Pasta Imperfect (24 page)

I found Nana sipping tea at a table by herself as I wended my way back through the room. I pulled out a chair and sat down next to her, noticing that the little white tufts of hair on the top of her head were so tortured and scraggly, she looked like she’d been run over by a power mower. “What are you doing all by yourself this morning?” I asked, trying not to stare.

“George and Osmond are outside takin’ pictures a trash cans. I guess Osmond’s family ran Windsor City Rubbish and Waste before they sold the business. Isn’t that somethin’?”

“So what’s on your agenda today?”

She gave me a hangdog look. “I’m havin’ a real bad hair day today, dear, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a mite grumpy.”

“Your hair?” I gave her the once-over, suppressing a wince. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“Your mother’s wrong with my hair. She left the toilet paper hangin’ in the bathroom when she took her shower last night and soaked the whole roll clean through. I tried pullin’ it apart to help it dry, but it was that cheap one-ply stuff. Shredded like confetti. So I had to sleep bareheaded. Lookit me! This is what happens when you don’t have no cushion for your curls. I coulda used Kleenex, I suppose, but I woulda had to tape too many tissues together to get a continuous wrap. And that woulda been a problem because I didn’t have no Scotch tape. The closest thing I come to tape was Post-it notes.”

“Your hair doesn’t look that bad, Nana,” I lied, fluffing it here and there.

“You’re a wonderful granddaughter, dear, but a bad liar. I look like I been through a car wash without the car.”

I patted her hand. “Well, I have some news that’s going to cheer you up.”

“You’re sendin’ your mother home on the next plane?”

“Almost. I’m going to keep her under my wing today, so you and George can have the day, and your room, all to yourselves.”

“No kiddin’?”

“No kidding.”

She eyed me seriously. “You sure you wanna do this, Emily? It’s your mother, remember. You might not be able to last the whole day.”

“I’ll be okay. I’m tough. But, I have a really big favor to ask. Could you do some research on the Web for me? I’d like to know what kind of link Sylvia Root had with Gabriel Fox other than the obvious agent/editor relationship. She was involved in another line of work before she began agenting. I’d like to know what it was. You might be able to find magazine articles. Interviews. Industry profiles. Anything would be helpful.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, dear. I seen a bunch a cybercafés around. George will remember where they was.”

“And I don’t know how relevant this is, but Gabriel mentioned that Jeannette Bowles was involved in a lawsuit some years ago that hadn’t gone well. Could you look into that? It might have nothing to do with the deaths, but I’m curious.”

“How soon you need the information?”

“As soon as possible?”

She pushed away from the table and stood up. “Hunh. I’m feelin’ less grumpy already. I’ll get right on it. The quicker we get done” — she gave her eyebrows a little waggle — “the sooner we get to come back to the room.” She bowed her head close to mine. “George says he’s got a surprise for me.”

Oh, God. I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Go easy on him today, okay? Replacement caps aren’t cheap, and Medicare doesn’t cover dental.”

“You bet.”

Chirrup chirrup. Chirrup chirrup. Chirrup chirrup.

I pulled my phone from the overflowing disorder in my shoulder bag and pressed it to my ear. “Hello?”

“
Ti amo, bella.
”

Warmth rippled through my body. “I love you, too,” I said breathlessly.

“I have bad news for you, darling. My contact in the department has been called away. Family emergency. So I won’t be able to supply you with any more information until I return to Switzerland. I’m sorry.”

Good thing I’d put Nana on Gabriel’s scent. It always paid to have a reliable backup. “That’s no problem. I’ll manage. But thanks for all your help. I do believe you’ve earned a reward for your efforts.” I spied Duncan in the hall talking to the front desk clerk. “I take requests.”

“An evening alone with you,
bella.
Champagne. Satin sheets. Candlelight. Massage oil.” His voice dipped lower. “My tongue. Your flesh.”

HOOCHIMAMA! “My calendar is open.”

“So was mine until…early this morning. I might as well tell you, Emily. I was going to take the train to Montecatini to surprise you, but the department called about an hour ago to ask my assistance on a jewelry heist that took place last night at the local Bucherer store.”

I remembered Bucherer. Last October I’d bought a watch there that had kept perfect time for all of one hour. “You have to go back to Lucerne?”

“On the evening train. I’m sorry, darling. I was hoping that seeing you again might jog my memory with regard to what I should have done in Ireland, but —”

“But you’re on leave! Can’t someone else handle the jewel heist?”

“It’s my specialty, Emily. They need me. I’ve completed my duty to my family. I’ve had my fill of the casino. I haven’t suffered a headache in almost two weeks.” He paused. “I suspect it may be time for me to get back to work.”

I realized I would have felt less disappointment if I’d never learned he was planning to surprise me. Damn. I heaved a sigh. “I miss you so much.”

“I’m sorry, darling. It won’t always be like this. I promise you.”

But his words felt hollow to me at that moment. I needed more than words. I needed
him.

Surly and frustrated, I shoved my phone back into my bag and headed for the lobby stairs. Duncan was just finishing up his conversation with the desk clerk and flagged me down as I approached him in the hall. “Can you spare me a minute before you head off?”

I stopped and forced a smile to my lips. “A minute is about all I have.”

“About yesterday, Emily, I apologize if I —”

“No, no,
I’m
the one who should apologize — insisting that the police drag you out of bed to deal with Sylvia. If it’s not them, it’s me, right? You probably haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since we’ve been here.”

He favored me with a smile that fit easily on his face. “You can drag me out of bed anytime.”

Oh, no. I wasn’t going there.

“Tell me, Em, how do you remain so calm and collected in the presence of a fresh corpse? Most people completely wig out. What’s your secret?”

“Practice.”

“I’m sorry?”

I shook my head. “I need to meet my mom, Duncan, so I really have to —”

Pulling me close by my shoulder strap, he bent down and kissed my mouth lightly, quickly, like a thief. “I was referring to yesterday afternoon,” he whispered against my lips. “At the café in Pisa. I’m sorry if I seemed too brash, but I need to be honest with you.” And then he kissed me again, deeply, urgently, like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. “I meant every word.”

W
hat’s wrong with you?” Jackie asked outside my room minutes later.

I exhaled a long, exasperated breath. “I’m swearing off men.”

She gave me a narrow look before throwing her arms around me and crushing me to her chest. “You’re switching teams? That is
so
brave. So modern. So…” She stumbled backward and gaped at me, her eyes looking as if they might fly out of her head. “You don’t have your sights set on
me,
do you? Oh, jeez, Emily, I’m really flattered, but, I’m a happily married woman!”

Speechless, I regarded her a full ten seconds before thrusting my room key in the lock and opening the door. “I have
not
switched teams! I like the team I’m on. I’m just…unhappy about the lineup. Too many minor league players wanting to come to the plate.”

“Nice analogy,” she conceded, following behind me into the room. “And you never even played baseball.”

“Can we forget men for the moment and talk about something serious? I think my mom may be in danger.”

“Unh-oh. I saw Mrs. S. at breakfast and she told me about the toilet paper fiasco. Has she threatened to kill your mom? Trust me, once a jury gets a look at your grandmother’s hair, they’ll let her off the hook. It’s a clear case of justifiable homicide.”

“Listen to me, Jack! Of the three people appointed to judge this romance contest, one is dead, one is missing, and one is left. My mom. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?”

She regarded me smugly. “Of course, I know what that means. They’re going to need replacement judges.”

“It means someone might be planning to kill my mother!”

Jackie executed a major eye roll. “Didn’t I just say that? Your
grandmother
wants to kill her, Emily! Do you ever listen to anything I say? This is just like being married to you!”

I sank into the armchair and scrubbed my face with my hands. “I thought I had it all worked out. I thought Gabriel killed Sylvia because of the animosity that existed between them. Some kind of vendetta or something.”

Jackie sucked in her breath. “Vendetta? You think Gabriel is
mafioso
? But he doesn’t look Italian. I would have guessed WASP. Or Canadian.”

“I thought he went missing because the videotapes would prove he pushed Jeannette to her death.”

Another inhalation of breath. “He had a vendetta against Jeannette, too?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You think he killed Cassandra?”

“He might have…but I haven’t figured out why.”

“What happened to murder due to plain, simple greed? Are you letting all the wannabes off the hook?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t figured that out either.”

Jackie flopped onto the bed. “You want to tell me again what part of this you’ve worked out?”

“Hey! This whole thing has gotten very complicated. If someone wants to sabotage the contest by knocking off the judges, why begin by killing two of the contestants? Why not just stick to the judges?”

Jackie shrugged. “Maybe Cassandra and Jeannette were smoke screens. The killer wanted to cover up the real murder, so he started by pulling off a couple of fake ones.”

“They weren’t fake, Jack. Two women died!”

“But someone made them look like accidents, so they could have been fake!”

Groaning, I threw my head back and stared at the yellowed paint on the ceiling. “None of this makes sense. The killer should be targeting either the contestants or the judges. Not both.”

“Maybe the killer doesn’t have the same classification skills you have. Maybe he’s just lumping everyone together in a general pool and picking them off like fish in a barrel.”

Eh!
I hoped that wasn’t the case. But I knew one thing for sure. Whether Gabriel Fox turned out to be perpetrator or victim, I suspected he was the key to this whole mystery, and I wasn’t going to rest easily until someone found him.

“So what’s today’s strategy?”

“Today, we’re searching for Gabriel Fox. Dead or alive.”

Jackie clapped her hands. “A manhunt! A manhunt’s gotta be more exciting than surveillance work. Right?”

“And a little guard duty.”

“Euw, more diversity. I like it. Who are we guarding?”

“Mom.”

“Oh, no!” She catapulted herself to her feet. “You can forget that. No way I’m spending the day with your mother. In case you’re unaware, Emily, SHE DOESN’T LIKE ME.”

“She does so.”

“Does not. Haven’t you ever noticed the way she looks at me — like I’m a hologram she can’t quite get into focus. And the only thing she ever says to me is, ‘What a lovely outfit you’re wearing.’ She doesn’t like me, and don’t you dare suggest she does. It’s taken a while, but I’ve become very sensitive to the vibes other people send my way. WHY DO YOU THINK I’VE HAD ALL THIS DAMN HORMONE THERAPY?”

I heaved myself out of the armchair and stashed some extra film in my shoulder bag. “Mom likes you, Jack. She likes everyone. Plus, she forgives easily, is always kind, and never holds a grudge. Nana thinks she’s an alien.”

Jackie folded her arms stubbornly across her chest. “She doesn’t like me.”

“She does so! Come on. Give her a chance. If you hang out with her a little, I bet you’ll see loads of improvement with her conversation. She’s really quite chatty at home.”

“No.” Jackie shook her head defiantly. “No, no, no.”

“I bet that would be a lovely outfit on you,” Mom commented to Jackie as we stood outside a clothing store not far from the Piazza della Repubblica. Jackie bared her teeth, crossed her eyes, and slashed a finger across her throat at me. I was so proud of her. She and Mom were really starting to bond.

We’d wowed Mom with a visit to the Duomo earlier, then crossed the street to tour the Museo dell’Opera dell Duomo, where we saw Lorenzo Ghiberti’s original baptistry door panels under glass, another Michelangelo
Pietà
that was assumed to be a self-portrait of the sculptor himself, and a dimly lit room that housed the sacred relics of prominent saints in ornately designed reliquaries. Mom really liked that room. She used up a whole roll of film trying to get a good shot of St. Joseph’s finger. She thought the pictures would make a good show-and-tell presentation at one of Nana’s Legion of Mary meetings.

“A million lire,” Mom said as she studied the dress on the headless mannequin in the store window. “How much is that in real money?”

“Five hundred dollars,” I said as I trained a casual look over my shoulder, on guard for anyone who might bear a likeness to Gabriel Fox. I tried to imagine what he’d look like in a hat. With sunglasses. Without his beard. But the only people who looked familiar to me were the Severid twins, who were waving at me from the other side of the street. I shouldn’t have been surprised they were still wearing my cigarette pants and bodysuits. One thing I’d learned on this trip: spandex wielded incredible power over dyed - in - the - wool Lutherans.

“We have a favor to ask,” Britha announced as they joined us. “Would you mind telling us where you had your hair done, Emily? Barbro and I have decided we need a new look, don’t we, Barbro? We were thinking about something a little more flashy. Something that suits our new outfits a little better.”

Barbro picked it up from there. “Something bold and brash — a style that roars. A cut that looks the same as yours!”