Bunny Elder Adventure Series: Four Complete Novels: Hollow, Vain Pursuits, Seadrift, ...and Something Blue

by J. B. Hawker

  She bustled off quickly to one of the stores already visited by the men Bunny had been watching when the accident occurred.

  Bunny followed behind at a more sedate pace.

  That evening Bunny and Taffy were limp with fatigue, but agreed this had been another successful day.

  The two were sitting at a table just inside the little café where they had eaten on the first night, enjoying restorative cups of cappuccino.

  Before joining the tour to Pompei that afternoon, Taffy found a full cast of traditional Nativity figures to populate her presepio shell.

  She ferreted out each perfect character by rummaging around in almost every vendor’s shop and stall on the famous street.

  One of the shopkeepers gave her directions to a shipping office, so all of her treasures would soon be safely on their way to Idaho via an Italian Federal Express affiliated service.

  “I wish I had thought about the shepherd boy figurine today, Bunny. I could have given him to the Fed Ex people to ship, too. Now I guess I will have to just keep lugging him around with me.”

  “Are you sure you still want that thing, after seeing all the beautifully crafted pieces on Crib Street? Why not leave that heavy Plaster of Paris gimcrack here as a gift to our real live Mario Brother and, if you think you need another shepherd, buy one of the countless really nice ones we saw? You could at least get one on the same scale as the rest of your set.”

  Taffy lifted the statuette out of her purse, pulled off the wrapping and, gazing at it fondly, said, “Oh, this little guy isn’t meant to be part of my Neapolitan presepio. He’s a souvenir of our encounter with the Crazy Shopkeeper of Verona. I’ll take him off the mantel every Christmas and regale my guests with that story for the rest of my life.”

  “And I suppose the story will become more outrageous with each new telling,” Bunny chuckled

  “Great idea. Now I wish I had a shepherd, too.”

  “You need to have an Italian adventure first, and then you can get a souvenir to go with it. But you will need to hurry, since we have only one more glorious day in Italy before flying home.”

  “Me, have an Italian adventure? Yeah, sure...how likely is that?”

  “You missed a chance in Pompei this afternoon, Sis.”

  “What are you talking about? What chance did I miss on that tour, the chance to overdose on ancient Italian history? Perhaps, but it was a near thing.”

  “No, silly. I’m talking about the handsome man who kept looking at us so intently at the bus stop. You should have made eye contact.”

  “With the designer scarves and movie star sunglasses from the gift shop we were wearing, he probably mistook us for Sophia Loren and Gina Lollobrigida and was just trying to get up his courage to ask for our autographs,” Bunny quipped.

  “And exactly how does one make eye contact wearing mirrored sunglasses, anyway?”

  “You could have slipped them off and winked, you know, and then you might have gotten pinched on the bottom. I always heard that’s what men do here in Italia.”

  “What sort of souvenir could I get to go with that adventure? Would you want me to put a framed snapshot of my black-and-blue backside on the mantelpiece? I’m not sure I would want to take part in any conversation that would start.”

  Laughing, Taffy replied, “That’s a good point. We may want to think of something more suitable for display; but not tonight. I’m beat, Bunny! Let’s just stay in this evening. We still have crusty bread, cheese, grapes and prosciutto from the picnic lunch we got earlier. There’s even half a bottle of wine still in the bag.”

  “That sounds good to me, too. I could use a break from all the pasta I’ve been putting away. I brought mostly knit outfits with me on this trip, since they pack so well, but even a stretchy knit has its limits, and I do need to be able to fit into something on the flight home. We’ve already decided that my bare bottom is not particularly display worthy.”

  Back in their room, Bunny settled at the little green table to munch on picnic leftovers and write in her travel journal.

  Taffy was right, it was boring. Not a single adventure anywhere.

  If she wanted to sell an article based on her experiences she needed to experience something interesting.

  She didn’t want to make things up, but perhaps if she read over what she had written so far, she could find a way to put a more interesting slant on it all.

  She thought she might put in something about the construction accident at the train station, if only she knew more about it. She made a note to do some research on Italian workplace safety regulations when she got back home.

  Remembering her sadness while viewing the ruins of Pompei, with all those long ago lives snuffed out in a single moment by the volcanic ash, she felt a greater urgency to add some excitement and adventure to her life while she was able.

  As Bunny wrote, Taffy finished up some postcards and began her nightly yoga practice.

  “I don’t know how you manage to get into some of those contortions, Taffy. You are twisted up just like a pretzel,” Bunny commented when she looked up during a pause in her journaling.

  Finishing her pose, Taffy laughed.

  “Walt said I must be made of taffy, I could twist myself up so. That’s where he got my nickname. He said I was just as sweet, too,” she added with a blush.

  Bunny was pleased Taffy was able to bring up this memory without too much sadness.

  She spoke with a wistful smile, but no tears. Their Italian adventure was beginning to work its magic.

  As they prepared for bed, Taffy remarked, “I’ve accomplished what I came for, Bunny. So, tomorrow is all gravy. We can just enjoy ourselves all day. What would you like to do?”

  “I’ve been looking forward to going to that huge domed church, San Francesco di Paola, on the Piazza del Plebiscito, and the Royal Palace is right across the plaza. I really want to visit the palace roof garden. I understand you can see all across the bay from there. And the Bay of Naples waterfront sounds interesting, too.”

  “Well, I still want to see the museum and monastery of San Martino on Vomero Hill. It has a famous display of Neapolitan nativity scenes I really should see before we leave,” Taffy yawned.

  “We will need to plan our route carefully to get all that in. Goodnight, Sis.”

  “G’night.”

  Bunny faded out while trying to dream up an Italian adventure for the following day, one not involving any bruised bottoms.

  Chapter Ten

  But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days.

  2 Timothy 3:1

  Bunny and Taffy had decided to splurge on a taxi for their final busy day in Naples. It was the only way they could squeeze in all the sites, and sights, on their list.

  Remembering the rank of cabs outside the train station, Bunny led the way at a brisk clip in the early morning chill.

  Since breakfast she had been carefully rehearsing Italian phrases to direct the driver to their first stop, the museum with the famous antique nativity sets.

  Continuing to mutter under her breath as she bustled along, she vaguely resembled the white rabbit scurrying through Wonderland.

  Using her limited Italian vocabulary made Bunny feel vulnerable and insecure, even though the native speakers she encountered were unfailingly kind and encouraged her faltering efforts.

  She felt nothing but admiration for people who come to America without knowing any English. Bunny was sure the Italian language was much simpler to learn than her own native tongue with all its exceptions and idioms.

  If she had three wishes, one of them would be the ability to speak foreign languages fluently.

  No matter how hard she studied, the words remained stubbornly elusive when she wanted to speak them.

  Approaching the lead cab in the row, Bunny stumbled through her directions just well enough for the kindly and patient driver to understand her.

  With a flourish, he held the door for Taffy to enter the taxi, “Mi perme
tta, bella signora.”

  Relieved, and smiling at the man’s display of chivalry to Taffy, Bunny climbed into the taxi, unaided and unnoticed, through the other passenger door.

  As the cab pulled away, Lucca and Roberto were approaching the train station on the opposite side of the street. They were coming to check on their compatriots posted there.

  Lucca abruptly grabbed Roberto’s arm and pointed after the cab.

  “That was them! Did you see? I am sure of it. Two small middle-aged women: one with dark curls and an extraordinary figure, the other gray-haired, mouse-like. We must catch them!”

  Roberto’s eyes were locked onto a pretty young streetwalker languorously sauntering home from her night’s work and he had not noticed the women at the taxi rank.

  “Are you sure, Lucca? We don’t want to make another mistake.”

  “The coloring, the size, the shape...it was all there! I am certain in my soul these are the women we seek.”

  “Well, did you get the number of the taxi?”

  “No, but I saw the tassista, and I know where he works. Before this day is through we will have them. Come on!”

  The men hurried away, Lucca speaking rapidly into his cell phone and Roberto shaking his head.

  The big man was afraid they were on another false trail. The killing of innocents did not disturb him, but he didn’t want another mistake reported to the capo.

  

  The National Museum, set high on a hill outside Naples, was well worth a ration of the sisters’ precious remaining time.

  The exhibits are housed in the former living quarters of the monks.

  Bunny and Taffy could imagine life in the ornately decorated rooms of the old monastery. No bare cells for those long ago monks.

  Naturally enough, the highlight of the visit for Taffy was the Nativity display.

  She fell in love with an intricately painted terra cotta Cuciniello presepio. This creation, built in the late eighteen hundreds, in the heyday of the presepio, included one hundred sixty-two people, eighty animals, countless angels and more than four hundred miniature objects.

  “I can’t imagine the hours of work that went into the exquisite details of these figures, Bunny, even down to the vegetables in the peddler’s cart and that tiny bird sitting on its nest in a window sill. This must be where the concept of painstaking comes from. Did you see that miniscule, perfect head of lettuce?”

  Taffy had learned three components distinguish an authentic Neapolitan presepio: the Holy Family, called the Mistero, which always holds pride of place; the Magi; and a city scene with a colorful array of figures representing individuals typical of the bustling, cosmopolitan eighteenth century port of Naples.

  A renowned local artist, Luciano Testa, master artisan of the presepe for more than twenty-five years, had an exhibit on display at the museum which expanded the traditional concept to include modern day celebrities and politicians along with the figures from the past. These were humorously interposed among the more traditional features.

  Bunny laughed to see the current U.S. president appear to be haggling with a fruit peddler in the heart of one village and an international sports figure working in a bakery in another.

  “Okay, Bunny. Now I am completely satisfied. I’ve had my nativity fix. I’m drunk on presepe and dizzy with delight at the art that goes into them. The rest of this day you can lead the way,” Taffy said.

  “Well, how about if my appetite does the leading? It’s almost noon and I’ve heard the very best Neapolitan pizzas are found down on the waterfront. I wanted to see the Bay of Naples, so we can eat there and kill two birds.”

  “Great idea. And here comes a bus to the city center. Perfect timing. If we walk from there to the waterfront, we can eat gobs of yummy pizza without feeling guilty.”

  

  Max Banks hopped onto the dock from the deck of the sloop.

  He was restless and bored.

  Here he was in one of the most romantic and exciting port cities in the world, and he just wanted to get back out to sea and sail away.

  The really stupid thing was that he wasn’t even sure where he wanted the blasted boat to take him.

  He just knew whatever he was looking for, it wasn’t here.

  Banks had explored the waterfront’s bars and restaurants, ridden buses to see the sights, and done all the usual tourist jazz, but it left him flat. He might as well have been watching a National Geographic documentary on modern day Naples. Nothing touched him.

  Not even the architectural beauty of the swooping triple towers of the Court of Naples in the modern section of the city. He had always been fascinated by such structures. Now they left him cold.

  Nothing had touched him for quite a while, he was forced to admit.

  After his injuries at the hands of that lunatic serial killer back in California, Max returned to the Caribbean to recuperate.

  It was months before his body was back to normal.

  At first, he had attributed his depressed emotions to the healing process.

  Later on, he had convinced himself he just needed a boat of his own; to get back to the sea and all would be well.

  This trip had blown that theory right out of the water.

  What the hell was the matter with him, anyway?

  The last time he had felt really alive was back in Clark’s Hallow working with Bunny on the local weekly newspaper.

  Maybe selling the paper had been a mistake.

  Maybe leaving Bunny had been a mistake, too.

  What possible reason could she have to choose a whacked-out fundamentalist lifestyle, with all its stupid thou-shalt-not’s, when she could be free to do as she pleased?

  He knew the Ten Commandments as well as she did. He’d gone to Sunday school, after all.

  They were pretty good guidelines for society at large, but it’s not like the friggin’ things were carved in stone, or anything.

  And all that “do unto others” business was just commonsense advice on getting along with people, not some sort of unbreakable rule.

  What was the point of free will if every time you wanted to do something fun you were told you were going to hell if you did it?

  Who in their right mind would choose to live like that?

  Religious people were just a bunch of self-righteous prigs who wanted to feel superior, anyway, or else they were stupid, gullible fools with no minds of their own who believed in a bunch of fairy tales meant for another time and culture.

  But, Bunny . . . well, to be honest, she wasn’t like that.

  She was smart and kind and never tried to make a big deal about anything, not unless it was terribly important to her. Then she was a bulldog, he thought with a smile.

  So, what was it that made this stuff so crucial to her?

  He wished she were here, now, so he could ask her that very thing.

  He hadn’t given her much of a chance to defend her faith when they were last together. He’d just gotten angry and mocked her beliefs without ever once asking her the reason for any of it.

  Max walked up and down on the waterfront, scarcely noticing his surroundings, mulling over many uncomfortable thoughts and unfamiliar ideas

  

  Felice Parma was delighted.

  Finally, some progress. Perhaps they would be able to deliver the complete shipment, after all. His uncle would be proud that Felice had been able to follow through on his orders.

  Lucca and Roberto had delayed the exchange with the courier until the following night.

  There was now a chance the statue would be recovered, along with the icons hidden within the plaster, before the appointed time.

  Once their property was recovered, they would be free to take their leisure in extracting from the women the information his uncle wanted.

  Felice pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in his home number. He was eager to share the good news with the elder Parma.

  

  “Zio, it is Felice,�
� Paola placed the phone into Anthony Parma’s hand, tucked the blanket around his knees and left him to take his call.

  “What news?” he rasped to his nephew.

  “Good news, Zio, good news, at last. You will be very pleased to hear it, I am certain.”

  “Then tell! Do you have the women and the icons? That is the only news I wish to hear.”

  Felice hesitated. The old man sounded weak, but angrier than ever.

  “We don’t have our hands on them, yet, Zio, but we will soon. My men have tracked the women down. They were seen this morning at the train station. They must have only now arrived in Napoli. And we were able to talk to the tassista whose cab they took.”

  “You know where they are staying, then. Good. So, why do you not yet have them?”

  “They went to the Museo Nationale and dismissed the cab.”

  “So, why is this such good news, then, Nipote? Do you play with me?”

  Felice hurried to assure his uncle of his seriousness.

  “But we will have them soon, Uncle, now we know their names. And we know where they plan to be later today. It is only a matter of hours before they are in our hands.”

  “Tell me exactly what you have learned,” Anthony took several shallow breaths and spoke more calmly.

  “Well, we don’t exactly know their real names. The cab driver only heard them refer to each other in code. But, this shows you were right about them, Zio! They called themselves Bunny and Taffy, but these are not real names … an animal and a type of candy … even for Americans. And we know they are going to the Palazzo Nationale today. I have men in the piazza right now awaiting their arrival.”

  “Bunny and Taffy, you say? Describe them to me again, just as Enzio told you, every detail.”

  The elder Parma’s voice sounded tremulous to Felice, but held a new urgency, as well.

  “Uh, well, he said they were two small middle-aged women: one gray-haired and pleasant, but unremarkable. The other had dark hair, pale blue eyes and a striking figure; large bosomed, small in the waist. She was the one with the bandage who took the statue. We now know this is the one calling herself Taffy.”