He cocked his head. “Maybe daylight helps. Are you afraid of the dark?”
She twisted to look up. “I’m not afraid, Lance; I just can’t sleep.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t believe me.”
He pressed his thumbs between her shoulder blades with a rolling motion. “It’s not what I feel.”
She huffed. “You think you know what I feel and what I need and what I want. But you don’t.”
He stopped massaging. “What’s the matter, Rese?”
“You’re the matter.” She turned on him. “I told you I didn’t want to get involved.” She pushed up from her seat, leveling the field.
“I only said partners.”
“That’s what you said, but it isn’t what you meant. I saw it all last night.”
He slacked a hip. “Saw what?” What had he done?
“The way you drew everyone in and held them right here.” She raised and clenched her hand. “Everyone under control, everyone—”
He caught her hand in his. “This isn’t about everyone, is it?”
Her glance shifted sideways. Tendons twitched beneath the skin of her face, its contours reminding him of the stone virgin in the convent courtyard. A sweeping tenderness seized him as he tucked a finger under her chin. “I’m not trying to take control. I care about you.”
Her eyes jerked back. “What?”
He was wondering the same thing. Caring was different from attraction, more hazardous than chemistry. With all the secrets between them, all their differences and animosity, it was the last thing he’d intended. “It’s as much a shock to me.”
She stiffened. “Lance Michelli…”
“Oh, Rese, give it a rest.” He pulled her into his arms. With the words out he may as well finish the job. Kissing her plumbed depths he had doubted he possessed. He’d fallen in love a dozen times before he realized feelings weren’t what made you cleave to one person, become one body. That was some mysterious element he had skirted every time.
He felt Rese go soft and realized the power he held. Some balance between them had shifted, and with it he felt responsibility. He cupped her face. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He would be her shield, her guard— even from himself.
Distance was definitely in order. With Rese working in the shed, Lance headed for Evvy’s front door. He had leads to follow up. He’d half expected Sybil to come hear him play last night, but it seemed that if he wanted what she had for him, he’d have to take the next step. That would be tricky though. He’d start with Evvy.
She answered the door in a blue print pant suit and Oriental slippers. Her hair was swept up in a twist that framed her face in a soft cloud. And he noticed now that her eyes were a china blue with graying rims. It was a face you had to love, or at least straighten up and pay attention to.
She leaned on her cane. “Lance Michelli.”
“Good morning, Evvy.”
“Morning? It’s almost noon.”
It could be. He wouldn’t be surprised if she told him it was midnight, even with the sun shining down. He’d maxed out his surprise function moments ago with Rese.
“Come in.” She motioned with her free hand.
He stepped into her home and breathed the aroma she carried around with her. It was hard to put a word to it, not a bad odor, just noticeable, like fading mums.
“I was having cheese and crackers.”
“I’m sorry I interrupted.”
“There’s enough for two.” She hobbled on her cane. “I have a whole box of Saltines.”
Lance smiled. “I didn’t expect you to feed me.”
“Well, it’s not lasagna or any of those fancy drinks your girlfriend serves.”
“She’s my partner.” He was still trying to grasp the rest. He followed Evvy into the spacious but cluttered kitchen, the only room, of those he’d seen, with more than it could hold.
“I can’t keep up with the lingo. Partner, girlfriend, whatever you like.”
“My business partner, Evvy.” Though Rese hadn’t exactly agreed to that yet.
“Well, you’re certainly working up to more.” She took out a square of cheddar and pulled a paring knife from the sink, then smiled, innocent as a dove. Wily as a serpent?
He cleared his throat. “I wanted to thank you for coming last night.”
“We had a lovely time. I’ll let you cut.”
He took the knife and cut himself a few squares of cheese. “You have a great group.”
“Oh yes.” She slid the package of crackers his way. “We keep each other hopping. Except poor Ralph.”
A better segue he couldn’t have found himself. “Would you like to visit him?”
“Visit Ralph?” She actually blushed. “Why, I haven’t seen him in months. What if he doesn’t remember me?”
Lance sat back and eyed her. “Evvy, you are unforgettable.”
She reached over and patted his hand. “I know why that girl’s smitten.”
“What girl?”
“Your Rese.”
He opened his mouth to explain again, but Evvy raised a hand.
“I saw her when you sang.”
Then he hadn’t imagined the current. Maybe that was why Rese hadn’t slept. If she was as scared as she seemed, she’d have beaten herself up all night with it. But he hadn’t come to talk about Rese. “I could take you to see Ralph. We could hear his stories.”
“Oh.” Evvy’s eyes turned misty. “He’d like that.”
“Do you have a car?”
“I haven’t driven in years.”
“No problem.” Lance munched a cracker with cheese, looked around until he saw the cabinet that held glasses. The door hung partway open; something he could fix for her. He got up and poured them both a drink from the sink. “What do you say?”
“Well.” She touched her hair. “We could, I suppose. I’m not doing much else today.” She dabbed a few cracker crumbs with her finger and put them into her mouth.
“Okay, then.” Lance helped her to stand.
She reached for her cane.
“You can use my arm.”
She looked up into his face. “I didn’t know they made men like you anymore.”
He smiled and walked her carefully to the door. “Do you have a jacket?”
She took a waterproof zip-up from the closet. He helped her put it on, then walked her from her house to the front of Rese’s. Baxter jumped up when he saw them approach the bike. Lance fondled his head. “Not this time, boy.” He took the helmet and turned to Evvy.
“We’re driving this?” She eyed the bike, askance.
He tipped his head. “You’ll have something to tell Ralph.” He could ask Rese if they could borrow her truck … but that might lead to questions he didn’t want to answer. Evvy would be fine; she might even enjoy the ride.
She paused, lips pursed, looked from him to the bike, then shrugged. “Why not?”
He’d read her well, spunky little bird. Lance slid the helmet on. A little loose, but not bad. He strapped it under her chin. “That’ll help with the noise.”
“What?”
He leaned close. “I said, that’ll help with the noise.” He helped her climb onto the seat, then he joined her. She was hardly bigger than a ten-year-old girl, but she hung on with a vengeance.
He started the bike. “Ready?” he hollered.
“Ready,” she hollered back.
They cruised out of the drive and onto the street. He had looked up the facility where Ralph lived when Evvy mentioned it the first time, but she hollered directions anyway. It was in a newer part of town, some ten minutes’ drive, and they parked without incident in the small lot at the west side.
She looked a little like a hatchling when he removed her helmet, but he didn’t tell her so. “Well?”
She touched her hair, aware of her dishevelment. But her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone. “I wish they could have seen that.”
He laughed. “You’d have
them all begging for rides.”
Evvy snorted. “You wouldn’t get a half of them astride that machine. Not for a banker’s pension.”
“Then you have one on them.” Lance supported her slowly to the doors.
“More than one, my boy. More than one.”
They stopped at the desk to check in, then Lance helped Evvy down the hall.
“Sure does stiffen up the legs.”
“I’m sorry.” He offered more support.
She waved her free hand. “Sitting in my kitchen stiffens up these legs.” She pointed. “This is it, Ralph’s room.”
Lance knocked softly, then pushed the half-open door. His nose stung from odors far worse than Evvy’s house. Evvy didn’t seem to notice. They walked in and spied the man sitting by the window in a wheelchair. His hair was wisps of white, and he trembled with palsy.
“Hello, Ralph.” Evvy’s voice was softer than he’d ever heard it.
His parchment face folded into a smile. “Evvy, my love.”
So he did remember her. Lance warmed. Maybe he wasn’t as forgetful as she thought.
“I want you to meet the new man next door. He drove me here on a motorcycle.”
Ralph shifted his gaze. “A motorcycle. My Evvy on a motorcycle.”
Lance took the gentleman’s hand. “My name is Lance.”
“Lance. Have a seat. I just need to look awhile at this beautiful lady.” Evvy blushed. “There you go again.”
“I don’t know what day it is, or who’s president of the United States, but I know your face in my dreams.”
Lance felt the sweetness washing over him. He helped Evvy into a chair he pulled close to Ralph’s, then sat on the edge of the bed a short distance away. While they murmured together, he looked at the pictures on the walls, then folded his hands and simply waited.
Too soon Evvy said, “Lance wants to hear your stories. About the villa.”
Ralph’s eyes stared across the room and his mouth hung slack. “No, no. I don’t know any stories.”
Evvy sent Lance a glance. “About the murder.”
Ralph folded his hands in his lap and rested his gaze there. “Oh, they murdered him all right. At least that’s what Papa said. Or did I … was it on the television?”
“No, it wasn’t on TV. You found it in that book.”
“That’s right. The diary. In the carriage house.”
Lance leaned forward. “There was a diary in the carriage house?”
Ralph looked at him. “What did you say your name was?”
“Lance. Lance Michelli.”
Evvy touched Ralph’s arm. “He’s living in the carriage house. He made it up real nice.” She winked at Lance. “I peeked in your window.”
That was news to him, and a caution. He hadn’t covered that back window. “Whose diary was it?”
Ralph answered with a hint of whimsy, “Antonia’s.”
An electrical thrill. “Do you have it?”
“No.” Ralph shook his head. “No, I don’t have any of that stuff. I … don’t know what became of it.”
“Your family cleared it out. It’s probably in a dump somewhere.”
Lance silently moaned. His grandmother’s diary in a dump. “Did you read it? What was in it?”
Ralph smiled. “A good many of the lines I used on Evvy.”
Evvy jolted straight. “You old fake.”
He laughed. “That gal wrote all the things her beau said. Mark, Marcus…”
“Marco?” Lance offered.
Ralph nodded. “That was it. Marco.” Ralph squeezed his brow. “A salesman, I think, or was he a…” He shook his head.
Nonno Marco. Lance forced himself to breathe. “What did she say about the murder?”
“She?”
“In the diary. Did she tell about the murder?”
Ralph sat back in the wheelchair. Again the pucker in his brow.
Evvy touched his knee. “Just tell the story, Ralph, the way you used to.”
Ralph stared at the wall a long time. “I don’t remember.”
“It was Prohibition,” Evvy prompted.
Ralph spread his shaking hands. “It’s all in the soup. I … I…” A tear glistened in the corner of his eye.
She rested her hands on his knee. “Are they treating you well in here?”
He shrugged. “They keep me fed and diapered.”
“Ralph!” She gave him a little smack.
He took her hand. “But I miss my girl.”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I miss you too.”
Lance deflated. He’d heard nothing he didn’t already know, except that there had been a diary and now it was lost. He couldn’t bring himself to force Ralph’s memory, as Evvy had obviously decided as well. It was bittersweet to see their devotion. It reminded him of Nonna and Nonno, before Nonno Marco’s heart gave out.
“It’s time for your nap.” She patted his hand.
He nodded. “Are you going home on the motorcycle?”
Evvy looked at Lance. “Well, I suppose we are.”
Ralph waved a finger. “You be careful with my fiancée.”
Lance helped Evvy to stand. “I promise.”
They walked out together, Evvy leaning heavily on his arm, more heavily than before.
“He’s not what he was.” Her voice grated.
Lance helped her past a man with a mop and bucket. “He certainly remembers you.”
She sighed. “This was a good day.”
He drove them home and helped Evvy inside. “Anything you need?”
“I’ll just lie down awhile.”
Lance lowered her onto the sofa. It seemed to take a lot out of her, that one small connection. Love was life’s big risk. No guarantee of happiness, and the possibility of loss and pain. Worth it? The pain in Gina’s voice when they’d talked the other day had been evident even over the phone. Would she rather not have loved Tony? Would he?
Lance couldn’t approach relationships lightly. Not when the restlessness inside and his tendency to mess up would bring pain to someone else. He’d promised not to hurt Rese, but all his steps had been driven by something beyond him since the day he came. Now thoughts of her made a sweet hollow inside him like a honeycomb he couldn’t help filling, even if it might get plundered.
He went to the shed and found her looking fierce in her protective eye gear as the sander spewed sawdust. The smell of wood filled the shed, and he eyed her progress. The bed pieces seemed ready to assemble, but maybe not to Rese’s standards. She might worry the thing down to nothing while he developed a permanent crick in his neck.
She shut off the sander and held it against her waist. “Where’d you go?”
“I took Evvy to visit her beau.”
“You took Evvy on the motorcycle?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Rese shook her head. “I wonder about you.”
He laughed. “She liked it. Enjoyed telling Ralph about it.” He motioned toward her pieces. “My bed?”
She pointed to a flat piece lying on a separate surface. “I’m almost done with it. Just the carving and final finish.”
He walked over and saw the crowning piece shaped like a scallop. “That’s nice, Rese. I didn’t expect anything that special.”
She set down the sander and joined him, running her fingers over the carving. “I know it’s obsessive, but I can’t do things halfway.”
He touched her arm. “That’s a good thing.”
She looked up in her silly goggles. Miss Safety Conscious. Or was she warding him off?
“I’ll let you work.”
She rubbed sawdust from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Are you making dinner?”
The Taylors had not placed a reservation, but if Rese wanted a meal, she’d have one. “Sure.”
He went to the kitchen and prepared a marinated vegetable salad. He would broil chicken for it later, but now he covered and put it in the refrigerator to let the flavors blend. Then h
e baked some Kalamata-olive rolls and prepared caramelized oranges for dessert. In the midst of that, a middle-aged couple arrived without reservations, and since only one room was in use, not counting Star’s, he checked them into the Rose Terrace.
He probably should have consulted Rese, but they were functioning within their primary capacities and it would only panic her. He’d tell her when she came in—so she didn’t meet them in the hall and think she’d seen a ghost.
Thoughts of Nonna’s diary plagued him while he worked. How could anyone toss something so obviously worth holding onto? Of course, he didn’t know its condition. And it might be of no interest to anyone but himself. Still, to think that it had been there, in the carriage house! If only he’d come sooner. He sighed. He couldn’t change that now. All he could do was see what was under his room.
CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE
Dread breeds like larvae in a pond.
Things I have heard; things I have seen,
without understanding.
Only clouds gathering in my mind,
brooding over when it might storm.
Lance shined the flashlight beam into the tunnel. His stomach was full from the meal he’d shared with Rese and Star, and it was late enough that nothing should interfere with his exploring the tunnel. The weekend had passed without a clear opportunity presenting itself, but tonight he would take a chance. He descended the stone steps to the bottom and scanned the narrow walls and ceiling with the beam of his light. If it wasn’t a tomb, the place could become one. Still, it had stood this long.
He drew a breath and started forward, skin tingling with anticipation and that vague sense of reverence. The smell was pervasive, musty with a slightly sour undertone. After about twenty steps, he came to an iron gate that reached from ceiling to floor. He pushed, then pulled, but it held fast. Locked. It would take a major tool to cut through, or a locksmith. Unless … He bent and studied the lock. Lord?
He turned and made his way back to the stairs and up. In his bedroom, he rummaged through Antonia’s box for the key he’d found in the corner of the floor. A slight chance only, but maybe it had been hidden in that corner—not lost, but concealed. He lifted the key and studied its shape, then jumped at the knock on his door.
“Lance?”
Secrets Page 28