Allergic to Death (22 page)

“Lara, please be a dear and bring our friend here an appetizer platter.” He turned toward Gigi. “You are hungry, no?”

Gigi nodded, realizing that she was indeed hungry. She’d forgotten to eat lunch again. Although Emilio always assumed
everyone
was hungry.

“Me, too.” Emilio patted his rather protuberant stomach. “We can share. A few roasted peppers, some giardiniera, a little grilled melanzana…” He smacked his lips in anticipation.

Lara put down the pepper mill she’d been holding, nodded in their direction and disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen.

Gigi perched on the edge of her stool. Where was Carlo? She hoped she would be able to get him alone. She tried to see into the kitchen as the door swung to and fro, but it was impossible.

Several minutes later, the swinging doors flew open again, and Lara backed through them, a large platter in one hand and several small plates in the other. She eased them carefully onto the counter.

Gigi’s stomach rumbled as she surveyed the contents of the platter. Emilio grabbed the serving fork, filled a plate and placed it in front of Gigi with the command to eat.

Lara retreated through the swinging door again, and, try as she might, Gigi couldn’t see past the door into the room beyond.

She was nearly finished with the wonderful grilled and marinated vegetables Emilio had served her, and there was still no sign of Carlo. Finally, she couldn’t wait any longer. “Is Carlo around?” she asked, as casually as possible.

“Carlo?”
Emilio clapped his hands together, his eyes shining. He laughed. A deep guffaw that shook his belly and turned his face red. “Of course,” he declared. “Carlo.” He winked at Gigi, and she drew back in alarm. “Why would you want to talk to a silly old fool like me?” He thumped himself on the chest, leaned close and winked again. “Especially when there’s a handsome young man like Carlo around, eh?” He turned toward the kitchen and bellowed, “Carlo?”

Gigi felt her face ignite. Now Emilio was going to think she had a crush on Carlo. How embarrassing!

Emilio waited expectantly, but there was no response. “
Dio, mio,
where is that silly boy?” He tossed his rag onto the counter and wagged a finger at Gigi. “You stay here. He must be in the stockroom.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, and Gigi could faintly hear him calling Carlo’s name.

She sat, waiting, hoping that Carlo had gone out and Emilio wouldn’t find him. She slowly shredded the white paper cocktail napkin under her drink, becoming more hopeful as the minutes ticked by.

Finally, the kitchen door burst open and Carlo was propelled through it, Emilio’s hand at his back. He smiled when he saw Gigi, and the intensity of the heat coloring her face increased.

Carlo’s look of confusion turned to one of pleasure when he saw her. He glanced at her and then at the bar.

“I see my uncle has already given you something to eat.”

Emilio made a big show of looking at his watch. “
Porca miseria.
I almost forget,” he exclaimed. “I am supposed to call the suppliers about the delivery of the olive oil.”

“But—” Carlo began before Emilio shushed him with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I will take care of it, Carlo, don’t worry.” He motioned toward Gigi. “You two have a nice visit with each other, eh?”

They both stared at the swinging kitchen door as Emilio disappeared behind it.

“So…” Carlo began.

“So…” Gigi began at the same time. They laughed, and she felt herself relax. Although how on earth was she going to broach the subject of Emilio and Adora with Carlo?

Carlo pushed the empty appetizer platter to one side and leaned his elbows on the bar. “You wanted to tell me something?” he asked hopefully.

Gigi cleared her throat. “Yes.” Better just get to the point, she thought. “I’m worried about Emilio.”

“Emilio?” Carlo glanced over his shoulder at the closed kitchen door. “Why?”

Gigi fiddled with the pieces of her shredded napkin. She cleared her throat again. It felt dry and raspy. “I think he’s been…” She paused, trying to think of a delicate way to put it. “…seeing Adora,” she finished. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she hastened to add, seeing the look on Carlo’s face. “It’s just that…” She paused again, wondering whether Carlo was going to believe her or think she was crazy.

“Yes?” Carlo nodded his head in encouragement.

“Well, we…I mean I…think that Adora is also secretly seeing Winston. I don’t want to see Emilio get hurt.” She broke off and took a sip of her port in an attempt to wet her parched throat. “Also, I’m terribly, terribly afraid that Winston might…might…get upset.” Now, there was an understatement, she thought. “And possibly even do something to harm Emilio.” It sounded lame, and she knew it.

She looked up to see that Carlo was shaking his head.

“What?” She asked.

“You don’t have anything to worry about!” Carlo declared.

“No?”

He shook his head. “No. Emilio isn’t seeing Adora.”

“He’s not?”

Carlo shook his head even more vigorously. “No.”

Carlo plucked a swizzle stick from a container on the bar and began to fiddle with it, twirling it around and around between his fingers, rolling it back and forth across the bar and finally tapping it against Gigi’s glass.

Gigi waited patiently. She couldn’t imagine who on earth Emilio was involved with. She’d never seen him with anyone—not that she’d seen him with Adora, either, except that one night on her doorstep. She couldn’t imagine why Carlo didn’t just
tell
her, for goodness’ sake!

“If I tell you this, do you promise not to tell anyone?”

Carlo’s eyes were dark and serious pools that Gigi was afraid she might drown in. She nodded her head even as she reasoned with her conscience that telling Sienna wouldn’t count.

“Okay.” Carlo let out a big sigh. “I have been wanting to talk to someone for so long. I’ve been so worried.”

“Worried about what?”

He leaned closer. “I followed Emilio once. I don’t know why, but he wouldn’t tell me where he was going, and I was curious.” He gave an apologetic smile, as if inviting her to forgive him. “He’d put on his special aftershave—the one he saves for important occasions. So when he told me he was just going to get some air, I didn’t believe him.”

“So you followed him.”

Carlo nodded.

“What did you find out?” Gigi prompted. Why was it taking Carlo so long to get to the point?

“You need a refill, no?” Carlo pointed at Gigi’s half-empty glass.

“No. No, thank you. That’s more than enough for me.”

Carlo nodded abstractedly. He put his index finger on an empty cardboard coaster with
Al Forno
written on it and twirled it around and around. It wasn’t till it slipped over the edge of the bar and onto the floor that he looked up at Gigi.

“Emilio went to Martha’s house that night,” he blurted out.

“Martha?” Gigi’s voice rose to a high C, then squeaked off.

“I know. Can you believe it?”

Gigi shook her head. “My grandmother always said, every pot has its lid.”

Carlo laughed, and although his dark eyes crinkled at the corners, the laugh sounded mirthless to Gigi. He began to shake his head even before the sound trailed off. “That’s not it.”

“What’s not it?”

“You know—
amore
. Love. Emilio wasn’t in love with Martha.”

Gigi thought of Ted suddenly. Had he ever really loved her? This was no time to dwell on it. She’d think about it later. “Well, maybe it wasn’t love exactly.” She tried to picture Emilio and Martha together and failed. Martha had been so practical and almost severe, while Emilio had a love affair going with life itself. “Maybe it was more like companionship. Two lonely people getting together…” She trailed off when she saw Carlo’s expression.

“It was more like—what do you call it?—a bribe.”

“Emilio was bribing Martha?” Gigi’s voice hit a high note again.

“Martha liked Emilio. I noticed it right away, and he did, too.
Her face got softer when he was around, and she would giggle like a little schoolgirl.” Carlo took a glass off the shelf, picked up the rag that Emilio had dropped on the bar and began to polish it.

“I’m off,” Lara called from the door. “I’ll be back in time to get the tables ready for dinner.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Carlo flapped the rag in her direction. They both listened as the front door yawned open. A bright beam of sunlight pierced the interior of Al Forno and was quickly extinguished as the door squeaked shut.

“Where was I?” Carlo paused with the rag in one hand and the glass in the other.

“Martha liked Emilio, you were saying.”

Carlo nodded. “Yes. And she decided she wanted to review Al Forno for the
Woodstone Times
. Emilio and I were very excited. Whenever Martha gave someone a good review, the place would be packed with people for weeks afterwards. And not just the people who lived around here”—he made a small, circular gesture with his hand—“but the weekend people from the city.” He rubbed his fingers together. “They’re the ones who bring the real money.

“But…” His attention strayed to a bottle of Famous Grouse that was out of alignment with the rest of the liquor on the tiered shelf behind the bar. He nudged it back into place carefully.

“But?”

He shrugged. “Someone must have put the evil eye on us that day. The chef was in a mood and burned the chicken. Lara spilled water on Martha.”

So that
was
Martha who Lara had been talking about after all, Gigi realized.

“But don’t you think that, since Martha had a kind of thing for Emilio, she would—”

Carlo shook his head so vigorously his hair flopped to and fro. “Not Martha. Emilio begged her to come back another day, to give us another chance, but no.” He clenched his fists. “She could have ruined us with a bad review.”

Gigi felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. Was Carlo trying to tell her that Emilio had actually done something to…kill…Martha’s review?

If not Martha herself?

“Emilio had the idea that perhaps he could get Martha to change her mind by…” Carlo stopped, and Gigi thought he was blushing. “By making love to her. And pretending to be a little in love with her.”

“Did it work?”

“When he asked about the review and perhaps not printing it, she just laughed at him.”

“What did Emilio do?”

“I don’t know. That is why I’m so worried.” Carlo’s dark eyes clouded over. “I’m afraid Emilio might have done something…drastic…to stop the review. Do you really think it is—how do you say it in English?—a coincidence that a couple of days later Martha was dead?”

Chapter 15

Gigi woke with butterflies in her stomach, and for a moment she couldn’t remember why. Reg stretched lazily next to her, and she reached out to scratch his belly as she tried to remember why she had this strange feeling of excitement.

Of course. Today was the day she was meeting with Donna Small, the UPS delivery person who had answered her classified ad. Today, hopefully, she would be getting some answers. Donna had seen someone outside the theater the day Martha was killed, and she had even seen them hovering around Gigi’s MINI. She had been passing by on her way to deliver a package to Simpson and West on High Street. And she’d promised to tell Gigi all about it over a glass of iced tea and a slice of pound cake at the Woodstone Diner.

Gigi rushed through her breakfast prep—she was doing scrambled eggs on English muffins with a sprinkle of low-fat cheese—and delivered her containers in what felt like a blur. She’d
barely gotten home when it was time to think about what she needed to do for lunch. She always took care with each meal but even more so now. She was grateful to the clients who hadn’t been put off by Martha’s death and the insinuation that it had been negligence on the part of Gigi’s Gourmet De-Lite.

Despite all the work she had to do, Gigi was convinced that the hands on the clock were crawling along at half their customary speed. Surely it had never taken this long to get to three
P.M.

She arrived early at the Woodstone Diner and parked around back. There was only one other car in the lot, and it wasn’t a UPS delivery van, but Gigi didn’t expect Donna Small until three o’clock at the earliest.