A Thousand Tombs (6 page)

“Everything but you.”

He wrapped her in his arms and brushed his lips across her neck. “Have I apologized enough?”

“I told you. We have time.”

“That’s no comfort right now.”

She hugged him tight, then pulled away. “I’m going to bed.”

“I need to grab some pants to sleep in. I’ll stop by in a jiff.”

“You know where to find me.”

He knocked five minutes later, then cracked the door and whispered. “You decent?”

“Yes.”

Mack came in and opened a drawer and got what he needed, then moved to the bed and lay down beside her, on top of the covers. He smoothed her hair away from her face tenderly, then held it back with his hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Then he kissed her, thoroughly and well.

Five minutes later he raised his head. “Want me to stay?”

“Oh yes. Yes, I do. But the walls have ears. And I’d be listening for sounds the whole time.”

“Okay then.” His lips covered hers again, then he lifted himself on an elbow. “Genny.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry I asked you to get involved.”

“Don’t be. I’m all right. If nothing else, it was a good lesson. And there’s something going on.”

“Maybe you should let it go. I can probably find a way to look into in and keep it quiet.”

“No way. I’m motivated now. Looks like the only way we’re going to get our privacy back is to get the kid un-involved and find him permanent lodgings someplace else.”

Mack chuckled. “If that’s the way you feel, then it’s time you learned to defend yourself. The stun gun isn’t enough. Have you considered going down to Stan’s, maybe get into a couple of his self-defense classes?”

“Great minds think alike.”

“Good.” He gave her one last smooch, then got off the bed. “I want you to be around for a long time. I’d like it better if you were in one piece and all your parts worked.”

When Mack left and closed the door behind him, she sighed and punched up the pillow, wishing she’d let him stay. She felt sorry for the kid, but he was cramping her style.

Gen awakened early and couldn’t get back to sleep, so she finally gave in and pulled on sweats and a t-shirt. She was the first one up. Stella came out of the living room and followed her when she tiptoed to the kitchen.

Mack had set up the coffee pot the night before, so she poured in a carafe of water and watched the birds flitting among the tomato plants in Luca’s newly-turned soil.

When it was ready, she poured a cup and went outside with the dog. The sun was just above the eastern horizon. A light breeze ruffled the few remaining stalks of corn.

From the first time they’d met, Mack had struck Gen as the kind of guy who’d want to get dirt under his fingernails now and then, a place he could hang a hammock and look at the view under the stars.

So the fact that he lived way out in Piedmont hadn’t surprised her all that much. It was quiet. No traffic noise, no honking, no shouted conversations in the street. The peace was amazing, she had to admit. Gen sat on the porch and took it all in, wondering if she’d get bored here.

If she and Mack worked out, that is.

Roly emerged from the open shed door and sidled over to rub against her leg. “Hey kitty.” Gen stroked the cat, then swallowed the rest of the coffee and stood, stretched, and went back inside.

It was a great time to go for a walk. And less than ten minutes later, that’s exactly what she was doing.

She’d left her socks and trainers by the bed; all she had to do was slip them on and tuck the pepper spray she kept in the toe of one shoe into her bra. Stella’s leash hung on a hook by the back door, and she took it down and rushed her out to the porch so her excitement wouldn’t wake the rest of the house.

“Let’s go, Stel.” Gen clipped one end to her collar and the dog led the way around the house to the side gate, then on to Skyline Drive. They turned north along the street and Stella walked beside her, not pulling, just happy to be out.

“Show me the way.”

Stella looked up with her tongue hanging and pure joy in her eyes, then lowered her gaze and matched Gen’s stride as she picked up the pace.

An opening appeared between two lots. The dog nudged her into Joaquin Miller Park, a big public recreation area that backed right up to Mack’s property. It was early on a Sunday morning, and not many people were out yet. They had the place almost to themselves. She let Stella off the leash, then danced along the trail in the strengthening sunlight and swung her arms with pleasure as she watched her companion cavort across the grass.

Yeah, life is good.

They were gone for over an hour, and she was laughing and famished by the time they walked through the side gate and into the yard. Gen unleashed the dog again and she hit the huge stainless steel bowl of water Mack kept full by a hose bib beneath the porch.

She left Stella lapping furiously and walked up the steps to the back door. She stopped there, one hand on the knob, and looked in.

Mack was in the kitchen. She could hear the strains of a bluesy tune that streamed, low but insistent, from an ancient radio on the counter by the sink. Each section of the Sunday paper had been cracked open and spread across the table, and it looked as though he’d scanned nearly every page.

He was at the stove in his pajama pants, frying bacon, and she could see him in profile through the glass. A cup of coffee sat on the counter beside his hand. He was bare-chested except for Jimmy’s dog tags, which dangled on their silvered chain between his muscled pecs. He hadn’t brushed his hair, and the combination of bedhead and three day beard and baggy-bottomed flannels made him look like a twenty-year-old.

Something awakened in her chest as she watched, and she felt the flutter cycle between affection and lust and then move beyond both. The feeling that enveloped her was the first stirrings of love, deep and sure, and the knowledge made her ache with the pleasure of certainty, and longing, and gratitude. She felt, at that moment, as if her world was perfect and she was home.

And home was Mack.

Then Stella raced up to join her, panting and asking to go in. She opened the door and Mack turned his head and his lips slanted with what looked like his own sense that her being there was right. Then he shifted his concentration back to the cooktop. He deftly moved a clutch of bacon strips to drain on a pad of paper towels, then threw half a dozen more into the pan.

“Stella is gonna be your best friend for life.”

His drawl was strong this morning, and rich with innuendo. She imagined that honeyed Tennessee tone whispering in her ear, and the visual made her move close behind him and lay her cheek against his back. “Warm,” she said.

He snaked his free arm behind him and circled her waist. “Where did you two get to? You’ve been gone for a while.”

“We went for a walk in the park. Sorry if I woke you up, I tried to sneak out.”

“I was already awake. Did you take your pepper spray?”

“I thought Stella would be enough.”

“Genny.”

“Yes, I took my pepper spray.”

“You’re not used to being in the country. It’s great out here, but it’s not always as harmless as it looks.”

“I’m used to it. I have friends who live in the boonies outside Healdsburg. Madison and Cole Welles. You’ll like them. She’s getting as big as a house, though, their first baby’s due in a couple of months. Come up with me after she’s born and you can meet them all at the same time.”

“Sure. I’d like that. She?”

“They’re waiting till she shows up to find out, but I’m hoping for a niece. What can I do to help?”

“Slice up the leftover spuds in the fridge and tell me how you like your eggs.”

“Home fries, too?”

“It’s Sunday. Eggs?”

“Scrambled, please. I’m going to take off these shoes and wash my hands and I’ll be right back to do the potatoes.”

She went down the hall to Mack’s bedroom and opened the curtains to let in some light, then made the bed and sat down to unlace her trainers. She pulled the pepper spray from her bra and started to pitch it back in the shoe where she kept it, but its shape reminded her that she might want to put on some lip gloss this morning. She rummaged around in her purse for the tube.

When she couldn’t find it, she upended the contents onto the bed. Everything tumbled out. But when she dropped the purse beside the pile, she heard a distinct movement within the bag. Something was still inside. She spread the top and looked.

It appeared to be empty.

She shook it and the movement was repeated, so she pulled out the lining and shook again. Again the sound came. She examined the material and found a slit on one side, then stuck it back inside and pushed two fingers through the hole and grasped something soft that was nestled against the leather. She pulled it out.

It was the velvet bag.

The coin was in her purse.

There was only one way it could have gotten there, and that was by the hand of Vincenzo Vitelli. She carried it back into the kitchen and held up the square of velvet on the flat of her palm.

“Mack.”

He glanced at her, smiling, but did a double-take when he realized what she was showing him. He put down the spatula and reduced the flame beneath the pan, then turned around and crossed his arms over his muscular chest.

“Where’d that come from?”

“Good question.” She tossed the bag on the table. The heavy clink of the gold inside was almost ominous, like the sound of a lock closing on a heavy door. She sat down. “Mr. Vitelli must have stashed it in my purse before I left.”

“Why would he do that?” Mack picked up his coffee, then pushed off the counter and sat down across from her.

“Beats me.” The minute the words cleared her lips, they both smiled. She’d almost forgotten about her eye. “The only plausible explanation is that he wanted it out of the house so the Italian detectives wouldn’t find it. But if that’s true, he must have stuck it in there before they even showed up.”

Mack nodded. “How’s that eye feel today?”

“Good enough to let me forget about it once in a while. But I bet you can’t, staring at it like that.”

“I’m staring at what’s behind it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m trying to imagine what you’re thinking.”

“Aside from the fact I can’t seem to get rid of this” – she held up the coin – “I’m thinking I hope the bacon doesn’t burn.”

He leaped from the chair to grab a hot pad and shoved the pan to the back burner. “We’re good,” he said. “But that’s a problem, that coin. What to do with it now, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Gen replied. “The Italian cops say he’s importing illegally, and Vitelli says they’re wrong. If I give this to the Italian cops, it might be a mistake.”

“But the real question is why does Vitelli want it out of his house so bad he loses that bag twice.”

“That’s the million dollar question.”

The hinges on the guest room door squeaked and Luca came slowly down the hall. His hair was flat on one side and bushed out on the other, as if he’d fallen asleep with one cheek on the pillow and hadn’t moved an inch all night.

“Good morning,” Mack said. “Sleep good?”

Luca nodded. From the looks of it, he wasn’t fully awake.

“Do you drink coffee?” Gen asked, then gave their host a quick glance.

Mack grabbed a mug and poured two more cups, then handed one to Gen and the other to the boy. “Yeah, let’s get the kid all jacked up and see if maybe after breakfast he’s interested in finishing the job.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the garden. “Milk is in the fridge.”

Luca started toward the refrigerator, but stopped and stared as if he’d seen a ghost. He put his coffee down on the table and lifted the bag, then closed his fist around the coin and held it. “I thought you took this back,” he said.

“I thought so, too,” Gen replied.

He seemed to be worried. “What’re you gonna do now?”

“We’re going to eat a nice breakfast.” Mack poured a bowl of whisked eggs into a waiting pan. “Then Genny and I are going into the city to have a talk with Mr. Vitelli.”

They left Luca pulling weeds in the garden. Mack drove separately in his truck and followed Gen over the Oakland Bridge and into North Beach. She’d told him she would be all right alone, but he insisted he accompany her and wait outside, just in case she needed reinforcements. He said he wouldn’t go in, but he wanted to be there.

He wanted her to know he had her back.

Vincenzo Vitelli’s house looked unchanged from the previous morning. Gen parked at the curb and watched in the rearview mirror while Mack pulled in a few houses down. She got out and gave him a little wave, then tucked her pepper spray into her cleavage and saw the flash of teeth that meant he was smiling.

Gen wasn’t sure how this meeting would go. She’d brought the coin, but left it hidden in the trunk of her car. Next week she’d take it to her safe deposit box. Mack said he had a good hiding place, but she’d argued that it might be better if nobody had direct custody of it until its true ownership was clear. They decided they’d wait to hear what Vitelli had to say before they made a move.

He answered the door after her first knock. His expression was dour and haggard. That said he hadn’t slept much last night and that he wasn’t at all happy to see her standing there, but he waved her inside nonetheless.

“Come in.”

“I think you know why I’m here.”

“To ask if I am
truffatore
. Crook. Is that the word you use?”

“That word will do, but that’s not the only question I have. The coin, Mr. Vitelli. I found it in my purse. I don’t know when you had time to hide it there, but I’d like to know why you did.”

“I am not sure I understand your meaning.”

“Please, Mr. Vitelli. You don’t seem to realize the predicament you’ve put me in. If the coin is, in fact, illegal, my having it makes me an accessory after the fact. If I hand it over to the Italian cops and the gold piece turns out to be legitimately yours, that means I’ve done you a disservice. But it’s hard for me to believe everything is on the up-and-up. If it’s rightfully yours, why have you made sure – two times now – that it isn’t in your possession? You see my dilemma.”

Vitelli scrubbed a hand across his unshaven jaw, then went to the couch and sat down.

“Mr. Vitelli?” Gen took the chair across from him. “Will you please tell me what is going on.”

“The Carabinieri confiscated the statue.” He didn’t elaborate.

“But you hid the bag in my purse long before they showed up.”

“Yes, while you were on the phone in the kitchen.”

“You must have known they were coming and what would happen when they did, and you didn’t want them to take the coin.”

He raised a hand and his eyebrows at the same time, then let them fall.

“Is that Italian for ‘I had a feeling’?”

He nodded. “I did not know
they
were coming, but I thought someone would.”

“I’d ask if the coin is rightfully yours, Mr. Vitelli, but I know you will simply tell me yes.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“Because I have what looks like an ancient Roman artifact in my possession that doesn’t belong to me. And it doesn’t take a heap of smarts to see there’s more going on that you want to admit. I wanted to ask for your story one more time so I can try to decide what to do. So. Please tell me.”

“I am an old man who is loyal to my country.” His voice grew weaker and a bit uncertain. Still, he seemed determined to speak the words. “I may have been blind. Naïve. But I am committed to preserving my Italian heritage for our children’s children.”

She could tell he believed it deep down, and something about his speech inspired a rush of sympathy. Her voice conveyed her softer side when she said, “And just how does that speech and an old coin and a crated statue here in the States accomplish that? I’d like to think you’re on the right side, but you’re not giving me any proof.”

He seemed so strong, and so vulnerable at the same time. She felt bad he was in the middle of whatever was happening. He should be playing bocce ball in the park with other aging Italian gentlemen.

“You will have proof, in time,” he replied. “Please. Keep the coin. Stay away until the danger has passed. I am begging you. You will only make things worse if you ask questions.”

Gen’s eyebrows spiked. “I’ll hang onto it for now, but I’m going to make it my business to find out what’s happening.”

“No.” He looked as adamant as Luca when he’d insisted he wouldn’t go to the police. “You must not. It is unwise. You do not understand how carefully I must tread.”

If he’d known Gen well, he would have known that telling her not to do something only made the prospect of doing it sweeter. “Won’t you tell me why? I can help. It’s what I do for a living.”

“I cannot.”

“Then tell me about the men you argued with Friday night. That’s the danger part, obviously. Who taped you to the chair, and why? What were they going to do with you, keep you trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey forever? And who was the moron who hit me?”

“I would not be doing you any favors to give you an introduction.” Vitelli shook his head. “I must handle this.”

“Oh, right. It looked as if you had everything under control when I showed up yesterday morning.”

Vitelli’s hand trembled as he adjusted his glasses. For a moment she could see her grandfather in him again, and it made her sad the man was alone in this.

“Miss Delacourt,” he said. “Go now. Tend to your eye. It is my wish that this is the only injury you receive from this situation.”

Gen took in some air and thought, then let it go without a challenge. “All right. We’ll see.” She pulled a business card from her purse and handed it across to Vitelli. “The coin is going in my safe deposit box next week. When you change your mind about sharing and you want to get in touch, call my cell.”

He took the card and followed her to the door.

“I’m not any wiser than when I came in,” she said.

“You are wise to question everything and everyone.”

“That’s been my experience, too, about life in general. Mr. Vitelli, what did they want? The men who tied you up. Was it the coin?”

“When you live as long as I have, you make enemies.”

Gen’s smile sagged. Again with the indirect answers; she’d tried enough for one day. “I just hope the authorities aren’t ticked off with me for not handing this over if the judgment goes against you.”

They shook hands. Gen opened the door and walked through, and Vitelli closed it behind her.

When she was clear of the shrubbery she looked toward Mack’s truck. It was there, where he’d originally parked. He was still in the cab, but he wasn’t looking her way. She could see the object of his attention from where she stood.

A woman leaned against the driver’s door, wearing a wide smile and a low-cut dress that hugged her hourglass figure.

It was Carla Salvatore.

Gen was a little far away to tell, but her gut suggested Mack might be a bit too enthralled for her comfort. She struggled to beat back a flare of jealousy as she crossed the street and strolled toward the truck. Mack kept the smile in place as his eyes slid between her and Carla.

“Genny, this is Carla Salvatore. Carla, meet Gen Delacourt.”

“Miss Salvatore and I have met,” Gen replied. “What brings you here today?”

When Carla turned, her eyes flicked from the top of Gen’s head to her feet, then away. Gen got the distinct impression she was not impressed.

Then Carla looked at Mack and gave him a lazy smile. “Providence,” she replied. Her eyes swung back to Gen and they lost their glitter and went hard again. “And you?”

“An interest in learning the truth. You should try it sometime.”

Salvatore’s eyes narrowed. “You would be better off staying far away from Vitelli and his troubles,” she replied.

“Is that a threat, Miss Salvatore?”

Carla opened her mouth to reply, but Mack cut her off. “Hey, it was a pleasure to meet you, Carla. Genny, you ready to go? Climb in, let’s take a drive. I’ll bring you back to your car later. I think we should go grab some lunch.”

Gen complied without a word. As they drove away, she looked in the side mirror and saw Carla standing in the center of the street, where she stayed until they turned the corner and her figure was lost from view.

“Did you make a new friend?” Gen asked.

Mack turned his head and looked at her, then back at the road.

He didn’t answer.