He pushed the papers back into the envelope. Without a careful study, he couldn’t tell what they were or what they’d been intended for, but they’d been hidden in a cache in a cellar for seventy years—a cache with enough bundled bills to raise eyebrows and suspicions, his own included.
He’d made excuses to Rico, but when it got right down to it, he might not like the answers to his questions. Lance dropped the envelope into the briefcase. Should he check the hole one last time? Star’s shriek had put the fear of God in them before they finished searching the last time. He stood and put a shoulder to the rack. With so many partial answers, he didn’t want to miss anything else.
The bundled bills lay as they’d been scooped back in, and he pressed his arm through to the bottom where his fingers found stone all around. Nothing in there, unless you counted a few hundred grand. He picked up a stack and fanned it. All twenties, and at least twenty bills in each bundle. He could use some money to get back and see Nonna, but he wasn’t about to spend it, not without knowing where it came from.
Had Vito robbed the bank? Sybil had not given a sterling impression of her great-grandfather. More likely he and Vittorio were in on something together. Then why did Vito end up dead? Double cross? Had he stashed the money for himself, thinking he’d get away with it? Lance dropped the single packet of bills into the briefcase. He’d show it all to Nonna and maybe get some answers.
He pushed the rack back into place. The scraping echoed on the stone walls, the motion jingling the empty bottles in their curved cradles. He glanced up the stairs toward the pantry entrance. Even if the sound had traveled up to the kitchen, there was no one to hear it. Thank God he’d be done with the secrecy soon. He would tell Rese everything. He just had to communicate with Nonna first, get her blessing.
He picked up the briefcase and headed back through the tunnel, past the moaning metal gate to the stairs. He would present the pieces he’d found, hope she could put them together, and pray it would be enough. His head had justed cleared the hatch when the door opened. Lance froze, but Rese stood there with his cell phone in hand.
Lord!
“It’s an emergency.” Rese held out the phone.
It hit him in the pit of his stomach as he climbed out and took the phone. “Momma?”
“It’s a minor episode. No new damage, but Nonna won’t rest until she talks to you.”
He swallowed. “Put her on.” Rese was staring at the hatch from which he’d emerged. Her confusion mingled with his fear for Nonna and the growing sense that once again he’d blown it.
There was the sound of the phone shifting hands, then, “L-l-ance.”
“I’m here, Nonna.” She was speaking, not lying unconscious like the first time. A minor episode Momma had said.
“Fin-d Nonn-o. Qu-Qu-Quil-lan.”
He closed his eyes. “I found him, Nonna.”
“Bury … him.”
Lance rubbed a hand over his face. That was what she wanted? A proper burial for her nonno? “I will, Nonna.”
“Goo-d boy.”
His eyes stung. She always thought the best of him. “Nonna, there’s other things. I have lots of questions.” Not as many as Rese must have right now, but if Nonna could just answer …
A long silence in which he pictured her struggling for words, then she ground out, “Bu-ry Nonno.”
“Okay.” He swallowed. He had way too much to worry about as it was. “I love you.”
He hung up and looked at Rese. He must have left the phone on the desk when he had processed reservations.
Her gaze went from the hole in the floor to the things laid out on the table. “What’s all this?”
He would have known how to say it when he got back. He’d have found a way to keep from sounding like a liar.
“Lance?”
“My family’s things.”
“Your family.” She looked from him to the hatch in obvious disconnect.
“This property was my grandmother’s.” He didn’t say “is”, but she looked back at the deed lying on the table, picked up the letter beside it.
“Rese…” He took the letter before she could get too far.
“Evvy? That letter’s to Evvy.”
“It was from Ralph. He was holding the deed in trust for my grandmother Antonia. He gave it over to Evvy to do the same. She gave it to me last night.” And now it sounded like they were all in cahoots.
“The deed to this property?”
He nodded. “I came here looking for answers. These are the pieces I found.”
She stared into his face. “You came here … you knew this when you took the job?”
“I guessed. Then when I found the first things I knew.” He could see the anger rising in her. “I was going to tell you.”
Her eyes were shards. “When?”
“When I had it figured out.”
She expelled a hard breath. “Oh, you had it figured out. Kiss up to the stupid woman, make her think…”
“It’s not like that.”
“Right from the start.” She pressed her palm to her forehead. “All along.” She turned and stared at the hatch. “What’s down there?”
Numerous answers clogged his throat. At last he said, “My great-greatgrandfather.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” She blazed him. “You made up that tomb story to keep me from looking, to scare me away from the stone blocks.”
“I did. But it really is a tomb. Don’t go down there until I can get him buried.”
“You lied to my face.” She shook her head. “Just like everyone else.”
“Rese, listen.”
“Get off my property.”
“Please.” He reached for her elbow, but she jerked it away.
“Take what you think is yours and get out. You have half an hour before I call the police.” She shook with the words, stared one moment into his face, then stalked out.
He closed his eyes, hurt welling up like tar. But it was her hurt. She’d shown anger, but the pain beneath it had all but strangled him.
Rese closed herself into her room and locked the door. She felt stiff all over, as though she’d turned to wood. Her arms didn’t feel like her own. Her mouth was dry. She went to the bathroom and took a drink without looking in the mirror. She couldn’t bear to see herself.
Right from the start. He had come with a purpose that had nothing to do with cooking for her little establishment. He’d convinced her to hire him on, to make him her partner and more. That morning’s kiss still warmed her lips, but now they turned to wax.
She stalked from the bathroom to the office. He was on her Web site; he was in her files. He was all over her kitchen and the carriage house. She went into her bedroom. Even there, in the chair in the corner. His music was in her ears, his features behind her eyes. Not even closing them made him disappear. Only one thing could make him go.
“Rese.” He knocked on her door, but she didn’t answer.
“Rese, let me talk to you.” His voice was thick.
She didn’t respond.
“Please.”
She closed her eyes. In a minute he’d go away. In a minute it would all go away. She knew the place. She’d found it when Dad died. She could do it again. So quiet. So still. She sat on the bed wanting to disappear, to let everything disappear.
But she felt the presence, the Lord, blocking her way. She didn’t want to recognize it. That was connected to Lance now, and she wanted no part of it.
Let me go.
But a word came as clear as her own thoughts. Never.
It hurts.
I feel it.
She knew that was true, though she didn’t know how. He lied.
Nothing.
I hate him.
Wells of sorrow. Betrayal. Jesus knew betrayal by the one He loved. Jesus knew the hurt, the despair that coursed through her. He wouldn’t let her hide, but He’d be there with her. If she let Him.
“Rese.”
She nev
er wanted to hear that voice again, never see those eyes, feel that touch, any touch. It hurt too much. She couldn’t hide, couldn’t escape it. She had told him everything, and all the time he was using her. A small part of her mind wondered why he hadn’t slept with her.
Pain. Betrayal. Let me hide.
Peace.
She didn’t want peace. Rage was better. Rage was stronger. Strong and hard. Rock. She was rock. Lance could dash himself against her. She wouldn’t break. She would never break again.
Lance leaned his head against the door. He hadn’t imagined it would blow up this badly. He could have lied, told her they were things he found in the cellar. There was nothing identifiably connected to him. But looking into her face, he’d given her the truth, and now look where he was.
He pressed his hand to his face. Lord. Silence. He’d convinced himself it would all turn out, that he could make it right. Chaz had urged him to tell her; they all had. And he did tell her—too late. He knew how stubborn she could be. She would not listen, not now, not like this.
But it scared him to think how she’d deal with it. He left her door and found the others in the attic. Star and Rico were harmonizing. Chaz played a flute accompaniment. Lance stood there until they noticed, the notes dwindling to a stop. “She knows.”
“Oh, man,” Rico breathed.
“I have to leave before she calls the cops, but I’d rather she wasn’t alone. If she’ll let you, can you stay a few days and give me time to figure things out?”
Star stood up. “She fired you?”
“I guess you’d say that.” But it was far more than a job he’d lost. He looked at Rico, surprised he hadn’t jumped on this chance to drag him back into the band. But then he realized Star had been singing his lead.
Rico said, “Sure, we’ll hang.”
Lance turned to Chaz. “You were right.”
Chaz nodded. Nothing more to say.
Lance turned and went down the stairs. As he reached the carriage house, Baxter raised his head with a sorrowful mien. How could the dog know their time there was over? Or his at least…. No. But Rese loved Baxter.
Lance squatted down and fondled his dog’s head. He couldn’t leave him. They’d been through too much together. But he thought of all the time Rese spent just sitting with the dog. Lance pressed his forehead to Baxter’s. “I’ve got to go.” Alone? He didn’t have to decide this minute.
He went inside. Star’s painting met his eye. That would have to stay on the wall, and Vito’s portrait too. Rese had called the bed and wardrobe his, but he knew better. He could fit his clothes and the briefcase in his pack, the travel guitar in its sleeve, and the things he’d found for Nonna in the bike’s compartments.
He could not carry the money or the wine. But he could claim it. “Take what you think is yours and get out.” Rese could have ordered him off with nothing, but she was giving him what he came for, what he’d thought he wanted. His chest seized up.
Was she crying? Or sitting there like stone. Did she have the strength for one more betrayal? He hadn’t meant to, not once he knew her. He’d meant to make it right, but how could he when he had started it all wrong? It hurt to think how wrong.
He wanted to hit the road, put as many miles between them as the continent allowed. Going home would do that. But he had to get Nonno Quillan buried. He’d have to convince Rese to let him. But even if she let him bury Quillan, he could never bury the hurt he’d caused her. She wouldn’t forgive him. How could she?
Of all the people who’d hurt her, he ranked right at the top. He hadn’t poisoned her, but this would kill her inside. She had opened up and trusted him. He castigated himself. But there was nothing he could do. He closed his eyes. Maybe there was one thing. He could turn her over to the Lord. If she was in God’s hands, not even Lance Michelli could mess that up.
He drew a haggard breath, packed all his belongings, then told Baxter to stay and got onto his bike. He drove to the plaza, took a tiny room in the Swiss Hotel, where the ceiling was cracking and needed repair. He worked a deal to do the repairs and stay until he finished his other business. Stooping under the slanted roof, he dumped his pack on the bed and took out his guitar. He sat on the edge and played the song he’d sung for Rese that night in his room. The song of his life.
On the brink alone he stands with quick and eager feet.
Jump across and run, boy, don’t worry what you’ll meet.
For in the days before you, life will intervene
With all the things you yearn to see and all that you have seen….
Don’t close your eyes and wonder what lies across the gap;
There is no road before you; you cannot find the map.
For with your heart you forge a way that angels fear to tread,
And gather up your troubles for the day when you are dead,
And gather up your troubles for the day when you are dead….
Run, boy, run. Run with all your might.
The sunrise burns before you, and on your heels the night.
And if the darkness lingers long, you’ll lose your soul’s own song;
Yes, if the darkness lingers, you’ll lose your own soul’s song.
CHAPTER THIRTY - NINE
Star looked from Rico to Chaz. “This is bad, isn’t it.”
Rico blew a breath between his lips. “It ain’t good.”
Chaz laid the flute across his knees. “His heart is good. But he doesn’t think. Like Peter, putting on his clothes to jump into the water.”
Star frowned. “Huh?”
“From the Bible. When the apostles saw Jesus on the shore from their fishing boat, Peter put on his clothes to jump in and swim. Coming from an island, that seems backwards to me. But Peter was passionate. Like Lance.”
Lance was passionate. Knockdown attractive, warm, expressive. He’d be wonderful on the stage. She’d play beside him in a heartbeat. She would have done a lot of things beside him if it weren’t for Rese. Even that had gotten sticky. For her—not Lance. He cared about Rese.
But she knew Rese, the immovable object. She would use this like a fresh coat of concrete, cement herself in and not look back. Star’s breath caught as Rico came over and took her hands. Without Lance, they had no restrictions. She’d give herself to Rico, but…
“Lance is worried about Rese. Maybe you should—”
“She doesn’t need me. She never has.”
Rico’s features were sharp and mysterious, his stature perfect. She would lose herself in him, cease to exist altogether. What could be better? No more Star; no more pitiful Star.
“Have you tried?” His voice was velvety soft, but what was he talking about? She’d almost been there, total annihilation.
“Tried what?” She’d do anything for him. The more she did, the less she was.
“To help Rese.”
Help Rese? How could she possibly help her? Rese was her rock in the storm. She’d always been the strong one. Help Rese? With what? “ ‘Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear; or like a fairy, trip upon the green; or like a nymph, with long disheveled hair, dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen.’ But more than that I cannot do. I can’t.”
She pulled away from his gaze, turned and rushed down the stairs to her room. The thought of reaching out to Rese strangled her more surely than Maury’s hands. Here I am, Rese. Here I am to comfort you. Lay your head in my lap and let me brush your hair. How the gods would laugh! Look at her, poor Echo, trying to be seen.
“I am wind; I am sunshine. I am … nothing. Nothing.”
She gripped her hair and rocked.
Anger sustaining her, Rese stood up from the bed. She glanced at her clock. Almost an hour since she’d brought him his phone. If he wasn’t gone, she’d get the police. He knew what that looked like.
She jerked open the door and stalked to the carriage house, but faltered when Baxter jumped up, whining, and licked her hand. She had thought Lance would be gone, that he wouldn’t force her to
evict him. She spun, but his bike was gone, her helmet lying beside the shed.
It didn’t connect. He’d left Baxter? She dropped down beside the dog, wrapping him in her arms. “What are you doing here, boy?” Baxter whined, and a more plaintive reply she couldn’t imagine. Had Lance deserted him?
Maybe it wasn’t even his dog; maybe he’d used the animal to get to her. No. She’d seen the love between them. She pressed up and went into the carriage house, Baxter trailing behind. Nothing was gone except his clothes and guitar and the things from the table—including a deed to the property.
Would he fight her in court, try to take it away? Rese sagged. What difference did it make? She couldn’t run it without him. But then she stiffened. She would not be lied to and seduced into giving up this place. She didn’t need him or anyone else. She turned and stared at the floor. Only when she got down and looked did she find the edge of the hatch.
She had put that tomb business out of her mind, trusted Lance to close it up. She reached down now and pressed the release, then pulled up the hatch to find stairs going down. Lies. All lies. What was down there that he wanted to keep so secret he even lied today?
The flashlight stood on the floor where he’d set it. She turned it on and shined it into the hole. Just a cellar most likely, as she’d guessed before he dissuaded her with his tomb talk. She started down.
The beam from the flashlight illuminated no more than eight feet ahead, and this was just the sort of dark, closed-in space she hated. But she raised her chin. If Lance could do it, she could. Compulsively competitive? You bet.
It wasn’t a cellar. She gaped down the tunnel, trying to make out an end, but the light didn’t extend far enough. A mouse skittered past and she shrieked. The way it darted out with no warning…. She hated things she couldn’t see coming.
Pain tried to break through, but she pressed it down. Allowing it had made her weak, blind, stupid. Lance said she couldn’t handle things alone, but he was wrong. She could and she would. And now the anger came back to strengthen her. Secondary emotion? Primary defense. She would not forget that again.
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