Murder Under the Italian Moon

by Maria Grazia Swan

  "Wait, don't touch it." Larry grabbed me and pulled me away from the cabinet. "Let's talk and let's find your cat." He was trying to play it off, but he sounded like a cop.

  "Flash, Mommy is home. Come here." It felt awkward using baby talk in front of Larry in order to coax my cat out of hiding. "She may be hiding under my bed. She does that when something bothers her." A rehash of when I came home from Italy.

  I headed for the stairs when Flash appeared at the very top. "There's my kitty. Come to Mommy. Tell me why you're scared." I met Flash halfway, sat on the step and stroked her back, wanting to make sure she was fine. I noticed Larry by my front door. He had the door open and was looking at the lock, shaking his head. "No sign of forced entry. How's the cat?"

  I had a feeling Larry wasn't a cat lover, but a caring human being. "Can you store the spilled cat food in a grocery bag? I would like to take this empty one to Tom and have him check it for fingerprints if you don't mind, and then I'll come back and change your locks." He didn't wait for me to start complaining and argue, he kissed me on the cheek and left, but not before I promised to lock my doors and stay put until he came back.

  I sat on the couch, Flash still in my arms, but fighting to get away. Kyle was the only one who had a key to my place and he was in jail. Ruby had one, but she gave it back. Or did she? I got up and walked over to my small desk in the kitchen and grabbed the basket where I kept all my keys, but then I remembered I never discarded her letter. The keys must be still in the envelope. Where did I put it? I lifted the stack of discount coupons I saved but always forgot to use and got lucky. I recognized the blue edges of the envelope underneath it all. My hands trembled when I unfolded the crumpled paper with the entwined RR logo. Much had happened since I first opened her mail. I walked over to the front door, inserted the key and turned the lock. It worked perfectly. So much for that thought. "If the keys could talk." I'm not sure why I said that out loud; something about the whole thing just didn't feel right.

  I remembered that evening when I unsealed the envelope and the keys fell on the table. I remember thinking they shone like gold. My own keys were silver colored. Oh my God! A new sense of excitement sent tingles up my spine. Was that the way cops felt when they investigated a lead? Nonsense, what was happening here? I walked to the table, the very same table where I'd opened the letter the first time. I could hardly control the thrilling effect brought on by my discovery.

  I sat, rested both house keys next to each other. There was no denying the blatant reality; the key sent by Ruby was gold colored and shiny, without a single scratch or tarnish caused by wear, while my own key looked more like a dirty nickel, dull and worn. The key Ruby mailed back wasn't the one I'd given her, it was a brand new copy. She kept the original.

  Even little old me could figure out the purpose; she wanted access to my house. But why? What could I possibly have that she didn't? I lived alone on fixed income, Ruby had more money, a better house, more expensive jewelry and clothes, a luxury car, so what was it? It couldn't be Flash, she could have kidnapped my cat while I was gone. Kidnapped? I had to stop watching those cop-show reruns—honestly. If Ruby was here and fed Flash, how did she know I wasn't home? My car was parked in the common garage; I rode in Larry's car. I thought back at my dinner with Larry, the Porsche was parked next to my car that evening when I came back—mio dio—she was in the house while I was here, getting ready for bed. Now the shivers up my spine were pure fear, not excitement. Where could she have been hiding while I went around calling Kyle's name? I bet she had a good laugh at my stupidity. Maybe she was in the house right now. Stop it. I had problems breathing, thinking, standing still.

  Hurry, Larry, hurry.

  The pantry was the first door I opened; from there I went around clockwise and checked every room, every closet, behind every curtain, even looked under the beds, but nothing seemed out of place, and no trace of Ruby. By the time Larry called to announce he was at my front door I was exhausted.

  "You okay?" Larry lifted my face and spoke to me eye to eye.

  "Not really, we need to talk." That didn't come out as I intended, well, too bad. I dragged him to the table; after he sat I rested the keys sent by Ruby next my house and mailbox keys. "Well?" I asked, my hands on my hips.

  Larry looked at me. "Well what?"

  "The keys. Don't you see? The ones Ruby returned aren't the same I had given her."

  He pushed back his chair and seemed to study the keys, and me. "You told me you hadn't seen Ruby since before you left on your trip."

  I didn't like the way this conversation was heading. "I didn't see her. She mailed back both the door and mailbox keys."

  "Did she say why she was returning the keys?" His voice had changed. This was the super-sized charming version he used to gain people's trust. Same caring tone he used with Audrey. He wasn't fooling me. I felt his eyes on me and it made me nervous. "You're sure these are your keys?" Larry held them in his open hand and kept starring.

  "They are not, that's what I'm trying to tell you. The front door key is a copy, the one I'd given her was silver colored and the mailbox key doesn't even look similar, it is a totally different key."

  Larry looked at me and his eyes had that dark shade of gray, the shade of a stormy sky reflected on the stormy ocean, the same eyes that stole my heart the first time we met. "Let's take a walk to your mailbox."

  For the first time since getting home, I was really thankful for his presence.

  "Okay, let's."

  We walked the path that crossed the guest parking then wound uphill to the cluster of mailboxes. Behind us the setting sun put an orange blush on the tall walls of the villas. "This one." I pointed to my mailbox. I watched Larry attempt to insert the key. He tried in different ways, but nothing worked. Then he tried the key on other mailboxes. That made me feel uncomfortable, but hey, he was the cop.

  The key didn't fit anything there. He looked at me with more intensity than usual, and I had nothing to say. I felt validated and a little smug. We headed back to my place without much talking. Larry put his arm around my shoulders and adjusted his pace. I had to get something straight. "So Ruby has the key to my mailbox. No big deal, right? What? She steals my credit-card account? She doesn't need it because she's loaded."

  "What kind of person is Ruby?" His arm was still on my shoulder. "What does she like to do? What kind of places does she like to go to? You should know."

  "Ruby has three passions: men, wine and jazz. Not necessarily in that order."

  "Sounds like the perfect date." His voice was low.

  "What did you say?" I pulled away from him.

  He chuckled, a soft laugh. "Just making sure I have your attention. Lella, I'm not concerned about the missing mailbox key. I'm concerned about what this key opens. I bet you are right. Ruby kept your original keys and mailed back copies. Somehow she sent back the wrong key, this one." He held the small key between his fingers. "And now she wants it back. I think she came to your house looking for it. Does she know where you keep your keys?"

  I nodded. I realized his theory made sense, but had no idea what this key could open. It reminded me of the keys you use for luggage, or a gym lock.

  "Lella, I think you should pack some necessities and come home with me. I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay here alone. If you can't be without Flash, bring the cat and we'll find a comfortable place to put her."

  He was willing to put up with my cat? A picture of his spotless white house flashed in my mind, and I realized this man cared for me. Offering to take the cat was worth more than a diamond ring.

  "What happened to changing the locks?"

  "I intend to do that right now, but I would feel better if you went back with me, at least until we can get this sorted out."

  I watched him change the lock on my front door with the ease of a professional. He handed me the new keys. "While you get ready I'll call Tom and Florian and see how they want to handle this new twist, okay?" He kissed my forehead the
n pulled out his phone. I went upstairs to pack up what I'd need.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I still couldn't get myself to hate Ruby. There had to be some explanation for her behavior, for the pain she was causing and for the dead bodies dogging her footsteps. I told Larry about Flash, the special gift from Ruby. What happened to that Ruby? Who changed? Ruby or me? Maybe neither. Maybe for the first time I did see the real Ruby. Hiding in plain sight, where did I hear that before? How appropriate.

  Larry went to the station to talk to the detectives in charge of the case. I convinced him to go without me. He wanted me to wait in his house instead, but I didn't feel like hanging around an empty house that wasn't mine. The police station was closer to his house than mine, much closer. I told him it would be foolish for him to drive back to Dana Point afterward. I craved solitude, I said, and promised I would keep the phone with me at all times. He had me memorize his cell number, then left with the duplicate keys of the house and the mystery key. The new lock and the fact I had already checked out every possible hiding place in the house helped my state of mind despite Larry's doomsday warnings. I had a somewhat pleasant evening, a nice phone conversation with Kyle and, as soon as I finished cleaning up the mess in the laundry room, I planned to go up to my room and dig out my swallows outfit. I liked Larry's suggestion. Come morning, I would make an impromptu appearance at the mission. As a visitor. I felt like a rebel. Yes. Couldn't wait to see the expression on Sabrina's face. I'll show her.

  Flash raced up the stairs ahead of me, back to her playful self.

  I reached the last step. The phone rang. Larry.

  "Hi, sweetie, how is everything?"

  "Fine. I'm up in my bedroom. I checked all doors, and I'll keep the phone next to me."

  "Bonnie is going back to court on Monday to convince the judge to let Kyle out on bail. We need to get it done before someone realizes that Aunt Millie died in California, and then her body got dumped in the river in Arizona. Hey, do you know I've never seen your bedroom, nor your bed? I need to hurry back and visit you."

  "Exactly where are you?"

  "Exactly?"

  "That's what I said."

  He sighed. "Parked in my garage. My house is a lot closer to the office than yours is, and after I went to see the guys—"

  I laughed. "Good night, Larry. I'll be fine." I didn't want to hang up. By the stepping noises in the background I could tell he was walking up the stairs from the garage to the house. I liked the feel of the phone against my ear and knowing he was doing the same at the other end.

  "I don't know if I can sleep without you next to me." What I felt in his voice gave me goose bumps down the back all the way to my ankles.

  "I miss you too." It was my turn to sigh, and I really meant it. We hung up.

  Except for the hat, I kept my swallows outfit with the winter clothes. I loved that hat. We found it at Tippecanoe's, years ago, when Ruby and I used to roam Laguna Beach in search of unusual things, from antiques to junks.

  Before the car accident. Before her marriage to Tom.

  Tippecanoe's rated high on our list of fun places. We discovered weird and wonderful stuff. That particular day, I bought the black gaucho hat. She picked a red Italian raffia beach hat. We hopped down the steps leading from the vintage store to the Pacific Coast Highway, Ruby humming "Stairway to Heaven," me wearing the felt wool hat that smelled of mothballs.

  It was summer time and to the far west horizon, the sky and the ocean met in a communion of blues.

  I got misty over the memories. Oh, Ruby, what happened to you?

  I kept the hat pinned on a Styrofoam wig stand, in a huge box on the top shelf of the linen closet to make sure the brim didn't flatten or flip up. The linen closet had the only shelf wide and deep enough for the oversized box. I needed the step stool to get the box down. Thank God, the box weighed hardly anything. My foot slipped from the plastic stool and the box flew from my hands, barely missing Flash and landing upside down on the floor.

  "Sorry, Flash." The tip of her tail rounded the corner out of the room.

  I picked up the box and found it empty except for the two pins. It was like a bad dream. Who would take my hat? Ruby? Nonsense. I'd had the hat for years. It wasn't the kind of hat worn on the street, especially with the red grosgrain band I added since using it at the mission. One doesn't break into someone's home to steal an old hat.

  I knew I hadn't lent it to anyone. Better go check on the rest of the outfit, see if whoever took the hat also grabbed my suede skirt and vest. Why take the stand too? As a matter of fact, why not take the whole freaking box? I stomped back to my room and into the closet. There it was, at the very back, in a dry-cleaner plastic bag, my skirt, the fringed vest and the red silk blouse. I set my Italian boots next to it. Perfect. The missing hat put a wrinkle on my sense of security. I went downstairs and rechecked all the doors and windows while holding the phone. Larry's paranoia must be highly contagious.

  I woke up in a good mood, went through my daily routines with an extra zip in my step and by 9:00 a.m. I hit the road to San Juan Capistrano and the local celebrations. I planned on spending only an hour or two at the mission, and then I could go visit Kyle. He would probably get a kick seeing me in my swallows outfit.

  It felt strange going to the celebration as a tourist. A nuisance too. I had to park at the temporary public parking and walk half a mile in my fancy boots with spiky heels while fighting the crowd of locals and visitors. The locals were easily spotted. Most of them wore gaudy Spanish costumes, highly touted by our Chamber of Commerce along with the one-fountain-per-public-building rule. Although laughable in my opinion, all that received high grades from tourist bureaus around the country.

  When I worked the phones for the arrival of the swallows, I sat most of the time. As a walking visitor, my feet were on fire, and I missed my hat. My volunteer ID card hung from a thin silk cord around my neck. It guaranteed me free entrance to the mission any time I wanted, but I decided to purchase a ticket out of a sense of fairness. I planned to sneak up on Sabrina and watch her expression. I wasn't mad at her anymore; in fact, I intended to apologize for my rudeness during our last phone conversation.

  I didn't recognize the woman selling tickets. How could they have only one person on such a busy day? Her nametag said Valerie. She noticed my ID tag.

  "Oh, you're Lella York? Your friend was asking about you. You just missed her." She slid her eyeglasses low on her nose to look at me.

  "Sabrina?"

  "No, no, Sabrina is over at the gift shop. We were a little short-handed." Her tone was low, as if she were sharing secrets with an old friend. "She didn't say her name. A blonde, dark glasses, about this tall." She put her hand a few inches above her head. She was sitting down, so it meant nothing.

  "Thanks, Valerie. I'll go over and say hi to Sabrina." What a relief, she didn't ask about Kyle.

  The mission gardens appeared spectacular and luscious as usual, and a lot less chaotic than the town's streets. People this side of the walls looked as colorful as the ones outside. I walked over to the gift shop. Not sure why this place tended to feel a few degrees cooler than the rest of the buildings. Here visitors spoke in softer voices, and the room smelled of citrus and potpourri. The potpourri was one of our projects. We collected rose petals, orange peels and an array of other fragrant things and tied them in cute little sachets.

  I spotted Sabrina by the native jewelry display. She wore her usual white gown with lace sleeves and a red cummerbund. The outfit was originally an old white cotton nightgown and came from Goodwill. But Sabrina performed one of her creative tricks; she added a red cummerbund, pinned a red silk hibiscus in her hair and proclaimed her dress to be a copy of Bizet's Carmen. Two younger docents rushed to the same Goodwill store hoping to score a similar treasure but couldn't find anything even close to it.

  "Excuse me, ma'am." I tried to disguise my voice. "Seen any dazzling bullfighters lately?"

  She turned to look. Her pro
fessional smile died and she stared at me, eyes wide open, mouth even wider.

  "Shhh," I whispered. "I'm traveling incognito." I watched her relax. She poked my shoulder with her index finger and we laughed.

  "Where is your hat?"

  I shook my head. "Gone. I wanted to stop by to apologize to you."

  "Forget it." She waved her hand. "Want to stay and work? We're very short-handed."

  "Can't." I pointed to my feet.

  "Huh! Nice boots. Got them in Italy?"

  I nodded. "They're killing me. I bet I have blisters already. I'm sorry." Just the mention of blisters made the pain go up a notch. "I'm planning on sneaking out through the back and driving home—provided I can make it to my car."

  "How is everything?" Sabrina was being very diplomatic.

  "Good, lots of things happening. We need to do lunch or something and catch up. Okay?" Shifting my body weight from one foot to the other didn't help. I had to get out of the torture devices. "Sabrina, Valerie, the admission person, said someone came looking for me. Any idea who it was?"

  "A dazzling bullfighter?" she chided.

  "She said a blonde. I've got to find a place to sit before I leave a trail of blood." Whoever said that if you want to forget your troubles you need to wear tight shoes must have owned Italian boots.

  I left. I wanted to stop a few minutes in Serra Chapel. Maybe sitting quietly and elevating my feet would help me make it to the car. This was not the way I had envisioned my day at the mission. By now, the morning mass would be over, and with the exception of the very pious, no one would be in the chapel. I could sneak in, rest and be gone. I went halfway up the aisle and sat in one of the pews.

  Hard to believe these wooden pews were over one hundred years old. I always felt like part of living history in this chapel, the oldest building in California still used for mass. Even at high noon, the small recessed windows high up by the ceiling let in a filtered light. The scant sunlight and the thickness of the original walls kept the place naturally cool. I remembered the times Ruby would meet me after my volunteer work, and we would stroll down to Sarducci's for lunch. The restaurant, named after the fictitious character from Saturday Night Live, served creative Italian food prepared by a Polish chef.