“He bought a bracelet in your store and he didn’t ask about you? That’s hard to believe.”
“He did. He asked my daughter if I owned the store.”
“You recognized him from the tape. That’s why one camera supposedly didn’t work and the tape of the other had been wiped clean.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
He could have her arrested for tampering with evidence, but to what purpose?
“It must have given him perverse pleasure to buy such an expensive bracelet from my store, and in cash.”
“As you know, the charm on the bracelet was engraved with the date January first, 1997. Does that mean anything to you?”
“No. We broke up a week before Christmas, and I spent the holidays out of town. My father thought it prudent to send me on a ski trip to Switzerland, in case I changed my mind about Robi.”
“Where were you between five and seven o’clock Monday morning?”
“Why would I kill Robi? If anything, Robi might have wanted to kill me.”
“I have to ask the question, and I need you to answer it.”
“I was asleep in my bed until seven-thirty, when Pina brought me a coffee. She arrives at six and won’t be able to corroborate my being in bed before that.”
“Was your daughter here?”
“No. She came home from Siena, where she was visiting friends, later in the day.” She looked at Perillo with a defiant expression. “I didn’t kill Robi, but I’m afraid I have no alibi. Even if Rosalba had been here, she would’ve been fast asleep.”
“You don’t love him anymore?”
“You can’t love a dead man, only your memory of him. Did he ever marry?”
“No.”
“I see.” She had made up a whole life for him in her mind. A wife and three boys and a wooden house with a nice backyard, like the American homes she had seen in the movies. He owned a pizza restaurant—all he’d ever wanted to eat was pizza. Sometimes she’d imagined him owning an auto repair shop. He was good with his hands.
Irene stood up. It was time to let the past go. “I think I’ve answered enough questions. I really need to get dressed.”
Daniele and Perillo got up awkwardly, the sofa being very deep. They both shook down their trouser legs. Perillo followed Irene to the front door. He had one last question for her. One he had held off on for a purpose.
Daniele went back into the kitchen to thank Pina for the coffee and her lemon pound cake. She was rolling a sheet of pasta on a marble-topped table. “Signora wouldn’t listen to me. Her father would have come around and forgiven her.” She lifted her head to look at Daniele. “You’re too thin. There’s more pound cake in that bundle over there. Take it and enjoy, but don’t go around saying I bribed you.”
Daniele grabbed the bundle and planted a kiss on her cheek.
In the foyer, as Irene was about to open the door, Perillo said, “Just one more question, Signora. Forgive my crudeness, but I need to ask. Did Gerardi force himself on you or anyone you knew of after you turned him down?”
Irene clasped her throat. “God no! Did someone accuse him of that?”
“It seems so.”
“When?”
Perillo studied Irene’s blanched face, her widened eyes, the shock in them. She wasn’t the one. “It happened between your breakup and his departure.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“If you have to leave town for any reason, please let me know first.”
Daniele slipped behind Perillo, holding the pound cake bundle so Irene wouldn’t see it. He wasn’t sure she’d approve of Pina’s generosity.
Perillo extended his hand. Irene took it gingerly, still shocked by the news. “Thank you for you time, Signora Castaldi. Goodbye.”
Irene stood at the door as they walked down the stairs. “I don’t believe it,” she repeated in a voice too low for them to hear.
FIFTEEN
Lucia, Gogol’s gatekeeper of hell, looked up from her crocheting as Nico approached the front desk of the hospice. Her expression was grim.
“He’s waiting for you in the garden, God knows why. I don’t know what you did to him, but that poor man has barely eaten since you brought him back. He burned the mushroom omelet for the first time ever. He’s still asking me to forgive him.” She pointed the crochet hook at him. “You upset Gogol again, and you’ll answer to me.”
“Right you are,” Nico said, and pulled a growling OneWag out the back door.
Gogol was raking the leaves on the winding gravel path of the garden. His coat lay neatly folded on the bench where they had sat together before. The morning was sunny but still had a night’s edge of coolness. Nelli had told Nico that Gogol never took off his coat. Something had changed.
“Good morning,” Nico called out as he undid OneWag’s leash. The dog scurried over to the old man and waited for a head pat. Gogol obliged. “Good. We’re friends now, yes?”
OneWag licked his hand. Gogol laughed.
Nico realized he had never heard Gogol laugh before. It was a beautiful sound. He walked over to where the old man had amassed a small pile of fallen leaves. It was too early for the big shedding of trees. “I have breakfast for us. The usual salami and lard crostini.” Nico waved the bag. Gogol’s head stayed bent down, laugh gone. He swept his rake back and forth, raising dust.
“Your gatekeeper said you were waiting for me.”
The rake kept grating against the gravel. OneWag barked, but Gogol didn’t stop.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“‘The tangle of pathways contain my blindness.’ I woke up with Ungaretti this morning. Dante will forgive me, I think.”
“Is that why you’re raking the path? To see again?”
“Not the woman. As the poet said of himself, I am a man of sorrow. All I need is an illusion to give me courage.”
“What illusion will help you to tell me what you know?”
Gogol dropped the rake, walked to the bench and put his coat back on. Nico and OneWag followed. Once seated, Gogol held out his hand for the bag of crostini.
“I woke up hungry this morning.”
“Good. Take all of them. Lucia told me you haven’t eaten much lately, for which she blames me.”
“She’s angry because I burned the omelet and didn’t go back for more mushrooms.”
Nico opened the bag, placed a paper napkin on the bench and lined up the four crostini on it. “Lucia is angry with me because she cares about you.”
Gogol’s fingers went from salame to lard and back again, undecided which to take first.
“You usually go for the lard right away.”
Gogol grabbed the salame crostino and bit into it. “My mother was the one who loved me,” he said with his mouth full. “She took most of me with her.” He swallowed, then took another bite. “A little bit of me must be coming back now. I haven’t remembered Ungaretti since my school days.”
“A few days ago,” Nico said, “you told me to stay away from the maresciallo. I think I understand why now. You saw who the woman was. I remember your words. That my heart would claim no peace if I didn’t stay away. You wanted me not to get involved with the murder investigation, because you were afraid it would lead to the rape. You said my wife—”
Gogol squeezed Nico’s arm, his eyes on his face. “The illusion I need to give me courage?” He looked down and held out what was left of his crostino for OneWag. “The impossible illusion that what I saw will not hurt a beautiful woman and her child.”
“Tilde and Stella. Stella a child of the rape.”
“Stella is good and beautiful. She is a child of love, not carnal violence.”
Nico knew there were thousands of beautiful, good children born after their mothers had been raped, but he let Gogol keep this illusion. He was angry with himself for havin
g told Perillo about the rape. Tilde would become a suspect. Maybe even Stella. He knew in his blood that Tilde could not have killed Gerardi, as sure as his heart was beating. But what could he do to protect them?
Gogol had looked up at his pained face and understood. “Let us both have the courage of silence.”
Perillo’s cell rang just as Daniele drove out of the parking space a few doors away from the shuttered jewelry store.
Perillo listened for what Daniele thought was a long time. He couldn’t understand the words, but the voice on the other end of the line was female. The maresciallo’s wife, maybe. Today was Saturday, market day in Greve. It wasn’t the first time she’d given him a list of vegetables to bring home for the night’s dinner. Daniele loved going to the market and feasting his eyes on shiny red, orange and yellow peppers in a basket, opened heads of escarole that could be mistaken for enormous flowers, the red sweet onions from Certosa, and deep orange apricots, dark purple plums.
“The station or the market first?” Daniele asked after Perillo hung up.
Perillo slapped his thigh and grinned. “You can give me my ten euros back. That was Della Langhe’s secretary, the wonderful Barbara. Gerardi’s computer is now an open book. Any content that might shed light on the case will be sent to the American embassy today. We should receive it by tomorrow. And the good news doesn’t end there. Gerardi’s lawyer has finally returned. He was off scuba diving in the coral reefs in Australia, and here I thought there weren’t any left. What’s important is, he’s getting on a plane to Los Angeles in a couple of hours. He’s already instructed his secretary to scan Gerardi’s will and relevant papers. We’ll get them by email soon.”
“What about the papers in the safe deposit box?” Daniele asked.
“That’ll be next, unless the police get to the bank first. By the time the lawyer gets home, the banks will be closed. Whatever’s in the safe deposit box will have to wait until Monday. The best part is, Della Langhe will be in Capri for the weekend, which means I get to keep dealing with Barbara.”
Perillo picked up his phone again and pressed Nico’s number. “Our first lady has been found, thanks to Daniele here.”
“The owner of the jewelry store?”
“She was wearing the matching earring. She says she’s the one who left him, and I believe her. She chose money over love. She was asleep at the time of the murder, has no alibi, and she was truly horrified when I asked her about the rape. She’s not the one.”
“She might be a very good actress.”
“I consider that a very small possibility. There’s more.” Perillo relayed the information he’d gotten from Della Langhe’s secretary. “I’m feeling good. Finally we have information to work with.”
Information that might hurt the people Nico loved. He asked, “Do you know who the beneficiary is?”
“The lawyer didn’t remember, as the will was prepared four years ago, but he thinks Gerardi might have wanted to update it. They had an appointment set for this Monday.”
“I see.”
“You don’t sound as excited as I am.”
Nico tried to put more energy behind his voice. “You’re getting closer to a solution, and that’s good news.”
“We are getting closer. This is a team effort, don’t forget that.”
“I haven’t.” That was the trouble. How could he be loyal and honest at the same time?
“I’m feeling good, Nico. So should you. Come by the station after the Expo closes for the day. We need to drink to continued health and safe travels for Gerardi’s lawyer.”
“I can’t,” Nico lied. “I’m helping Tilde at the restaurant.” He wasn’t needed at Sotto Il Fico thanks to Gianni, who’d taken his advice and was helping Stella wait on tables. Nico planned to show up for dinner anyway, but he wasn’t going to say anything to Tilde. She had denied the rape. He could only respect her need for privacy. As Gogol had said, part of his wife lived on in Tilde and Stella. His ardent hope was that Gerardi’s papers made no mention of them.
“Too bad,” Perillo said. “I’ll call you as soon as something comes in. Ciao, Nico.” Perillo pressed to end the call and turned to Daniele. “Come on, Dani, let’s go grocery shopping and make you and the wife happy. She gave me a long list of vegetables. You’re having dinner with us tonight.”
Daniele blushed, with happiness this time.
Before going home, Nico stopped by Luciana’s shop and picked a small pot of pink baby roses. Luciana was too busy with three different customers to give him her usual hug, one he would strangely have welcomed today. He paid and made his way up to the cemetery with OneWag at his side. He followed his usual ritual of filling a watering can and watering Rita’s old flower pot, which was still in bloom, and added the roses. He then watered her parents’ boxwoods. OneWag dropped down by Rita’s tomb, head between his paws. With a faithful dog’s instinct for his master’s mood, he understood these visits were sad ones.
Nico sat down on the grass beside him and silently spoke to his wife. Gogol told me you were a good woman. I think he meant because you didn’t tell me what happened to Tilde. I would have liked to know the truth because I’m sure you suffered. Maybe I could have helped. I’m not angry or disappointed. Your loyalty was to the women of your family. You were always a good woman, the best. I promise to do my best to protect them.
Nico leaned in and kissed Rita’s photo. OneWag licked his hand.
“We’ve got a full house tonight,” Elvira declared from her chair as Nico walked into the restaurant. “We could have used your help a little earlier.”
“Sorry, I’m not on duty tonight. It’s Gianni’s turn.”
Elvira huffed. “He’s useless. Too taken by his good looks, in my opinion. He goes on and on with the clients, trying to show off the very little English and German he knows, and ends up getting their orders wrong. Poor Enzo and Stella are constantly scrambling to set things straight. I won’t tell you the mood Tilde is in. I would help, but my sciatica is in full furor.”
Nico kept a straight face. Elvira had been soldered to that armchair since Nico had first seen her years before. She gestured toward the terrace. “Go out there and help, for God’s sake, and get rid of that sad face.”
Nico faked a smile. “At your service, ma’am.”
Elvira let out a raucous laugh, strongly resembling donkey braying. “You’ve got that right. I’m the general here. Now get going.”
Nico passed the kitchen. “Ciao, Tilde. I’m in.”
Without looking up, Tilde squeezed a double ring of chocolate sauce over two plates of panna cotta and handed them over. “Table six, left corner.”
“I know where table six is. I’m not new.”
She looked up, saw who it was. “Sorry. It’s a little hectic tonight.”
“What’s Stella doing here? Shouldn’t she be studying?”
“You tell her that.”
Nico delivered the panna cotta to table six, where a young couple was too busy gazing at each other to notice the incredible view or the food. Honeymooners, he decided. Gianni passed by him and flashed a smile. “See, I listened.”
“Bravo.”
Behind Gianni, Stella made an exasperated face.
Nico made the rounds, taking orders. Panzanella, eggplant parmigiana, rigatoni with mushrooms and sausage. As he worked, weaving in between Enzo, Gianni and Stella, his mood lifted. When Nico got a chance to pass by Stella, he whispered, “I meant well.”
She squeezed his hand.
“Shouldn’t you be studying for Monday’s exam?” he asked.
“My head needs breathing space. It’s turned into Google for art. All you have to do is click, I’ve got the answer. The photographic memory helps.”
“Good for you.”
The evening cooled and daylight dimmed. Only two tables were still occupied.
“So you were telling the truth,” Perillo announced as he strode out from behind the huge fig tree in jeans, a short-sleeved shirt and his precious suede ankle boots. “You’re working tonight.”
Nico looked up from clearing a table at one end of the restaurant. He waited until Perillo was close to say, “Why would I have lied?”
“May I steal you away from your duties?”
“Please do,” Stella said as she gave table two their check. “He deserves jail time for enlisting Gianni to help me.”
Perillo was stopped short by her deep-green eyes. He’d seen and admired them many times, but they now reminded him of something they hadn’t before.
“Stella doesn’t appreciate excellence,” Gianni said from somewhere behind the tree. “She’ll learn.”
Stella stomped over to where a seemingly exhausted Gianni was leaning against the kitchen wall, sneaking a cigarette.
“What I appreciate is humility and honesty.” She snatched the cigarette out of Gianni’s mouth and crushed it underfoot. “Restaurant staff is not allowed to smoke.”
Nico couldn’t see Gianni’s expression, but didn’t want to stay for the fight that was sure to come. Luckily, Stella knew how to take care of herself, and Tilde was in the kitchen, ready to step in even when she shouldn’t.
“Let’s go,” Nico said, and walked the dirty dishes to the kitchen. Perillo followed, carrying two water glasses from another table.
Tilde was cleaning the counter with watered-down bleach. “Thanks for stepping in and helping at the last minute.” Enzo looked up from stacking the dishwasher. “Ehi, Salvatore, we’ve missed you. Help yourself to a drink at the bar.”
“Thanks, next time.” Perillo gave Nico’s arm a light punch. “Last minute, eh?”
Nico shrugged. So the lie was out. “Good night. See you at the Panzano market tomorrow? Nine o’clock.”
Tilde nodded, her ear tuned to the ominous silence coming from the terrace. Nico helped himself to the leftover bag of meat Tilde always reserved for OneWag. He and Perillo passed a sleeping Elvira on the way out.
Perillo stood under the restaurant lamp and lit a cigarette. The rest of the street was dark, windows shuttered for the night. Perillo offered his pack to Nico.
Murder in Chianti Page 23