by J. D. Griffo
“One thing that isn’t clean are her hands,” Helen said. “She’s obviously mixed up with this whole illegal document scam.”
“But is she just a customer, like Inez, someone who wanted to change their identity?” Joyce asked. “Or is she a more willing participant?”
“Do you think it’s possible that she’s the mastermind behind the whole thing, and not Owen?” Alberta asked. “Maybe she’s just using the Tranqclockery to transport documents, and Owen doesn’t know a thing about it. It would be the perfect alibi for her.”
“What do you mean, Gram?” Jinx asked.
“She could be running the operation from the safety of the diner, but by using the business next door she takes all suspicion off of her and puts it on Owen,” Alberta explained.
“I think you missed something,” Jinx said.
“Sounds like Berta’s covered everything,” Joyce replied.
“No, on the photos,” Jinx clarified. “Look at this, there’s an e-mail address.”
Jinx held up Alberta’s cell phone to show the women what she was talking about, but none of them could find an e-mail address on the photo in question. Jinx enlarged the photo and then the women saw that underneath the driver’s license was a slip of paper with an e-mail address for [email protected].
“Who’s Umberto Bottataglia?” Alberta asked.
“That’s sounds like a name fit for a Scarface if I ever heard one,” Helen shared.
“Holy Al Pacino, Aunt Helen!” Jinx cried. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Ah Madon, if you’re right, that means Veronica is some kind of crime lord working in cahoots with someone as dangerous as Umberto, the Scarface,” Alberta deduced.
The women continued to debate the possibility that in addition to Veronica being a restaurant owner, she was also a Mafia princess. They agreed it could be true since they obviously didn’t know the real Veronica, and as a Rizzoli she had connections to a minor crime family in Brooklyn. They had no idea, however, if she was the queen bee of the operation, a greedy, low-level employee, or if she was being set up by either Owen or Umberto, or both.
“If Veronica really is a Rizzoli, then it makes perfect sense that Teri Jo would reach out to her and come to Tranquility to start a new life,” Jinx began. “Since neither woman ever let on that they were related, they obviously wanted to keep their identities and their relationship a secret.”
“If Berta hadn’t found those documents, we would never have made the connection,” Helen said.
“Yes we would have,” Alberta disagreed.
“I don’t know, Gram, we’re good, but we’re not that good,” Jinx said.
“We most certainly are,” Alberta declared. “Don’t you realize that Dominic already revealed Veronica’s true identity?”
“He did?” Helen asked. “When?”
“When he died,” she replied.
By now the family was used to Alberta’s sudden pronouncements, so they weren’t terribly startled by this news. However, they were curious as to how a man’s death told them about Veronica’s past.
“It’s all right there in the comic book he was reading when he was fatally stabbed,” Alberta said. “Who are Archie’s two girlfriends?”
“Betty and Veronica,” Jinx replied.
“The Italian version might be Bettina and Veronica,” Alberta shared. “In this case the two women are one and the same.”
“Gram!” Jinx cried. “Wherever Agatha Christie is at this moment, you’ve made her proud.”
“I can make Aggie even prouder,” Helen said.
“How can you do that?” Jinx asked.
“Because Archie and the lying, scheming diner owner have the same last name,” Helen declared. “Andrews.”
“Mia sorella è un genio,” Alberta said.
“Your sister is a genie?” Jinx asked.
“A genius!” Helen shouted. “As if that wasn’t already a well-known fact.”
“Also too, another well-known fact is that you should keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Joyce added. “È tempo di spezzare il pane con il nemico.”
“That’s a brilliant idea!” Alberta cried.
“But let’s bring everyone together at Alberta’s place,” Helen said. “It’s homier there and her fridge is more family friendly.”
Jinx listened to her grandmother and aunts speak, but she didn’t understand a word they were saying. Buster, curled up on the floor at her feet, seemed to follow the thread of the conversation better.
“Sorry, I know we’re planning on doing something with the enemy, but what exactly is the plan?” Jinx asked.
“What Italians do better than anyone else,” Alberta said. “Have dinner.”
* * *
The following evening the four women were back in Alberta’s kitchen, sitting around the table, another spread of food displayed in front of them, but this time there was a guest of honor. If Veronica realized she had been invited to dinner for no other purpose than for the Ferrara ladies to extract information from her that would get them closer to the truth of who the real killer was, she hid that fact from her hosts. Instead, she focused on the scrumptious meal she was served.
“I can’t tell you the last time I had veal piccata,” Veronica gushed, savoring the taste of the lemony sauce. “Or broccoli rabe. I can’t thank you enough for asking me over, I was going crazy all by myself at home.”
Alberta saw an opportunity to finally move the conversation from small talk to something with a bit more substance.
“I don’t mean to pry, but I guess that means you never remarried?” she asked.
“No, I was never—” Veronica started, then finished swallowing so she didn’t speak with a mouthful. “My first marriage ended so long ago I sometimes forget I was ever married in the first place, but no, I never remarried. To be perfectly honest, the whole experience soured me from any thought of marriage.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean you’ve given up any hope of romance,” Joyce said.
Veronica’s expression hardened and it was evident she was more comfortable praising Alberta’s culinary prowess than discussing her personal life. She was either an incredibly good actress or she believed the women were merely trying to get to know her better, so her features gradually softened and she was able to reveal more about her emotions instead of keeping them safely hidden under lock and key.
“A few years ago I realized that I have a good life,” Veronica said. “I’m healthy, I own my own business, I’ve got a little money tucked away for retirement, and I discovered I don’t need a man in my life to make me happy.”
“You’re absolutely right about that,” Helen agreed.
“Of course, no woman needs a man or any other person to make them happy,” Alberta said, “but companionship with a special person does bring joy and new meaning to your life.”
“I think I’m too old to attract a new companion,” Veronica said, laughing as she took a final bite of her dinner.
“That’s nonsense,” Alberta said. “Look at me. I’ve found a lovely relationship with Sloan after being widowed. I have enough family and friends around me that without him I’d be fine, but I will admit that I enjoy his company immensely, and he does make a difference in my life.”
Sometimes honesty was enough to bring a conversation to a halt. The women looked at Alberta with a variety of expressions—happy, surprised, relieved, even shocked. Veronica, however, seemed to grow even more comfortable now that she knew Alberta wasn’t just a kind older woman, but a vital, emotionally vibrant woman in a relationship with a man. From the look on her face, Alberta couldn’t tell if Veronica was dumbfounded or jealous.
“That’s . . . well, that’s wonderful for you, Alberta,” Veronica finally managed to say. “For me, I think time has run out where romance is concerned.”
“What about Owen?” Joyce asked. “I know he’s got some . . . interesting habits, but he’s a very nice man.”
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p; “Also too,” Helen said, mimicking Joyce’s catchphrase, “he’s convenient. He lives and works right next door.”
At that matchmaking proclamation, Veronica appeared stunned, and she did nothing to conceal her feelings. She stuttered, blushed, and just when it looked like she was going to toss her napkin onto the table and make a hasty exit, she responded to their proposal.
“Owen and I have known each other for a while, but it’s purely business,” Veronica offered. “He is, as you imply, on the eccentric side, and the only time I really see him is when we have to get together for business meetings because of our family company.”
When Veronica uttered the F word, it was Alberta’s turn to hide her true feelings.
“Our family?” Alberta asked, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.
“Yes, the, um, parent company that owns some property in town, including the diner and the Tranqclockery, is a family business,” Veronica replied.
The next time she spoke it was to announce her exit.
“This has been truly delightful,” Veronica said. “I can’t thank you enough.”
When Veronica reached out to shake Alberta’s hand, Alberta was no longer fearful of making contact or dreading the woman’s physical touch. In fact, Alberta was so thrilled with what Veronica had inadvertently told them that she turned the handshake into a hug.
“The pleasure was all mine, Veronica,” Alberta said, staring the woman directly in her eyes. “You’re welcome here anytime.”
Once they heard Veronica’s car pull away, Jinx, Joyce, and Helen stared at Alberta, trying to figure out why her opinion of Veronica had changed and, if it hadn’t, when she’d started taking acting lessons.
“Didn’t you hear what she said?” Alberta asked. “She just told us that the parent company, Third Wheel, Inc., is her family-owned business. It’s more proof that it must be the Rizzolis.”
“To quote you, Gram, Oh mio Dio in paradise!” Jinx cried. “I was so focused on finding out if Veronica and Owen were intimately involved, that fact completely went over my head.”
“That’s why Grandma’s here,” Alberta joked.
“I guess this means another road trip to Brooklyn,” Helen said.
“It sure does, Helen, and don’t blow a gasket, but this time we have to bring Father Sal,” Alberta said.
“Why?” Helen cried.
“Because Rizzoli’s Diner is right around the corner from St. Ann’s Church in Brooklyn, and that’s Sal’s old stomping ground,” Alberta reminded them. “If a priest can’t get the members of his old congregation to share some gossip about the Rizzoli family business, then I have lost all faith in my religion.”
“We can’t have that,” Joyce said. “I mean, we already have one heathen in the family in Helen. We can’t afford to have two.”
Without a word, Helen gathered her coat and her pocketbook. Her face was drawn and expressionless and Joyce was horrified that her remark, which was truly meant to be a joke, had crossed a line.
Just when Joyce was about to apologize profusely for her unintentionally callous remark, Helen turned to face them. She placed her right hand on her hip and held out her left hand, her pocketbook dangling in the crook of her elbow, and did a dead-on impersonation of Bette Davis.
“I’m going to gas up the Buick,” Helen announced. “The heathen-mobile will pick you up at nine a.m. sharp. Tell Father Sal not to be late or else it’ll be a bumpy ride all the way to Brooklyn.”
When she slammed the door behind her, Alberta, Jinx, and Joyce fell into squeals of laughter so loud they woke Lola up from her nap. Once again, Helen had surprised them and, for the time being at least, all was right in their world. Tomorrow, Alberta thought, would be a completely different story.
CHAPTER 18
Le persone possono morire, ma i ricordi persistono per sempre.
When Helen pulled the Buick up to the rectory, Father Sal was nowhere to be found. Their ride to Brooklyn had indeed gotten off to a bumpy start.
“We’re leaving without him,” Helen said, starting to pull away.
Alberta grabbed the steering wheel and turned it to the right so the car bumped into the curb instead of heading out into the street.
“Are you trying to kill us, Berta?” Helen asked.
Ignoring her sister, Alberta replied, “We can’t leave without Sal. He’s the reason we’re going back to Brooklyn.”
“If he doesn’t show up, we’re not going anywhere,” Helen declared, turning off the ignition.
She reached for her pocketbook on the seat between her and Alberta and took out The Holy Well, the weekly newsletter of St. Winifred’s Church. “I’ll catch up on the spiritual goings-on in town since it looks like we’re going to be here until hell freezes over.”
“Basta!” Alberta shouted as she dialed a number on her cell phone. Before she spoke she put the phone on speaker mode so Helen could hear the conversation. “Sal, come outside, we’re here.”
“I’m not there,” he replied.
“Ah Madon! Where are you?”
“I’m at the Tranqclockery with Owen,” he said.
“What?” Alberta cried. “Listen to me, Sal, do not tell Owen we’re going to Brooklyn.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“For once in your life, Salvatore DeSoto, be a good Christian and do as you’re told,” Helen barked. “We’re on our way.”
Helen shoved the newsletter back into her pocketbook and handed her purse to Alberta. She started the car and revved the engine a few times before pulling away from the curb and into the street. The drive to the Tranqclockery only took seven minutes, but it felt like an eternity because Helen wouldn’t stop complaining about Sal. During the short ride she recalled every duplicitous deed and questionable quote that could be attributed to the man Helen declared couldn’t be further from what a priest should be. Alberta tried to remain quiet, but as they turned the corner of Main Street she could no longer hold her tongue.
“Panzana!” Alberta cried.
“I am not a fibber,” Helen protested.
“You are too, Helen, you’re full of malarkey,” Alberta said. “You and Father Sal are like Cain and Abel. You got some issues between the two of you, but you’re both cut from the same cloth. Knock it off and accept the fact that down deep you like the man.”
Helen parked in front of the Tranqclockery and turned to stare at her sister. “Do you talk to Sloan this way?”
Smirking, Alberta replied, “No, I save all my sweet talk for you. Wait for me here while I gather up the prodigal son.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Helen asked. “If something fishy is going on between Owen and Cain, I want to be a witness.”
“What makes you so sure Sal’s Cain and you’re Abel?” Alberta asked as they walked up the steps to the front door.
“Sal’s older than me,” Helen replied. “Plus, I wouldn’t know the first thing about tending to a farm.”
Alberta was about to ring the bell, but she noticed the front door was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, she and Helen stepped into the shop, which was bathed in semidarkness. It took them a moment to see Father Sal and Owen sitting in the back of the store in front of the curtained partition that separated the shop from Owen’s office area and the bathroom. The two men looked identical and were wearing matching black pants, black turtlenecks, and similar black sunglasses.
“Is there a solar eclipse on the calendar that no one told me about?” Helen asked.
“Hello, Helen,” Owen said. “Forgive the mood lighting, I’m having one of my ocular migraines and I’m temporarily blind.”
“I’m so sorry, Owen,” Alberta said. “That sounds terrible every time I hear of it.”
“I’ve gotten used to them, so they’ve become something akin to a minor inconvenience,” Owen said. “But I still like Father Sal to do the eyes for me, just as a precaution.”
“The eyes?” Alberta said. “How does an Irishman like you know about the eyes?”
Owen was silent for a moment as Sal continued to mumble some indecipherable words, his hand resting on Owen’s shoulder. Owen’s sunglass were dark and the sides were enlarged to avoid any light coming in from the periphery, so Alberta couldn’t tell if he was looking at her, Helen, surveying the room, or if his eyes were shut. It was a disquieting feeling not being able to make a visual connection and it added to Owen’s overall mystery.
He was quirky, introverted, and a man living among relics of time who was something of a relic himself. But Alberta’s gut instinct told her that Owen was also dangerous, and she had made a vow to herself not to ignore her suspicions. She could, however, consciously compartmentalize and push those nagging thoughts to the side. Because looking at him now, a prisoner of darkness, she knew Owen might be mysterious, he might be dangerous, he might be living a life of crime, but for the moment he wasn’t any different than any other human on the planet. Right now he needed a friend.
“I grew up around a lot of Italian families and they always did the eyes,” Owen explained. “I know it’s an old wives’ tale and nothing more than a prayer to ease someone’s pain and suffering, but I find it comforting.”
“Sometimes all you need is a friend to share your pain with you,” Alberta said.
When Owen moved his head, Alberta knew for certain that he was looking right at her. He might not be able to see her, but they had made a connection. She was suddenly consumed with guilt that in her next breath she was going to break that connection by lying to him. Unfortunately, she had no choice. Owen might be worthy of her sympathy, but he had not yet earned her trust.
Father Sal made the sign of the cross, took a deep breath, and folded his hands in his lap. The ritual was over and it was time for reality to take over. Or a slightly altered version of reality.
“We need to leave, Sal,” Alberta said. “The children are waiting.”
As should have been expected, Sal had absolutely no idea what Alberta was talking about. Since his amateur sleuthing skills had not been finely tuned like those of the women in the unofficial Ferrara Family Detective Agency, he didn’t realize he was supposed to play along with Alberta’s comment and not take her words as gospel.