Mozzarella Most Murderous (31 page)

“He killed them both—Paolina and Ruggiero. See. He’s in the back seat.”

The general looked into the back seat, then looked again. “What did you do to him?”

“I’m having a baby here,” I said. “I need to lie down. I can’t have a baby sitting up in a convertible, in case you people don’t know that.”

 

Amid all the hubbub,
I suggested to the general that we needed two ambulances. Agent Marsocca made the call on his cell phone and announced that there would be at least a ten-minute wait because all the local ambulances had been called out.

“I don’t have ten minutes,” gasped Bianca, who was panting through a contraction. “For God’s sake, get me upstairs. I don’t want to deliver down here by the road.”

The general took charge, ordering his aides to see that Hank was taken to the hospital when the ambulance arrived and guards put on him while he was there. “What happened to him?” the general asked me.

Meanwhile Lieutenants Buglione and Vacci organized men to carry Bianca to the elevator. I wanted to go with her, but the general wanted an answer, and Bianca couldn’t wait.

“Well,” I began, embarrassed, “He told us you gave us permission to go to Capri. Then he took us to an overlook for a view of the island, pulled a gun on us, and said we either had to jump off the cliff or lie down on the ground so we couldn’t be seen from the road while he threw us off one by one. I lay down directly in front of him, hoping I could do something to save us. Bianca argued because lying down on the ground was almost impossible for her, especially on her stomach, and there was the baby to consider—lying down on rocky ground wouldn’t be good for the baby, and so forth. Anyway, she kept him talking, and I—well, I tied his shoelaces together.”

The general gave me a very peculiar look, which I rather resented. In my position, I doubt that he could have come up with anything better. “It’s not as if I had a weapon or know anything about self-defense,” I said. “I did the best I could under the circumstances.”

“So it would seem,” said the general. “Please go on. I’m most interested to hear what happened next.”

Was he being sarcastic? I hardly thought I deserved that attitude. After all, I’d delivered the murderer to him. “Well, as I said, Bianca kept him talking. She asked questions and complained about his planning to kill the baby and all. He said he killed Paolina because he caught her with Ruggiero’s intercom on. She was taking notes, although he didn’t say about what.”

“He was selling Ruggiero a container in which heroin couldn’t be detected,” said the general. “We got that off my daughter’s tape. Your Hank Girol is Enrico Girolamo. He has Mafia connections in New Jersey, and Ricci was going into a different kind of drug business.”

“I had it right then!” I exclaimed, quite pleased with myself. He could have congratulated me, but he didn’t. Probably jealous that I’d figured it out without the cleaned-up tape. “And then he killed Ruggiero when you showed up because he didn’t want him—Ruggiero—getting arrested and trying for a plea bargain by getting him involved—him being Hank.” The general was frowning. All those masculine pronouns were no doubt confusing him. Although I’d been careful to identify the antecedents. “Anyway, instead of agreeing to lie down or jump, Bianca started toward him, which was very brave of her, and I rolled out of the way. When he tried to grab her, he fell forward because his feet were tied together. He hit his head on a rock and passed out.”

“I can’t tell you how unlikely that story sounds, Signora,” said the general.

“Well, if you don’t believe me, I can take you back to the scene, because his blood is on the rock. He fell quite hard, and he’s probably seriously injured if the time he’s been unconscious is any indication.”

“How long is that?” asked the general.

“I have no idea, but it seemed like hours,” I replied. “While Bianca was on the road getting help, I had to find his gun so he couldn’t wake up and shoot us.” Should I admit that I might have broken Hank’s ribs? I didn’t want to, but the truth is always best, so I added, “You may find that he has broken ribs. I found a tire iron in the trunk, so I used it to turn him over—at least partially—since the gun wasn’t anywhere to be found. I was right, as it turned out. It was under his body, but I did hear a funny sound while I was levering him up with the tire iron. Of course, I didn’t mean to cause him any further injury, but what was I to do? No one wants to risk being shot by a criminal.

“Then Bianca flagged down three men who lifted him into the back seat of the convertible, but driving it was a problem for us. I can’t drive a stick shift, and Bianca, in order to fit her tummy behind the wheel, could only get one foot on a pedal. So she shifted, and I pressed the gas pedal and brake. It was very awkward and uncomfortable, not to mention dangerous. And then, of course, she went into labor, so we had to speed up and pass cars, which was terrifying, and finally it started to rain. Being rained on in an open convertible, whose top refuses to close, is dreadful. We both found it a very stressful trip back to Sorrento, and I hope you’ll explain to hotel management that we didn’t mean to destroy their garden.” I waved at the tipped, cracked pots and the crushed bushes. “They are so picky about ordinary things. Goodness knows what they’ll say about our driving through their landscaping and breaking their pots.”

The general, who had been leaning against the remains of the rental car, watching the removal of Hank from the back seat and listening to me, started to laugh.

“That, Signora, is a story that will live in memory in my department. You’ll have to dictate it for the record, and I may well have the typed testimony framed and hung in my office. Perhaps with suitable drawings.”

“Very funny!” I snapped and walked away without permission. I’m happy to say that he didn’t try to stop me. Perhaps he realized that my duty was now to Bianca—or that laughing at me was not a very tactful thing to do.

 

When I arrived
in the lobby, there was a terrible hullabaloo. Signor Villani was insisting that Bianca be taken back down to await an ambulance. Bianca insisted that she be taken into his office so that she could give birth with some privacy.

“Signora, you cannot have a baby in my office,” cried Signor Villani. “It is not proper. There is no midwife or doctor. I’m sure it is against hotel rules.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Albertine, who was at the desk for whatever reason. “The woman needs to lie down. Do you expect her to give birth on the floor of your lobby? If so, I shall certainly file a complaint with your head office. In Geneva, isn’t it? Here, Madame Blue, give me a hand. We must help her into the office while there is still time.”

So we walked poor Bianca, who seemed to be having one contraction after another, if her moans were any indication, through the door marked “Pietro Villani, Manager.” After all his objections, we discovered that he had not only a sofa, but a chaise longue, of which Bianca said, at the end of a wail, “That one. Get my slacks and panties off.”

“I don’t know how to deliver a baby,” I protested, weak-kneed with fright. “Do you, Madame Guillot?”

“No. But you must call me Albertine, both of you. This is certainly not the most formal of situations. We are three women, pulling together at a time of—”

“Oh, shut up, and call Gracia,” snapped Bianca. “She’ll know what to do. I don’t want to have to direct my own delivery.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “Six sons. She’ll—”

“Now,” ordered Bianca. We had both been trying to relieve her of her lower-body clothing while she thrashed around.

I ran to the telephone, got Jill on the line, thank goodness, and told her that Bianca was giving birth—

“Right now?” gasped Jill.

“Yes, and we need Gracia Sindacco. This very minute.”

Freed of her clothes, Bianca half leaned against the back of the chaise longue, drew up her knees, gave a shriek, and asked if she was crowning. I’m embarrassed to say that I didn’t want to look. My experiences with childbirth had involved numbing shots, giggle gas, and a doctor out of sight behind the draperies. It had been a somewhat distant experience once I was no longer in pain and telling people that I’d changed my mind and didn’t want to have a baby after all. I’m told that is a common reaction, that and shouting curses at one’s husband, which, of course, I’d never do under any circumstances. What a way to welcome a child into the world.

Fortunately, Albertine, who’d never even had a baby, was braver than I and took a peek. “
Oui
, I think that might be a patch of the head showing. Should you be bearing down now?”

“How should I know?” Bianca groaned. “Someone always told me what to do.”

Then, thank goodness, Gracia arrived, took a look, and said, “Why should I help you people, who are responsible for my mistress being arrested?”

“No, no, Gracia,” I cried anxiously. “We’ve cleared her. The general will have to release her immediately because the murderer confessed, and Bianca and I brought him back. He has a serious head injury, I think, but the general knows now that we’re right. So please, please, help Bianca.”

Gracia snorted and began to issue orders, in Italian in a crooning voice to Bianca, in English in a not very friendly tone to us. We heated water in the manager’s coffee pot; we got towels from the manager’s private bathroom and wet washcloths to bathe her face. If Gracia had told me to begin flamenco dancing to entertain the patient, I’d have tried and insisted that Albertine join me.

“A girl,” said Gracia brusquely. “Too bad. A boy is always preferable.” She handed the baby, who was all messy, to me and ordered me to clean it up and return it to Bianca. I was terrified. The child was amazingly teeny considering how huge Bianca had been. What if I injured it? But Gracia gave me a mean look, and I hurried into the bathroom, thinking she could have given Bianca’s newborn daughter to Albertine. My feelings wouldn’t have been hurt.

There was a good-sized, but shallow sink in the bathroom, but the baby was so slippery, not to mention the fact that she was wailing noisily. She probably realized I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t just put her in the sink and turn on the water. What if it came out hot or freezing? I sat down on the toilet lid and shifted her carefully to my shoulder with my hand holding her head and my arm flattened against her little body. Then I rose shakily and used the other hand to run and test the water and stop up the sink, all the time humming in the baby’s ear, which didn’t seem to make her any happier, and thinking that my blouse and maybe even my slacks were never going to be the same.

“Okay,” I said softly, lowered her into the shallow sink, and splashed water over her. She didn’t like that either. Gwen had loved baths, but then she’d been older. A knowledgeable nurse probably administered Gwen’s first bath. Well, this wasn’t working very well. The water was getting all messy. I opened the drain, turned the tap at exactly the place it had been before, and grabbed a wash-cloth. Better. She was still wailing, but I had her pretty well cleaned up. Now for a towel. The bath towels were gone. We’d used them all, so I draped a hand towel on my shoulder, placed the baby there, and draped another hand towel on her back.

Then I took her out to her mother, feeling quite proud of myself.

“Good God, Carolyn, I was afraid you’d drowned her,” said Bianca, who was lying flat and reaching for her baby. “Oh, you sweet, beautiful thing you,” she crooned, bringing the towel bundle down on her chest. The baby immediately stopped crying. Now
that
hurt my feelings.

“We’ll call you Gracia, won’t we?” Bianca beamed at Gracia. A stream of baby talk followed from Bianca while Albertine and I stood around, smiling but useless, and Gracia did midwife-type things. Rubbing Bianca’s stomach and whatnot. Frowning. Why was she frowning? The baby had seemed fine to me. Then Bianca let out a shriek, and the baby started to cry again. You can’t blame her for that. There she was, all clean and warm and cuddled against her mother, and there’s this dreadful shriek.

“I thought so,” said Gracia. “There’s another one coming. How many did your doctor say?”

“One,” said Bianca. She looked pretty disgusted. “Four children? We’ll never live this down. Everyone in the department will be whispering behind our backs. Oh God! Carolyn, take the baby.” Her back arched, and she thrust little Gracia toward me. However, Albertine stepped forward and grabbed the baby.

“Carolyn will need to take care of the new one,” Albertine said, and plopped the shrieking bundle of towels against her shoulder.

“We’re out of towels,” I moaned. “Completely out.”

“Then get some,” said Gracia as she went about delivering a second child.

I ran to the door and called out into the lobby. “We need more towels. Immediately. Lots more.” People started running around. I considered running away but decided that wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do.

“And a blanket and sheets,” Gracia commanded. I relayed that.

Five minutes later Bianca gave birth to a son. In all the excitement, we never even thought to call Lorenzo out of the meeting. Lucky Lorenzo.

 

Once we’d done
all the work, the ambulance arrived. Violetta, with Andrea and Giulia in tow, learned from lobby gossip, in this case Eliza, that Bianca had given birth. Violetta then called Lorenzo out of his meeting, and the whole family trooped after the stretcher carrying Bianca and the two babies. Giulia could be heard thanking her mother, as the family squeezed into the elevator, for having two babies, one for each sibling. She thought her brother might have wanted to share little Gracia if a boy hadn’t arrived for him. “No trouble at all, sweetheart,” said Bianca gaily. Then she called to me before the elevator doors could close.