1 Bless Her Dead Little Heart

by Miranda James

  “She ought to be up soon,” Juanita said. “I might just come down and have a bite myself, and then put together a plate for her. You don’t mind if she eats in her room?”

  “Of course not,” An’gel said, feeling relieved. With Rosabelle absent from the dining room, there was less chance for more histrionics.

  “Thank you. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” Juanita smiled before she went back into the bedroom.

  An’gel crossed the hall to the bedroom Maudine and Bernice shared. Bernice opened the door before she finished knocking.

  “Good afternoon, Bernice,” An’gel said. “I came to let you and your sister know that lunch will be served in the dining room in about fifteen minutes.” Before she could share the menu with Bernice, Maudine appeared in the door.

  “What are we having?” She frowned. “I have an upset stomach. Your cook must have put something in those eggs that didn’t agree with me. I’m not sure I can handle anything other than plain food.”

  An’gel reckoned it was the four helpings of scrambled eggs and seven sausages and biscuits that were to blame for Maudine’s gastric problems. An’gel did not offer her opinion, however. Instead she said, “Plain food, for sure. Cold cuts for sandwiches, with some of my housekeeper’s potato salad. Nothing highly spiced to cause you further distress, I can assure you.”

  “Cold cuts?” Maudine grimaced. “Well, if that’s the best you can do.” She turned away.

  Bernice smiled timidly as she leaned toward An’gel and said in an undertone, “Don’t mind Maudie. She’s really upset over the things Mother said this morning. We’ll be perfectly happy with whatever you have.”

  An’gel nodded. She pitied Bernice, having to trail around after her sister to make one apology after another for Maudine’s rudeness. An’gel suspected it might be a full-time occupation.

  When she reached the bottom step, she heard the doorbell ring. She went to the door, expecting to see Kanesha or one of her officers on the other side. Instead there stood a tall, handsome, and distinguished-looking man of perhaps sixty. He was nattily dressed in white linen trousers, a pale blue silk shirt, and a navy blazer. His stylishly cut hair, black with gray streaks, was thick and luxuriant. An’gel caught a hint of a mellow cologne as the stranger proffered a hand.

  Slightly bemused, she returned the gesture. He clasped her hand and bowed over it, then straightened.

  “Good afternoon, signorina. You must be one of the charming Ducote sisters that my beloved Rosabella has spoken of to me so very often.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “Good afternoon.” An’gel wasn’t sure how she managed to get the words out, she was so surprised. Who could this courtly gentleman be?

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with a smile that displayed beautiful, even teeth. “I am Antonio Mingione, the Conte di San Lorenzo, and husband of Rosabella, at your service.”

  An’gel blurted out the first words that came into her head. “I thought you were dead.” Appalled by what she said, she felt her face flushing.

  The conte smiled. “Ah, Rosabella mia, she is as mischievous as a child sometimes. I am very much alive, as you can see, Signorina Ducote.”

  “Please, forgive my manners. Do come in.” An’gel stepped back and indicated that Rosabelle’s husband should enter. She was furious with her old sorority sister for lying about her husband’s death. Why on earth had she done it? She had also neglected to mention that the husband had a title. Did this mean Rosabelle was the Contessa di San Lorenzo? An’gel couldn’t imagine why Rosabelle wasn’t throwing that about.

  Another question popped into her head. How had Rosabelle, who was eighty-two if she was a day, landed a man so handsome and so, well, Italian? Off the movie screen An’gel didn’t think she had ever encountered a man this attractive.

  She still felt off-balance from the surprise but her instincts for hospitality kicked in. “I am An’gel Ducote, Signor Mingione, or should I say Conte?”

  “Please, call me Antonio, if I may be so bold as to call you An’gel.” He smiled.

  My, the way he said An’gel. His pleasant baritone washed over her like warm honey. “Please do,” she managed to say. “Let’s go into the parlor, shall we? Perhaps you would like something to drink?”

  “That would be very kind, An’gel.” He followed her into the parlor but stopped a few paces inside. “Such a charming room. Rosabella has told me many times about your lovely home and your distinguished family.”

  “An’gel, who was that at the door? Oh.” Dickce, on her way into the parlor, stopped suddenly when she realized there was a stranger present.

  “Dickce, this is Rosabelle’s husband, Antonio Mingione, the Conte di San Lorenzo. Antonio, my sister, Dickce.”

  An’gel watched as the man exerted his seemingly effortless charm on her sister. Dickce blushed when he took her hand and bowed over it. Did I look that foolish when he bowed over mine? An’gel wondered. She was thankful Dickce didn’t blurt out I thought you were dead like she had.

  With the initial pleasantries complete, An’gel pointed their new guest to a sofa. “What can we offer you to drink, Antonio?”

  “A glass of cold water would be perfetto, or as you say, perfect.” He flashed his beautiful smile.

  “Dickce, would you mind seeing to that?” An’gel sat opposite him on the other sofa.

  “It would be my pleasure.” Dickce hurried out. An’gel knew her sister would be burning with curiosity the whole time she was out of the room.

  “Tell me, An’gel, my wife, she is well? I have been most anxious to see her, for in her last communication with me, she said she had been terribly ill.” His expression was the epitome of husbandly concern. “I came to her side as quickly as I could.”

  “She is upstairs resting at the moment,” An’gel said. “Her granddaughter is with her. They will all be down soon. We’re about to serve lunch, and we would be delighted to have you join us.” She winced inwardly at the thought of serving cold cuts to a member of the Italian nobility. Then she chided herself for being a snob. Really, this man had her much too flustered. What is wrong with me?

  “Yes, Juanita is most capable, and I would be delighted to join you for lunch,” he said. “Forgive me, but you said they will all be down. Who else is here?”

  “All of the family,” An’gel said. “There is something I must tell you, I’m afraid. There has been a tragedy.”

  “Has some harm come to my wife?” Antonio’s face darkened. “I did not take seriously these stories of hers that one of her children is trying to harm her. She exaggerates, you know. But perhaps I have been a fool.”

  “Rosabelle is fine,” An’gel said. “I’m afraid the tragedy involved Marla Stephens. She fell down our stairs yesterday, and well, she died from the fall.”

  “Maledizione! You tell me this. The one who looks like the unhappy bulldog, she is dead? Santo cielo.” He shook his head, as if in disbelief.

  An’gel had a sudden urge to laugh at his description of Marla Stephens, but she suppressed it quickly. Stress sure was making her behave oddly, she thought.

  Dickce returned with the requested glass of water and brought it to their guest. “Grazie, signorina.” He accepted it and drank half of it. “That hit the spot, as you say.”

  “My pleasure.” Dickce sank onto the sofa by An’gel.

  “What a terrible thing to happen,” Antonio said, his expression grave, as he returned to the subject of his conversation with An’gel. “A most unfortunate accident. I must express my sympathies to Wade and, of course, to Rosabella.”

  “I regret to have to tell you that it was not an accident,” An’gel said. “Someone arranged it to look like an accident, but it was not.”

  “Antonio, what are you doing here?”

  Startled, An’gel turned to see Juanita advancing into the room. She did not appear happy to
see her grandmother’s husband.

  Antonio stood and set his glass on the table beside his chair. He moved forward to greet Juanita, both hands extended. “Bellissima, I have just been told the terrible news. Here I come to find my lovely wife, and instead it is tragedy I find.”

  Juanita stopped in her tracks and folded her arms across her chest. She glared at Antonio, whose hands fell to his sides. “You are unbelievable,” Juanita said. “You disappear for three months, and then you suddenly turn up here. Well, you aren’t welcome. Grandmother doesn’t want to see you or speak to you.”

  An’gel glanced at her sister, and Dickce shook her head as if to say what next?

  “Juanita, my dear, I told Rosabella that I must return to Italy for several weeks to attend to business matters. My son, Benedetto, required my assistance, and I had to consult with my lawyers on other matters. Your grandmother knows this as we discussed it thoroughly before I departed last month.” He shrugged.

  Juanita grimaced. “I should have known Grandmother was making things up again. She said you had abandoned her and vowed never to return. I’m sorry, Antonio.” She held out her hands.

  “Do not worry, bellissima.” Antonio smiled and drew her to him. He kissed both her cheeks and then released her. “I, too, know your nonna, and she loves to tell these stories. She must have drama, that one, or her day is otherwise so tedious.” He turned to smile at An’gel and Dickce. “She told these charming ladies that she was a widow.”

  “Honestly,” Juanita said, “is there nothing she won’t say to get attention?”

  Antonio laughed. “She is fiery, my Rosabella, and never boring.”

  He’s either a fool or completely besotted, An’gel thought. How did Rosabelle manage to fascinate men to the point of fatuity? An’gel couldn’t understand it.

  She rose from the sofa. “I believe lunch should be ready in the dining room. Shall we go in?”

  “As you wish, signorina.” Antonio offered her his left arm, and she accepted. Dickce and Juanita followed them into the dining room.

  On the way An’gel explained that the meal would be a simple one, and Antonio insisted that whatever food he found at her table would be delightful.

  The dining room was empty, and An’gel took Antonio straight to the sideboard and urged him to help himself. He smilingly refused. “No, the ladies, they must go first.”

  “I will, if you don’t mind.” Juanita smiled as she picked up a plate. “I want to take something to Grandmother. She was just waking up when I left. I think I will let her have her lunch before I break the news of your arrival, Antonio.”

  He inclined his head. “As you think best, bellissima. Your nonna will want time to prepare herself to receive me. I know her little ways.”

  An’gel knew those little ways, too, and she suspected that the next time they saw Rosabelle in public, she would barely resemble the weary, frumpy woman who’d arrived yesterday.

  Once Juanita finished loading a plate for Rosabelle, An’gel and Dickce helped themselves. Only then would Antonio prepare anything for himself. He accepted a glass of iced tea from An’gel, and the three of them sat, with An’gel in her usual place at the head of the table.

  They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, and An’gel wondered where the rest of her guests were—not that she minded being able to enjoy her food without their lowering presence. Moments later she heard voices and footsteps in the hallway, and Wade Thurmond and Junior Pittman strolled into the dining room.

  Wade stopped suddenly, and Junior, who was right behind him, almost knocked into him. Junior managed at the last moment to sidestep.

  Wade’s lip curled. “Well, well, the gigolo returns.”

  CHAPTER 23

  To Dickce’s surprise, Antonio laughed heartily at Wade’s insult.

  “You will have your little joke, Wade.” He sobered as he rose from his chair. “But I must not laugh at a time of such tragedy. Signorina Ducote has told me of the sad loss of your wife. I am so sorry to hear of this.”

  “Save it for my mother.” Wade went the long way around the table to the sideboard, where he picked up a plate and began filling it.

  Antonio shrugged and resumed his seat. Dickce was appalled—though not much surprised—by Wade’s rudeness, and the ensuing silence felt awkward to her. Even An’gel seemed at a loss for words.

  Junior stood uncertainly in the doorway for a moment before he followed his uncle to the sideboard. He glanced at Antonio, then quickly away, as if embarrassed. Dickce wondered whether he agreed with his uncle’s opinion of Antonio. What if Maudine and Bernice felt the same way? Things could become increasingly uncomfortable if the others resented Antonio as much as Wade seemed to do.

  Dickce tried to catch her sister’s eye, but An’gel appeared focused on her plate for the moment. Dickce wondered where they would put Antonio as she ate her ham sandwich and potato salad. Would he want to share Rosabelle’s room? It seemed only natural, since he was her husband. Juanita would have to move the trundle bed to the other guest room in that case. Of course, Rosabelle might not want him in her bedroom. Hard to predict how Rosabelle would react to her “dead” husband’s sudden resurrection.

  Wade and Junior left the room with their plates and canned soft drinks. Dickce felt the atmosphere lighten with their exit. An’gel must have felt it, too, because she raised her head from her plate and spoke.

  “Everyone is a bit on edge, Antonio, because of what happened.” An’gel patted her mouth with a linen napkin. “Our sheriff’s department is working on the case, and an extremely capable deputy is in charge of the investigation. You will have a chance to meet her soon.”

  Antonio reached out to touch An’gel’s hand lightly, and Dickce was amused to see her sister’s face redden the tiniest bit.

  “You have no need to make excuses for my stepson’s behavior, An’gel. He does not like me, because he believes I am a man with no resources of his own. Therefore, I am the sponge.” He shrugged. “It is true that when Rosabella and I first married, I was, how do you say, in reduced circumstances. All my income was tied up in the family business in Italy, but the circumstances, they have changed. Business has much improved, and now I am able to repay my darling Rosabella for her generous support.”

  That was certainly smooth, Dickce thought. The man oozed charm and sincerity the way a cat shed its hair. He was the most attractive specimen of maleness she had encountered in a long time. She couldn’t help responding to his courtly manners earlier, and even now she felt the appeal of his gorgeous voice and charmingly accented English. That attraction aside, however, she didn’t completely trust him. Watching him was going to be truly interesting, she decided.

  “I’m sure Rosabelle will be delighted to hear it,” An’gel said. “I do have a question for you, Antonio, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  “But of course,” Antonio said. “I could never refuse so charming a hostess.”

  Dickce almost snickered when An’gel turned red again. Neither of them was used to such flowery language.

  “You are too kind,” An’gel said. She took a sip of her water. “I was wondering how you knew where to find Rosabelle.”

  “Ah, I see.” Antonio picked up his water glass and drained it. He rose from the table to refill it. “That is a strange thing. Three, no four, days ago, I received the text message from my wife that she would be visiting her friends here in Mississippi.” His drink replenished, he came back to the table. “My Rosabella, you see, is not a person who is fond of the technology. She does not know how to send the text message. Or so she has told me before. In fact, she does not much use the cell phone I gave her, though I insist that she keeps it with her in case of emergencies.” He shrugged. “Perhaps someone else send it for her, or she get someone to teach her. Non importa.”

  Dickce figured Rosabelle was simply playing the helpless wife to the s
trong and loving husband. That was certainly her style. I’ll bet she knows pretty dang well how to send a text message. She glanced at An’gel and could tell her sister was probably thinking the exact same thing.

  “How interesting,” Dickce said. “A member of the family must have sent it for her, then. Although Rosabelle told us when she first arrived that she ran away from home and they didn’t know where she was going.”

  Antonio smiled and shook his head. “One cannot have the play without the audience, eh? My darling must always have the audience for her little productions.”

  “Truer words were never spoken.” An’gel dropped her napkin beside her empty plate and leaned back in her chair. “How fortunate we are that Rosabelle chose to stage her little production here. Sadly it has turned out to be a mystifying tragedy.”

  “Rosabelle told us she thinks a member of the family is trying to kill her,” Dickce said. “At first we were inclined to dismiss that as one of her ploys for attention, but we know the accident that killed your daughter-in-law was no accident. It was premeditated.”

  Antonio frowned. “Before I left California several weeks ago to return to Milano and my business there, Rosabella told me she was uneasy. She almost fell on the stairs in our home one afternoon while I was out. She insisted that it was an attempt by someone to harm her, but I did not believe her. I knew she was not happy, you see, because I had appointments that were of great importance. She wanted me to stay with her that day, but I could not.”

  Maybe someone should tell Rosabelle about the boy who cried wolf too often, Dickce thought. Her family must be really tired of her constant need for attention by now. I wouldn’t put up with it for very long, that’s for sure.

  Dickce was reaching for her glass when a chilling idea struck her. Her hand faltered as she considered the implications. What if a family member had simply been pushed too far by Rosabelle’s behavior? What if one of them wanted her dead for that reason alone? It might have nothing at all to do with money as Rosabelle claimed. Dickce had read of cases where long-term caregivers had finally snapped and killed the person in their care. They had been strained beyond endurance until the only solution, or so they thought, was to get rid of the source of their endless frustration.