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

“What are you thinking about?”

Martin felt a hand on his back.
Maria, his wife of fifty-two years, smiled at him with her kind blue eyes. She
had just come from the hairdresser. Her short, wavy, salt-and-pepper hair still
smelled of hair spray, lavender he thought. He put his arm around her soft
body. She was a little on the plump side but still beautiful. It was the kind
of beauty that came from kindness and caring.

They had just finished lunch and
were waiting for Sofia and Nicholas to come over for afternoon coffee. Martin
gave a quick smile and continued to stare through the window.

The rain during the winter had
revived the earth. The fields, which had been mostly yellow and brown during
the past few years because of the drought, were now a lush green. It wouldn’t
last. Summer with its hot days would transform the colors into yellow, brown,
rust, and purple. For now, green and the hues of the wild flowers dominated the
landscape. But the beauty of nature didn’t do much to cheer Martin up this
sunny day in March. The news that the investigator, George Silver, had given
him about the bones alleviated his fear that they belonged to his brother.
However, it brought up new uncertainty and suspicions.

Martin sighed. “I’m glad the bones
were not Angelo’s. Thank God. But the fact that they belong to Fred really
bothers me.” He shook his head. “It must be awful for Frank to know that all
this time, his brother had been buried on his property. His killer must be
someone who had access to the field. I mean, it takes a while to bury a body.”

Maria patted his back. “Angelo and
Fred were involved in some illegal business. We know that. But this is a lot
more serious. What about Fred and Frank’s cousin? You know, the one who was in
jail?”

“Anton, yes. Unsavory character.
He was the one who gave Angelo a job. Fred and Angelo were drivers for his
trucking company. No telling what they transported.” Martin snorted briefly.
“Still we don’t know what really happened. And where is Angelo? Is he the
killer? He has done a lot of stupid things but murdering someone?”

“Well, I don’t believe it either.
But here are the kids.” Maria motioned at Sofia and Nicholas who came walking
up the driveway.

Martin waved at them and opened
the floor-to-ceiling glass door that led onto the patio and stepped outside.

Maria followed. “Want to sit
outside? It’s perfect today. I’ll get the coffee.”

“Let me help you,” Sofia offered.

“Not necessary.” Maria waved her
off. “Just relax.”

Martin sat down on one of the patio chairs while the others
joined him. Maria brought a pot of coffee and a plate of cookies and put them
on the table. She poured everybody a cup.

“So, the bones aren’t Angelo’s?”
Nicholas said. “That must be a relief.”

“Yes, this is the good news. But
there’s bad news, too.” Martin dropped two cubes of sugar into his coffee and
took a sip.

“Bad news?” Sofia asked. “What bad
news?”

“The bones belong to Fred
Leonardi,” Martin said in his quiet, matter-of-fact voice.

“Oh, my God,” Nicholas said. “Does
Frank know?”

“Yes, he and I were down at the
police station this morning. We met with George Silver, the investigator. He
questioned us both.”

“But you’re not a suspect,
Grandpa?” Nicholas asked with a grin.

Martin raised an eyebrow. “He
called me a ‘person of interest,’ whatever that means. I’m supposed to stick
around and be available for questioning. This is going to be a long
investigation. They have to go back in time and try to reconstruct what
happened back then.”

“How do they know it was a crime?
Couldn’t it have been an accident?” Sofia asked.

“Hardly. Why would anybody bury a
body in a field if it was an accident?” Martin glanced at Sofia.

Sofia gave an embarrassed smile.
“You’re right, of course.”

“Besides,” Maria said. “Didn’t
George say he was shot in the head?”

Martin nodded.

“How can they determine what
happened after so many years?” Nicholas mused.

“Haven’t you ever watched
Bones
on TV?” Maria said.

Nicholas shook his head.

“I’ve seen it a few times,” Sofia
said. “Quite interesting. I think they check the dental records.”

“That may not even have been
necessary.” Martin took a sip of coffee. “They found an amulet Fred used to
wear all the time and a ring. They also discovered a hole in the skull and
that’s how they know that Fred was shot. Well here is the person who knows more
about this.” He motioned with his head toward the driveway and got up.

A car parked and a man got out.
“It’s the investigator,” Martin said. He waved. “Come through the yard. We’re
here.” He watched as a man of medium height, robust figure, shaved head,
probably in his forties, walked toward them.

The man’s sharp gray eyes lingered
briefly on each person. He nodded a greeting. “Hello. I’m Inspector George
Silver.”

Martin shook hands with him and
introduced the family members to him.

“Want some coffee?” Martin asked.

Silver shook his head. “I’d
appreciate a glass of water, though.”

“I’ll get it,” Maria said.

Martin pointed at an empty garden
chair.

“Thanks,” George Silver said. “I
just have a few more questions.”

He gave a brief smile as Maria set
a glass of water in front of him. “Thank you, ma’am.” He took a sip of water,
then turned to Martin. “From what Frank Leonardi told me, Fred and your brother
Angelo were friends and often worked together. What can you tell me about their
activities?”

Martin shook his head. “Not much
I’m afraid. I know they were pals. They did some work together for a trucking
company that belonged to Frank and Fred’s cousin, Anton Leonardi.” He watched
Silver’s reaction.

George Silver nodded. “Yes, Anton
has had some dealings with the police. What about Angelo?”

“What about Angelo … that’s a sad
chapter.” Martin ran his fingers through his hair. “My brother was … is ten
years younger than me. He was a difficult child, and he got into all kinds of
scrapes as an adult as well. I know he was involved in shady deals but if you
believe he murdered Fred, no, I don’t think so. They were good friends.”

“Something may have changed in
their relationship,” Silver said. “Frank Leonardi feels that Angelo had
something to do with Fred’s disappearance.”

“Then he knows more than I do. As
far as I’m concerned, it was Fred who encouraged Angelo to work with him. Anton
Leonardi, that’s where you should focus your investigation.” Martin felt the
heat rise to his face.

“You can be sure, we’re going to
follow every lead,” Silver said. “You told me you hadn’t had any contact with
your brother for twenty years? Did you never try to find him?”

“Of course I did,” Martin snapped,
then caught himself. “We all tried to find him. I filed a missing person
report, but the police didn’t do anything about it. See, Angelo left a note,
telling us he was leaving and not to worry or try to find him. According to the
cops, he was an adult who preferred not to stay in touch with the family and
that was his right. They didn’t consider this a missing person case.”

“So what did you do?” Silver gave
him an inquisitive look.

“What was I supposed to do? I went
to New York where the letter was mailed from, hoping my relatives there knew
something more. But they didn’t. They admitted that Angelo stayed with them for
a couple of weeks and then left. They suspected he may have gone to Italy, but
they didn’t know for sure.”

“Why Italy?” Silver asked.

“Not sure why. The only reason
would be that our family came from Italy. Our mother brought us here when we
were kids.”

“Are you still in touch with
anybody in Italy?”

“No, I don’t know anybody there.
And Angelo was only three years old when we left. He wouldn’t have any
connections either. That’s why I doubt he moved there. I don’t think he even
knows Italian.” Martin shrugged.

“Anyway, after a while, I stopped
looking. Angelo and I weren’t on the best of terms anymore. I just didn’t
approve of his way of life. I was sick and tired helping him out and having him
turn his back on us.” Martin stared at Silver. “But I still don’t believe
Angelo had anything to do with Fred’s death.”

“Well, we need to find him.”
George Silver stood up. “Any information you can give us. If you hear anything
from him or about him, let me know.”

“Certainly. Believe me, now I’m as
eager to find my brother as you are.”

“Understand. Well, I’ll be on my
way. Thanks for the water.” Silver got up and lifted his hand in a farewell
gesture.

Martin rose and watched the
inspector walk to his car and drive away. Just as he was about to sit down again,
he sighed. “Oh, no, more trouble.”

“Frank’s coming.” Nicholas watched their neighbor walk up
the hill.

“Yes, and he looks angry,” Martin
said, an anxious tone in his voice.

Frank Leonardi was a heavyset man,
dressed in worn jeans, a wrinkled blue denim shirt, and work boots. He had
curly gray hair. Nicholas figured he was in his sixties. His face was red and
there were large sweat stains under his arms. Nicholas was afraid he would
collapse and die of a heart attack.

When he got to the patio, he gave
a brief nod to Maria, then faced Martin, flashes of anger in his eyes. “What
did Silver want? What did you tell him?”

“Take it easy, Frank. Sit down.
Want some coffee?”

“No,” he snapped.

“What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” Frank
snorted. “I find out my brother has been buried in your field for ages and you
ask me ‘what’s the matter?’”

“Wait a minute, Frank, that was
your field until you sold it to Nicholas and Sofia three months ago. The bones
were obviously buried there long before the field changed owners.”

“Yeah, so? But where is your
brother?”

“Frank, I wish I knew. I don’t
even know if he’s still alive.” Martin spoke quietly.

Frank’s already red face got even
darker. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Angelo was the killer.”

Martin narrowed his eyes. “Frank,
this is a heavy accusation, and totally unjustified. Angelo and Fred were close
friends. Why would Angelo kill him?”

“Angelo has been nothing but
trouble, and he is at least in part responsible for the mess the two got in.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold it, Frank.”
Martin’s voice rose. “First of all, it was Fred who offered Angelo a job as a
truck driver for Anton. I know that my brother was no saint but neither was
Fred. And if you want to find a real criminal, then you should check out your
cousin Anton.”

“This is just like you, passing
the buck. Anton has nothing to do with this. Besides, he doesn’t even live
here. He moved to Chicago years ago.”

“But he was here when Angelo and
Fred worked for him and then mysteriously disappeared,” Martin said.

Frank glared at him. “All I know
is that my brother is dead and your brother, who may have killed him, is alive
somewhere. I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not going to rest until this case is
solved.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his jeans pocket and wiped his face.

Martin got up. “Frank, I want this
case solved as much as you do. I’m sorry about Fred, really. And I’ll help in
whatever way I can. But in the meantime, I kindly ask you to stop making blind
accusations directed at me and my family. Let’s please wait and have the police
look into it.”

Frank pushed his handkerchief back
into his jeans pocket, turned on his heel, and walked across the lawn toward
the street, muttering under his breath.

“That’s too bad,” Maria said.
“I’ve never seen him this angry. He must be hurting because of what happened to
his brother.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Martin said.
“I’m sure he’s hurt, but he didn’t seem to mind that Fred was gone. He didn’t
make much of an effort to find him. I just hope this isn’t going to be a
permanent break between us. After all, we’re neighbors.”

Nicholas had watched the argument
between the two. He, too, was surprised at Frank’s angry reaction. “You
mentioned this Anton? What’s his story?”

Martin waved his hand as if to
swat a fly. “Anton Leonardi was in jail. Rumors have it that he’s involved with
the Mafia. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s a crook. One of the bones of
contention between me and Angelo was the fact that my brother started to work
for him. I knew it wasn’t legal work. Angelo had been doing better ever since
he met Elvira, his wife, but all of a sudden things started going downhill
again.”

“Tell us about Angelo,” Nicholas
said. “I know so little about him … about you and your parents. I think I was
nine years old when he disappeared. I remember him as a kind and fun person. He
took me to the ice cream parlor a lot.”

Martin nodded. “Yes, he could be
loving and kind, but he had another, much darker side … but Maria, honey,
didn’t you say something about dessert?”

“Oh, God, yes. I forgot all about
it because of Frank. I’ll get it.”

Sofia got up. “I’ll help you.”

“Thanks, Sofia, just get the
plates. I’ll bring the rest.”

Nicholas watched as Sofia and
Maria came back out with plates and a bowl of tiramisu. “Wow, Grandma, my
favorite.”

Maria dished out the dessert and
poured each a fresh cup of coffee. For a few minutes, they ate quietly, then
Martin pushed back his plate.

“My mother, your
great-grandmother, came to the United States in 1950. I was thirteen and Angelo
was three years old. My father was killed, supposedly by a mobster. I asked my
mother about it, but she never gave me any details.” Martin raised an eyebrow.
“You know it’s a stereotype to think that Italian immigrants have connections
to the mob. I think the Godfather movie helped to cement our reputation. In the
case of my family, however, it may at least have been partly true.

“We stayed with our relatives in
New York. We were poor, but my mother worked hard, so that both my brother and
I could have a good education. I did pretty well, but Angelo was trouble from
the beginning.

“When our mother died—I was
eighteen and Angelo was eight—things got worse. Losing his mother and father so
early in life was really hard for him, well for both of us. I tried to take
care of Angelo as best as I could. My cousins and my uncles tried to help, but
they were all busy making a living. Angelo did poorly in school, didn’t go to
college, and, what was worse, began to hang out with the wrong kind of friends.
He got arrested for shoplifting, fighting, the whole juvenile delinquent
stuff.” Martin took another sip of coffee.

Nicholas hung on every word he
said. It was the first time he had gotten a more detailed picture of his
grandfather’s background.

“In college, I got interested in
winemaking,” Martin continued. “When I was old enough to be on my own, I moved
to California together with Angelo. A friend of mine from college had started a
vineyard near the Russian river.”

“Really?” Sofia smiled. “My father
and a friend of his did the same. In fact, we had a vineyard up along the
Russian river. That was when my mother was still alive. Sorry for interrupting
your story. Just reminded me. Go on.”

Martin nodded. “Nicholas told me
about your family’s winemaking business up north.”

“Anyway,” he continued. “Eventually,
we moved here. There was property for sale. This was at a time when the area
was just beginning to become a well-known wine region. There were only about
three or four outfits. But for me, the climate and the soil were perfect. I
wanted to grow some of the excellent Italian wines that weren’t known very well
in this country.

“At first, things seemed to work
out. Angelo did fine for a while, but soon he kept slacking off and got tired
of the heavy work. He wanted money and success without putting in the effort.
Finally, I had enough and fired him. From then on, he kept doing odd jobs
whenever something came up. Then he met Elvira.”

“His wife,” Nicholas said. “I do
remember her. She was really nice.”

“Yes,” Martin acknowledged. “She
was wonderful for Angelo. I’ve never seen him care that much about a person.
And this inspired him to work harder. See, Elvira was a primary school teacher.
She had steady work and made decent money. Angelo’s pride was at stake. He
didn’t want her to be the only breadwinner. So he came back and asked me to
take him on again. We were really busy at the vineyards, and I thought it would
work this time. And it did … for a while.”

“It was all thanks to Elvira.”
Maria ate the last bite of her dessert, then pushed her plate away. “But Angelo
began to work odd jobs on the side again. We suspected it was illegal work, but
we weren’t sure. And then tragedy struck.”

“Elvira? I remember she died,”
Nicholas said.

Martin cleared his throat. “Elvira
was killed in a car accident.”

“How terrible,” Sofia said.

“Yes,” Maria said. “Angelo was
heartbroken. I’ve never seen him so desperate.”

“Problem was, he felt guilty for
her death. And in a way he was.” Martin’s voice sounded angry. “They had an
argument, and from what Angelo mentioned later, it was about his jobs. They
were fighting. Apparently, she took the car and drove off to visit a friend of
hers at the coast. She must have been very upset and perhaps distracted. She
lost control of the car and drove it over a cliff.”

“Oh, no.” Sofia exhaled.

“It was horrible. After that,
Angelo seemed to disintegrate. He kept to himself and a couple of weeks later,
he disappeared.” Martin raised his hand and dropped it again on his knee. “I
didn’t even notice it at first. We tried to keep in touch but he completely
withdrew.”

“Didn’t you say they lived in the
house we live in now?” Nicholas asked.

“Yes, for a while,” Maria said.

“The next thing I knew,” Martin
continued. “I received a note from New York from Angelo. It consisted of about
three sentences and said he had to disappear for a while. He was okay and not
to try to find him. I was angry at him … for everything. For spoiling his
chance at happiness with Elvira by obviously getting involved in shady business
again. For withdrawing completely and disappearing.”

“We tried to find him,” Maria
continued. “We called our relatives in New York. They said he had stayed with
them for a while, but then left. We don’t really have much contact with the
family in New York. One of Martin’s cousins was a bad influence on Angelo.
Well, I guess I may be somewhat unfair. Obviously, it didn’t take much to get
Angelo off the straight path.”

“So you didn’t hear anything
further from Uncle Angelo?” Nicholas asked.

Martin shook his head. “No,
nothing.”

Nicholas caught Sofia’s pensive
look. He gently touched her face. She gave a quick wistful smile.

“This is just so sad,” she said.
“A brother lost for such a long time. It breaks up the family.”

Maria and Martin observed her
quietly. Nicholas felt she was thinking of her own sad family story, her
mother’s early death of a drug overdose, her father’s secret double life.