Peril at the Pellicano Hotel

by Adriana Licio

  “How did you know?”

  “Marinella told my neighbour, Sofia,” Gerardina replied without hesitation.

  “Who’s Marinella?”

  “The sister of the sous chef at the Pellicano. I think the receptionist or waiter must have told her, since she’s always holed up in the kitchen.”

  Giò banged her forehead with her hand, amazed at the broad network of spies all around her.

  “He’s a very nice man – this time,” said Granny, smiling. “And he has a sense of humour.”

  “And he knows how to deal with old biddies,” growled Giò.

  “He’s far from perfect, mind you,” Granny continued as if she’d said nothing. “He never stays in one place more than a month…”

  “That’s not good – how are you meant to have a family if you keep skipping around the planet?” Gerardina asked Giò.

  “At the same time,” Granny continued, “I must admit that my granddaughter’s not that dissimilar. She’s forever dissatisfied, coming home and wishing she was elsewhere, being elsewhere and missing home, so the two might be a good match, after all.”

  “I can’t understand why young people enjoy making their lives so miserable,” Gerardina said, taking a sip of her barley coffee. “We had so much less when we were young, but how happy we were.”

  Giò was too flabbergasted to intervene. The two elderly ladies kept discussing her life right under her nose as if she weren’t even there. Was she dreaming? Was this just another one of her recurring nightmares?

  Agnese, fearing her sister’s tongue might get the better of her any moment, managed to get a word in edgeways.

  “To tell the truth, Gerardina, we had a reason for coming over.”

  “Oh yes,” Granny said, putting down her coffee cup as if to indicate that from now on, their discussion was serious. “Am I right in thinking that you were working at Villa degli Incanti when Margherita met Mr De Santis?”

  “Oh yes, I had just started working there. At the time, it was Angela Fiore who interviewed me. She was in a steady relationship with Mr De Santis, and after years of caring for him, she thought he was about to propose marriage to her. But all of a sudden, he arrived home with a party of friends, and amongst them was Margherita, hardly more than a child. She was incredibly charming, oh she was. Jet black hair, liquid doe eyes, long legs, tiny waist. Men were instantly enchanted by her, and Mr De Santis was no exception. It happened so quickly… I beg your pardon.”

  The alarm clock rang, so she gave the artichokes a final stir and drained them using a skimmer, ran them under some cold water for a few seconds and let them dry in a sieve, taking care not to squeeze or crush them. She then threw the second batch of raw artichokes into the liquid on the cooker and turned back towards her guests.

  “So what happened to Angela?”

  “The same as happens to many loyal women when a younger one seduces her man. As far as Mr De Santis was concerned, Angela ceased to exist from that day.”

  “Such an awful blow for the poor woman,” Giò said. “But she was still young, surely she got over it.”

  “Hmm, it wasn’t as simple as that.” Giò and Agnese looked at Gerardina questioningly. “Angela was pregnant, but Mr De Santis never acknowledged the child as his.”

  “Oh my goodness, how mean of him!” Agnese cried, then doubt flashed in her mind. “But did she actually let him know she was pregnant?”

  “She did, and I was there when she told him. But Margherita had already turned his head. He told Angela in no uncertain terms it wasn’t his baby and that he’d had enough of her and her affairs. In short, he told her to get out of his life.”

  “And did she?”

  “She was furious and desperate in equal measures. She threatened him, vowed to take her revenge and advised him to keep his eyes open. But in the end, by being so emotional, she made things easy for him. You know what men are like, don’t you?”

  Giò and Agnese glanced at each other, not having a clue, but Granny nodded.

  “They’re always looking for ways to justify their appalling behaviour.”

  “Exactly, and her temper tantrum was all he needed to absolve himself of any sense of guilt.”

  “Then what happened?” Giò asked.

  “One day, when Angela came back to retrieve her belongings from the Villa degli Incanti, Mr De Santis had dumped them outside the gates. All the locks had been changed and there was nothing she could do. She had no rights whatsoever.

  “A few months later, Mr De Santis married young Margherita in Rome, and in the early summer they arrived to spend six months in Maratea. By that time, Angela had already given birth to her baby. But I never saw her again.”

  Giò and Agnese hardly dared breathe as the old woman paused, wondering what she would reveal next. When Gerardina finally spoke again, her words chilled them to their very souls.

  “Just a few months after giving birth, Angela Fiore took her own life.”

  26

  Who’s That Child?

  “Oh my goodness!” cried Agnese. “The poor woman took her own life? What happened to the baby?”

  Gerardina sat down at the table next to them, the smell of wine and vinegar from the pot still lingering in the air.

  “I heard some of Angela’s relatives in Marche were given custody of the baby. That’s where Angela had gone when she realised everything was over between her and Mr De Santis, and I think she gave birth there.”

  “Do you remember if the baby was a boy or a girl?” Giò asked.

  Gerardina gave the question some thought, then she shook her head. “No, I can’t remember. You see, Angela wasn’t originally from Maratea; her parents had moved to Scario from Marche after they got married. When her father died in Scario, her mother moved back to her hometown, where I believe she passed away a few years later.”

  “You mean her parents were no longer alive when she went back to Marche?”

  “If I remember rightly, that is so. The truth is, there wasn’t much news circulating around Maratea about Angela. Nobody knew her, and she was a rather discreet woman, kept herself to herself. People only saw her when she went walking with Mr De Santis in the town centre or they spotted her in a restaurant. Even at home, in Villa degli Incanti, she hardly spoke to anyone about her private life; she would just tell us what we had to do. And before Margherita appeared on the scene, we had never witnessed a real quarrel between her and Mr De Santis.”

  “This unsettling story,” cried Giò, “shows what a cruel woman Margherita was. She had no pity whatsoever. I mean, I’d feel responsible for both Angela and the child…”

  “Margherita was very young at the time,” Gerardina said. “Just 18, I believe. There was a bit of a scandal here in Maratea as Mr De Santis was somewhat older, and she looked young for her age. Gossips used to refer to her as Lolita.”

  “So they got married,” Giò thought aloud, walking nervously up and down from the balcony to the kitchen table. “But their marriage, from what Margherita said, didn’t last long.”

  “No, Mr De Santis died after they’d been together only a few years and the young wife inherited his properties, including Villa degli Incanti in Maratea, which she sold almost immediately. She was an ambitious lass who had no intention of staying in Maratea.”

  “So that was her Maratea story. When Margherita mentioned something at dinner time about having lived here, none of us suspected she’d die very shortly afterwards…”

  They walked towards the car, stopping at a bench in a rest area under the shade of thick pine trees. Giò asked Agnese and Granny their thoughts about the things Gerardina had revealed.

  “I’m not sure what to make of this story. Do you think Angela’s child could be in our writers’ group?”

  “Maybe,” Gran replied.

  “That puts things in a totally different light.” Giò sighed heavily – again her group was at the forefront of the investigation. “Francesco, Simone and Guido are around the right age, Alberto
maybe a little older…”

  “Are you sure?” Gran asked her. “It’s quite easy to disguise one’s age by a few years.”

  “Maybe you’re right. And Francesco is here with his own mother.”

  “Are you sure she is his natural mother?”

  “Obviously she is, she’s so very maternal towards him.”

  “From the way you’ve described her,” Agnese said, thinking of the things Giò had told her about the writers during their daily phone calls, “a bit too maternal for a guy who’s around 40.”

  “I see what you mean,” Giò replied. Even the loving Agnese wouldn’t dare to be so maternal with Luca, who was heading for his teens and seemed to get more intolerant of too much affection from his mother on a daily basis, at least in public. “But why would someone come all the way to Maratea to kill Margherita and avenge their birth mother after almost 40 years? It sounds too incredible.”

  “And don’t forget, we aren’t sure if Angela had a boy or a girl,” Agnese reminded her.

  “A girl,” Giò repeated. “But if the child was a girl, Vittoria or Valentina could be a suspect. What if one of them was adopted as a child? Though I can’t see why Angela’s child wouldn’t have killed Margherita during their first retreat.”

  “Maybe the mean things she did and said pushed the killer over the edge,” suggested Agnese. “Or maybe the killer hadn’t had enough time to plan a murder then and decided to wait until the Maratea retreat, close to where his or her mother died…”

  “But no one knew Margherita was coming to Maratea. They all thought she’d been kicked out of the group, and her sudden appearance took everyone by surprise.”

  “Well, everyone except Guido,” Gran whispered. “Isn’t that right?”

  Giò was struck dumb. Just a couple of hours earlier, she’d thought her conversation with Paolo had cleared Guido. And he was about the right age to be Angela’s child. Was this the reason for his rebellious character?

  “Yes, except him,” she repeated in a half whisper. How could she tell Agnese and Gran that she was considering leaving Maratea and following this man around the world? Well, unless he’d been involved in the murder, of course. But what if the carabinieri didn’t find the murderer? What if the mystery stayed unsolved? What would she do then? This trip would allow him to leave the country soon after two suspicious deaths. Wasn’t that a bit too timely?

  “Giò, are you still with us?” Agnese was shaking her sister’s arm to snap her out of her train of thought. “We’re going back to the car.”

  “I’ll walk back to the hotel,” Giò said as they strolled across the car park.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a lift?” Agnese asked.

  Giò smiled at her. “No, I need a little thinking time on my own.”

  “Not too much thinking, though,” Granny admonished her. “Tell your carabinieri friend he has to do his own investigations and stop the murderer before he or she does any more harm. And mostly, watch out for yourself.”

  Giò shivered. It wasn’t usual for Gran to be so apprehensive, and Agnese was wearing the same pleading look.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  Giò nodded and kissed her granny and sister goodbye. But instead of walking down towards the hotel, she continued in the opposite direction to Acquafredda graveyard. Before entering, she tried to call Paolo, but the call went straight to his voicemail. She left him a message, and then pushed open the tall iron gate, shaded by the cypresses.

  Giò walked to her parents’ graves, the sea glittering below her, the horizon a deep blue, the rocky mountains brooding all around. It was peaceful, it was beautiful. Maratea was a special place, but something evil was once again threatening the area. She couldn’t accept that. Even if it meant digging where she didn’t want to, she would get to the bottom of this mystery.

  “Need to go now,” she said, caressing the stone cross bearing her parents’ names.

  The tragic story of Angela and her baby had put things in a completely new perspective. Could this be the real reason why Margherita had to die? Nothing to do with her unpleasantness to the writers’ community, but something stronger and more personal? Which of them could be the abandoned child? Guido, Valentina, Vittoria, Simone, even Francesco were all the right age. As Agnese had suggested, was Erminia so overprotective because her son had actually been adopted?

  And if the child had returned to avenge his or her mother, what did Augusta Galli have to do with the whole story? Vittoria had mentioned hearing her blackmailing someone. Who? Margherita? Nope, it couldn’t have been her, because now they were both dead. Had Mrs Galli known the adopted child story? Was she blackmailing him or her?

  Giò’s phone rang and she headed out of the graveyard, back onto the street to Acquafredda, walking briskly down towards the Pellicano Hotel. It was Paolo calling. She updated him on what she had discovered.

  “Your gran is brilliant – a talent for sleuthing seems to run in the Brando family.” Then he got serious. “I’ll call the Scario carabinieri station and see if they can provide me with more details about Angela and her baby. It’s almost 40 years ago, but in a little village, there’ll always be someone who remembers. I only wish I knew how to move things faster. In the meantime, watch yourself, Giò. Don’t go wandering about alone late at night.”

  “I won’t!” Giò sighed. She was starting to feel rather uncomfortable with all these people reminding her that danger was lurking around every corner.

  When Giò arrived at the hotel, Vittoria was sitting on the terrace outside, despite the breeze being a little too cool to be comfortable if you weren’t moving around. She had a book on the table beside her, but she wasn’t reading it; she was just watching the sun going to sleep beyond the horizon, throwing its last purple rays over the sea.

  “All alone?” Giò asked her.

  “All alone,” Vittoria replied, slightly startled as she hadn’t seen Giò approaching.

  “Is Valentina about?”

  “No, she’s in our room. I suspect she’s keeping out of the way on purpose to avoid any chance meeting with Alberto.”

  “Such a pity,” Giò threw in, her tone of voice similar to Granny’s when she was busy matchmaking. “They’d make a great couple.”

  “Yes, before it was silly Alberto fearing he wasn’t worthy of her love – that’s why he disappeared after our first retreat – and just as he seems to have found the courage he lacked… well, now it’s my sister running away. I can no longer understand what’s going on in her mind. Maybe she’s just overworked; she’s always been too sensitive. Mind you, two sudden deaths are not an easy dish for anyone to digest …”

  “But it seems she’s taken the whole thing far too personally,” continued Giò, now sounding like Agnese gaining the complete trust of her customers and friends.

  “Exactly! I don’t know how to explain it, but there are people that even if they are innocent…” Vittoria paused, as if wondering whether she was going to say too much. Giò wore her most innocent and empathetic look, and Vittoria continued, “Well, they tend to look like they’re guilty.”

  Giò laughed and told Vittoria how she had once been interviewed by the carabinieri, and how each question had made her feel like she was the guilty party trying to pass herself off as innocent. Vittoria was clearly encouraged by Giò’s confession.

  “I understand, it happens. But in Valentina’s case, it’s different, like she feels a responsibility for the whole world on her shoulders. As if she was responsible for Margherita’s death, even if she didn’t kill her. And she didn’t – I mean, she couldn’t kill anything, not even a mosquito.”

  “On a totally different train of thought, can I ask you whether Valentina is your real sister, or if she was adopted?”

  “How did you know?” Vittoria said, sounding shocked.

  “I think she said something about it the other day,” Giò lied.

  “She really isn’t herself at the moment. She never generally so much
as hints at having been adopted to anyone.”

  “It must be tough on her.” Again Giò played her empathy card.

  “Not really. You see, she always considered our parents and me to be her real family.”

  “What about her natural family?”

  “They were no longer able to support her. I don’t mean just financially; the family was too unstable and volatile for a child.”

  “Was she the child of a single mother?”

  “Not that I know of, but I can’t be sure. As children, we were told that her parents had to get well, and in the meantime they wanted Mum and Dad to be Valentina’s parents, so we’d be real sisters. And we always felt that way.”

  Vittoria paused for a long while, looking around the terrace as if to make sure her sister wasn’t nearby before continuing in an unusually soft voice, her eyes shining.

  “Valentina has always known she was adopted, but she has never been particularly curious to get to know her real parents. I suspect she remembered her life with them, and the memories weren’t good. As time’s passed, we’ve talked less about it because we feel like any other sisters – forever together, even more so since the death of Mum and then Dad. They were our parents.”

  For the first time, Giò wondered if she had any right to be doing what she was doing, prying into people’s private lives. Was it just idle curiosity, or was she getting any closer to the truth? Not really, not at the moment.

  She was glad to hear Annika’s voice calling them.

  “Hey, you two, we’re about to go for dinner.”

  It was a strange dinner. The writers’ group should have been delighted to be allowed into the Pellicano Restaurant again, as they had wished, but the atmosphere was weird. One or two of them tried to crack a few jokes, but none of them worked. Actually, they made the vibe even more awkward.

  After dessert had been served, Annika announced that she wasn’t going to be asking for a daily writing report because of what had happened that morning.