"Empty and sad. Ruby was camping out, sleeping on an inflatable beach mattress. I doubt she spent much time there. Don't torture yourself." His words told me he understood my pain, my doubts. "There wasn't anything personal."
I sighed. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. I bet Kyle is trying to call me. He's doing his own investigations."
Larry laughed. "Night, sweetie."
I hung up. The TV was still on CNN, but on mute. They were running Ruby's story again. Finally they switched to a commercial, a cat-food commercial. Flash! Damn. I forgot all about my cat. She was probably upstairs under my bed, mad as hell because I was gone all day again. I looked at my toe, the size of a summer squash. Maybe I could bribe her into coming down to eat. "Flash, where are you?" I chanted from the couch. "Where's my sweet little kitty? Come say hi to Mommy, and I'll give you a treat." Silence.
Time to switch to Plan B. I dragged myself to the kitchen, grabbed a can of tuna from the cupboard and started the electric can opener, keeping an eye on the stairs. The can was open; the tuna smell filled my nostrils. No cat. Where could she be hiding? I walked over to the stairs, holding the can of tuna and feeling pretty silly. "Flash, baby, come get your treat." I left the can there and went upstairs, careful not to put pressure on the left foot. I looked and called and cajoled, but Flash was nowhere to be found. Could she have gone out? I had a cat door that she hardly ever used. For some reason she didn't like it.
I went down to the laundry room. I couldn't tell if she used the kitty door or not. It wasn't locked. I kicked it with my good foot. It didn't move. It should have swung open and then closed. I tried again, same results. I got down on my hands and knees and tried to figure out what was keeping it from moving. It swayed back toward the inside of the room. One of my geranium pots was in front of the outside opening. Damn. That idiot yard man did it again. I must have told him a million times to stay off my patio. I liked to take care of my own plants. Squatted by the cat door, I felt pretty stupid myself. I tried calling again, put my face by the opening, "Flash, are you out there, little darling?"
"Meow." The sound was feeble. I wasn't sure if it was close, wasn't sure if it was my cat's. "Meow." Closer now. It had to be Flash.
"I'm coming, baby, be patient. Mommy needs to get her shoes, and she'll come get you, and then she'll fire the bad man who locked you out." I walked to the couch while talking, got my right shoe on, changed my mind and limped toward the patio door barefooted. I looked outside. There should have been a moon. Instead the clouds had tarnished the night sky, and there wasn't a star or a speck of moonlight.
It reminded me of that night on Ponte Vecchio. New shivers and old fears found their mark.
"Meow, meow." Louder and closer.
I went to open the patio door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The sliding door had always been hard to open, tonight more than ever. I pushed it enough to stick out my head. "Flash, are you out there?" Nothing. Shoulder against the door, I pushed harder. "Flaaash, Mommy is home." A black fury hissed by, flying past my legs.
I turned to look at her, "Whoa, Flash…where are you coming from?"
"From hell." Ruby's unmistakable voice rose from the darkness. Before I could react, she thrust the weight of her body against mine, forcing me backward. I tripped and landed on the living-room floor. I sat, stunned. We looked at each other; the only sound came from Flash gulping the tuna I'd left on the stairs. Ruby stared down at me, at my awkward position, my bare feet, her smug smirk heightening my sense of nothingness.
"Ruby? What happened to you?" My own voice surprised me—calm with a hint of concern, trumping the rumbling I felt in inside. "You look exhausted." That wasn't what I meant to say, but I didn't dare tell her she looked awful.
"That's because I'm in a hurry. Where's the key?" The blond wig, already askew, slipped a little farther to the left, her bright red lipstick smeared on her cheeks.
"What key?"
She kicked me. I instinctively rolled into a fetal position. Her pointed shoe hit my left toe. I moaned.
"Oh, poor Lella, did I hurt you?" She taunted, then kicked me again.
I grabbed her leg in midair and pulled. She tried to hold on to the étagère next to the wall, but couldn't. She hit the ground with a thud.
We rolled on the floor, fighting for control. Ruby pulled my hair, and I pulled hers. Her wig came off and all went still. I had known all along she wore Aunt Millie's wig, but feeling it in my hands and seeing Ruby's usually curly, shining hair now matted and stuck to her scalp was so disturbing I found myself feeling sorry for her. She must have felt my hesitation. She moved back, away from me, and I began to get up. When I looked at her again she was on her feet with a gun pointed at me.
"You have a gun?"
"You have a gun?" She mimicked my accent.
I still held the wig and didn't know what to say to avoid enraging her. She walked backward to the open patio door, keeping the gun aimed in my direction and, without turning around, she shut and locked the door. "Good, now we can talk without interruptions. Get me my key and my wig, and I'll be on my way."
"This isn't yours. It's Milena Forrester's wig."
For a moment the hunger in her eyes dimmed, only to rekindle more voraciously than before. "What the hell do you know about that fucking loony? Besides, it's my wig, not hers."
"Why do you need a wig? You look so much better without it." I needed to keep talking, keep her calm while I figured out what to do next.
"Haven't you heard? Blondes have more fun." She laughed, and for an instant it was like old times, the two of us chatting, joking. The only missing items were a bottle of her favorite wine and two stem glasses.
"Would you like a glass of Chardonnay?" Anything to get her to put away that gun.
"Are you really that stupid, or do you think I am? Because I'm not, so it must be you."
"What did you do to Aunt Millie?"
She winced. "Would you stop calling her Aunt Millie? You make her sound like a sweet little old lady. Her name is Milena Forrester. Now get the key so I can get going."
"Why did you kill her?"
She took a step in my direction and lifted the gun. I raised my hands to cover my face. My tremors were so strong I could hear my teeth clatter.
"I didn't kill anybody, you hear me?" Her voice a shriek. "She got sick, threw up all over your bathroom floor. I spent the whole afternoon cleaning up after her, and as a reward, she accused me of ruining her brother's life. A family of fools. Bad genes."
"You mean her brother, Marko? The lawyer?"
Her whole attitude changed. She bit her lips, stared at me, searching for an excuse? "Yeah, that prick." She wiped her mouth, smearing more lipstick. It made her look even more insane, removed from reality. "You give 'em a little head, they think they own your ass. A goddamn coke-head, he was. That's how he fried his brain. I had nothing to do with it. He's right where he belongs." She mumbled the last part and wiped her mouth again. "The key. Now!"
The phone rang.
"Don't touch that phone. I'll blow your fingers off."
"It's Kyle." My voice had the same make-believe calm as before.
"Kyle?" She laughed. "Poor baby, getting lonely in his cell?" She didn't know about his release?
"Yes, he's sitting in jail for something you did. Why? What did he ever do to you?"
"Please, don't start one of your holier-than-thou tirades. As soon as I'm safely out of the country, starting my new life, I'll make sure he goes free."
"How?"
"I've written a letter. It explains how Milena got sick."
"How did she get sick?"
"Stop interrupting." Beads of perspiration dotted her upper lip. Ruby looked nervous. "She tripped on Flash coming down the stairs, hit her head. I told you she started throwing up. I had promised her a ride home. Drove her to Parker. She kept nagging and falling asleep, then she puked in the car. I'd had enough. I locked her in the trunk."
"You what?"
The phone stopped ringing.
Ruby looked at me with those dark, insatiable eyes of hers. I needed to sit, but pangs of fear twisted my brain, and I didn't move.
"Lella, I need my key. You can keep the wig." Her voice relaxed, her lips all smiles. "Milena was at the wrong place, at the wrong time, as they say. I was days from leaving. A whole new world waiting for me. Bye, bye, Mrs. Russell, hello self-made millionaire Ruby Alexander." She seemed to talk to herself. "Look, I had to put Milena somewhere before I gave the Testarossa to Kyle. She died in her sleep—"
"In the trunk of your car?"
The phone rang again.
The smile disappeared from her face, and with her free hand she grabbed the phone, pulled it off the table, cord and all, and dropped it on the floor. Her eyes never left mine.
"Ruby, are you talking about the wrong mailbox key you sent me?"
"Oh, yes. That's the one. Silly mistake." The happy voice was back.
"I figured you accidentally mailed me your mailbox key, so I brought it back."
The anticipation that had lit up her face quickly disappeared. "You brought it back? Where?"
"To your house. You weren't home so I gave it to your neighbor across the street. You know, Mrs. Snoopy?" I watched the rainbow of suspicions color her expression. She bought it. I thought. She tapped her fingers on the tabletop where the phone used to be. I could almost hear her brain churning. True or false?
"Okey dokey." She let out a sharp giggle. "Let's pay Mrs. Snoopy a visit, shall we?"
"Uh—I can't. See? I can't wear shoes." I lifted my left foot to show her. I saw contempt on her face.
"Give it up. Your 'poor little me' may have done the trick on him, but it's over."
"Him?" It came out more as a sigh than a question, because somewhere deep in my brain I'd known the answer for a very long time.
"Nick." She said it. Her voice was a sweet whisper, the kind of dreamy awe reserved for idols, heroes…or the love of your life.
It was my turn to take a step toward Ruby.
"You bring sorrow to whoever cares about you."
She hit me with the fist holding the gun. I tasted blood inside my lip.
"I bring sorrow? You bitch! You Italian trash! He died because of you. He couldn't leave you."
"Couldn't or wouldn't?"
"Ahh!" She lunged, trying to hit me again. I grabbed her hand, attempting to get the gun away. My anger fueled my strength. I wanted to twist her arm behind her back the way they did in cop shows. I was so sure there weren't any bullets in the gun, I felt empowered.
I was wrong.
The gun fired. I heard glass shattering and Flash's cry pierced my ears and my heart. I punched Ruby's face with all my might. She fell back and hit her elbow against the table, "Fuck!" I heard the gun land on the travertine tile. I had my arm around her chest and my other arm firmly around her neck, but she stomped my shoeless left foot with her heel. I screamed and we ended up wrestling on the couch. I don't know who had the upper hand because my front door crashed open and Larry and Bob and God-knows-who-else came rushing in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
We sat in the same waiting room where I had been the day before, March nineteenth. Thinking about all that had happened the past twenty-four hours made my head spin. Kyle was out of jail. Ruby was on her way to jail. That was the most important change of all.
No broken bones, and my bruises would be better in a week, the doctor told me.
I let Larry take me to the emergency room because he said the police would need the report. Fine. I wanted to go home and get some sleep.
"I bet they'll reopen Tom Russell's death investigation."
"You think so?"
"I read the report when it happened, and I'm pretty sure the death was ruled accidental because Ruby claimed she'd never touched a gun before and had no idea how it worked. I don't remember the exact words. It would be interesting to see what kind of life insurance the man carried." Larry smiled and helped me to the car. "The crimes people do for money."
"There wasn't any money involved with poor Aunt Millie. Do you think she suffered?"
"Let it go, sweetie. Even if the story of her fall is true, she would have survived if taken to a hospital. Bonnie was telling me that the trunk and the passenger seat of the Testarossa had been washed with river water. Ruby must have gotten rid of the body, washed the trunk and the car seat, then made a U-turn to Palm Springs to switch cars with Kyle."
We drove in silence for a while. "I used to think she was mentally challenged because of the accident. She was smart enough to take the wig, ID and plant a fake suicide note."
"I have the feeling the note was real. Aunt Millie was getting ready to sign off." Larry put his hand on my knee. "There were sleeping pills in her purse. We found them in Ruby's car."
"We?"
"I was on my way to Santa Ana with Bob when the tip came in—the Ford Focus was spotted in your garage. A security guard made the call. We were lucky—you were lucky. First thing the guys did was take over the Focus. We knew Ruby was in the house because you didn't answer your phone. Before we could come up with a plan we heard the gunshot—"
"And you wrecked my front door."
"Hey, I saved your life." Larry enjoyed the sparring, I could tell.
"I could have saved my own life, thank you very much. Is the police department going to replace my door?"
"What? You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"Absolutely!"
"Fine. Tomorrow we go out, get you a new hat and a new door. Will that do it, or am I missing something?"
"I'll let you know after I pick up Flash and see the bill from the vet."
He pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. His hand cupped my face. I felt the warmth of his breath on my throat and smelled his familiar aftershave. "How long before your lips are ready to kiss again?" he whispered in my ear.
I guided his hand inside my blouse. Before the back of the seat reclined, I caught a glimpse of the moon reflecting on the Pacific.
* * * * *
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Maria Grazia Swan was born in Italy, but this rolling stone has definitely gathered no moss. She lived in Belgium, France, Germany, and beautiful Orange County, California, before settling in her current home of Phoenix, Arizona. Maria loves travel, opera, good books, hiking, and intelligent movies (if she can find one, that is). Her idea of a perfect evening includes stimulating conversation, rich Italian food, and a perfectly chilled Prosecco. Maria has written several novels, short stories, and articles for high profile magazines and blogs taking on life and love … Italian style!
To learn more about Maria Grazia, visit her online at
mariagraziaswan.com
BOOKS BY MARIA GRAZIA SWAN
Lella York series:
Murder under the Italian Moon
Death under the Venice Moon
Mina Calvi series:
Love Thy Sister
Bosom Bodies
Other works:
Mating Dance
Medley of Murder
* * * * *
SNEAK PEEK
Of the next Lella York Mystery from Gemma Halliday Publishing:
DEATH UNDER THE VENICE MOON
by
MARIA GRAZIA SWAN
CHAPTER ONE
Venice, Italy, October
The heavy doors closed with a swoosh. I stopped and scanned the wall of humanity squeezed behind the crowd barriers. Only the eyes of strangers looked back.
My hope to encounter a friendly smile or familiar face faded.
I walked by the crowd of people waiting for disembarking passengers to clear customs, my hand steady on the rolling luggage, my head held high, my heart a heap of shards.
He is n
ot here. What will I do?
I kept on walking. The damn autumn sun reflecting on the fountains outside the glass walls caused my eyes to tear up.
I didn't ask for much. A hug, a comforting word. He promised.
I'd forgotten how small the arrival terminal of Venice Marco Polo airport was. Except for the noise level, it felt like a tea parlor compared to Los Angeles International.
What could have possibly been so important to keep him from meeting me?
"Signora York. Signora York."
I searched for a face to match the voice. A tall woman ran toward me. "Signora York, sorry to be late." She spoke Italian, and for inexplicable reasons, I found it soothing.
Long legs inside knee-high black boots and skintight jeans, a charcoal sweater and matching, loosely quilted vest. Under the terminal lights her hair appeared to be a rusty brown. Who was this woman calling my name as she approached? I had no doubt; I'd never met her before.
"Signora York." Between words she made sucking, gasp-like noises. "Sorry to have you wait. There was an accident on the autostrada." She stopped and studied my face. "You don't know who I am, do you?"
I shook my head.
She offered her hand. "Pia. Pia Bartolomei? Surely your son Kyle must have told you? About me—us? No?" It was her turn to shake her head. A smirk replaced the forced smile. "No, of course not. So typical." She tried to take the suitcase handle from me. I resisted.
"Where is Kyle?" I asked.
She fidgeted with her hair, a single braid resting on her right shoulder. "Roma. Cinecitta. Last two days. He had no choice." Her voice laced with resentment.
Resentment for my presence or my son's absence?
We faced each other, this Pia, who stood a whole head taller, and I. Where did my son find these women? Always so tall. What was that thing he said? "Can I help it if I like roses with long stems?"
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