by Rosie Genova
“They found her body, sis. Right beyond the rock jetty. She left a letter explaining everything.” His hand tightened on mine. “You might have to corroborate it at some point.”
I nodded, my throat thick. “I didn’t think she’d do that. I thought she’d turn herself in.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” my mom said, “you did the right thing by going to her. You gave her a chance to make it right.”
My dad put his arm around my shoulders. “And in her mind, she did. She admitted everything in writing, so now Chickie won’t have to face murder charges. And she ended things the way she wanted. You said yourself that she was suffering.”
“You know what’s strange? Nonna told me that when Elizabeth was a young girl, pregnant and desperate, she tried to jump off the jetty to kill herself. I guess it’s all come full circle,” I said, and then sighed. “Except for the loose ends, of course. I’ll probably have to talk to Sutton again. And I can’t escape an interview with Nina.”
My mother smiled. “And your agent will be calling to say that your book sales have gone up again.”
“Maybe. Speaking of books, I think I’ve got a great plot I can use in my historical. Remember I told you that Elizabeth had given up a baby?” And while I wasn’t sure my grandmother would approve, I shared with my family the rest of the story—of Elisabetta and Tommy and Thomas. When I was done, my mother was wiping her eyes.
“Oh, Victoria, what a moving story. And so terribly sad. But it helps me understand Elizabeth Merriman better.”
I nodded. “It does, doesn’t it?”
“Wow,” my dad said. “I never heard any of this till now. All these years, and Ma never said a word.”
“No,” I said. “She’s kept this secret for more than half a century. She felt responsible for Elisabetta.” I shook my head. “I hope she’s not mad at me for telling you.”
My mother patted my hand. “She won’t be, honey. Nonna’s responsibility to Elizabeth ended a long time ago.”
“I guess so. I hope she sees it that way.” I stood up and pushed in my chair. “Is Tim in the kitchen? I’d like to fill him in on some of this.”
When I pushed through the doors, I stood for a moment, watching Tim from behind as he prepped for the day. And just as I thought I have to get over him, he turned around.
“Did they find Chef Kate?” There was concern on his face, but I couldn’t tell whether it was for me or himself.
“Out by the rock jetty.”
He winced as though something hurt him. “That’s a real loss.”
“She was dying, Tim. And she was suffering. That was clear when I went to see her.”
He wiped his hands on his apron and rested his back against the sink. “You okay?”
I nodded. “I’m okay. Isn’t this where you lecture me about getting involved with murders?”
He laid a hand on my shoulder, and I was comforted by its warmth. “Not right now.” He shot me a crooked grin. “Not that I won’t at another time, though.”
I smiled back. “You know, Tim, when I think about this case, there are some striking parallels. Elizabeth Merriman, Kate Bridges, and even Roberta Natale—they’re all only children with essentially loving parents. But so much of this was set in motion by the actions of those parents, whether intentional or not.”
Tim nodded. “Dr. C. stole a bundle to give his daughter that wedding.”
“Right. And the young Elisabetta lived under such strict rules that she had to give up her baby. And poor Kate—what did her parents ever do except love her?”
Tim was watching me carefully, and in the pause he asked me a question. “Vic, do you ever think about—”
I dropped my eyes, unwilling to have him see the emotion there. “The wedding we didn’t have? The kids we didn’t have? Yeah, I do sometimes. You?”
“Sometimes.” He reached for my hand. “If I could change what happened, I would. In a heartbeat.”
“I know you would.” But we can’t change the past, Tim. And as much as I care for you, I’m not sure I can trust you with my heart again. I gave his hand a squeeze before letting it go, and plastered a smile on my face. “C’mon, dude, it’s ancient history. And you have a lovely young woman in your life.”
He grinned. “And you have a not so lovely old man. Where is Lockhart today anyway?”
“Haven’t seen him yet.”
“But you plan to.”
I looked into his slate gray eyes and told the truth. “I do.”
Tim shook his head. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
I let out a laugh. “That’s funny—he says exactly the same thing about you.”
But Tim didn’t laugh with me. Instead he took my hand again. “I want you to be happy. You know that, right?”
“I know.” I slipped my hand from his. “I want the same for you. Listen, I need to get out there and set tables before Nonna shows up.”
“Yup,” he said. “And there’s a meat stock that’s calling my name.” He turned back to his work and I left the kitchen, a heaviness settling around my heart.
Out in the dining room, it was soothing to fold napkins, wipe glasses, and smooth the freshly laundered linens out over the tables. In a few hours, hungry people would be coming in for lunch. Good smells were already wafting from the kitchen, and my mood lifted at the thought of serving plates of pasta and pouring glasses of wine. Feeding people helps, I thought. So did the small tasks involved—setting places and lighting candles and cutting flowers for the tables. You’re a regular Mrs. Dalloway, Vic. But anything that kept me from thinking about Tim or poor Kate Bridges was welcome.
And at that point, I was actually smiling, until I turned to face my grandmother.
“So it’s true what I heard?” she said. “That woman who killed Elisabetta drowned herself?”
I nodded. “Yes, Nonna. But Kate didn’t kill her; it was an accident.”
“Is that what she told you? And you believed her?” She crossed her arms and frowned, the picture of skepticism.
“I did believe her. I don’t think she had anything to lose at that point.”
My grandmother lifted a broad shoulder. “Except her soul.”
“I guess that’s true,” I said quietly. “But it’s all over now.”
She turned to go but stopped and looked back at me. “Victoria, would you take me to see Louise Romano?”
“Of course. I think she’d like that. You can talk about Tommy and young Thomas and even Elisabetta.”
“Yes.” My grandmother blinked behind her glasses—was it possible there were tears in those tough old eyes? But she held herself straight, patted the pocket of her sweater, where I could make out the square shape of the funeral card. “Yes,” she said again. “And may they all rest in peace.” Then she crossed herself and walked out of the dining room.
Chapter Twenty-six
For the next two days, I nagged Sofia to talk to Danny. I understood why she was hesitating to tell him about the baby: it would mean the end to her plans to enter the police academy, at least for now. But by the second day (and fourth phone call) I sensed a change in my sister-in-law’s mood.
“Hey, Vic,” she said cheerily. “What’s up?”
“You know what’s up. The same thing that was up this morning and the day before that. You need to talk to my brother.”
“Relax, SIL. I got it covered.”
“So you say. But how long do you think Future Grandma Nicolina will be able to sit on this information? And if she shares her suspicions with my father, it’s all over. He’ll be taking out an ad in the Press.”
“I have to do this in stages and handle your brother just right. One thing at a time. Vic, seriously, I have it all figured out.”
“Wait,” I said slowly. “There’s more than one thing? And what is there to figure out? I’m confused.”
She let out a sigh at my obtuseness. “It’s not just the baby. It’s my career, too. Because I finally figured out a solution. I’m not entering
the police academy. I’m doing something different.” Her voice rose in excitement. “I’m gonna get my PI license.”
“‘PI’ as in ‘private investigator’? As in ‘seedy guy in a rumpled trench coat’? As in ‘my brother will never go along with this’?”
“It’s not your brother’s life we’re talking about; it’s mine. And I’m good at being an investigator. Look at how I helped you solve your cases.”
“Okay, first of all, they’re not my cases. Second, you understand that being a PI is not very glamorous, right? Do you really want to spend your time chasing down cheating husbands?” I had a sudden image of Sofia hanging out in hotel parking lots in unmarked vans.
“There’s more to it than that. I’ve been researching it,” she said excitedly, sounding more like her old self than she had for a month.
“So, are you planning to drop both little bombs on Danny at once?”
“No way. Baby first. Which is how it should be, right? There’s plenty of time to tell him the other thing. But you won’t say anything, right?”
I sighed. “No, I won’t say anything. But you know that I hate keeping secrets from him, right?”
“I know. Actually, Vic, he’s coming over in a little while, so I need to get pretty. Today’s definitely the day; I’m telling him for sure. Maybe we’ll catch you later at the restaurant.”
How will that conversation go? I wondered. I suspected that my brother would be overjoyed about the baby. I so wanted things to work out for them. But why couldn’t Sofia pursue a career and be a mother? Well, my brother was traditional in his thinking, but not unreasonable. He’d married a woman who owned her own business and her own home (now my cottage). But what might he make of this new scheme? I shook my head. It was hard to imagine Danny going along with anything that might put his wife in danger. So I had to hope that my brother and his wife were truly solving their troubles—and not merely postponing them.
• • •
No one was in the dining room when I arrived at the Casa Lido, but there were muffled voices coming from the kitchen. When I pushed open the door, a strange sight met my eyes. There was Cal, of all people, stirring something with a wooden spoon. And not just any wooden spoon—my grandmother’s personal spoon, the one made of olive wood imported from Italy. At his elbow was my grandmother, watching intently. There was Nonna, watching Cal cook with her spoon in her kitchen. Had I somehow entered another dimension? I sniffed. If I had, they used butter on this side of the universe.
“Calvino,” Nonna said, pointing inside the pot, “that is much too brown.”
Cal shook his head. “That’s the way it’s gotta be, Giulietta. Can’t make gumbo without that base bein’ good and dark.” He stopped stirring, turned his head, and met my eyes. I hadn’t seen Cal since our date—since that kiss, the memory of which was still fresh and warm. It wasn’t just the heat in the kitchen that brought a deep rose color to my face. And while I find the scent of butter intoxicating, it was not quite enough to set my heart pounding like a drum. One side of his mouth lifted in a slow grin; I smiled back, my cheeks burning.
“Hello, Victoria,” he said, still stirring the butter. “And how are you on this fine morning?”
“I’m well, thanks.” If you ignore my red face, fluttery tummy, and shaky knees.
My grandmother crossed the kitchen and grasped my arm. “Come, Victoria. Let Calvino show you how to make the gumbo like his mama does.”
“Uh, okay,” I said, as she propelled me toward the stove. “You want me to . . . cook?”
“Sì. Calvino will show you what he knows.” She beamed at him in a way I’ve never seen her look at another human being, except maybe Danny. “And now I will go check things in the dining room.”
After she left, Cal looked over at me. “Well, cher, you heard the lady. I think this is where I’m s’posed to show you everything I know.” He slid an arm around my waist and pulled me close, setting me in front the stove, then handed me the spoon. “We’ll start with how to make a roux. I’ll save the rest for later.”
Trying not to get distracted by wondering what “the rest” might entail, I stirred the brown paste around the pot. “Did you say ‘rue’?” I asked. “As in ‘I rue the day I set foot back in this town’?”
“No. Roux as in r-o-u-x. It’s a butter-and-flour base for gumbo.” He stood behind me, both hands at my waist. He kissed the top of my head. “You smell amazing, by the way.” He stepped closer and bent his head, his breath warm on the back of my neck.
“Hey,” I said, “I’m stirring here.”
“You certainly are, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaving a trail of kisses from my ear down the side of my neck.
“Okay, you need to, uh . . . s-s-stop.” I shivered and leaned against his chest, my hand still gripping the spoon.
“You heard what your grandma said. I’m supposed to be givin’ you the benefit of my experience.” He uncurled my fingers from the spoon and turned off the heat under the pot. “And I’ve hardly taught you a thing yet.”
I turned to face him, and the look in his green eyes gave me a small jolt. “I’m sure your knowledge is . . . extensive, Mr. Lockhart.” He tightened his hold on me and grinned. “However,” I said, “I’m not sure I’m ready for school just yet.” I took his hands gently—albeit reluctantly—from my waist.
“I told you I was a patient man, particularly for things that are worth waiting for.” He rested his forehead against mine. “Did I tell you what a nice time I had the other night?”
“You did.” I wondered if he were about to ask if we might do it again when the kitchen door swung open. I jerked my head up to see Tim scowling darkly at us.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, “but I have work to do in here.”
Cal looked up and gestured to the stove. “All yours, brother.” He cocked his head and crossed his arms across his chest. “The kitchen anyways.”
Tim’s answer was a muttered curse and a clatter of pots in the sink.
It was pretty clear Cal was staking a claim on me, and I couldn’t tell if I was offended or flattered. I stepped away from him and frowned. “The kitchen,” I announced, “belongs to the Rienzis.” I looked from one to the other and smiled sweetly. “Just a reminder, boys.”
I left the kitchen with Cal on my heels. “Hey, slow down there,” I heard from behind me.
I paused in the hallway between the kitchen and dining room and turned back to Cal. “I could say the same to you, Cal.”
He held up both palms. “Point taken, Victoria. You need me to take it slow, I’ll do just that.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Not at all. From here on out, I will comport myself as a total gentleman.”
He pushed a strand of hair from my eyes. His face was serious, but there was a suspicious light in those green eyes. “No more suggestive jokes,” he said. “No more nuzzlin’ on your neck. And certainly no long clinches outside your front door on a warm summer night.”
Hmm. The neck nuzzling was pretty nice. Not to mention the good-night kiss that left me weak-kneed. Perhaps my call for caution had been a bit hasty. I opened my mouth to say so, but Cal simply nodded, gave me a small salute, and walked past me toward the dining room.
“What just happened here?” I muttered to myself.
“I don’t know, honey. You tell me.”
I slapped my hand against my chest and swung around. “Good Lord, Mom. Where’d you come from?”
“My office.” She pointed a long fingernail in the direction of the bar. “Are you seeing him?”
“No. Well, sort of, I guess.” I sighed. “We’ve gone out on a couple of dates—that’s it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so. You should see the look on your face.”
I glanced at the kitchen doors, lowering my voice to a whisper. “What would you have me do, Mom? Spend my life waiting for Tim to grow up?”
“He has grown up. Don’t get me wrong—I haven�
�t forgotten how he’s hurt you. But people make mistakes, and, if they’re lucky, they learn from them.”
I looked back at the kitchen doors. “And you believe that about Tim?”
She nodded, her curls bouncing. “I do, hon.” She rested her palm against my cheek. “I wouldn’t even be talking to you about this if I didn’t think you still had feelings for him.”
“Even if I do, Mom, we’ve both moved on.” I patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”
“No chance of that, my darling. I’ll worry about you and your brother until I go to my grave.”
“Okay, on that happy note—” But we were interrupted by voices from the dining room, one of them a deep baritone. My brother.
“Where is everybody?” he shouted. “Get out here, will you?”
He and Sofia stood in the doorway, holding hands, their faces flushed and eyes shining. Guess he knows, I thought, and as if reading my mind, Sofia grinned at me and nodded.
“Hey.” Without letting go of his wife’s hand, my brother kissed us both. “Where’s Pop and Nonna?”
“They’re in the bar, honey,” my mom said, barely concealing her excitement. She, too, had read the signs. “I’ll go get them.” She skittered across the dining room, her heels clicking away on the wood floor.
She’s been waiting for this, I thought. And it has the bonus of keeping her mind off my love life. I led them to the family table, making a conscious effort not to look at my sister-in-law. In moments, my parents and Nonna joined us.
Danny turned to look at his wife. “Do you want to tell them?” he asked softly.
She shook her head and patted his cheek. “You know you’re dying to,” she said with a smile.
My mother was fit to burst. My grandmother nodded as understanding dawned. My father merely looked confused, and turned all his attention to Danny.