Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics (22 page)

“Millie, can you help me here?” Renee asked, turning out the dough he had mixed, which they would roll around the little Wild Boar sausages.

Millie quickly washed and dried her hands eager to help roll out the dough and encase the sausages. “Are you sure all these will reheat without losing their freshness?”

“We’re not even going to bake these until just before serving so they’ll be fine. And I’ve used the crispy fried polenta before, so I know it reheats easily. The grilled eggplant and sweet peppers stay at room temperature marinating in garlic and oil, so we don’t have to worry about those. We made good choices here.”

“Those look good enough to eat already, Millie.” George smacked his lips. “We’re doing very well, right on schedule. I’m just about to grill the vegetables. Randy is almost ready to sauté the mushroom medley. Renee, when you finish here do you want to help him? Where’s LiAnn?”

He looked around. “Oh, there she is, slicing the chilled polenta. Millie perhaps you can help her finish up there?”

Millie and Renee nodded. George was playing head chef for them today. It was his turn. They needed a leader so one of them played that role at each of their activities to make sure everything got done efficiently. They covered the pans of sausage rolls and Renee carried them into the big walk-in refrigerator to keep until the kitchen staff would put them in the oven to bake before serving tonight.

Millie joined LiAnn. “Should I start frying these, LiAnn?” she offered.

“No, I’m going to fry them,” was her abrupt reply. She must have realized how she sounded because she said in a more normal tone, “Please, if you could finish slicing these, I’m just about ready to start.” She indicated with her head the large deep pan of oil heating on the back burner of the stove.

“Of course.” Millie stepped up to the table, anxious not to upset LiAnn again. She looked carefully at the rectangles LiAnn had cut, making sure she duplicated her efforts.

“Stop!”

Millie paused, her knife in mid-cut, thinking someone was talking to her.

“Wait, don’t do that.” George actually grabbed LiAnn and pulled her away from the stove.

“Take your hands off of me.” The fury in LiAnn’s voice was startling. Everyone turned toward her, but George didn’t let go.

“The oil is too hot. Can’t you see the smoke? If you put the polenta in now it would sputter and pop and most likely bubble over. It would be very dangerous. We could have a bad grease fire. You might even have been burned.”

LiAnn stopped struggling. She looked at George, her gaze inscrutable.

Randy stepped around George and took a towel which he wadded up and used to hold the handle of the pan as he carefully moved it to another burner, one that was not lit.

Renee looked at the flame which had been on under the pan. “My God, who turned the flame up so high? George is right! The polenta contains a lot of moisture which makes it bubble and spit. LiAnn, if you put it in oil that hot, for sure it would have bubbled over. The oil could have even ignited if it reached the coals in the grill.” He pointed to the charcoal grill next to the burner where the pan had been heating.

Luckily George had been standing there grilling the eggplant and peppers and noticed how hot the oil had become. “George probably saved you from a nasty burn.”

LiAnn nodded her head and stepped back from George. “Thank you, George. But who turned up the gas? I set it on low, and I checked the temperature with the thermometer just a short time ago. It was 350º. That is the correct temperature, is it not?”

“Well, it’s not 350º now, and it’s been off the flame for a minute or more.” Randy looked at the thermometer in his hand. “It would have been very dangerous. When it cools down we’ll light the burner once more and carefully monitor it. Then we can finish the polenta.”

LiAnn nodded her head meekly, moving over to help Millie finish cutting the polenta.

Millie thought LiAnn had turned the flame too high herself, even though she wouldn’t admit it. It was probably just a senior moment; one more example of LiAnn’s day going amok.

They finished their chores in the kitchen without further incident. LiAnn had declined to fry the polenta, obviously still shocked at her close brush with disaster. So George good-naturedly finished up with Randy’s help.

When Wanda came to check on their progress they showed her the prepared food and handed her the written instructions for the final preparation to pass on to the Villa’s kitchen staff. They were all pretty pleased with the results of their morning by the time they joined the others for lunch. They were looking forward to the afternoon when they would visit the Villa’s wine cellars and select the wines that would be served tonight.

“Hi Mom. Sorry I missed you again, but I guess you’re pretty busy. I hope you’re having fun.

“I’m back in Florence, but checking out in a little bit and will be off to Venice. I’m looking forward to it. I loved my little sojourn to the hill towns. I’m so sorry about the bomb in Florence, but it resulted in a nice change of schedule for me. I visited Sienna and then the Cinque Terre. They were both beautiful and if you ever come back you need to include them on your itinerary.

“I won’t call you again unless I have a change of plans. Otherwise, I’ll meet you at the train station in Venice. Look for me near the Travelers’ Information sign. I can’t wait to see you and hear all about the Retreat.

“Tell Ruth hi for me, and I’ll see you Wednesday.”

Venice’s Santa Lucia Station looked like all the others Claire had seen on this trip. She followed Emily and Kristen’s instructions and made her first stop the Traveler’s Information desk.

The clerk’s English was good. The words he used were correct even though his accent was confusing. However, he was sincere in his efforts to make her understand. So she left the train station fairly confident she could find her way to Alloggi Riva, the small hotel where they had reserved a room. The first hurdle was getting on the vaporetti number 82 with her wheelie bag. The vaporetti was a boat and, like all boats, it dipped and swayed as people got on and off. And while the wheelie bag was compact and much easier to wheel rather than carry, certain activities such as lifting it into the overhead bin in the train and now getting it from the dock into the body of the vaporetti made Claire wish she had packed lighter.

A kind man reached out and pulled the bag on board. Claire smiled her thanks murmuring “Grazie.” Abruptly the boat moved away from the dock and Claire clutched a rail to keep from falling. Suddenly she realized she was in Venice. The little boat chugged from one stop to another, sometimes stopping on one side of the wide canal, sometimes across the canal on the other side. People got on and off with a casual skill that Claire envied. She didn’t take a seat when they became available preferring to stand next to her bag, so she would be better prepared to disembark when they arrived at her stop.

And when they finally reached her stop, she almost missed it because she was so busy looking around. When she found herself on the dock she was breathless, but her suitcase was beside her and her backpack hanging securely on her back.

It was late afternoon and the sun was beating directly overhead. She felt terribly thirsty and wondered if she had time for a drink at one of the inviting sidewalk cafes lining the waterfront. She glanced at her watch and decided she would make time. She was on vacation and besides Emily had called the hotel to ascertain they would hold the triple room until she arrived.

She took a seat at a table at the outside edge of the group of tables where she could keep her suitcase next to her out of everyone’s way. She had drunk almost half of the frosty orange juice she ordered before she noticed a huge ocean liner was docked down the wharf to her left. No wonder there were so many tourists here. She had heard cruising was a wonderful experience, but had never had the pleasure. Well, she thought, Some time, perhaps. Actually, with her urging, her mother had signed up for a cruise to Alaska with her church group. Unfortunately, that cruise was scheduled for the same time as the Culinary Retreat, so the church ladies were onboard but Millie had to change her booking to a September cruise. Claire shrugged, feeling no remorse for her role in her mother’s aborted cruise. The Culinary Retreat was too good an opportunity to pass up. And, as Millie was retired now, two trips in her first year would be good for what ails her, and if nothing ails her, they would still be good for her.

She carefully checked her map and then bravely started out once more in search of her hotel. She followed the signs for Rialto Bridge, frequently crossing canals, lifting her bag up the stairs and then hauling it down the other side. She was grateful she had the foresight to stop for a drink, because it seemed a long time before she located the hotel. In fact, she suspected she might have been traveling in circles because all of the bridges were starting to look familiar.

Alloggi Riva was a small place, recommended by Marianne Peabody. She said it was centrally located, comfortable and very clean. And the lobby created a good first impression with open windows looking right onto the canal flowing beside it. Senora Sorenson was very welcoming and her English, while basic, was good enough to explain that the nun sitting with her was Sister Marie Terese, her sister as well as a nun. There had been a death in the family, so Sister Marie Terese was on bereavement leave. Sister Marie Terese had no English but she was trying to learn. She smiled cordially at Claire.

Senora Sorenson bobbed her head at Claire’s attempt to express her sympathy. “No, no. We do not grieve. What is death but a part of living? Our aunt led a long and fruitful life. We will miss her, but we have been blessed with her presence for many years.”

Claire nodded, thinking it a very healthy way of regarding the death of a loved one.

Despite the twenty or so years Senora Sorenson had on Claire, she picked up the wheelie bag as if it weighed nothing and led Claire up the steep stairs. Claire was embarrassed by her shortness of breath by the time they reached the top, because it didn’t seem to bother Senora Sorenson at all. But when she pushed open the door and Claire stepped into the room, she forgot about the stairs. The large room was sparsely furnished with three beds, two chairs, a small writing table and large corner windows which overlooked the meeting of two canals. The pleasant room was cheerful and airy. As she watched, a gondola and a barge loaded with boxes came to the corner from opposite directions. The barge tooted a horn and the gondola gave way. It was a wonderful view.

Senora pointed out the features of the room and then left Claire to get settled. She promptly pulled one of the chairs to the window and sat down to watch the action for a while, thrilled that Venice was every bit as good, if not better than she imagined.

“What do you mean? Tell him to send someone else, someone with some guts. How hard can it be to take care of her? I can’t believe she’s still there.

“The trial starts in less than sixty days. Sixty! I need to know they won’t have any witnesses to testify against me.” His voice changed from bullying to pleading. “Pop, why can’t you send one of your own guys? Then we’d know it was done right.”

“Don’t worry, Sonny. I’ll take care of it. I took care of the others, didn’t I? You keep calm, stay out of trouble and you’ll soon be free. Trust me.”

Sonny nodded. “Pop, I know you’re gonna take care of it, but this place is driving me crazy. I gotta get out of here. I’ve been here too long. I know, I know I hadda stay put while you took care of all the witnesses. But now I’m going bonkers; now I just want out. Please, just get rid of her for me.” He didn’t realize his voice had slipped into the whinny pleading tone he had used to get his way since he was a kid.

He hung up the pay phone slowly. He ignored the others in line, who had been waiting patiently for their turn, concerned only with his needs. He was confident no one would object; they all knew what happened to anyone who crossed him. Three thugs with strong ties to his father were in here with him. They saw to it that Sonny was protected. They made sure he continued to be pampered in the way he had always been, albeit in a more confined manner.

Sonny turned away and headed for the exercise yard still thinking about the trial looming on his horizon and how the incompetent Italians had botched the simple task of eliminating the last witness.

He had been here way too long. They had arrested him more than a year ago. This facility was never meant for long term incarceration. Almost everyone here was waiting for trial, so there was a sense of anxiety amongst the residents as they worked out their strategy while fitting into the daily routine. When he was first sent here and his lawyers had begun a constant stream of actions and motions intended to delay his trial, specifically to give his father time to make sure that all damaging witnesses had been removed, he was willing to be patient. And they thought they had been successful, and so the trial date had been set and he began to look forward to his freedom once again. Then they learned about the secret witness who had been closeted away.

Sonny reached into his pocket for a cigarette, pausing in the lee of the building to protect the match flame while he lit up. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke drift lazily out his nostrils while he looked around for his guys. He didn’t see them in the corner of the exercise yard they had claimed as their own. He moved forward, wondering where they were.

The secret witness had been a nasty surprise. Suddenly it didn’t look as if beating this rap was a sure thing.

Kristen, he remembered, was a babe. And he recalled how well she danced. He had been putting the moves on her since he first saw her. Now he admitted grimly she was hot, but she certainly wasn’t worth the chance he would fry. No babe was.