to sleep. No notebook. After that I told Ruggiero, who isn’t much brighter than you are, not to meet her in Sorrento. He thought no way would she snoop on him; she was in love.” Hank laughed derisively. “Like hell she was in love. Not with him. Not with anyone.

  “I followed her to Sorrento, searched her room, still no book, so I caught her at the pool and dumped her over. The book was in the pocket of her robe. Just like I thought, it had notes on what we’d said, those and some stupid poetry. So with Paolina dead and the book in my hands, the problem was solved, or would have been if Carolyn hadn’t kept sticking her nose in when Constanza almost had everyone convinced it was suicide. She probably thought she was protecting Ruggiero.”

  He snickered, which brought on his cough, but as soon as he mentioned Carolyn, I started toward him so he had to keep looking at me. “D-did you kill Ruggiero too?” I stammered.

  “Sure. Once the general showed up, I couldn’t trust Ruggiero not to try for a plea bargain by implicating me.” His mouth pulled into a cruel line, and he said, “Enough talking. Are you jumping, Bianca? If not, lie down. Right now.”

  “I can’t lie down! In my condition, it looks like four miles to the ground. And I certainly can’t lie on my stomach. Look at it.” And keep looking at it, I thought. Don’t look at Carolyn. “Are you really going to kill a woman carrying a baby? It’s almost ready to be born. It’s got fingers and toes and feelings and—”

  “Shut up!” he snarled, and tried to take a step forward. Carolyn rolled out of the way as he fell, flinging out his arms in a futile attempt to maintain his balance. Still coughing, he rocketed headfirst into the rock behind my back. If he’d been shorter, he’d have missed the rock and hit the ground, but he was a very large man.

  If I hadn’t sidestepped, he’d have hit me. I just stood there, dumbfounded. “What did you do?”

  Carolyn had jumped immediately to her feet and was running toward him. “Tied his shoelaces together,” she said, kneeling beside him. “I can’t believe it worked.”

  I got the giggles. Hysterical giggles. Tied his shoelaces together? That was something children did to each other. But I could see the blood leaking o
ut from under his head. Still, what if he was conscious? With great difficulty I leaned over to pick up a rock, which I’d drop on his head if I had to, but then I wasn’t able to straighten up. I could have cried.

  “He’s unconscious,” she said. I turned my head sideways to see her rolling his eyelid up. Then she felt for a pulse and said, “But still alive.” She glanced at me—bent over, clutching my rock in one hand, and trying to push myself up with the other. “What are you doing, Bianca?”

  “Well, I was trying to get a weapon, but now—”

  “The weapon was a good idea. I don’t see his gun anywhere.” Looking worried, she glanced at Hank, then walked over to me and hauled me upright.

  “So what do we do now?” I asked. “We could leave him here and drive off.”

  “Do you have a cell phone?” She was brushing dirt off the front of her flower embroidered knit shirt and her matching slacks.

  “No, I was in such a hurry to get ready for the trip to Capri that I forgot all about it.”

  “And I,” said Carolyn, “don’t have one at all. Jason doesn’t believe in them.”

  I was astounded. “Everyone in Italy has a cell phone. In a few years I’ll be getting one for the baby.” I patted my stomach.

  “Maybe he has one,” said Carolyn, looking down at Hank. “On the other hand, maybe we don’t want the police here. They might put us in jail and let him loose. I guess I’d better untie his shoelaces. That way it will look like he fell naturally.”

  “But if he wakes up and they’re untied, he can push us over the edge,” I protested.

  “What we need to do is lock him in the luggage compartment and take him back to the general,” Carolyn decided.

  We both heard a car whoosh past and looked nervously toward the road. The car didn’t stop. “He’s huge, Carolyn,” I pointed out. “There’s no way we can get him to the car, much less into the luggage compartment, which may not be large enough to hold him. It would attract attention if there was a leg hanging out.”