Italy to Die For (14 page)

“I don’t suppose you have some raw beef,” Margo said.

“Regretfully, no; however, I can fashion a cold pack that should reduce the swelling.”

“You have ice?” she asked.

“Enough for my needs, signorina, and for anyone I might invite to be my guest.”

Keep it up, I
thought, and by morning he’ll find other accommodations for Margo. One could only hope. As for morning, it was only a few hours away.

Margo’s
lip started to quiver. “My apologies, Lorenzo … and please, I insist you call me Margo.”

“And I apologize for my
unintentional rudeness, signorina. We are all tired.”

Lor
enzo opened his fridge’s tiny freezer and emptied its entire supply of ice cubes into a plastic bag, creating a pack no bigger than my fist. He wrapped the pack in a linen towel and would’ve delivered it to Margo had I not intervened.

“Here,” I
said, transferring the pack from his hand to hers. “Hold it below your eye until you feel the area going numb.”

“Thanks, El,” Margo said with a wink. “And thank you, Lorenzo. Ellen told me what a gracious host you’ve been, and now I understand why. I will never forget your kindness. Nor will my sister.”

“It has been my pleasure,” he said. “Elena is a marvelous guest.”

“Elena?
” She raised her brow to me. “How charming in the Italian way and much better than just plain Ellen. Right, El?”

“If you say so,” I said. “N
ow what can we do to improve on the name Margo?

“I’m sure y
ou’ll think of something.” She held her fingers to her lips and spoke through a stifled yawn. “Please don’t think about calling the commissioner again.”

“First
thing in the morning,” I said. “As for tonight, I am going to bed.”

“Wait for me.” Margo pushed
herself up from the sofa, and said, “Buona notte, dearest Lorenzo.”

“And a good night to both of you,” he replied.

***

Margo
fell asleep right away and regardless of the sleeping beauty she envisioned herself to be, gave way to a slack mouth emitting a series of most unbecoming intermittent sounds. I pictured them equal to those of a locomotive trying to pick up speed as it approached a piggy straddling railroad tracks, snorting for a few morsels thrown from the galley of an earlier train. For the time it took me to recall my promise to be nicer, I persevered, poking Margo only three or four times. After the fifth I gave up and returned to the living room, along with the soft down pillow I’d grown accustomed to after nights of uninterrupted rest, not counting my time with Lorenzo who’d brought a whole new meaning to the joy of being
interrupted
.

Having made
myself comfortable on the sofa, I did not find the sleep I had every right to expect. Instead my mind kept returning to Margo’s assault, the bent figure hurrying down the alley. There was no doubt as to the gender being male. Had he straightened up, he might’ve stood as tall as Lorenzo. Or not, I didn’t know for sure. The voice, what little I’d heard from a distance, was indiscernible, especially since it projected considerable pain, the acute type that usually passed after a short period. Time enough for a man who knew his way around to resume normal activities, without attracting undue attention.

Whatever concerns I may have had ended when I
heard Lorenzo whisper my name. He knelt beside the sofa, kissed my shoulder and from there moved to my ear.

“
I could not stop thinking about you,” he said. “Will you come to bed with me?”

How could I refuse, especially a
fter the many places he’d taken me the night before.

Chapter 22

Dan
te Novaro and Nicco Rizzi

Morning came too soon but it didn’t stop me from feeling like a princess lying beside my Prince Charming. How romantic, Lorenzo almost looked handsome without the distracting eye glasses. Younger too or maybe it was me and how I viewed him in a sleeping mode. For a brief moment I considered taking the lead he’d encouraged me to try during our adventurous night. But after a quick glance at the clock I hopped out of bed, picked up my clothes and hurried to the room I was supposed to be sharing with Margo. She was already dressed and leaning into the dresser mirror, inspecting bruises so miniscule they required a magnifying glass.

“Well, it’s about time,”
she said, “although he wouldn’t have been my choice.”

“This isn’t about you,” I snappe
d back, having already disregarded my promise about being nicer. A promise easily broken with her watching my reflection in the mirror as I gathered the clothes I planned on wearing that day.

“He seems kind of
anal retentive … but then so are—”

“
Not another word from you,” I said on my way to the bathroom.

***

Commissario Dante Novaro arrived promptly at nine along with a thirty-something assistant he introduced as Nicco Rizzi. As with the commissioner, Nicco Rizzi wore business attire in the Italian style but his tapered suit had a better fit than that of his superior. When it comes to clothes or lack thereof, forty extra pounds does make a world of difference. As did the naked ring finger on Nicco’s hand that Margo kept eyeing, along with his dark, wavy hair and museum-quality profile. He was taller than most Italians, but not as tall as Lorenzo, and carried a phone more sophisticated than the model Margo had already taken charge of, again. No surprises there. Nicco started taking notes on his phone as soon as she opened her mouth.

Lorenzo
, who had reverted from Prince Charming to charming host, produced a polished wood tray containing five espressos, so strong they almost walked on their own. Although I nearly choked on mine, Margo raved about the excellent quality of the brew, a special blend according to Lorenzo. With hospitality out of the way, the commissioner got around to the purpose of his visit. It didn’t take much urging on his part for Margo to repeat her account of the assault, a dramatization so believable I found myself confirming each detail with an enthusiastic nod, which caught the attention of Nicco. After that he addressed me in English far better than my fractured Italian.

“Is there anything you wish
to add, Signorina Savino?” Nicco asked.

“Only that my sister and I will
do whatever we can to help locate the killer.”

“Assailant,” C
ommissioner Novaro corrected me. “Until and unless we know otherwise, this was an unfortunate incident, one that should never have occurred here in Monterosso.”

“
Considering how traumatizing the event,” Margo said, “at least we had the good sense to photograph my injuries. That is, El did.”

Nicco
handed me a business card containing his email address. “Please send the pictures to me now. In the meantime I will take my own photographs.” He turned to Margo and all but clicked his heels. “That is, with your permission, signorina.”

Another M
argo
de je vu
, this one involved the detective instead of Lorenzo. Still, the same gentle touch and tilt of her chin with one hand while snapping away with the other.

“About the murders,” I said af
ter dispatching my photos to Nicco. “Is there anything you can tell us?”

“Only that neither of you should
be overly concerned,” the commissioner replied. “Nor should you venture out alone, especially after dark.”

“What about the scene of the crime?” Margo asked.

“But of course,” he said, taking this as his cue to stand. “We would like for you to walk us through the details again, this time at the crime scene. Now, if it is convenient for you and your sister.”

“Absolutely,
” Margo said. “Let’s get this over with.”

At lea
st Margo and I agreed on neither of us wanting to waste the entire day repeating what had already been said.

And yet,
as soon as we five trooped down the stairs, the morning kept slipping away. Back and forth between the street and in the alley Commissioner Dante alternated his questioning between Margo and me. Again and again, each time changing those questions ever so slightly while Nicco continued taking notes.

“And why were you alo
ne in the alley,” the commissioner asked Margo.

“As
I told you before: I may’ve consumedF a bit too much wine.”

“You said grappa.”

“Yes, grappa, isn’t that wine? They both come from grapes, right?

“Please continue.”

“I forgot the question.”

“The
alley, Margo,” I said, having had about all I could take. “Why were you alone in the alley?”

“Oh, yes, the alley … h
ow can I put this delicately? My stomach was behaving so badly I felt the need to empty its contents before going upstairs to Lorenzo’s apartment.”

“Where y
ou were an invited guest,” the commissioner said.

“
Well … yes and no.”

“Please be more specific,
signorina.”

Margo looked at Lorenzo, as did the rest of us.

“Signorina Savino?” the commissioner asked.

“Are
you asking me?” I knew he meant Margo. She, however, seemed off in another world of uncertainty.

After a
n awkward pause Lorenzo spoke up. “Let me answer that, Dante. Although I had not personally invited the signorina, I’d made it clear to Signorina Elena Savino that her sister would be most welcome.”

“Excuse me, Signorina … Margo
Savino,” Nicco said. “About the taxi driver—”

“Please, no need to be so formal. Just
call me Margo.”

“And me, Ellen.”

“Or, Elena,” Margo said with a glance at Lorenzo. “She answers to both.”

“I see, thank you.” Whatever Nicco may’ve been thinking didn’t change the expression on his face. “
Now, about the driver, do you remember his name, the number on his cab?”

“Good grief, who remembers such details? Certainly not me,” Margo said. “El, help me out here.”

Really, as if I’d cared then or now. Before I could provide an answer more polite than my thoughts, Commissioner Novaro’s phone rang. He excused himself and walked away to answer it. Meanwhile Margo started in on Nicco Rizzi, asking for suggestions as to where we should eat and where we might go, as if he were the local tour guide. Not that he gave her much encouragement in the short time it took before the commissioner came back to us, make that to Nicco since they stepped aside for a brief conversation before resuming what seemed more like an interrogation than an investigation.

“Regarding the recent theft of your wallet, Signorina Ellen,”
the commissioner said. “We may have some evidence crucial to the investigation. I regret any further inconvenience but will you please accompany us to the station.”

Margo grabbed my arm, better yet
my attention. “El, what theft, what’s he talking about?”

“Nothing really, except when I fell on the boat
, the woman on top of me must’ve picked my pocket … more like the wallet from my handbag.”

“And you didn’t think it important enough to tell me?”
She released her grip on my arm, a good thing since a grip that tight had started to cut off the circulation.

“I must’ve forgotten, what with all that’s happened since then.”

“
Signorini
, please,” Nicco said. “The two of you can discuss this later, after we finish our business at the station.”

“If you like, I will also go,” Lorenzo said.
“That is with your permission, Dante.”

“You have only but to ask
, my friend,” the commissioner said.

Lorenzo,
he’d stayed in the background for so long I’d almost forgotten he was still with us.

***

The commissioner’s sedan was dark blue, set off by a red stripe along the side and a white roof, roomy enough to accommodate the five of us although Lorenzo had no choice but to climb into the back seat. With Margo and me to his left, he sat with his knees squeezed into his chest and brushing against his chin. Considering the short distance we drove, he could’ve walked to the station; but having him seated next to me did provide a measure of security I needed more than anything else. As for Margo, she scooted forward, an ideal position to breathe down Nicco’s neck although he didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, was professional enough to ignore the gesture. Which was just as well since he was behind the wheel and driving through part of the crowded tourist area limited to service and emergency vehicles. Nice, we’d worked our way into the upper echelon of transportation, but for reasons I’d not thought possible until last night.

“Where did you find my wallet?”
I directed my question to the front seat, not caring whether the answer came from Commissioner Novaro or his hunky assistant.

“All in good time,” the commissio
ner said without turning around. End of vehicular communication, even from Margo who rarely ran out of meaningless chitchat.

As soon
as we arrived at our destination, Nicco parked in the space reserved for the police commissioner. We entered the station and from there followed Commissioner Dante into a private room where he motioned for me to take a seat, along with Margo and Lorenzo, around an oblong table, its feet planted so firmly on the floor it didn’t move to accommodate us. Somewhere along the way we’d lost Nicco. More like he’d taken a detour, perhaps to the men’s room. I could’ve used a potty break myself but figured we’d get this crime business out of the way before my creature comforts.

“Forgive me for not going into more
detail before,” Commissioner Dante said to me rather than to Margo. “But I did not wish to upset you or your sister. It seems a wallet containing several hundred euros has turned up, a discovery my investigators only brought to my attention this morning.”

“Which explai
ns the investigation of my assault getting short-changed,” Margo said.

Margo, ever the narcissistic, it
was enough to make me slap some humility into her, though only in my mind, another reminder about not being so hard on my almost murdered sister. I was, however, prepared to jam my heel into her foot but soon got sidetracked when Nicco showed up with a brown manila envelope dangling from one hand.

“About y
our wallet, Signorina Ellen,” he said. “Could you please describe it?”

“Brown leather,
as I told you before. Cheap by Italian standards but I got a terrific deal on it in the States … an outlet mall … never mind. Oh, I almost forgot. It contained a St. Christopher’s medal … for travelers, even though the Church no longer recognizes … never mind again. Also a special charm for avoiding the Evil Eye, which my mother insisted I take. It was her mother’s and before that, her mother’s mother. Although I’d never encountered the Evil Eye, or what I believe to be the Evil Eye until a few days ago at the Autogrille.”

“Whatever possessed you to bring
that silly charm,” Margo said. “I thought you had better sense.”

“
Who knew where the Evil Eye might be lurking, especially here in Italy where I’d already had my fill of smarmy gypsies and … and ….”

“El … El,
” Margo said. “Are you okay?”

“A little rattled but who isn’t.”

“This
malocchio
, you didn’t mention it before,” the commissioner said.

“
I didn’t make a connection right away.” I told him about the incident at the Autogrille, the gypsy with the mismatched eyes, the Good Samaritan. I even demonstrated how he pointed his pinky and forefinger toward the ground.

“One brown eye and one blue,
how weird was that,” Margo said. “I’d’ve gotten tinted contact lenses to match but that’s just me.”

I gave Margo my own version of the Evil Eye. She got the message.

“
Sorry, El, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Anyway,
I ran into this same Autogrille gypsy in Monterosso, dressed like your everyday-run-of-the-mill tourist.”

“Please,” Nicco said. “No American slang.”

“Er … right. Now where was I. Oh, yeah, I ran into this gypsy dressed like a tourist as was the man with her. He had a front tooth capped in gold. Or, maybe they ran into me. Or, maybe they were following me. They knew about the motorboat incident, that’s for sure. And when they started mocking me, I did the pinkie/forefinger thing, the one pointing down. Not that it bothered either gypsy. They just laughed and walked away.”