Italy to Die For (17 page)

“
Your
cheerleading days.”

“O
h, that’s right. I keep forgetting you got cut.”

“No,
you keep forgetting I didn’t go out for cheerleading.”

“
Not to worry, as you may recall, I was a flyer and got my start practicing on your shoulders.”

“Not once did you ever say thanks.”

“Okay, thanks. Now get over here.”

She positioned me to face the door, about an arm’
s length from it, and issued her first order. “Okay, assume the position.”

I bit my lip,
spread my legs, and squatted, all the while grateful that Lorenzo wasn’t there to see this. Margo stood behind me and straddled her legs over my shoulders.

“Oh … my … god,” I said through a groan.
“Twenty pounds added to twenty years does make a big difference.

“Don’t start on me, El. I know what I’m doing. Now cross your arms in front of your chest.”

I crossed my arms and tried to envision Margo during her cheerleading days but for the life of me I could not.

“Steady, El, steady.” Margo
positioned her feet onto my cradled arms and told me to stand up.

“I don’t think—”

“Yes, you can. Just concentrate. Now straighten out those legs.”

“O-o-o-h, ah-h-h-h.”
With an unbending of the knees, I lifted myself into a standing position. A satisfying accomplishment, that is, until it prompted me to wobble, backwards, and sideways before leaning forward with a smack against the door. Not bad, I didn’t feel a thing.

“Ou
ch, you idiot, that was my head,” Margo said.

“And those are your
shoes digging into my ribs.”

“
No way can these Jimmy Choos be digging into you.”

“And yet they are. Okay, they aren’t but I don’t want Monterosso’s street dirt ground into my clothes.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Be nice and slip the flatties off for me.”

I did, and dropped them
off to the side.

“Okay,
hold on,” Margo said. “Big move, I’m going up, I’m going up.”

“Blessed Mother.”

“Shut up. Steady, steady.”

“Dear god.”

“Not now, El … okay, I’m up. Hold my ankles tight. Not that tight. That’s better.”

“I can’t do this, Margo.”

“You can’t, what about me? Not finding anything yet. Move to the left. To the left El … answer me … hel-lo-o, anybody home down there.”

Chapter 25

You Won’t Believe This

“El, to the left … the left, dammit …. Don’t make this any harder … never mind.” No response other than fingers brushing against my right ankle. Steady, girl, steady, this time I told myself because El was probably too scared to speak. The least she could’ve done was to follow a simple order. No wonder she couldn’t make it in the convent, let alone cheerleading. The keys, dammit, if only I could find them before her legs buckled and I wound up cleaning cobblestones with my tongue. Stretching as far to the left as possible, I slid my hand along the frame until I located a metal object. Yes, success at last. With the elusive keys snuggled into the palm of my hand, slowly, ever so slowly I regained my position.

I glanced downward, did a double take but
managed to keep my balance before looking down a third time, hoping not to confirm what I didn’t want to believe I’d seen before. Crap, just what we needed, the return of last night’s bastard. And judging from his dark form wedged into El’s, I imagined cold steel pressed against her throat. What now? Had I hurled myself onto the bastard, I would’ve risked him cutting El’s throat or me getting impaled onto the upturned knife in his hand. Either way, whichever came first, El and I were both royally screwed.

As for our gypsy bodyguar
ds, where were they? Or for that matter, Lorenzo—emergency, my ass and El’s, just wait until I tell Mom. That is, if … nope, I was not going there. We should’ve let the American geeks escort us home. Whatever decision I should’ve, could’ve made became a moot point when I heard the sounds of scuffling below, followed by punches and groans. Even worse, my lofty perch began to sway ever so slightly.

I imagined El making a last ditch effort to
first save herself and depending on the outcome, me next. To my horror El’s grip on my ankles went limp. I wobbled from front to back and side to side before taking a bumpy slide down her back. Dear god, I half expected to land in a pool of blood and couldn’t bear the thought of having to deal with what was left of her. My first contact with ground became a step backwards. I lost my footing and landed with a bounce on my rear end. So much for my return to cheerleading, the simple dismount of a standard shoulder stand I used to perform like a pro.

But enough about me, my poor sister
was sprawled on her back, a most unbecoming position unless she was an actress about to be ravished in a sci-fi movie. I didn’t look any better, crawling over to her on all fours. “El, speak to me. Are you all right?”

“I … I think so. Sorry I couldn’t answer you but … but … he had a knife.”
She let out a groan, which didn’t seem necessary, before maneuvering into a sitting position, awkward with her legs spread apart and head bobbling.

“Are you all right, Signorina Margo?”

I looked up to see Fonso holding out his hand to me. I took it and he pulled me up before doing the same for El. Matt and Mark or some variation of them came forward, arms folded and not one slicked-back hair out of place on either head.

“Has
anybody seen my Jimmy Choos?”

“What Jimmy. There’s no Jimmy,” said one of the guys—Matt for lack of a better name.

“Scusi, I meant my shoes.”

Matt already had the shoes in his hands. “These?” he asked.

“Si, my Jimmy Choos, grazie.”

Mark, the other gypsy,
grabbed the flatties out of Matt’s hands. He knelt at my feet and helped me slide into them. Please, as if I needed help. Or, Mark coping a feel of my right ankle. I put an end to that with a kick of my left foot and seconds later Mark bounced to his feet.

“What about the man with the knife?”
El asked in a voice so raspy it didn’t sound like her.

“Over there,” Fonso said with a gesture of
his head.

“Lorenzo!”
El half yelled, half whispered.

“Lorenzo?”
I all but shouted. Surely not El’s Lorenzo, the one man I thought might’ve been worthy of her, Lorenzo who must’ve found her attractive in a way no other man had … other than that Jonathan guy from Iowa, of all places. I followed El twenty feet or so into the dark, figuring we were now safe with Fonso and the gang. What a relief to find Lorenzo, not the perpetrator but part of the rescue team. There he stood with Fonso, both of them lording over a man lying spread eagle and face down across the cobblestones.

“Your assailant,”
Lorenzo said to El and me. He left Fonso with arms folded and one foot on the man’s back, and walked toward us. Okay toward El, by now having wrapped his arms around her in a way that reminded me of Giorgio doing his mummy routine. Hardly the time for a romantic encounter, although coming from Lorenzo a bit stiff for my taste. I continued on to where the creep on the ground had turned his head away from me. Not to be deterred, I bent over for a better look.

“What the …
El, get over here right now,” I yelled. “You won’t believe this.”

El detached herself from Lorenzo and came running.
When she leaned over for her own look-see, a gasp erupted from her mouth. But did I rub salt into her wounded pride? No. Instead, I took one step back and let her do the talking; after all, he was her friend, not mine.

“Trevor
, is that you,” she said. “How could you do such a horrible thing?”

“Bastard,
” I added, along with a well-deserved kick to his ribs. “Where’s Jonathan? Is he in this with you?”

Trevor
closed his eyes without saying a word so there didn’t seem much point in hovering any longer. El went back to her precious Lorenzo, leaving me with no one except Fonso, who was not about to remove his foot from Trevor’s back.

“Grazie, Fonso,” I said. “For whatever you did to help.”

“Better you should thank my Roma brothers.” He gestured to his apostle sidekicks and I wandered over to where they were propping up a building that must’ve been there before the Gutenberg press printed its first book.

The gypsy I’d re-named Luke
held up the bottle of wine they’d been passing around, and addressed me with a question mark that set my mouth to water. “Signorina?”

“Si, grazie.”
I took the bottle by its neck, wondering if wiping the rim would offend my rescuers. To hell with the germs, those gypsies who still made me squeamish; I held the opening to my lips and drank more than I probably should have. There wasn’t much left when I returned it to my Luke guy, prompting a grin from him that bordered on lecherous … okay, more like seductive.

“Did we not keep our promise,” he said.

“You did, as did my sister and I kept ours.”

“We should celebrate,” he said.

Our little
tete-a-tete came to an abrup
t
end with the wailing of sirens, followed by one police car, then another. Commissioner Novaro and his assistant Nicco Rizzi stepped out of the lead car. I left the gypsies who were uncorking another bottle and walked over to where our not-so-friendly perpetrator was still grounded.

“Well, it’s about time,” I couldn’
t resist saying to no one in particular. Not that I’d expected a response, nor did I get one, other than a poke from El who always worried about me embarrassing her when she should’ve been freeing herself from a host of inhibitions. By this time Nicco had cuffed Trevor’s hands from behind and was yanking him to his feet while a policeman I recognized from the station was bagging the knife he found under Trevor. Having returned El’s poke with my own, I said, “What about your friend Jonathan.”

“Have you been drinking?
” she whispered. “Your breath smells like sour grapes.”

“Give me a break. It’s not like I
committed a crime worse than the one perpetrated on us. Which brings me back to Jonathan, you still didn’t answer my question.”

“I doubt
that Jonathan is involved in any of this,” Lorenzo said. “My Roma friends tell me he returned to his hotel shortly after you entered the taxi.”

“Your gypsy
friends?” I asked. It was the one question that still begged an answer.

“
Then you do know them,” El said in a voice as edgy as mine would’ve been had Lorenzo been hugging me earlier instead of her.

“For many years
,” Lorenzo replied. “But my relationship with the Roma is nothing I wish to discuss here and now.”

Chapter 26

It’s All Relative

Thank god for small favors. The big ones too, si
nce Margo and I had survived the worst ordeal of our lives and had come away from it with no physical wounds. Forget about pride; under circumstances such as these, pride took a back seat. Our usual banter had dwindled to a few words and Margo, who never pooped out first, was starting to lean on me, leaving me no one to lean on but her. Together we were as useless as two shades of eye shadow in a convent filled with cloistered nuns. Commissioner Novaro took mercy on us, or maybe he was as tired as we were since he suggested waiting until morning before another trip to the police station. A lot of questions remained unanswered in my mind but all I could think about was a warm bath followed by a lush bed and a sleep so deep I wouldn’t have to think about tomorrow. Neither of these creature comforts included Lorenzo who must’ve needed his own space because he made himself as scarce as I’d made myself.

The next morning I awoke to an oxymoron of Margo’s annoyi
ng snores erupting every fifteen seconds and the inviting fragrance of strong coffee coming from the kitchen, both of which had penetrated every orifice in my head. I could not have asked for a better scenario: the opportunity to have Lorenzo to myself, a heart-to-heart without Margo’s sarcastic remarks distracting him and embarrassing me.

I slipped into
reliable knitwear, made up my face, and strolled into the dining area. Lorenzo was leaning against the counter, his overall appearance above reproach, as was his cheerful
buongiorno
which was not the case when I returned the greeting. His attempt to kiss me turned into an awkward moment when I moved away from him and sat down at the table. It had already been laid out with a spread of the usual—assorted jams, Melba toast, yesterday’s bread which I didn’t mind, and chocolate hazelnut Nutella the Italians swore by, none of which appealed to me that morning.

He poured two espress
os, sat across from me, and captured my attention with his penetrating eyes. “You slept well?”

“Actually, no,” I said
. “Not after last night’s fiasco, not with my shoulders aching after doing a balancing act with Margo, not after feeling a razor-sharp blade pressed into my throat, of knowing the next breath I took could be my last. Not after being in the middle of a gypsy fire drill, of losing my footing and having Margo claw her way down my back, both of us piled on the ground like two sorry clowns.”

Memo to self:

Never again believe Margo’s claim about wearing a size 4.

“Elena, please accept my deepes
t apologies.”

“I don’t know that I can. For sure not today,” I told him, “maybe not tomorrow
, then again, maybe never.”

“Fo
rever is a long time to carry a grudge.”

“Much longer than to ble
ed out, which is how Trevor had described the afterwards I almost experienced last night. You set us up—Margo and me. Don’t lie; I know you did. We nearly got ourselves killed so that you and your gypsy friends could play the heroes.”

“It was never my intent that harm should come to either of you. By the
time I arrived on the scene this Trevor from America already had one arm wrapped around you; and yes, from what I could see, possibly a knife pressed to your throat.”

“
Oh, it was a knife, that’s for sure. Meanwhile, Fonso and his gang stood by. What were they waiting for, the first spurt of blood to come gushing from my neck. The very sight of which might’ve spurred Trevor on, as in one slice leads to another and another. By then Margo would’ve crashed and he could’ve started on her. We’d have made the newspaper headlines all right, along with our bloody photos passed around the police station to entertain the troops.”

“But none of that happened, nor would
my … Fonso and his men have allowed it to happen.”

“And that’s another thing: just what is this mysterious connection between you and them, the gypsies you first insisted would not have ventured into Monterosso, the gypsies you later tried to convince me I hadn’t seen when I knew dam
n well I had. The murder of a second woman put an end to your little charade. The commissioner’s too. Gypsies, if I never see another one—”

“My wife
came from a long line of Roma,” Lorenzo said. “Fonso and I … he is my brother-in-law.”

“Is?
”
I nearly choked on the espresso that turned cold and bitter when it hit my mouth. “Or
was
; make up your mind … and don’t you dare lie to me.”

He sighed, hesitated before speaking words
it pained me to hear. “The woman you saw in the garden of my villa was no aberration, nor a ghost or a prankster. She is … was my wife.”

“She eit
her is or was; what’s it going to be, Lorenzo.”

“
Anita is not the woman she once was, nor the woman I married. Ten years ago she separated herself from this world and now lives in another, one so remote she allows no one else to enter. I think of myself as a widower because my wife is lost to me forever.”

“
Hmm, now she’s lost. Considering you denied she was still alive, how convenient.”

“But not without me
rit. Anita lives in the house of my neighbor Frederico and his sister, a
zitella
—I mean a spinster.”

“
Like me.”

“
Nothing like you, Elena, you are too beautiful—”

“I said don’t lie to me.”

“Please let me finish. As I was saying you are too beautiful and in Italy too young to be considered a spinster. Frederico and his sister care for Anita in ways Zia no longer has the strength or the patience to do. Nor do I, it shames me to say.” He banged his turned first on the table. “God knows I tried … oh how I tried but it was Anita who wound up hating me more than I loved her. Giving her up was a decision I did not make lightly but in the end that decision has worked well for all concerned.”

With
each word Lorenzo spoke, the romance I’d imagined us sharing moved from what might have been to what would never be, primarily because of his wife but also the lies and deceit that now defined him.

“
Ahem,” came an ill-timed clearing of the throat, neither mine nor Lorenzo’s. I glanced up to see Margo standing there, for how long I didn’t know, although she was still wearing what passed as her version of modest pajamas.

“May I have
coffee Americano, please,” she said, “but only if you have some already brewed.”

Lorenzo
, the gracious host and two-timing yet gracious lover, got up, poured Margo’s coffee, and set it on the table. After they both sat down, he passed the bowl of sugar cubes, and asked, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“Nothing I can think of,” she said
while adding two cubes to the Americano. Her spoon clanked from one side to the other, Margo’s way of expressing the nervous side of her she seldom exposed. “I suppose the commissioner wants to see us as soon as possible.”

“There is no great urgency
although as soon as Dante is satisfied with your report, you will be free to continue your enjoyment of Cinque Terre.”

Margo
gave me a look our mother would’ve given, sympathetic without the proverbial
I-told-you-so
. “El, I’m good with whatever you decide.”

“First, l
et’s get the police business out of the way,” I told her. “After that … well, god only knows because I don’t have the foggiest.”