Italy to Die For (11 page)

Chapter 18

Together Again

Another hour passed before I
caught sight of Margo, arm in arm with a guy pulling one of her suitcases while another guy pulled the second one. At least she’d shown enough sense not to bring the piece rivaling a steamer trunk. She wore a backless sundress and carried a broad-brimmed straw hat that added to the WOW factor even I couldn’t deny. After waving at me, she planted kisses on the cheeks of both men before dismissing them. They stood in awe while she assumed the luggage chore. The smile on her face diminished with each labored step she took in my direction, making me wonder why she dumped the guys before they’d finished serving her. Whatever the problem, it was not mine, nor would I make it mine.

“Where h
ave you been?” I pointed to my wristwatch. “We agreed to meet at eleven.”

“What
… no kiss?”

We almost touched cheeks, Hollywood style, not that either of us had been to the West Coast.

“I’m so-o sorry, El. But Max and Franz insisted I debark with them at Riomaggiore. An absolutely spectacular walk back in time, don’t you think?”

“I’ll take your word since
I haven’t seen Riomaggiore yet.”

“Rea
lly, what
have
you been doing?” Margo said with a wink. She lifted her nose and sniffed. “A bit of romance in the air, how exciting—you should’ve told me, El. I wouldn’t have barged—”

“How was I to know you’d change your plans?”

“Don’t go snippy on me, at least until after we’ve eaten. Which reminds me: I am positively starving.”

“What? Your guy friends didn’t feed you?”

“They offered; I declined, even though they insisted on including you. It would’ve been awkward, what with your aversion to making small talk with strangers.”

“Not all strangers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She lifted her nose again. “Hmm, do I smell lemons.”

“It’s the season and there’s a
place not far from here,” I said as we started walking. “But you’ll have to drag your own suitcases.”

“In your dreams
,” she said, shoving one handle in my direction. “Or, what about asking my new friends to join us? Franz and Max have money.”

I glanced over to where her friends were inspecting a menu posted outside the closest eatery. Margo had been right about my
reclusive nature, more like selective, although it had taken a back seat since our separation in Florence. I sensed a return to selective, almost welcomed it.

“Some other time, I’m not in the mood today.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Margo said.

“How should I know? It’s not like I can read your mind.”

Two snips and a snap in less than three minutes, I’d set a new record, one that didn’t do me proud. We each dragged a suitcase to the trattoria where I’d eaten with Lorenzo before. I could still taste the anchovies and lemons, a dish I suggested Margo order.

“
Hmm, how positively Mediterranean,” she said. “If you order the shrimp and pasta, we can share.”

A good idea that didn’t pan out, not that I blame Margo. She
gobbled up all her anchovies while I picked out the shrimp from my pasta and left the rest, all the while thinking about the anchovies I should’ve ordered. Meanwhile, a trio of young musicians had set up their equipment across from the trattoria and began serenading the diners with sweet melodies I would have preferred listening to instead of the play-by-play drama of a break-up that devastated Margo more than any other break-up in her entire history of dating had devastated her.

When she stopped for a sip of wine, I managed to say,
“No kidding, his mama paid you, how much, if you don’t mind my asking.” Curses, a road I should never have gone down.

“
More like threw a handful of euros at my feet, which I didn’t bother picking up.” Margo bit her lower lip. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “You had to be there, El. On second thought, no. Never have I been so humiliated.”

Talk about a guilt trip. I apologized for my insensitivity before Margo went any further.
And when she insisted on picking up the check, I didn’t argue with her. After leaving the trattoria, we strolled along the pedestrian walkway, stopping to inspect the more interesting shops, meaning those with the higher price tags more appropriate to Margo’s style and enviable form. After Shop Number Four she placed four fingers over her mouth, covering a big sigh and extended yawn, not her tired yawn or the get-out-of-my-face yawn but the one signaling a case of ho-hum boredom.

“Just how far away
is this Lorenzo’s place?” She leaned against the nearest building, removed the straw hat, and used it to fan her face. Tiny sweat beads had formed on her upper lip. Make that perspiration. Margo doesn’t believe in sweating unless she’s working out.

“Hot enough for you?” I asked.

“Had you listened to me, Max and Franz would be dragging these suitcases instead of you and me. Let’s get rid of them before we tackle any sightseeing.”

I’d been wondering how much longer she could last.
“Good idea,” I said. “Not to be a party-pooper but my leg is killing me. I have got to put my feet up.”

“
A
short siesta then, it’s so Italian.”

“Italian enough to enjoy every
minute of the time we have left in absolute comfort.”

I led the way to Lorenzo’s
apartment, nodding here and there to the occasional person who recognized me.

“Well, well, well,” Margo said. “You have been getting around.”

“On my own,” I said. Although Lorenzo deserved much of the credit, I did not bring up his name. “Incidentally, how did you find your way to the villa?”

“Hello, this is Margo
Big Sister you’re talking to. In case you didn’t notice before, I do know how to read a map and ask questions, a few basic ones in Italian.”

“Just answer my
question, please.”

She stopped, shifted from one foot to the other. “
In Florence I took the train to La Spezia and from the station, a taxi. Speaking of taxis, how far to this apartment? I see you’re starting to limp.”

“I’ve been walking this route for the past three days. One more t
ime won’t kill me.”

***

As soon as we arrived at Lorenzo’s apartment, Margo strolled from room to room with her nose in the air. “Elegant in a quaint sort of way,” she said. “Although-h-h, compared to the villa, it does seem a bit cramped.”

“Lorenzo doesn’t live off his mama. He works for a living.”

“And what might that be, as in his occupation.”

“How should I know? And don’t ask when you meet him. In Italy it’s not considered polite.”

“So, he’s already shot you down,” she said. “Interesting, you must’ve hit a raw nerve.”

“
Not really. You haven’t asked about our room.” I opened the door, motioned her inside.

“What, just one bed?”

“Big enough for the two of us,” I said. “This is a private residence, I might add, and Lorenzo invited me to stay. Please remember you are here because of his generosity.”

“Not so fast, w
e had reservations, paid in advance, I might add.”

“F
or the villa at La Spezia, reservations which I believe end today. You can always return to the villa if this apartment cramps your style.”

“And leave you alone with a man so secretive he won’t reveal what he does for a living, I don’t think so.
” Margo plopped down on the bed and bounced a few times. She cocked her head and grinned. “You’re right. The bed is big enough for two.”

“Good, at least we agree on something.”

“He slept with you last night, didn’t he?”

“You’re not my … our mother, not that I’m required to tell her everything. Or you.”

“Come on, El. Are we going to spend the next two weeks arguing?”

“Sorry, I’m
tired and my thigh is aching.”

“Speaking of, let me see that nasty injury.”

I lifted my skirt, turned for my own view in the full-length mirror.

Margo
sat up. She whistled, slow and soft, her way of showing sympathy she rarely expressed in words. “Holy bejesus, that is so disgusting I may have to toss those anchovies turning summersaults in my stomach.”

“Now I know why you never became a nurse.”

“Being a paralegal to the best personal injury lawyer in St. Louis fits my personality. Speaking of—”

“
As I said before there’s no chance for a lawsuit. That’s what Jonathan told me.”

“
Jonathan?”

“From Des Moines,
I met him on the boat.”

“My, oh my, I am impressed
. He’s a lawyer.”

“Not that I recall.”

“If he were, you would’ve remembered. Still, you get an A for effort.”

“Right, and now, if
you don’t mind, I will take the nap I’ve been promising myself.”

“Not a problem,
kid sis.” She slid off the bed and moving into my space, checked her mirrored image with a satisfied smile. “I’m going to relax on that fabulous balcony and read. A glass of wine would make my day. You don’t suppose—”

“There’s a bottle of the local white already
opened in the fridge. Lorenzo wouldn’t miss a few ounces.”

“You’re sure now. Did he mark the bottle before he left?”

She headed for the kitchen with me on her heels.

“He’s been a wonderful host, Margo. I haven’t paid for anything since he brought me here.”

“
Hmm, Old World charm … that is nice.” She opened the fridge, looked inside. “Speaking of old—”

“I’m guessing early-to-mid forties. But with these
Italians one never knows.”

She took out the wine
and removed the cork. Instead of reaching for a goblet, she lifted the bottle with every intention of drinking from it.

“Margo!”

“Just kidding, give me some credit.”

“
Well, I’m not in the mood.”

“
As if you ever are … and when is he coming back?”

“I’m not sure. Whenever he solves the problem, I guess.”

“What problem?”

“How should I know?
” I opened my mouth and executed a yawn so genuine it spoke volumes. “Now you do your thing and let me do mine.”

Margo pou
red enough wine to qualify as a generous half. She grabbed the book she’d been reading since we left St. Louis, and headed for the balcony. I got as far as the living room recliner where I decided to test its level of comfort, which must’ve been a solid ten because I soon dozed off.

Hours later w
hen I awoke, it was to a sun that soon would be setting. To my knowledge Lorenzo had not yet returned, not that he needed to on my account. Or Margo’s. I found myself hoping the two of them would hit it off but not as much as he and I had. As for whatever business occupied Lorenzo’s time, I pictured him positioned behind a massive antique desk, on the telephone directing a few underlings in some commercial enterprise or perhaps arranging for the exportation of lemons or olive oil or figs. Or perhaps he was part of Interpol, investigating not one but two murders in Monterosso. Earlier in the day when I’d asked Dante Novaro about Lorenzo’s whereabouts, Uncle Bernardo Cozzani had interrupted the commissioner’s response, which seemed a bit too convenient or perhaps contrived.

Still in a dream-like mode of drooping eyelids
and recent memories, I felt the not-so-gentle rap of a knuckle on my head, big sister stuff reminding me of a simpler time.

“Hello, anybody home up there?” Margo said. “I hate to keep repeating myself but let’s not waste the entire evening.”

“We could watch the sun set from here.” I stretched my arms overhead, slowly released them. “According to Lorenzo there’s no better view than the one from his balcony.”

“That
would be like watching a travelogue of other people having fun instead of creating our own. Let’s be players.”

“I could open
a bottle of wine. Lorenzo wouldn’t mind.”

“And
drink alone, like two old maids … er, bored bachelorettes with nothing better to do, I don’t think so.” She sat down on the sofa, propped her bare feet on the coffee table. “You don’t have to come with me, El. I’m quite capable of looking after myself.”

“I’m sure two other women in Monterosso
felt the same way before some deranged person murdered them. One was a gypsy, the other a tourist from god only knows where. At least the police think she might’ve been a tourist.”

Margo gasped as only she can.
“What? Two women murdered in this village and we’re staying here alone? Why didn’t you tell me before now? We could’ve caught the train back to La Spezia and first thing tomorrow left for Torino or Milano or maybe Venice, which we now have time to visit whereas we didn’t before. After all, we do have two more weeks to kill—or be killed, pardon my pun.”