Finding Angelo (The Wine Lover's Daughter, Book 2) (11 page)

“You’re dead, man.”

The guy, his hands tied behind his
back, his face bloodied, moaned. “I did what I was told.” He was middle-aged,
skinny, with greasy brown hair plastered against his skull and falling into his
face. He smelled of sweat and fear.

“No, you didn’t. I told you to
kill them both. You lied to me. One is still alive. Why?” Louie punched the guy’s
face again.

“Please, I tried. I took care of
one. I tried to find the other one, but he was gone.” The bound man was
trembling, the left eyelid swollen, the eye almost closed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You told
me you took care of them, of both of them.” Louie raised his fist again.

“Stop, please. I’ll do it now.
I’ll find him.”

“Too late. He’s gone. Out of the
country. Somewhere in Italy. And you’re gonna be in a grave soon. If the boss
finds out, you’re dead meat, buddy.”

“Don’t tell him. I’ll go to Italy.
I’ll take care of him. I will, promise.”

“You’re a fucking coward. You’re
not gonna take care of anybody.” Louie slapped the guy again, then untied him.

The man, blood flowing from his
nose, stared at Louie, stunned. “You’re letting me go?” His voice exuded fear,
with a hint of hope.

“Oh, I’m not gonna dirty my hands
with you anymore. Someone else is going to do it. Get out.” Louie took the guys
jacket and tossed it at him. “And don’t even try to disappear. The word is out.
They’ll find you. I give you a piece of advice, as a friend.” Louie smirked.
“Write your will … if you still have time.”

The man, trembling and barely able
to stand up, limped to the door. He opened it and disappeared. Louie turned
toward the desk. He sat down in front of a computer monitor. He glanced around
the windowless room. Aside from the desk, a lamp, and the computer, the room
was empty.

Louie scratched his head and
stared at the monitor and his reflection on the screen: a head of disheveled
dirty-brown hair, a meaty face, and small glaring eyes. “Goddamn it.” With a
deep sigh he pulled out his cell phone and punched a button. He recognized the
steely voice and the clipped “Yeah?”

“It’s Louie. Boss. You’re right.
We do have a problem.”

Sofia started the car and drove along the narrow street,
checking the rearview mirror. So far nobody was following her. She turned left
at the crossing and followed the country road that Miriam told her would lead
to the monastery. After about half a mile, she glanced at the rearview mirror
again and inhaled sharply.

There it was again, the blue
Honda. She tightened her hands around the steering wheel. This wasn’t a
coincidence anymore. She was being followed. Her chest tensed as she tried to
decide what to do. She looked toward the horizon where the sun was beginning to
sink behind the hills. It would be getting dark soon. There was hardly any
traffic on the road, only an occasional car came from the other direction. She
was alone with some creep following her.

“Not good, Sofia,” she murmured.
After a few minutes, she saw what looked like the monastery on the hill, a
group of stone houses around a church. It resembled a small hill town.

Another glance back. The blue
Honda was closer now, still not right behind her, but too close for comfort.
What should she do? Turn back? Drive to Moretta and stay with Miriam? Try again
tomorrow early in the day? But she was so close.

With a deep exhalation, she slowed
down a little, searching for the road leading up to the monastery. She almost
missed it, but turned the steering wheel to the right at the last moment,
veered over to the left, tires screeching. She got control of the car again and
checked the rearview mirror. The blue Honda passed the exit.

“Got you.” Sofia took a few deep
breaths, trying to steady her heartbeat, and followed the driveway up the hill.

There was a small parking lot next
to a meadow in front of the monastery, almost empty except for a large van that
resembled a school bus. Sofia parked her car and sat for a moment, trying to decide
if she should have a look around. Just as she was getting ready to open the car
door, she gasped. The blue Honda drove into the parking lot from the back of
the buildings.
There must be another road to the monastery
.

She started the car, drove down the
hill, her heart thudding. She glanced back, but the Honda wasn’t following her,
not yet. She turned left on the main road that led back to Moretta. She
accelerated and drove well past the speed limit, hoping she wouldn’t be stopped
by a cop. She didn’t want another encounter like the one with the unfriendly
policeman in Bardonico. Fortunately, there was little traffic and she soon saw
the houses of Moretta. She checked her rearview mirror. No Honda.

Sofia drove to Miriam’s place. She
decided not to park right in front of it, in case her follower would look for
her again. She didn’t want to let him know where she was. She parked a couple
of blocks away, got out, grabbed her overnight bag, and locked the car.

“No.” Her breath caught as she saw
a blue Honda turn the corner. He’d followed her after all. She hurried down a
crossroad to the one where Miriam lived, hoping he hadn’t seen her yet. Sweat
poured down her back, although it was already cool outside. She turned into the
next street and waited a while, constantly glancing around. Perhaps she should
wait until it was dark. The sun had gone down and dusk began to spread,
coloring the surrounding hills and mountains purple. After a while, she began
to shiver, not just out of fear, but because the temperature dropped after
sunset.

Finally, she plucked up her
courage and walked to the corner of Miriam’s street. She looked in both
directions. No blue Honda and nobody was out in the street. She slowly walked
toward the house, then hesitated. What if he watched her? She might endanger
Miriam as well. By now, she was convinced that whoever followed her was
dangerous and that his stalking had to do with her trying to find Angelo.
Perhaps this sleuthing wasn’t such a great idea. She should just call Nicholas,
give him all the news, drive back to Vignaverde, and let the police take care
of business. What now? Drive back to Pavone? But it was too late in the day for
that.

She took another deep breath and
walked toward the house. Still no Honda. She opened the gate and entered the
small front-yard. No light shown through the window. She knocked on the door.

“Please, Miriam, be here,” she
whispered.

Miriam put the groceries away. She filled the kettle with
water and set it on the stove, then dropped two spoonfuls of Earl Grey tea into
the pot. Waiting for the water to boil, she glanced out the window at the
bougainvillea in her neighbor’s yard, its red blossoms quivering in the late
afternoon breeze.

She thought about Danilo. She
couldn’t get used to his real name. The fact that he never told her his name
was Angelo made her relationship to him even more questionable. Obviously, he
hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her.

When the kettle whistled, Miriam
poured the boiling water over the tea leaves. While letting the tea steep, she
continued to look out the window. A deep sigh escaped her. She shook her head.
She had tried to forget Danilo, to let him go, and thought she had succeeded.
Meeting his great-niece, however, had reignited the pain that obviously still lodged
deep in her heart. Why did he just disappear? Sofia had told her that he was
probably hiding from some dangerous people. But still, he could’ve told her.
She wouldn’t have betrayed him.

Miriam poured the tea and added
milk and sugar. She took the cup into the living room and sat on the sofa,
gazing at a small collection of colorful stones on the mantelpiece. She had
gathered them on her hikes with Angelo.

She’d been attracted to him
because he was different, different from her former husband, a charming,
gregarious—and ultimately cruel—man. Danilo was shy, somewhat aloof, often
withdrawn, but kind. Her best memories of him were the outings they went on
together. They both loved to hike and discover new areas. The woods and
mountains around their small village in the Piedmont were the perfect place for
exploring. They often hiked for a couple of days and spent the night in some
hut. During the cooler seasons, they built a fire, roasted chestnuts and
sausages, and sat around after the sun set, simply enjoying the peace and
quiet.

It was during those hikes that
Miriam felt she got to know him better. He shared some anecdotes about his
family back in California. She now remembered him talking about his great
nephew, Nicholas, who seemed to have been a favorite of his. Nicholas must be
Sofia’s husband. Danilo had told her he had been a troubled youngster and he
regretted having betrayed his family.

One summer day, at noontime, they
sat in the shade of a large Italian stone pine, getting ready to have a picnic.
He asked her if she ever thought of moving back to the United States. She was
surprised at the question.

“Why? Are you thinking about it?”
Miriam asked.

Danilo shrugged. “Sometimes. I
like it here. I’ve been able to live a decent life in Italy. I’m grateful for
it. But … I have unfinished business back home and one day, I have to go back
to clear things up. I just don’t have the courage yet.”

When she asked him to elaborate,
however, he withdrew again. “It’s family stuff,” he said and shook his head.

It was the closest she had come to
learning about the problems he had back in California.

That was that. Now, Miriam regretted not having tried to dig
deeper. She had been afraid to push him away by asking him stuff he wasn’t
willing to share. There would be time, she felt. When he was ready.

Well, that time never came. One
day, he was gone, without a message. Her heart still contracted at the thought.
She shook her head as if to dislodge the painful feelings, got up, and brought
her cup and tea pot back into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and
tried to decide what to have for dinner.

There was a knock at the door.

Sofia stood outside, her overnight
bag clutched to her chest, her face pale. “Can I stay with you tonight? I’m
being followed.”

Miriam’s eyes widened. She stepped aside and motioned for
Sofia to enter.

Sofia took a deep breath. “I’m
sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No problem. I’m glad you’re
here.” Miriam glanced outside, then closed the door. “What happened?”

Sofia told her about the man in
the blue Honda whom she suspected had been following her all the way from
Bardonico. It had scared her so badly when she saw him at the monastery again
that she just turned back.

“Why don’t we both go there
tomorrow?” Miriam suggested. “We’ll take my car and in case he was really
following you, he doesn’t know my car.”

Sofia was relieved. “You wouldn’t
mind coming along? That would be great.”

“Yes, all this talk about Danilo …
I mean Angelo, gee, I wish I could get used to his real name,” Miriam said.
“Anyway, all this brought up quite a lot of emotions. And I would love to find
out what happened to him.”

“Good, I could use a helper. This
sleuthing is getting a little out of hand,” Sofia said.

“Well, Sherlock Holmes, we’ll do
it together.” Miriam chuckled.

“Aye, aye, Dr. Watson.” Sofia
laughed, then became serious again. “I should really call my husband. I haven’t
talked to him for a few days. I have trouble getting through on my cell. I know
he’s worried.”

“Call him from my landline,”
Miriam said and pointed at her phone.

Sofia checked her watch. It was
early morning in California and she hoped to get a hold of Nicholas before he
started working. He usually went walking through the vineyards together with
his grandfather in the mornings. Sofia took a deep breath and dialed the
number.

“Hello?” sounded a surprised
voice. Sofia realized that he had seen Miriam’s number on his display.

“Hi sweetie. It’s me,” Sofia said.

“Sofia? Where are you? I didn’t
recognize the number. What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“Yes, calm down,” Sofia said. “I’m
at a friend’s place.” She told Nicholas that she had received some information
about Angelo from a priest in Bardonico and that she was now in Moretta. “I met
a friend of Angelo’s and I’m staying with her now. Tomorrow, we’ll go and check
out a monastery nearby.”

“A monastery? Why?”

“Yeah, I know. Sounds strange,
doesn’t it? But both Miriam—that’s Angelo’s friend—and Don Ambrosio said that
Angelo had expressed an interest in religion and the monastic life.”

“What? That doesn’t sound like the
Angelo we know. Are you sure this is the right Angelo?” Nicholas said.

“I’m sure it’s him. He may have
changed his life around. But the important fact is that until about five years
ago, he was still here and alive. So I hope we can get some information from
the Benedictine monastery in the area.”

“Gee, Sofia, it sounds like you’re
traveling through the whole of the Piedmont,” Nicholas said. “Anyway, I’ll let
Grandpa and George Silver know. Listen, you be careful, okay. So you’re going
to the monastery next? Is your friend coming with you?”

“Yes, she knows where it is. And
she wants to find Angelo, too.” Sofia glanced at Miriam, but her friend was
rinsing a few dishes in the kitchen. “They were a couple. And then Angelo disappeared
again.”

“Well, at least you’re not
traveling alone. But please, please be careful. If Angelo keeps disappearing,
there is something wrong with him. Obviously.” Nicholas sounded worried again.

“Please don’t worry. We are only
going to find out if he had been at the monastery. Chances are, we’ll hit a
dead end. But I’ll let you know.”

There was a pause, then Nicholas
spoke again. “You know, this all sounds strange. You seem to have no trouble
finding information about Angelo but the police here only found out that he
renewed his American passport twice. The residence he listed was an address in
Milano, but when the police checked it out, an old woman lived there, who
didn’t know Angelo and had never heard of him. They didn’t find any mention of
an Angelo Segantino anywhere in Italy that fit his profile.”

Sofia swallowed. Now was the time
to tell Nicholas about the name change.

“Oh, Sofia, I just realized I need
to go. I have a dental appointment. Please keep in touch and let me know what
happens … and be careful.”

After Sofia put down the receiver,
she took a deep breath. “I should’ve told him about the name change,” she
murmured. “Next time for sure.” She went into the kitchen where Miriam was
chopping zucchini. “Can I help?”

Miriam glanced at her. “No, everything
is ready. I’m fixing some vegetables and heated up the leftover chicken
casserole.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Sofia said.
She inhaled the delicious scent. “Smells good. Basil?”

“Yes. You can open a bottle of
wine if you want to.” Miriam pointed at a bottle of red wine on the kitchen
counter. “The corkscrew is in the drawer underneath.”

Sofia checked the label on the
wine. “Ah, Nebbiolo, excellent, the famous wine of the Piedmont.”

“Yes, I have it from a vineyard
nearby,” Miriam said.

They sat down to a dinner of
chicken cacciatore and a plate of zucchini, peppers, and eggplant. The meal and
the wine relaxed Sofia and for a moment she forgot the fact that not only was
she withholding information from her husband, her family, and most likely from
the police in California, but she also was being followed by some mysterious
guy, probably a criminal.