The Long Path Home

by Ellen Lindseth

  “Are you surprised?” Darla asked dryly.

  “No.” But Darla’s report of the cast’s reaction was another matter. That they hadn’t automatically assumed the worst of her both astonished and thrilled her like nothing else could. Her injuries would prevent her from rejoining the troupe, in any case. But to know that people still cared about her, despite such damning evidence, released something deep inside her soul. For the first time in weeks, she felt real hope that everything would be all right.

  “Since Sue now knows the truth, any chance Major Ricca could also clear my name with the USO?” she asked, her heart beginning to race. “I know I’m still guilty of being AWOL, but to have the indecency charges removed would mean everything to me.”

  Darla gave her an amused look. “Of all the things you’re accused of, that’s the one that bothers you?”

  The woman had a point. Lily Lamour had been brought up on similar charges more than a dozen times in Chicago. But Vi wasn’t Lily anymore. And the charges in Chicago were deserved. To be accused of something she hadn’t done stung.

  Well, actually, she had bared her breasts with the intent of inciting lust, but not for monetary gain. Well, not for her monetary gain, in any case. She had done it for patriotic reasons, and that should count for something. Shouldn’t it?

  For heaven’s sake, she had been all but ordered to seduce the man.

  “Violet, pay attention! I asked you a question: the map. Did you find it?”

  Vi’s brain snapped back to the present. “Maybe? Minta would know more than me, if you can find her.”

  “Yes, well . . . finding her isn’t the problem. Minta’s dead, which is why I need to know what actually happened in Sr. Conti’s apartment.”

  “Dead?” Vi stared at the woman in utter shock. “Who killed her? She was alive when I passed out.”

  “We don’t know. She was found later that night in the alley behind the building with her throat cut,” Darla said, her gaze shrewd as Vi swallowed, the horrible image upsetting her stomach. Minta might have double-crossed the major and everyone else, but she hadn’t deserved to die. She had only wanted to help her friends back home, and honestly Vi couldn’t blame her for that.

  “Do you remember who found you or anything about the trip to the hospital?”

  “No, nothing.” She decided against mentioning the crying child or her imagining of Ansel’s voice. Neither party would have killed Minta, she was sure.

  “What about the map?”

  Vi glanced up to find Darla checking her watch.

  That’s right. No time to waste with a war going on . . .

  With an effort, she took herself back to that awful night. “First, it wasn’t so much a map that I found but what seemed like directions given in a series of numbers.”

  “Do you remember the numbers?”

  Vi cast her brain back to the dream she’d just had. As always, it had ended with her trying to wipe the blood off the tag, but it kept being replaced. She shook her head. “No. I keep trying, but all I remember is it started with—” Vi’s mouth snapped shut as a sudden thought hit her. Darla, for all her officiousness, hadn’t actually identified herself. Was she being played for a rube? Her pulse spiked.

  “With?” Darla prompted.

  Vi gripped the handles of her wheelchair and drew a deep breath. “With a promise to keep my mouth shut. Loose lips sink ships, and all that.”

  Darla blinked and then laughed. “Just so. Ansel did warn me you were too smart for your own good.”

  “How like him. The king of backhanded compliments,” she said, irritated that Darla was apparently on a first-name basis with the sergeant. “How is he?” Vi asked before she could stop herself. Inwardly she cringed at the wistful note that had crept into her voice.

  “You’ve seen him more recently than I,” Darla said a bit acidly.

  Could it be the woman was jealous? Vi almost laughed, having just experienced the same emotion. What saps they both were! “I haven’t seen him since right before the Conti disaster.”

  Darla hesitated. “You don’t remember him coming to the hospital? He said he talked to you right after your surgery.”

  Vi sat up so fast, she almost fell out of her wheelchair. An immediate stab of pain in her side stole her breath, but it was nothing compared to finding out he had visited her and she couldn’t remember a second of it. “You’re kidding me,” she finally managed.

  “No.” The woman sounded almost apologetic. “He did say you were pretty out of it, which is why—on his recommendation—the surgeon kept everyone away from you, lest you say something you weren’t supposed to. Including your friend Miss May, who tried to storm your room and had to be escorted out by an armed guard. Luckily Ansel was able to calm her down before she called the police and outed your location.”

  Vi could easily picture Marcie taking on the hospital staff, her passionate loyalty on full display. Her lips curved. Her friend would have been, as Riccardo might say, magnifica.

  And then her amusement vanished, fear taking its place. If Minta was dead and no one knew where the map was or what it looked like, might the murderer come looking for her next?

  “Where are they now, my unit?” Vi asked as worry squeezed her chest. That she might have accidentally endangered them weighed on her more now than the possibility of never walking again. “Are they still in Rome?”

  “No. They were transferred within a week of your being injured. We thought it best under the circumstances to get them out of Rome.”

  “Because whoever came after Minta might come after me.” She released a tight breath. “So maybe it’s a good thing I can’t rejoin them.”

  Darla hesitated. “About that. Major Ricca and I were talking.”

  “Sure you were,” Vi said, her suspicions back.

  “Violet, I need you to trust me. If you want, I can show you my diplomatic passport, or, if you insist, I could take you inside to telephone Major Ricca. He’ll vouch for me as being on the same side as you.”

  “What I want is the cast to have extra protection,” Vi said firmly, thinking of Gertie and Victor and the other gentler, more trusting members of her troupe. Frances and Wyatt might be able to take care of themselves, but the rest? “I know we got extra training from Ansel and Corporal Merritt, but it’s not enough. We’re not soldiers.”

  “Miss Rossi will be monitoring the situation for us.” Darla patted Vi’s arm. “Try not to worry. If we do more, it would only call more attention to them.”

  “Speaking of Luciana, did she fake her injury?” It was one of the things Vi had been trying to figure out while cooped up in her hospital bed.

  “She made a full recovery before rejoining your unit. More than that, I have no comment.”

  “And she’s not being recruited for any more ‘injuries’?” Vi pressed.

  “No. She is one hundred percent committed to finishing the tour.”

  Vi collapsed back as relief swept through her. Marcie would hate giving up her new role. But the girl’s safety was much more important to Vi at this point. With the actress back in place, any further communication with the partisans—if there were any, which Darla had made sound unlikely—would hopefully reach the correct person, leaving Marcie in the clear.

  “Miss Heart. Violet,” Darla said sharply, regaining Vi’s attention. “I need you to concentrate, please. That night at Sr. Conti’s—what did you find, and why did Minta shoot you?”

  Vi shivered as she recalled the surreal scene: the pale, clammy skin of a naked Sr. Conti; the pungent smell of chloral hydrate on her dress; Minta standing at the door, the gun in her hand. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But first, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to see your passport.”

  Chapter 36

  Twenty minutes later, after Vi was satisfied Darla was indeed who she said she was, and then had subsequently recounted everything she could remember about her visit to Sr. Conti’s apartment and Minta’s treachery, Darla exhaled a frustrated breath. “And tha
t’s it? No proof that those numbers were something other than a cleaner’s mark?”

  “No,” Vi said tiredly. It had taken more out of her than she had expected, because to recall that night in its entirety also meant remembering Ansel and how he had begged her not to go. And how he had walked away when she had refused. “But I searched him everywhere: his clothes, his skin, everything, and the frayed edge on his tie was the only thing that seemed off.”

  “All right.” Darla rubbed her temples with her perfectly manicured fingers. Vi hid her own chipped fingernails in her lap. “There’s a chance the police found the tie on Minta and kept it as evidence. If so, we should be able to retrieve it.”

  “And if you do?” Vi asked.

  “We’ll likely destroy it. Better the gold stays where it is than wind up in the wrong hands.”

  Vi couldn’t disagree with that. Better no change to the war than having it prolonged unnecessarily.

  “One last question, Miss Heart. Does anyone other than Ansel know your real name?”

  Vi frowned slightly. “Well, there’s you and Major Ricca. But otherwise, no.”

  “Good. Then we think it best if Miss Heart died.”

  Vi sat up, appalled. “But what of my castmates? They’ll be devastated by such news.”

  “Better devastated than endangered, don’t you think? If Miss Heart dies before she can talk to anyone in her old unit, there would be no reason for anyone, partisan or not, to bother them.”

  The woman had a good point, and hadn’t she just been worried about her friends’ safety?

  “All right, but what do you expect me to do if Virginia dies? I can’t become Lily again, because she may have an arrest warrant waiting for her. And I can’t be Violet.”

  Darla held up her hand. “Wait. Why not? You’d be safe as Violet, with a home to go to while you complete your recovery. Or are you afraid Lily’s troubles might follow you there?”

  “Well, no. There’s nothing in Chicago to connect me with Chariton, except Sal, but he won’t give me away.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Not being sure of her reception in Iowa, for one. But not wanting to air her dirty laundry in front of a stranger, she asked instead, “Say I agree to this. What, then, should I do if I run into my USO friends later on Broadway?” Assuming her leg healed and she returned to the stage. But even if it didn’t, the thought of not knowing Marcie’s fate would drive her to contact Sue at the very least, if not Marcie herself.

  Darla hesitated. “I suppose, once you are safely stateside and your unit’s USO tour is finished, you could ask that certain clerical errors in the army paperwork be cleared up. War leads to a certain amount of chaos, after all. But I’d think twice before using the Heart stage name again. Even after the war, unless you hear from us saying the gold was found.”

  “That’s fine. But how should I explain my injuries? I’m assuming the truth won’t do.”

  “The official story is that you were shot trying to protect Sr. Conti from an assassin, which was quite valiant of you, by the way.”

  “Especially since it apparently killed me,” Vi said dryly, and Darla chuckled. “I don’t suppose my death would be enough to also clear my name?”

  “Unfortunately, the Italian police have already recorded where you were found. I could ask Major Ricca to have a sworn statement attached to your death record saying that you were there at his behest, on a diplomatic errand, which should restore your reputation with the USO, at least a bit. However, being alone at Sr. Conti’s apartment still violates their code of conduct.”

  “I see.” Anger at the unfairness of it all flared in Vi’s veins, only to be replaced right after by the ashes of resignation. And then a deep sorrow, since the partisan plot had probably put Enzo’s mother in an even more precarious position. If Vi hadn’t failed so badly, perhaps Sr. Conti would have been arrested, freeing Enzo and his mother to immigrate to wherever they pleased. Now she could depend only on the tenderness she had seen in Sr. Conti’s expression as he hugged his son to keep them both safe.

  Darla stood and pulled two envelopes from her pocket. “I should go. I’ll be in touch later this week to see where you would like us to send you once you’re discharged. Though it may be a couple of months yet. Meanwhile, these came for you.” She held the envelopes out, then hesitated. “I should probably tell you that we’ve been in contact with your friend in Chicago, Mr. Fleischmann. First when we were checking out your story and then after you were injured. He was quite adamant that someone needed to contact your parents to let them know where you were and that you were badly hurt. For reasons I won’t go into, Major Ricca conceded to his demands. I hope you won’t be too upset.”

  “No, not upset.” Vi took the envelopes. Stunned was more like it. And furious, as well as horrified, and even a little sad. Too many emotions to process all at once. Why had Sal betrayed her trust like that?

  Hardly aware of what she was doing, she turned the larger envelope over while Darla went to summon the nurse. It was addressed to Miss Virginia Heart. Then she noticed it bore no return address, and her skin prickled with unease.

  Hoping it was from either Sal or someone with the USO and not from Minta’s murderer, she tore it open. A lone newspaper clipping fell out, and a rather small one at that. Frowning, she double-checked the inside of the envelope, but there was nothing else. No explanation. Confused, she read the article headline. And then read it again, her pulse kicking into a higher gear. Arrest made in gangland slaying: Police Say Revenge Was the Motive.

  She skimmed the rest of the very brief text. No details were given, except to say the killer had been found and the public was not in danger. She read the name Antonio Vecchione twice to assure herself this was the correct case. For a moment she just sat there, letting the news sink in. She was free. She could go home to Chicago.

  Except . . . did she want to? Even though there was no more arrest warrant, she still had no job, no money for rent, not even two good legs to stand on. And there was still Papa Maggio, and her broken promise. Though he might understand her predicament, he also might not. And did she want to risk her life finding out?

  Maybe she should think about killing off Lily, too.

  Doing so would mean throwing away five years of her life and likely never seeing Sal again, let alone Jimmy. But would that be a bad thing? She tucked the article away and took up the V-mail, surprised by the direction of her thoughts. It was as if holding Enzo had filled some hole in her life. And there was Ansel’s commitment to a little girl not even his own. Maybe it was less who loved a child and more that the child was loved.

  And she knew Jimmy was loved. She had seen it in his carefree smiles and doting nanny. She had seen it in the way he had grown and filled out. She could let go, and he would be just fine without her.

  Blinking back tears, she turned the second envelope, made of thin parchment, over and checked for a return address. All the blood drained from her head as she recognized her mother’s handwriting. Shock, pain, and grief—they stole her breath.

  No wonder Darla had chosen to come clean about Sal and her parents. She had been trying to prepare Vi for this moment, but it hadn’t worked. There was no way it could.

  Closing her eyes, she fell back in time to her parents’ kitchen. It was her fifteenth birthday, and her mother had handed her a letter. It had been filled with all the wisdom she had wanted to give Vi, her youngest daughter, on the cusp of adulthood. Vi had skimmed it, more interested in getting to the presents than worldly advice.

  How much different her life might have been if she had actually heeded her mother’s words to “think things through,” “to take her time with life,” “for there was always tomorrow for what you don’t get to today.”

  But she hadn’t, and had paid the price . . .

  Remembering that the nurse would be with her shortly, Vi took a deep breath and opened her eyes. If she was going to break down and start sobbing from her mother’s letter, which
was likely, she would rather do it alone.

  Opening the envelope, Vi forced herself to read the familiar script.

  Dear Violet,

  I pray to the good Lord this reaches you and that you won’t throw it away before reading it. I don’t know what we did to drive you away, but please know that we are so, so sorry. And that we are offering our sincerest hope that you will recover quickly and completely. The gentleman who came to see us said you were badly injured while performing with the USO in Rome. I think both your father and I lost a good ten years off our lives with the news. To learn in the same breath that you were not only overseas but injured—well, it was quite a shock. Your father became terribly angry at the man and said the government should take better care of their performers! He only agreed not to press charges after the gentleman gave us your address at the hospital and promised you were getting the best of care.

  And Vi—your father misses you terribly, as do I, and Fern. Please come home, if only to visit for a day or even an hour. Italy seems so far away.

  We will pray daily for your safe return and that we may hold you once again in our arms . . .

  Choking on a sob, Vi read the signature and then refolded the letter. Her heart broken all over again, she held the letter to her chest.

  How could she have been so cruel? The answer was easy: she had panicked. She hadn’t trusted her parents to love her and to stand by her like Ansel’s parents had done for their daughter-in-law’s baby. Nor had she given a single thought to whether Fern might have wanted to know what kind of man she was marrying. She had been so caught up in her own troubles, she hadn’t considered the impact of her actions on others. In that, her behavior had been no different from Robert’s. Selfish and cruel.

  Forgive yourself . . . Ansel’s parting words crept, unwanted, through her self-recrimination, angering her. She crumpled her mother’s letter in her fist. He was wrong. She didn’t deserve forgiveness.

  And yet . . .

  Her gaze dropped to the paper balled in her lap. Her parents wanted her home. They missed her.