“In my household, the wife reigns in the kitchen. Sometimes after work, I read the newspaper in the kitchen and watch her with one eye. When she goes back to Pozzuoli to visit her mother, I put what I’ve observed to some use.” Perillo shook his head. “Doesn’t compare.”
Nico stood up and brushed the dirt from his pants. “I know what you mean.” He looked around the small garden, at what had once been, before the murder, a neat garden with neat rows of plants. Bamboo sticks held up the coiling branches of string beans. Some of the string beans were as thick as thumbs. In another row, bamboo sticks kept tomato plants erect. A few small tomatoes peeked out from their leaves. The lettuce was overgrown. Something was eating the eggplant leaves. At the four corners, he had planted climbing red roses. The roses were now gone, and the leaves of one plant had started shriveling. “I’ve been neglecting this place.”
“But you’ve been helping me.”
“Have I?” Nico walked out of the garden with two zucchini and tied a string to lock the gate. “I don’t think I’ve been helpful to you. I should have told you from the start I was never a very good homicide detective. I’m not sure why you wanted me involved.”
“I’ve had to deal with only one murder, easily and quickly solved. You, how many?”
“I didn’t count.”
“There’s your answer. Are you on waiter duty tonight?”
“No, Alba and Enzo are taking over.”
“My wife has abandoned me tonight. She’s playing bingo at the church.” Perillo lifted his arm to show Nico a wine bottle. “What do you think?”
Nico looked up. “Not a bad idea.” Certainly better than drinking alone. “I’ll throw in a zucchini frittata and another bottle of whiskey.”
All through the afternoon, Tilde worked mechanically, her head and heart focused on what she had inadvertently found in Stella’s bag. She kept her phone by her side, looking at it every five minutes, hoping, praying Stella would get in touch. She forced herself not to be the one who called. She wouldn’t be able to hold back. Come home, Stella, call, Stella, come home became a refrain swirling in her head for hours.
At 8:10 p.m., as Tilde was dishing out the last of the ribollita, her phone rang. “Hi, Mamma, I just got out. I think I did all right.”
Tilde held her breath. Not now. “Good,” she managed to say.
“It wasn’t half as hard as I expected. Really. Of course, I won’t know for a few months, but I think I did really well.”
Tilde was silent.
“Mamma, are you there?”
A quick intake of breath, and Tilde was back in the moment. “Yes, of course. I was so nervous for you. I’m glad it went well. When are you coming home?”
“Tomorrow morning. The last bus is at ten, and we want to celebrate my getting through this. Here comes Gianni. Bye, Mamma. Keep your fingers crossed for me!”
“Of course. See you in the morning.” Tilde would need far more than crossed fingers to help her daughter.
Nico and Perillo were out on the balcony. The swallows had returned and settled in for the night. The frittata was eaten, the Panzanello Riserva bottle empty. They’d moved on to whiskey and were watching the sunset when “O Sole Mio” rang out from Perillo’s phone.
“The lawyer got to Gerardi’s safe deposit box,” Daniele said. “He found a revised handwritten will, which he’s scanned and sent over.”
“Hold it.” Perillo reached for a cigarette, lit it. “Go on.” He was a little fuzzy right now. Smoking helped him concentrate. “How is it different?”
Daniele told him.
Perillo clicked off and met Nico’s anxious eyes. “Gerardi wrote out a new will.” Nico wasn’t going to like it.
“What’s it say?”
“That green eyes don’t lie.”
Nico closed his eyes and emptied his glass.
Daniele was sitting in front of the computer in the maresciallo’s office when Perillo came back from dinner with Nico.
“What are you doing still here? Frying your brains on that computer?”
Daniele turned off the screen before anyone saw it and managed not to blush. “The printout is on your desk. It’s incredible that he had nothing to do with her for twenty-two years and then he gets sick and leaves not only the land, but enough money to build a palace on it, if she wants. If we can prove Signora Dorsetti knew about this will, she’s finished.”
Perillo glanced over the handwritten sheet. The letters wavered. Nico’s frittata was good, but too light a dish to absorb the drinking they’d done. “I’m off to sleep. Get to bed, Dani. We’re going to need sharp brains tomorrow.”
Daniele reluctantly turned the screen back on, put the computer to sleep and promised himself he’d wake up very early to pursue the idea that had popped into his head that morning.
Stella was in the kitchen in her bathrobe, dipping a slice of pandolce in her caffelatte when her mother walked in.
Tilde’s heart jumped. “Oh, good morning.” She thought she’d have more time before facing Stella.
“Ciao.” There was no enthusiasm in Stella’s voice.
“I didn’t expect you this early. When did you get in?”
“I took the ten o’clock bus last night. You were still at the restaurant, so I just went up to my room to sleep.”
“What happened to your celebration with Gianni?”
“I realized that the exam had drained all the energy out of me. I just wanted my bed.” She wasn’t about to tell her mother that Gianni had been horrible to her.
Stella’s eyes were glued to her coffee cup, Tilde noticed. Why wouldn’t her daughter look at her? What was she hiding? I took the ten o’clock bus, she’d said. I, not we. Another fight with Gianni? Far better that possibility than . . .
Tilde interrupted her own ugly thought by pouring what was left of the coffee into a cup.
Stella stole a glance at her mother. Stone face, rigid shoulders. “I found the rosary. That was sweet, Mamma.” She didn’t believe there was a God looking after anyone, but on the bus home, she’d been surprised at how fingering the beads comforted her. “Can I keep it?”
Tilde kept the surprise off her face. “Of course. It’s yours.”
Stella told herself to keep talking. “Did Nico show you what he gave me? A rabbit’s foot key chain.” Stella got up and went to the counter to cut herself another slice of pandolce. “I know he meant well, but I found it a little creepy. Please don’t tell him.”
Tilde drank the tepid coffee in one gulp. “Sit down, Stella.”
Stella raised her eyebrows at her mother’s harsh tone. “That’s what I was planning to do, Mamma. Sit and eat my second slice of cake and wait for you to ask me all about the exam.” She walked back to the table, sat, placed the slice directly on the table and waited. A lecture was coming. About Gianni still being in her life, not that he would be anymore. But Mamma didn’t know that. Or maybe it was about not telling her she’d be home last night, or not coming home right after the exam to share her excitement with the people who really loved her, or not putting the slice of cake on a plate. Or who knew what else it could be? She loved her mother so much, but recently, ever since that man had been killed out in the woods, she sometimes found it hard to breathe near her.
Once Stella was seated, Tilde reached into her pocket, took out a handkerchief and slowly unfolded it.
“Where did you get this?”
Stella gasped and tried to grab it back.
“Don’t touch it!” Tilde yelled.
“It’s not yours.”
“What was it doing in your backpack?”
For several minutes, mother stared at daughter, and daughter stared at the object in mother’s hand. Then Stella told her.
Shortly before eleven, Nico was watering the vegetable garden before going to the restaurant. Gogol hadn’t shown
up for breakfast again. Neither had Nelli. He missed them both.
OneWag waited by the open gate until Nico’s back was turned to sneak into the garden, which had become forbidden territory ever since he was caught scratching at the dirt under one of the roses. He planned to scratch some more dirt, even make a hole.
Nico’s phone rang. He turned to reach his back pocket and out of the corner of his eye caught OneWag pushing himself forward on his stomach. “Out you go,” he said, and turned the hose on him for a few seconds. A wet OneWag quickly rolled over and offered his dirt-covered belly as a peace offering. The phone kept ringing.
“Forget it!” Nico freed his phone from his pocket. “Out!”
OneWag rolled back over, got on his feet, shook himself violently and, with tail held high, trotted out as if that had been his intention all along.
Nico pressed the green button and put the phone to his ear. “Hi, Tilde. How did Stella do yesterday?” He’d called last night to ask, but Tilde hadn’t answered.
“I need you to meet me at the carabinieri station in Greve in half an hour.”
“What happened? Is Stella okay?”
“I’m not going to explain over the phone. Be there, please.”
“Of course.”
“Half an hour.” The line went dead.
Nico called Perillo and told him about Tilde’s request. “What’s going on? Did she find out about the second will?”
“There’s no way she could have. I’m in the dark too—she called the station right after we got back from searching Maria Dorsetti’s home and the Boldini villa. Tilde called and said she had something important to show me. Her tone could have melted Antarctica. Whatever it is, we’ll find out soon enough. I came down hard on the sister, but she insists she’s innocent. Claims she would’ve been happy even if Gerardi had left her only a thousand dollars. That all that matters to her is that her brother remembered her. We found no traces of a shotgun, and Daniele’s checking her computer now. Maybe Tilde will surprise us and confess.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry, Nico. It’s possible that she killed him. She had a motive and a gun—”
Nico said, “No,” and clicked off. It was not a possibility.
Nico was already there when Tilde marched into the maresciallo’s office, followed by an angry-looking Stella. Two empty chairs were waiting for them in front of Perillo’s desk. Nico sat to one side. Daniele stood by his computer, ready to sit and start transcribing if needed. As soon as Stella sat, one of her legs started jittering rapidly. Tilde remained standing and opened her handbag. She took out tweezers and carefully clasped a hundred-dollar bill, which she dropped on Perillo’s desk.
Both Nico and Perillo peered at it. The bill was strangely smooth, even though it was clearly old. In one corner was a series of brown smudges.
Tilde hovered over the desk. “That money has been washed and ironed, but you can still see the bloodstains.”
“Thank you, Tilde.” Perillo could observe that for himself. He wasn’t sure about the smudges being bloodstains. “Now, please sit. Let’s have this conversation without me craning my neck, shall we?” The two aspirins this morning hadn’t helped much. He’d just taken another two.
Tilde sat down and reached over to clasp Stella’s hand. Stella’s other hand became a fist pressed against her lips. Nico could see she was fighting tears. His own body was stiff with dread. Gerardi’s pockets had been emptied of money, and here was a hundred-dollar bill with what looked like dried blood on it. And Stella . . . he wanted to hug her, to tell her it would be all right. But he couldn’t bear to look at her.
“Where did you get this?” Perillo addressed the question to Tilde, although Stella’s clenched jaw told him she had the answer. There was no need to rush things—the truth liked to take its time.
Tilde explained that Stella had gone to Florence yesterday to take the museum exam. “I wanted her to have a rosary for protection. I didn’t want her to find it because she thinks that’s all mumbo jumbo. So I tried to hide it at the bottom of her bag, and my fingers found what I thought was a piece of paper.”
In the far corner of the room, Daniele took notes. Nico could hear the clicks of his keyboard.
“Why did you take it out?” Perillo asked.
“I was going to use it to wrap the rosary. When I saw what it was, I kept it.”
“It’s the only bill you found?”
“I was so shocked when I saw it that I didn’t look to see if there were more.”
“Why did you wait until this morning to show this to me?”
“Like any mother, I wanted to talk to Stella first. I didn’t expect her until this morning, and wasn’t aware she’d already come back last night.”
Perillo turned to Stella and, in a gentler voice, asked, “Can you explain this hundred-dollar bill?”
“It’s not mine!” The words came out as a bark.
Perillo’s tone remained level. “Why was it in your bag, then?”
“It wasn’t.” Stella’s leg stopped bouncing, and she leaned forward in her chair. “It was in my backpack with my overnight stuff and Gianni’s.” Her face was now a startling white. “That money is his. Don’t ask me how I know because I’ll tell you, and it’s not a nice story.” Stella stopped to swallow.
Nico swiped the plastic water bottle from Perillo’s desk and offered it to her. He could see tears welling up in her eyes.
Stella grabbed the bottle and gulped half of it down. She clutched it to her chest and sat up tall. The tears stayed floating in her eyes. “I walked out of a grueling three-hour exam feeling like I’d just won my future, and my boyfriend, instead of congratulating me, accused me of stealing his money. He wouldn’t let up. He was sure I’d taken it. He grabbed my bag and threw everything out on the street.” She turned toward her mother. “That’s how I found the rosary and the rabbit’s foot.” She looked over her shoulder. “Thanks, Zio Nico.” She turned back to Tilde. “I told you the exam was easy so you wouldn’t worry, but I know I did very well. I know I’m going to get that job, and Gianni can drop off the edge of the earth for all I care. I’ll never forgive him for treating me like a thief.” Her tears finally fell. “How could he do that? When he claims to love me more than anything in the world. How could he? You’ll be happy, Mamma. It’s over between us. I told him I never want to see him again. I took the bus home early.”
Tilde, demeanor completely changed, reached over to hug her daughter. Nico wanted to do the same. Stella backed away. “Mamma, I’m fine. I really am.” She wiped her eyes and gave a throaty laugh. “I just had to get my anger off my chest, even in front of a maresciallo of the carabinieri.”
“Thank you for being so honest.” Perillo picked up the office phone and asked Vince to call the café next door for five espressos and more water. He smiled at Stella. “I think we need refueling before we go on. If you need a cigarette break”—he was badly in need of one—“please feel free.”
Tilde shook her head. Stella said, “I don’t smoke.”
Perillo closed his eyes in resignation. One day, caffeine would be enough, but it wasn’t yet.
“Do you have more questions?” Stella asked, turning back to him. “I’d like to get this over with.”
“I understand. Did Gianni explain how he happened to have this American money?”
“He says he found it on the floor of the Coop in Panzano.”
“Do you know why he didn’t convert it into euros?”
“He said he was going to do it in Florence. The streets are full of exchange booths, and he could shop a better deal. He was going to use it to pay for some of the hotel.”
Perillo shot a questioning look at Nico, who said, “The banks give you the best rate. I always used the ATM in Gravigna.”
“But Gravigna is the town where a bloody murder occurred,”
Perillo added, forgetting for a moment Nico wasn’t the only one listening. “A bank clerk might wonder about a hundred-dollar bill with suspicious brown smudges on it.”
Stella frowned. “What are you saying? You think that money has the dead man’s blood on it?”
“Or the blood of someone who cut his finger,” Perillo said with a reassuring smile. “Or melted chocolate.” Borrowing Tilde’s tweezers, he slipped the hundred-dollar bill into a clean envelope and dropped it in his drawer. “Does Gianni know your mother found the money?”
“She forbade me to tell him.”
“She did well. Please don’t let him know.”
“I never want to speak to him again, but why shouldn’t he know?”
Perillo’s smile reappeared. “I think it’s best for your mother’s sake that I let him know we have it.”
Stella looked at Tilde, who nodded. “I guess you’re right. They’ve never gotten along.”
“Thank you for coming in, Stella.”
In one graceful movement, Stella was on her feet. “I didn’t want to.”
“Still, thank you.” Perillo stood and extended his hand. She shook it reluctantly. “You can go home now.”
Tilde got up from her chair.
“No, Tilde, please stay. Something has come up, and I need your help with it.”
Tilde looked at her watch. Ten past twelve. “I have a kitchen to run.”
“This is important. Nico, can I ask you to take Stella home?” Talking to Tilde with Nico present would be awkward. His American friend was too emotionally involved.
Nico understood and shook his head. “Tilde asked me to be here.”
Tilde understood that Salvatore’s “something has come up” meant he was going to question her about Gerardi. Nico would try to defend her and make the situation even more painful. Tilde reached for Nico’s hand and squeezed it. “Go, please. Stella needs company right now. Take her home.”
“Don’t worry, Mamma.” Stella wrapped her arm around the man she’d thought of as her uncle since she’d been a little girl. “The two of us will take over in the kitchen until you’re back. Ciao, Maresciallo. Ciao to you too.” She waved at Daniele in the far corner.
Murder in Chianti Page 26