The Ristorante did though. White stucco walls featured painted scenes of a picturesque Italy she’d always dreamed of seeing. She could almost hear the water lapping against the gondolas in Venice. On the opposite side of the wall there was a mural detailing the winding roads of the Amalfi Coast.
She reached up to trace the fishing boats that bobbed in the jewel-toned Mediterranean waters.
“Miss Mancini.”
Eugene Gallo stood in the entryway to the kitchen. He wiped his hands on his apron, so white and fresh he must have just exchanged it for the blood stained one he’d worn moments ago.
“I was just tenderizing some chicken,” he said, his voice soft and gentle. “How can I help you?”
Eugene moved so quietly, spoke so softly, it was hard to equate him with the ferocious man in the kitchen. Just who had he been threatening to kill anyway?
“Are you here about your party?”
She nodded. “I wanted to double check that everything was in order.” Something wasn’t right. She glanced around, unable to pinpoint it.
“You have nothing to worry about. Everything will be fine by tomorrow,” Eugene said.
Her eyes widened. What did that mean? By tomorrow?
Eugene wouldn’t meet her gaze. She looked around the empty room. What exactly was going on?
“The menu, I have it here.” Eugene took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smoothed it on the table. “Zuppa di Ceci to start, with baskets of fresh loaves of garlic bread.”
Creamy chick pea soup. Perfect.
“Pasta with mascarpone, sun dried tomatoes, and spinach,” Eugene continued. “Gnocchi caprese and then, my specialty, chicken cacciatore.”
Yes, well, she’d stick to the gnocchi after what she had witnessed in the kitchen. She glanced at Eugene as he bent over the menu scrawled in his tiny, precise handwriting. He wasn’t a large man, no taller than she was, and she needed pumps to reach five foot five. Eugene was slight of build, mild of manner, but when he spoke about food something changed. He sounded assured, confident almost. As well he should, her mouth watered just hearing him read the menu.
“I think I forgot to mention a salad choice the first time we spoke.”
Eugene raised his head and a smile stretched across his thin lips. “What do you think about Pan Zanella salad?”
“I’m not sure.” Bread salad?
“Trust me on this. Cubes of crusted bread tossed with garlic and fresh tomatoes and basil.” He touched closed fingers to his lips and made the sound of a kiss. Italian-speak for delicious.
“Dessert?”
“Two kinds of biscotti, one a polenta dried cranberry and the other a ginger orange with almonds.” He straightened and put the folded piece of paper back in his pocket. “Tiramisu naturally, as well as cappuccino and espresso. American coffee too if you insist.”
The menu did sound heavenly, but still, something wasn’t right. She inhaled. That was it. What was a renowned Italian restaurant without the aroma of garlic, oregano, and simmering marinara, especially at lunchtime?
The front door opened and slammed shut with an ear splitting intensity. Both Eugene and Sophia jumped.
Vincenzo stood in the entrance way. “Out,” he thundered. He pointed in her direction. “You. Out. Now.”
Her feet should have been moving, but Sophia stood frozen in place. Vincenzo was blocking the door. Close to six feet tall, he doubtless weighed at least a hundred pounds more than she did. Molten hot anger radiated from him.
No. She was fine where she was.
Eugene, on the other hand, appeared anything but fine. The glimmer of a confident chef she’d seen in him moments ago, all but disappeared. He stood behind her wringing his hands.
How did these two men work together?
Vincenzo took a step toward them. Like partners in a strange dance, Eugene somehow managed to move even closer to Sophia.
Vincenzo was shaking with rage, Eugene with fear, and Sophia had had enough.
“What is going on, Vincenzo?” she demanded.
“Get out.”
“Not until I know what’s wrong.” She pointed to the closed sign in the window. “Why aren’t you open? Where are the waiters?”
Vincenzo stood, silent, his angry eyes blazing holes into ... not her. He wasn’t even looking at her. She looked over her shoulder, past a quaking Eugene, to see what Vincenzo was staring at.
It wasn’t a what. It was a who. Maria Acino.
Where had she come from? Sophia hadn’t seen her sitting at the back of the restaurant.
“He’s not talking to you, honey,” Maria spoke for the first time, her voice calm and confident. She slowly sauntered to stand beside Sophia.
Maria was several inches taller than she was, and far more buxom and made up. Sophia felt like a rag doll next to a porcelain doll with a painted face. Her Nonna would have called a woman dressed like Maria a floozy. Sophia had never met Maria but, like everyone else in the neighborhood, she’d heard tell of the two husbands Maria had buried. Some say she did more than bury them. Talk was that she’d helped usher both over the threshold that separated life from death.
“Miss Mancini, isn’t it?” She held out her hand and Sophia shook it. The bracelets weighing down Maria’s wrists made a gentle, tinkling noise--a welcome sound in a room silent with unspoken, angry words. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s party. Frankie promised to bring me.”
Frankie Vidoni either moved fast, or had been very confident he could wrangle an invitation from Sophia. Unbelievable.
“We’re delighted you’ll be joining us.”
Sophia smiled at Maria, suddenly glad she would be at the party tomorrow. If nothing else, she would give the young men something to look at and the old women something to talk about. She had to admit Maria had a certain magnetic charm.
“Do you know Frankie well?” Maria asked.
“I met him this morning for the first time.” Everyone knew Frankie Vidoni, whether they’d been introduced or not.
“Isn’t he a doll?” Maria gushed, sounding like the proud mistress she was. “Where did you see him?”
“Outside of Bagatelli Brothers.” No sense in bringing up the lift Frankie had given her.
“Bagatellis? Wonderful! I hope that means he won’t be wearing that gray suit of his that I’m so tired of looking at. You know how men are when they like a suit. It’s all I can do to get Frankie out of his--”
“Ladies!” Vincenzo shouted. “Shut up.”
Maria and Sophia both turned to look at him.
“Now, Vincenzo, pretend you have some manners and mind them,” Maria taunted him.
He growled in response, but Sophia sensed Maria had the upper hand in the strangest unspoken conversation she’d ever overheard.
Maria’s bravery fortified her own. She needed to find out what was wrong at the restaurant.
“Why don’t I smell anything cooking? Why are you closed?”
Vincenzo shrugged, his earlier rage now down to a simmer-- not boiling over, but still bubbling on the burner.
“Where are your waiters?” Sophia turned to Eugene. “You tell me if he won’t.”
Eugene twisted his hands and glanced at Vincenzo. For permission to speak? Ridiculous.
“Well?” she demanded.
“We decided that perhaps we were overstaffed, and thought it prudent to temporarily reduce the number of waiters,” Eugene hedged.
“I fired them.” Vincenzo leveled a look of disgust at Eugene.
“All of them?” Sophia heard the shock in her voice. Was he mad? What were we going to do tomorrow?
“Now, Miss Mancini, don’t get upset.” Eugene’s voice was quiet but firm. “I’ve already begun meal preparations, and everything will be just fine tomorrow. I’ll find someone to help serve.”
Upset? That wasn’t going to begin to touch how angry she was. They had twenty-nine days and counting before they needed to be back in court to prove they were running a successful
business. And these two clowns wanted to ruin her and Angelo’s party? No way.
“What were you thinking, Vincenzo?” she demanded. “When were you going to tell me that the party was off?”
Vincenzo made a disparaging sound. He crossed his arms and turned away, his body language sending her a message loud and clear. He didn’t give a rat’s tail about tomorrow. Or their grand opening.
Sophia choked on an angry retort.
“Eugene, get Miss Mancini a glass of water.” Maria waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen, and came to stand beside Sophia. Eugene did as he was bid.
“Look what you’ve done, Vincenzo. You’ve upset Miss Mancini.” Maria rubbed her shoulder. “Are you okay, honey? I know he’s an infuriating brute.”
“Call me Sophia,” she managed to say, gratefully accepting a glass of water from Eugene.
“Sophia,” Maria seemed to be trying it out. She smiled. “Thank you. Now, don’t you worry about tomorrow. I’ll find a waiter or two and we can manage. Family style, you know?” She turned to Eugene. “You’re sure you can have all the food ready?”
“Yes, of course,” he agreed readily. “As I said, the food will be absolutely perfect tomorrow. If you would be kind enough to understand the slight staffing problems and allow everyone to help serve the food, then I can promise a delightful meal.” His eyes eagerly searched Sophia’s face for a sign of agreement.
“We’ll be here tomorrow, Vincenzo.” Sophia narrowed her eyes. “I’m holding you personally responsible as well. I want the party to come off smoothly.” She shook her finger at him the way the nuns at St. Catherine’s used to. “I expect the food to be delicious and the service to be top-notch, even if it means you carry plates back and forth to the kitchen until you’re dizzy.”
Vincenzo took a menacing step toward her. “Or what? What will you do?”
Maria snapped her fingers in Vincenzo’s face before Sophia could answer. He blinked in surprise.
“I’ll speak to you outside now,” Maria told him. “We need to finish our... conversation.” She gave him a little shove. “Now.”
To her surprise, Vincenzo turned and stalked out the front door. Maria waved goodbye and rolled her eyes at the same time as if to commiserate over what a pain the man was.
Sophia watched as they left the restaurant and stood talking in front of the glass window. Maria was actually the only one doing the talking, Sophia realized as she half listened to Eugene reassure her that the party would exceed her every expectation. It wasn’t that she doubted his sincerity, but she was too intent on watching Maria and Vincenzo talk to give Eugene her full attention.
Whatever the conversation was about, Maria Acino seemed to be taking the lead. Her confident manner was as obvious Vincenzo’s resentment.
Sophia turned her attention back to Eugene, but it was hard to stop thinking about Vincenzo. He was an utter nightmare. She now understood why Stella wanted to kill him. In fact, it was a wonder no one had murdered him yet.
Chapter Four
The grand opening celebration of the Mancini Detective Agency was a smashing success, right up until the moment Sophia snapped.
“I can’t take any more, Angelo.” Sophia tried to keep her frustration from showing so that none of her all-too-observant aunts would notice her agitation. She lifted a glass of wine to her lips and sipped the contents, careful to not drink too much because her stomach was empty. She was too nervous to eat.
“What’s the matter with you, sis?”
“Vincenzo is being a brute. Don’t tell me you can’t hear him bellowing from the kitchen. It’s obnoxious.”
“Yeah, but the whole family is here and the food’s great,” Angelo said, as if that was all the really mattered.
She couldn’t argue with that. The room was full of their loved ones and friends, and Eugene had certainly come through with the food. His culinary skills truly were an artistic expression.
Sophia had tried several times to catch Eugene’s eye, but she’d been unsuccessful. Was he intentionally ignoring her? She couldn’t tell but he was obviously doing everything he could to stay out of the kitchen, busying himself instead with serving coffee and clearing plates. Each time the food on the buffet table needed to be refilled he’d find someone, speak quietly and point toward the kitchen. Sophia watched him send her teenaged cousin Francesca into the kitchen for another basket of garlic bread.
Was he purposefully trying to antagonize Vincenzo by sending a parade of party guests into the kitchen?
It wasn’t absolutely necessary she speak with Eugene. She simply wanted to compliment him on the incredible meal. Doubtless he’d heard plenty of compliments already as every one of the many friends and relatives gathered in Vincenzo’s had taken turns to rave about the meal.
“E delizioso!” Zio Guido exclaimed after trying the gnocchi.
“The chicken cacciatore is the best I can remember tasting,” Angelo put the plate he’d been holding on a nearby table and took the glass of wine she offered him. “Which may not be saying much.”
Sophia laughed for the first time that day. She reached over and pinched her brother’s cheek. “I feel better when you’re next to me, so don’t you dare leave my side.”
They stood together at the front of the restaurant watching the festivities.
“Everyone’s having a great time,” Angelo reassured her. “Even Stella.”
“Stella’s here? Stella Moretti?” Surprised, Sophia shot a quick glance at her Angelo. Did he even remember what Stella looked like? His face to name recognition for people he was only acquainted with wasn’t what it used to be.
“Yeah, I remember Stella. She came in the through the front door a while ago and stood watching everyone.”
Stella’s presence at the party struck Sophia as odd. Of course, she had issued Stella an awkward invitation yesterday. Obviously Stella had changed her mind. But why?
“Did you see her talk to anyone?”
Angelo shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
Sophia bit her lip. Was Angelo wrong? Her eyes scanned the dining room, but she didn’t see Vincenzo’s wife. She started to ask another question, but stopped. Angelo didn’t need his day spoiled by being reminded how faulty his memory was. It didn’t matter if Stella had dropped in for a while anyway. She was harmless enough.
“You’re wound up like I’ve never seen you,” Angelo said.
“I know. I just have this horrible feeling that something is going to go wrong.”
“Good.”
Sophia choked on her mouthful of wine. “Good?”
“We need a really solid case don’t we? So I assume something has to go wrong if somebody is going to need a private detective.”
He had her there.
“Tomorrow is soon enough. I just don’t want anything spoiling our party.”
“Stop fussing, Soph. You’re starting to sound like Aunt Dorothea.”
That crack earned him a playful punch on the shoulder.
“Hello, Sophia.”
It was Maria Acino, resplendent in a body-hugging, bright pink dress with a black lace shawl draped over her shoulders. Her pumps had heels so high it was a wonder she didn’t have a nosebleed. An assisted blond, Maria had teased her hair into a French twist and stuck what looked like a fork in it. Glistening pink beads hung from the fork that bobbed as Maria twirled around.
“Do you love my dress, Sophia, or do you love my dress?”
“I love the dress.” Sophia couldn’t help but smile. Maria was like a little girl who took great pleasure in playing dress up.
“Thank you.” Maria smiled. “It’s a present from my Frankie.” The smile left her face, replaced by a thoughtful expression. She looked around the room. “Have you seen him recently? He’s been right by my side the entire time, but I had to powder my nose.” She held up a gray suit jacket. “I found his jacket but lost him.”
Sophia looked around the room. “I don’t see him either. Perhaps he’s h
aving a cigarette.”
Maria shrugged and turned her attention to Angelo, giving him a thorough and unabashed going over with appreciative eyes before turning back to Sophia. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your brother?”
“I’m sorry, of course I will.” Sophia quickly made the introduction and stood silently by while Angelo and Maria made small talk. It didn’t escape her notice that Maria no longer seemed quite so worried about where her boyfriend was. She was far too busy laughing at everything Angelo said.
Her brother wasn’t that funny. Sophia motioned for her cousin Francesca to join them. She introduced the teen to Maria and, with a gentle shove in the direction of the dessert table, suggested they try the biscotti.
Once they were out of earshot, Sophia turned to her brother.
“Angelo, that woman could eat you for breakfast.”
To her supreme annoyance, Angelo burst into laughter. “Relax, sis.”
“How am I supposed to relax and enjoy myself? The clock is ticking and we’ve got twenty-eight days before we’ve got to be back in court.” She took another long sip of wine. “Vincenzo’s bellows from the kitchen aren’t bothering you? He’s been yelling at anyone who steps in there, but he’s doing nothing to help serve the food. He’s a miserable soul and I wish he’d just disappear.”
“Who do you wish would just disappear, dear?”
Sophia turned and hugged her oldest aunt--great aunt, actually. Her grandfather’s only living sister, Zia Mirella, had the most amazing habit of turning up at the most inopportune time. Truly, the woman had a gift.
“No one, Zia.”
“She was talking about Vincenzo.”
Sophia frowned at her brother.
“You want to get rid of Vincenzo?” Mirella asked, her drawn-on eyebrows raised.
“Who does Sophia want to wipe out?” It was Zio Nunzio this time. Hard of hearing, he spoke loudly enough to wake three generations of the dead.
Silence descended on the room. Heads turned and Sophia felt her cheeks grow warm.
From Mangia to Murder (A Sophia Mancini ~ Little Italy Mystery) Page 3