Secrets (39 page)
She paused, lips pursed, looked from him to the bike, then shrugged. “Why not?”
He’d read her well, spunky little bird. Lance slid the helmet on. A little loose, but not bad. He strapped it under her chin. “That’ll help with the noise.”
“What?”
He leaned close. “I said, that’ll help with the noise.” He helped her climb onto the seat, then he joined her. She was hardly bigger than a ten-year-old girl, but she hung on with a vengeance.
He started the bike. “Ready?” he hollered.
“Ready,” she hollered back.
They cruised out of the drive and onto the street. He had looked up the facility where Ralph lived when Evvy mentioned it the first time, but she hollered directions anyway. It was in a newer part of town, some ten minutes’ drive, and they parked without incident in the small lot at the west side.
She looked a little like a hatchling when he removed her helmet, but he didn’t tell her so. “Well?”
She touched her hair, aware of her dishevelment. But her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone. “I wish they could have seen that.”
He laughed. “You’d have them all begging for rides.”
Evvy snorted. “You wouldn’t get a half of them astride that machine. Not for a banker’s pension.”
“Then you have one on them.” Lance supported her slowly to the doors.
“More than one, my boy. More than one.”
They stopped at the desk to check in, then Lance helped Evvy down the hall.
“Sure does stiffen up the legs.”
“I’m sorry.” He offered more support.
She waved her free hand. “Sitting in my kitchen stiffens up these legs.” She pointed. “This is it, Ralph’s room.”
Lance knocked softly, then pushed the half-open door. His nose stung from odors far worse than Evvy’s house. Evvy didn’t seem to notice. They walked in and spied the man sitting by the window in a wheelchair. His hair was wisps of white, and he trembled with palsy.
“Hello, Ralph.” Evvy’s voice was softer than he’d ever heard it.
His parchment face folded into a smile. “Evvy, my love.”
So he did remember her. Lance warmed. Maybe he wasn’t as forgetful as she thought.
“I want you to meet the new man next door. He drove me here on a motorcycle.”
Ralph shifted his gaze. “A motorcycle. My Evvy on a motorcycle.”
Lance took the gentleman’s hand. “My name is Lance.”
“Lance. Have a seat. I just need to look awhile at this beautiful lady.” Evvy blushed. “There you go again.”
“I don’t know what day it is, or who’s president of the United States, but I know your face in my dreams.”
Lance felt the sweetness washing over him. He helped Evvy into a chair he pulled close to Ralph’s, then sat on the edge of the bed a short distance away. While they murmured together, he looked at the pictures on the walls, then folded his hands and simply waited.
Too soon Evvy said, “Lance wants to hear your stories. About the villa.”
Ralph’s eyes stared across the room and his mouth hung slack. “No, no. I don’t know any stories.”
Evvy sent Lance a glance. “About the murder.”
Ralph folded his hands in his lap and rested his gaze there. “Oh, they murdered him all right. At least that’s what Papa said. Or did I … was it on the television?”
“No, it wasn’t on TV. You found it in that book.”
“That’s right. The diary. In the carriage house.”
Lance leaned forward. “There was a diary in the carriage house?”
Ralph looked at him. “What did you say your name was?”
“Lance. Lance Michelli.”
Evvy touched Ralph’s arm. “He’s living in the carriage house. He made it up real nice.” She winked at Lance. “I peeked in your window.”
That was news to him, and a caution. He hadn’t covered that back window. “Whose diary was it?”
Ralph answered with a hint of whimsy, “Antonia’s.”
An electrical thrill. “Do you have it?”
“No.” Ralph shook his head. “No, I don’t have any of that stuff. I … don’t know what became of it.”
“Your family cleared it out. It’s probably in a dump somewhere.”
Lance silently moaned. His grandmother’s diary in a dump. “Did you read it? What was in it?”
Ralph smiled. “A good many of the lines I used on Evvy.”
Evvy jolted straight. “You old fake.”
He laughed. “That gal wrote all the things her beau said. Mark, Marcus…”
“Marco?” Lance offered.
Ralph nodded. “That was it. Marco.” Ralph squeezed his brow. “A salesman, I think, or was he a…” He shook his head.
Nonno Marco
. Lance forced himself to breathe. “What did she say about the murder?”
“She?”
“In the diary. Did she tell about the murder?”
Ralph sat back in the wheelchair. Again the pucker in his brow.
Evvy touched his knee. “Just tell the story, Ralph, the way you used to.”
Ralph stared at the wall a long time. “I don’t remember.”
“It was Prohibition,” Evvy prompted.
Ralph spread his shaking hands. “It’s all in the soup. I … I…” A tear glistened in the corner of his eye.
She rested her hands on his knee. “Are they treating you well in here?”
He shrugged. “They keep me fed and diapered.”
“Ralph!” She gave him a little smack.
He took her hand. “But I miss my girl.”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I miss you too.”
Lance deflated. He’d heard nothing he didn’t already know, except that there had been a diary and now it was lost. He couldn’t bring himself to force Ralph’s memory, as Evvy had obviously decided as well. It was bittersweet to see their devotion. It reminded him of Nonna and Nonno, before Nonno Marco’s heart gave out.
“It’s time for your nap.” She patted his hand.
He nodded. “Are you going home on the motorcycle?”
Evvy looked at Lance. “Well, I suppose we are.”
Ralph waved a finger. “You be careful with my fiancée.”
Lance helped Evvy to stand. “I promise.”
They walked out together, Evvy leaning heavily on his arm, more heavily than before.
“He’s not what he was.” Her voice grated.
Lance helped her past a man with a mop and bucket. “He certainly remembers you.”
She sighed. “This was a good day.”
He drove them home and helped Evvy inside. “Anything you need?”
“I’ll just lie down awhile.”
Lance lowered her onto the sofa. It seemed to take a lot out of her, that one small connection. Love was life’s big risk. No guarantee of happiness, and the possibility of loss and pain. Worth it? The pain in Gina’s voice when they’d talked the other day had been evident even over the phone. Would she rather not have loved Tony? Would he?
Lance couldn’t approach relationships lightly. Not when the restlessness inside and his tendency to mess up would bring pain to someone else. He’d promised not to hurt Rese, but all his steps had been driven by something beyond him since the day he came. Now thoughts of her made a sweet hollow inside him like a honeycomb he couldn’t help filling, even if it might get plundered.
He went to the shed and found her looking fierce in her protective eye gear as the sander spewed sawdust. The smell of wood filled the shed, and he eyed her progress. The bed pieces seemed ready to assemble, but maybe not to Rese’s standards. She might worry the thing down to nothing while he developed a permanent crick in his neck.
She shut off the sander and held it against her waist. “Where’d you go?”
“I took Evvy to visit her beau.”
“You took Evvy on the motorcycle?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Rese shook her head. “I wonder about you.”
He laughed. “She liked it. Enjoyed telling Ralph about it.” He motioned toward her pieces. “My bed?”
She pointed to a flat piece lying on a separate surface. “I’m almost done with it. Just the carving and final finish.”
He walked over and saw the crowning piece shaped like a scallop. “That’s nice, Rese. I didn’t expect anything that special.”
She set down the sander and joined him, running her fingers over the carving. “I know it’s obsessive, but I can’t do things halfway.”
He touched her arm. “That’s a good thing.”
She looked up in her silly goggles. Miss Safety Conscious. Or was she warding him off?
“I’ll let you work.”
She rubbed sawdust from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Are you making dinner?”
The Taylors had not placed a reservation, but if Rese wanted a meal, she’d have one. “Sure.”
He went to the kitchen and prepared a marinated vegetable salad. He would broil chicken for it later, but now he covered and put it in the refrigerator to let the flavors blend. Then he baked some Kalamata-olive rolls and prepared caramelized oranges for dessert. In the midst of that, a middle-aged couple arrived without reservations, and since only one room was in use, not counting Star’s, he checked them into the Rose Terrace.
He probably should have consulted Rese, but they were functioning within their primary capacities and it would only panic her. He’d tell her when she came in—so she didn’t meet them in the hall and think she’d seen a ghost.
Thoughts of Nonna’s diary plagued him while he worked. How could anyone toss something so obviously worth holding onto? Of course, he didn’t know its condition. And it might be of no interest to anyone but himself. Still, to think that it had been there, in the carriage house! If only he’d come sooner. He sighed. He couldn’t change that now. All he could do was see what was under his room.
Dread breeds like larvae in a pond.
Things I have heard; things I have seen,
without understanding.
Only clouds gathering in my mind,
brooding over when it might storm.
L
ance shined the flashlight beam into the tunnel. His stomach was full from the meal he’d shared with Rese and Star, and it was late enough that nothing should interfere with his exploring the tunnel. The weekend had passed without a clear opportunity presenting itself, but tonight he would take a chance. He descended the stone steps to the bottom and scanned the narrow walls and ceiling with the beam of his light. If it wasn’t a tomb, the place could become one. Still, it had stood this long.
He drew a breath and started forward, skin tingling with anticipation and that vague sense of reverence. The smell was pervasive, musty with a slightly sour undertone. After about twenty steps, he came to an iron gate that reached from ceiling to floor. He pushed, then pulled, but it held fast. Locked. It would take a major tool to cut through, or a locksmith. Unless … He bent and studied the lock.
Lord?
He turned and made his way back to the stairs and up. In his bedroom, he rummaged through Antonia’s box for the key he’d found in the corner of the floor. A slight chance only, but maybe it had been hidden in that corner—not lost, but concealed. He lifted the key and studied its shape, then jumped at the knock on his door.
“Lance?”
Baxter scampered up from his spot beside the hammock and went to the door, his nails clicking on the stone, tail wagging his whole hind end. Lance dropped the key back in, slid the box under a pile of clothes and went out to the main room. He could not see Rese in the darkness outside the French doors, but he guessed she could see at least his silhouette. The tunnel gaped open, and he suddenly recalled all the sayings about living in a glass house.
Should he just let her in? Tell her everything? But he didn’t know anything for sure. As soon as he knew, he’d tell her. He hurried over and closed the hatch. Then he went to the door.
Rese looked awkward standing there, but not upset. “Your light was on.”
“I’m still awake.” And he should have turned out the lamp if he didn’t want to be interrupted.
“Parcheesi?” She held up the box from her parlor.
He looked into her face. “Can’t sleep?”
“It’s quieter than power tools.”
“No doubt.”
She reached down and petted Baxter. “I’d have asked Star, but she goes berserk with anything that has rules. And you said people should play games and talk and read to each other.” She straightened up as lost and stiff as she’d been on their first walk together.
He caught her elbow and brought her inside.
She pulled the box up to her chest. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about—”
“Parcheesi?”
She glared. “About me coming here and…”
He drew her close. “I like you coming here.” And that was the truth, even though he burned to try that key. “That’s why I subdivided. So I could entertain mysterious brown-eyed visitors who appear in the night.”
She snorted. “Mysterious. Right.”
“Believe me, Rese, you are a mystery.” He would never have guessed she’d show up with a board game—or without, for that matter—even if he had put the idea into her head.
She raised her chin. “I thought you had it all figured out.”
“Not by a long shot.” He cupped her face and tasted her lips. How could anything to do with Rese Barrett be so sweet? “Can we lose the box?”
“We can set it up.”
He got the point. “Okay.” He carried the game to the table, nudging the lamp to its corner.
“You need more furniture.”
“Bed first. Then you can build anything else you want.” He settled onto the love seat and opened the box. “Benny Steiner taught me this game and wiped me out every time. I still think he left out a strategy or two.”
Rese sat cross-legged beside him on the love seat. “If you know any strategy you’re ahead of me.”
“Yeah. Maybe he just moved pieces when I wasn’t looking.” He hadn’t expected her visit, was fully intending to go right back down and, God willing, open the gate. But he had to admit it felt good that she’d come. It was probably a huge step for her to make the overture.
“Guests all tucked in?”
“A long time ago.” She set up her pieces. “No doubt sleeping soundly.” But she was wide awake. And she’d come to him. He put his pieces in his starting circle, then motioned toward her. “Ladies first.”
She stared flatly. “We’ll flip a coin.”
“Got one?”
She shook her head.
“Then toss your dice.”
