A Villa in Sicily: Orange Groves and Vengeance

by Fiona Grace

  The man only shrugged, but the answer seemed obvious. And if he had a gun, maybe he’d seen something and taken a shot, accidentally hitting Pietro Grinnelli. It was possible—probably more than possible, considering that when she was there, the shadows of the trees, swaying in the breeze, had made visibility in the grove difficult, even in broad daylight.

  It was too good a lead not to check out.

  “Where did you say I could find this Ricardo person? At a market?”

  He nodded. “If you wanted to track him down, he’s probably there right now. They’re open only in the morning at Abruzzo.”

  “Abruzzo?”

  “You never been there? It’s on the other side of town. Probably not for a girl like you, though. It can get very rough there. Bad sorts of people.”

  Audrey blinked, surprised. And here, she thought the bad element of town was out at the Tivoli estate. She didn’t even realize Mussomeli had a rough section of town. But it couldn’t have been much worse than her place in South Boston. The people in her neighborhood, in the only apartment in the city she could afford, had been slightly questionable, too. “Where is that?”

  The men who had been unloading his truck gave him the thumbs up, and he thanked them, then reached for the door to his truck. As he did, he pointed over her head. “Just keep going west and you’ll run into it. But I wouldn’t go alone. That’s dangerous.”

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks,” she said, breaking into a run. First, though, I need to tell Concetta where I’m going.

  She was out of breath by the time she reached the clinic, even though it was only a couple blocks from the wholesaler. When she rushed inside, the waiting room was depressingly empty, and Concetta was in the back, grooming a Pomeranian mix. “I see it’s been really busy,” she remarked. “I haven’t missed anything?”

  Concetta sighed. “Really. Paint drying is more exciting. The phones have been dead.”

  For the first time, she was happy about that. “Do you mind if I take a half hour to run another errand? I have to go the market on Abruzzo.”

  Concetta’s eyes widened. “Why do you want to go there?”

  “Why, is it bad?”

  She shivered in disgust. “Yeah. It’s gross. It’s been around for centuries, so it’s definitely . . . well, my mother calls it ‘quaint.’ But I think it’s creepy beyond words! And the people there are a little off. Mostly, it’s people selling old junk, like one giant yard sale. One of my aunts used to sell potions there. She thought she was a witch. You’ll definitely find things there you wouldn’t find anywhere else.” She eyed Audrey carefully. “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m looking for a man.”

  Concetta shook her head. “You already have enough men. And the only ones you’ll find at Abruzzo are toothless and not right in the head.”

  “I have to go,” Audrey said, lifting her bag onto her shoulder. “I think one of the men there might have seen something about the murder at the Tivoli estate.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Yes. Well, I hope. So I really need to go and check it out.”

  “Yes, of course! Don’t worry about anything here. I’ve got it under control,” she said, giving the dog in front of her an extra treat. “But be careful!”

  “I will.” She headed out, thinking, That’s the second time someone warned me to be careful in the Abruzzo market. But it can’t be that bad . . . can it?

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Audrey kept walking, and walking, and walking, straight down via Barcellona. For some reason, she’d never realized how big this small town was. Luckily, it was mostly downhill, but she knew the walk back would be no fun. It was nearly eighty degrees, and almost noon.

  I should get a bottle of water to make sure I’m well-hydrated on the walk back. Don’t want to be dying in the street.

  She knew she was getting close by the sounds and the smells. The roads were packed with traffic, so horns were honking, and people were yelling at one another. There was a strange odor wafting through the streets, possibly food, possibly garbage. Whatever it was, it was thick and foul, not enticing like the smells emanating from G’s café. There were many people on the stoops outside, and yes, many of them were young men who didn’t seem to have anything better to do. A couple of them catcalled Audrey as she walked by.

  She ignored it, walking faster. The homes here didn’t appear to be a part of the one-dollar deal, because it didn’t look like any of them were under renovation. They were all crumbling, and some were merely wrecked, burned-out shells, reminiscent of a war zone. The whole of Mussomeli had looked old before all the new buyers had come in to renovate, but it hadn’t seemed this bad.

  Following the sound of an upbeat folk tune played on a flute, she reached the street that she assumed was the beginning of the Abruzzo, judging from all the tables set up, marketing various wares. It was, just as Concetta had said, a mish-mosh of many items, most of them old and obviously unwanted. Audrey walked past a table with nothing but creepy old dolls, many the stuff of nightmares. There was also a man selling all kinds of exotic spices—she smelled it before she saw it. Another old lady was sitting behind a table, selling nothing but old, rather shapeless and moth-eaten hats. She winked at Audrey as she went by.

  Audrey shuddered. Forget the bottle of water. I need to get out of here as soon as possible.

  She walked past a woman selling all kinds of colored liquid in jars. She was dressed a bit like a gypsy, in a loose-flowing caftan and skirt, with a headscarf. She beckoned to Audrey and held up the jar. “Un incantesimo d'amore.”

  A love spell? She already had enough men. Audrey swerved away.

  “No, I’m not interested.”

  The woman grinned, revealing a golden tooth. “Ah, but I think you are. This one doesn’t attract lovers.”

  Audrey stopped and stared at the pink liquid, confused. A love spell that didn’t attract lovers? “What does it do, then?”

  “I sense you are in great turmoil. You don’t know what you want out of life?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Audrey fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d had her palm read many a time before, and she knew the drill. Fortune tellers usually said generic things like that, that could relate to anyone. Really, who did know what they wanted in life?

  But then the woman added, “You have a choice in your life to make. Between two men who couldn’t be any more different. Yes?”

  Audrey’s attention snapped to the woman. She stared at her, and then at the vial. “Did you . . . how did you know that?”

  “I am Signora Carina. I know all.”

  Now, Audrey really did roll her eyes. “All right, but how did you—”

  “If you want to know, this potion will give you clarity.”

  Right. While I grow an extra limb on top of it, she thought, but she couldn’t seem to pull herself away. Maybe that was what she needed? “What’s in it?”

  “My special combination of herbs and spices, and of course, the magic.” Her eyes gleamed. “Just don’t let your little pets have it. It’s toxic. It is the Lupino.”

  “Lupino?”

  She nodded. “It is a powerful flower. You will see.”

  Audrey hesitated. She didn’t really want to put in her body anything that was toxic to animals, but there were plenty of things that were fine for humans, but toxic to furry friends.

  The woman said, “I wouldn’t wait. I don’t come here often. Once a month, at the most. I only come when I feel like someone is going to be led to me. Someone in need.”

  “Fine,” Audrey said, rummaging in her purse. She could decide whether to take it and give herself a stomachache from hell later. “How much?”

  “Twenty euro.”

  She handed the bills over to the woman, took the vial, and slipped it into her purse, all the while wondering what had gotten into her. She’d never been the type to be enticed by something that was so obviously a gimmick. She’d liked to have thought
she was immune to the hard sell. But apparently not, she realized, as she walked up the street. She was actually already planning to drink the potion, tonight, before dinner.

  Then someone knocked into her on the busy walkway, waking her back up in reality. She looked around and realized she was still in the market. This wasn’t a place to let her guard down. Clutching her purse tighter, she realized the foul smell was thicker, now, and followed it to a stand where plentiful smoke was rising from an outdoor grill. There were furry animal pelts of all colors hanging from racks above. She noticed the truck parked behind the stand— with a red hood, just as the driver of the other truck had said. At the same time, she caught sight of what was on the grill.

  Little rabbit bodies.

  Her lips twisted in disgust as she went over to the stand, her eyes watering from the smoke as she tried to find the owner.

  “Come posso aiutarla in questa splendida mattinata?” a jovial but gravelly voice said, coming out of the curtain of smoke. How can I help you this beautiful morning?

  The man was a bear of a man, big and just as hairy. He was grinning helpfully, but she couldn’t help but think the man was only being kind to make a sale. From his camouflage shirt and pants, he looked just like the type who killed small animals for fun.

  But there was something else. Something she realized, just as she opened her mouth to speak.

  No, he hadn’t spoken in English, but she was sure of it.

  It was the same voice as the anonymous caller who’d phone the clinic to inform her about the injured animal. “Ricardo?”

  He seemed delighted that she knew his name. “Si?”

  She stumbled over her words, but just a little less than she had before: “Dove hai preso . . . questi . . .” She pointed to the rabbits. Where did you get these?

  The appeasing smile disappeared. “Chi sei tu?” Who are you?

  She fisted her hands on her hips. If he was the anonymous caller, then she didn’t have to speak Italian. He’d spoken English perfectly well. “Did you get these rabbits at the Tivoli Estate orange grove? Is that where you do your hunting?”

  His eyes went wide. “Tivoli estate? Eh?”

  She pointed in the general direction. “Tivoli. The large mansion outside of town with the acres and acres of orange trees. Were you there, hunting, two days ago?”

  He hissed out a breath. Then he said, “So what if I was?”

  “I don’t know . . . just that it’s not legal. And someone was murdered there that day, too. Did you know that?”

  His eyes narrowed, and for a moment Audrey thought she’d gone too far, and he was prone to lunging over the counter, at her throat. But just then, someone called to him from the other side of the stand. Glaring at her, he turned, waved, and when he began speaking to the customer, his cheerful voice returned.

  She watched him as he chatted with the customer, then silently ran her eyes over the rest of the booth. As she did, leaning so far over that she almost tumbled into the booth, she noticed it. A hunting rifle.

  Was that the gun that was used to shoot Pietro? If she could just get ahold of it, the police could test it to see if the bullets matched.

  You can’t steal it, Audrey. It’s huge. If you take it out of here, he’s going to notice.

  She tapped her fingers on the side of the booth, thinking about how she could remove the rifle without being seen. But then she saw something even better on the inside counter.

  His phone.

  Keeping an eye on him, she slowly and carefully reached in through the animal pelts and lifted it up. Luckily, it was unlocked. She quickly scrolled to the phone log and found exactly what she’d suspected.

  Aha! She thought, pumping her fists in triumph.

  He’d made a phone call two mornings ago to her clinic.

  He was the anonymous caller.

  The man filled a paper tub with some vile-looking brown stew, attached the cover, and handed it to the woman. That gave Audrey enough time to slide the man’s phone back where she’d found it. As he continued to chat with the customer and collect her money, she quickly typed in and sent a text.

  A moment later, he was standing over her. “I suggest you leave.”

  She planted her feet. “It all makes so much sense, now, though. You were out hunting, the day of the murder. You thought you saw an animal, since there’s never anyone in the grove, so you didn’t think anything about firing a couple of shots. And it went down. But then you realized what you had done. You shot a person. And maybe he was still alive, but you saw what you’d done and panicked. You made a run for it, calling me later about an ‘injured animal’ because you felt guilty and wanted someone to find him.”

  He was shaking his head. “No . . .”

  “I saw your phone. You made the call.”

  “What call?” He stared at his phone, pocketing it. “What were you doing, looking at my—"

  “The call. To me. I’m Audrey Smart, the veterinarian.”

  His mouth moved, but nothing came out. “It’s not true-“

  “You’re going to deny it? The evidence is right on your phone!”

  “Yes. I mean, no . . .” He sighed, flustered. Then he looked up at the sky and shook his head. “Yes. I made the call. I found the body. But I swear I did not kill anyone. I was out there, hunting. I didn’t realize until later that anyone had moved in. I was hunting, minding my own business, when I stumbled across that man, lying there, face-down. And yes, I panicked. I ran off. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Audrey rolled her eyes. She had a hard time feeling sorry for a murderer of small animals. How was that even a fair fight? “Then why didn’t you call the police?”

  He snorted and threw up his hands. “You know why. I was there, hunting on private lands without a license. I didn’t want the police to know that. But when I got back to town, it hit me what I needed to do. That is why I called the veterinarian . . . er, I guess, that’s you. I pass by that place every day on the way to the market, and I thought you’d be able to help.”

  “Right. Help the injured animal. But it was a human you shot and killed. And you just left him there to die. Only a very cruel person would treat life that way.”

  She felt vindicated, biting off every word with satisfaction, as if she was, in some small way, getting back at him for the poor animals he’d killed. The market was such a chaotic assortment of sounds and sights, overloading the senses, that no one even stopped to watch her accuse the man. Even so, he looked around nervously, and his voice was so low that she could barely hear him over the roar of the crowd. “I didn’t murder anyone.”

  She smiled smugly. Ordinarily, she hated being the person responsible for sending anyone to jail, but something about this man, Ricardo, just rubbed her the wrong way. It might have been the helpless bunny carcasses, lying all over the place. “Right. It may have been an accident. But you still killed him, and then you left the scene of the crime.”

  “I may have left, but I didn’t—"

  “You can tell that to the police.”

  His eyes went wild. “Don’t you dare—”

  Before he could choke the threat out, she looked over his shoulder and spotted Dinardo, walking through the crowd, his eyes intent on her. She heaved a sigh of relief. “Too late. I texted them while you were helping that customer. And here they are.”

  He froze, then looked over one shoulder, then the other, in a panic. She waved to Dinardo, who started to jog over, grimacing slightly. He’s probably going to yell at me for getting involved again, she thought. But at least I know I have the right man.

  As Dinardo approached, she opened her mouth to tell him the whole story.

  But before she could get a single word out, the man lunged over the counter at her, knocking the wind out of her as she stumbled back, stunned. Then, as she tried to catch her breath, he broke into a run. Dinardo reached for his gun, but the poacher was soon swallowed up by the crowd.

  “Stop him!” she shouted, scrambling to her
feet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Audrey jumped to her feet in time to see the back of Ricardo’s bald head as he tore down the street, away from the market. She and Dinardo took off after him, dodging bodies. When they reached the edge of the street, they stopped, scanning the area for any sign of him. But he was gone.

  “Split up,” Audrey gasped. “You go that way, I’ll go—”

  “No. Don’t be a hero. You stay here. This is not your business,” he said back, turning down a street and heading down an alley. As he did, he brought his phone to his ear, probably calling for back-up.

  She stared after him for only a beat. Right. I’m just going to stay here and do nothing? I don’t think so.

  Just then, she saw a flash of a bald head, slipping past her, back into the crowd. “Stop!” she shouted, taking off after him. He looked back at her for a split second before picking up the pace and slipping into the crowd.

  She chased after him, weaving around people in the crowd and tightly packed stands and tables of junk and unique wares. Just when she got close enough to him, a bicycle whistled past her, making her stop in her tracks as he surged forward.

  “Stop him!” she shouted, too frantic to even think of the Italian word for Stop. She kept running, all the while running out of breath. He dipped between two buildings in a narrow aisle, and she followed, getting closer.

  When she broke free of the alley, she plowed straight into a food cart, nearly knocking it over. The owner of it started to scream at her, shouting over her half-hearted apologies. Keeping her eyes trained on him, she moved around the cart, the front of her shirt now spattered with some red sauce.

  Now, he was far away, and getting farther. She could barely see him. She was losing ground, and her endurance was flagging. A stitch knotted in her side, and she clutched at it, feeling hope draining away.

  Suddenly, it came to her. “Fermare!” she shouted breathlessly, but by then, it didn’t matter. The man was too far ahead of her.