“Great to see you,” Andy said, giving me a big hug.
“Andy! Dio mio!” Tessa said, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into a hug. “I haven’t seen you since you were a kid. Look at you, all grown up.”
“And these are pretty impressive digs you have here. Your company must be doing really well,” I said.
“Yeah, all my stock options helped me get this apartment. Rents are astronomical in San Francisco,” Andy said, ushering us in. “Where are your bags?”
“It was a spontaneous trip. No overnight bags for us,” I said.
“I’ll get you some clothes that you can wear as pajamas.” Andy headed to his bedroom. Tessa and I took a seat on his black leather sofa, a shiny chrome and glass coffee table in front of us. While it wasn’t a large apartment, it was stylish—all black and silver—but a little sterile. In the corner of the living room, a TV-sized computer monitor sat on a large sleek desk. I was certain this was where Andy did most of his coding when he wasn’t at the office. The screen saver, a swirling rainbow of colors spinning across the monitor, was the only artistic thing in the room. He had no art on the walls, and his shelves held only computer programming books.
Andy came back a few minutes later with a pile of clothes.
“Here you go. Pick out what you want, and we can wash what you’re wearing,” Andy said.
In the bathroom, predictably in white and silver with white towels, Tessa and I changed into the sweats and T-shirts Andy had given us.
“Sorry for the delay in getting to Dario,” I said, pulling on a shirt that said It’s not a bug, it’s an undocumented feature. I had no idea what that meant, but the fabric was soft, and it would work well as a nightshirt.
“It’s okay, I think it’s best we find him in the morning. I’m not sure what we’d find up there at night. I’m not even sure what we’ll find during the day.”
Andy was sitting in front of his computer monitor when we returned to the living room.
“Don’t tell me you’re working,” I said.
“No, I was doing a favor for a friend.” He’d done a favor for me last year when I needed a background check on a man I was dating, so I knew what kind of semi-legal research he could do for friends and sisters.
“Do you think you could find something out for me about a family I know in Carthage, Washington?” I asked my brother. They have a daughter who may have died or is very ill.” I hadn’t been able to shake Carl’s strange reaction when he thought Dez had died, and how Vickie and Carl had been so overwhelmed with sadness when I asked about their daughter.
“Sure, but we don’t need my digital breaking and entering skills to do that,” Andy said. “What’s the name of the girl or the family’s last name?”
“We don’t know,” Tessa said, pulling up a chair next to the desk.
“How about the first names of the parents?” Andy asked.
“Carl and Vickie,” I said.
“You’re not giving me much to go on. Let’s see Carl and Vickie, Carthage, Washington…” Andy said, typing.
A few minutes later, we had our answer.
“Robin Nest. That’s the girl,” Andy said.
“It’s got to be her. Her parents own a café called Robin’s Nest, so it fits,” I said.
“It says here she was critically injured last summer in a hit-and-run accident on Main Street in Carthage.”
“Oh, no, that’s awful! No wonder Carl and Vickie have their daughter’s portrait framed with get well cards at the register in the café. Does it say if they found the person who hit her?” Tessa asked.
“No, but if you want me to find out, I need to use my not-very-legal skills. So, you both better go to bed. It’s best if no one see this next part. No witnesses, no crime.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” I said. Andy sounded like Sheriff Poole—no dead body, no crime.
“I changed the sheets on my bed so you can sleep in my bedroom and I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Andy said.
“Oh, hey, that reminds me. I was up in the attic in my house and I found a patchwork quilt that Great-Aunt Rita made for you. Do you want it?”
“Uh, Jax? I don’t think it would fit my décor, do you?”
“Well, no, but it’s a family heirloom…”
“I’m sure you can find a better use for it than sending it down here. I certainly won’t ever use it.”
“Suit yourself,” I said.
“Sorry you have to share a bed,” Andy said as Tessa and I headed for the bedroom.
“I don’t mind sharing with Tessa, as long as she doesn’t snore,” I said.
“Of course I don’t snore! I hope you don’t snore,” Tessa muttered.
FIFTEEN
I woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee That was always a wonderful way to start the day. I padded out to the kitchen and grabbed a cup. Andy was still sitting at his computer where we’d left him.
“I hope you haven’t been up all night working on this favor for me,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “More coffee?”
“No, I’m good.”
“What did you find out?” I said, taking my first glorious sip of java. “Ahh.”
“I think you have a serious coffee addiction. You’d fit right in with everyone here in The City.”
“The City? What does that mean? Seattle is a city, but we don’t call it The City when we’re talking about it.”
“It’s just a San Francisco thing,” Andy said, shrugging. “So, here’s what I’ve got. It looks like the girl, Robin, was seriously injured, crushed by the car that hit her. There was a lawsuit, Carl and Vickie Nest versus some people named Abigail and Desmond McCabe.”
“Abby and Dez. The Nests think Dez ran over their daughter?”
“That’s what the court records say. It says here the case was thrown out due to insufficient evidence.”
“What’s up?” Tessa asked, joining us at the computer.
I explained to Tessa what we’d learned about the hit-and-run accident.
“Given what Dez is like today, drinking and driving all over the place, it wouldn’t surprise me if he did hit the poor girl,” Tessa said.
“It sure would explain why Carl hates Dez so much,” I said. “It also means that if Dez is missing, it might be because Carl, or Vickie, for that matter, had something to do with it.”
“That’s a pretty big leap to make. We don’t even know if Dez is dead. But it’s a huge coincidence that something terrible would happen to both Marco and Dez on the same night,” Tessa said.
“One thing we do know: Marco is dead. We should get on the road and find Dario so we can tell him the news,” I said.
• • •
Back in our little black Fiat, we headed north toward Napa.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about Dario?” I asked. In the time right after we had graduated from high school, when Tessa had moved to Italy and I’d gone to the University of Miami to get a degree in biology, we’d lost touch for a few years. It must have been during the time when we drifted apart that she dated Dario de Luca. She’d never mentioned him to me before, so perhaps he hadn’t been important to her.
“Oh, you know, he was a chapter in my life. Why bring it up when it’s ancient history?”
“I feel like I missed out on a big part of your life.”
“I was in my early twenties and was living in Venice. It was such a beautiful, romantic place. I mean, how could I help myself? My grandparents wanted to find me a man. To be honest, I was excited when Dario, from the famous de Luca glass family, wanted to go out with me.”
“But what did you want?”
“I wanted to have fun. I was young, he was cute and liked to spend money on fancy dinners and outings. Venice is possibly the most romantic city in the world. But after a while, I realiz
ed there was more to life than romance—I needed real love to make my life complete. When I met Craig, he was an intern at the American Embassy and didn’t have a cent. He was living in the youth hostel in Guidecca, on the far side of the Grand Canal. I’d go and visit him whenever I could, even when it meant I had to take a boat all the way around the island to get there. I loved his laugh, and he could make me smile by doing the smallest things. We connected in so many ways. I knew he was the one.”
“And Dario, how did he take the news?”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell him myself. I told my nonna I was in love with Craig, and she flew off the handle and stormed over to the de Luca’s palazzo to tell them the news. I left for Seattle soon after, and never had the opportunity to talk with him.”
“Things must have been rough with your family after that.”
“They were at first, but they got over it when I had Izzy.”
“I’ve always wondered, were your parents disappointed you didn’t give your kids Italian names?”
“But I did. Izzy is Isabella, Ashley is Alessandra, and Joey is Giuseppe.”
“Joey’s real name is Giuseppe?”
“It’s on his birth certificate. My parents made me promise I would give him a proper Italian name.”
“Will your kids spend time in Venice like you did?”
“Only if they want to. I’m not going to force them. They’re part of a new generation. They don’t even speak Italian. Maybe someday they’ll want to embrace their Italian heritage, but we’ll cross that bridge—”
“Speaking of crossing bridges, look at the gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean,” I said. With the windows down, we glided over the Golden Gate Bridge, high above the mouth of the glittering San Francisco Bay.
• • •
Guido told us we needed to head to Napa Valley, home, some would say, of the best wine-making grapes in the world. Tessa told me Dario owned a winery, gallery, and restaurant called Vino e Vetro, which meant “wine and glass.” It sounded much better in Italian than in English.
After a two-hour drive, we found the place. It lived up to its elegant name. Arched metal gates stood open at the entrance to a winding, crushed granite driveway lined with olive trees. As we rounded a bend, Vino e Vetro came into view: A perfect Tuscan villa with acres of grapevines surrounding it. Tessa parked, and we crossed a terra-cotta tiled patio to an open pair of carved wooden doors.
“Hello?” I called, peeking in the doorway. There was no response.
“Buongiorno,” Tessa tried in Italian. It didn’t seem like it would help, given that no one answered me in English. But, I was wrong.
“Buongiorno,” replied a man’s voice from behind us.
We turned as the man approached from the far end of the patio. He saw Tessa and he stopped in his tracks. I saw the similarity to his brother, although Dario de Luca was more slender and not as muscular as Marco had been.
“Tessa? How can you be here? Why are you here?” Dario asked, staring intently at my friend.
“Dario, I have some sad news for you. I wanted you to hear from someone you know,” Tessa said.
“I can’t believe you’re here. Tell me, what is wrong?”
“My friend Jax and I,” she said, gesturing toward me, “were taking a class with your brother. He, well…it breaks my heart to tell you this. Marco is dead.”
“What? No, that can’t be,” Dario said, shaking his head, refusing to hear what Tessa said.
“I’m sorry, Dario, but it’s true,” she said.
“Very sorry,” I echoed, my hand on Tessa’s shoulder.
“But, I don’t understand. He was in Seattle. He emailed me. He said he was going to come down after his class. And what are you doing down here? I thought you lived in Seattle.”
“I do live in Seattle, we both do,” Tessa said, patting my hand. “Something happened at the glassblowing studio. I’m so very sorry your brother is gone.” When Tessa said, “something happened,” this was her way of skipping the part about finding his brother at the edge of a river with a stab wound through his heart.
Dario sank onto a bench at the edge of the patio and looked up at Tessa. There was despair in his eyes, but they were dry. Tessa’s and mine, however, were getting pretty teary.
“But, how? What happened?”
“I’m sorry, this will be hard for you to hear. Marco was murdered.”
“No. It can’t be…” Dario closed his eyes tightly and turned his head, not wanting us to see him cry.
“I’m sorry that after all these years, this is how we see each other again,” Tessa said, sitting down next to Dario.
“I am, as well,” said Dario. “You know, I’m not angry anymore about how things ended. Neither of us wanted what our grandparents did.”
“I’m glad you understand. I’ve always cared about you and didn’t want you to find out about Marco from a stranger.”
“My deepest sympathy,” I said, feeling awkward that I was intruding on an intimate conversation between old friends.
“Why didn’t you call before coming today?” Dario asked.
“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me.”
“Of course I would want to see you,” said Dario.
“We need to put you in touch with the authorities so you can tell them what you’d like to do with Marco’s body. Maybe you’ll want to send him back to your family in Italy?”
“No, we need to bury him here. He belongs with me. There is no one else. Mama passed away last year, and Papa two years before her. I was all Marco had, and he was all I had. Our parents left us an inheritance. That’s why Marco was coming to see me. Now that the estate is settled, I was going to complete the process of dividing the assets.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tessa said, clasping one of Dario’s hands.
“Who was it? I must know. Who killed my brother?”
“We don’t know. The police are searching for the culprit,” I said.
“We must find him, whoever it is. He must be brought to justice!”
“Tessa and I are going to help find the killer, we promise,” I said. Almost any other time, Tessa would have corrected me in a variety of ways, including that we were not going to try to find the killer and that she was not going to assist me.
“I must help as well. Please. For my brother. What can I do?”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Tessa said. “You need to take care of yourself and make arrangements for your brother.”
“No. I am coming with you. This is important for me. I will make arrangements for Marco in Seattle. There is nothing I can do here by myself.”
“Is it okay with you if Dario stays at your house?” Tessa asked me. “I don’t want him to be all alone in a hotel room,”
“No, I don’t want to impose,” Dario added.
“Of course. We’ll make room,” I said firmly, wishing I’d already converted my attic into a guest room.
“I can help with the investigation,” Dario said.
“We have to be careful about snooping around,” Tessa said. “We don’t want to raise anyone’s suspicions, so we’ll have to keep this quiet. We don’t want anyone to get angry about what we’re up to, like the sheriff—”
“Or Zachary,” I added.
“Or the killer for that matter,” Tessa said. “I know what we’ll do. You can teach the class.”
“It’s the perfect ruse,” I agreed. “Dario, if you teach the class, maybe you can help draw out the killer. Marco was killed at the studio, so the killer is most likely someone at Old Firehouse Studio or from Carthage.”
“Oh, no, I don’t work with glass anymore. Marco, he was the famous one. Me? I’m better with grapes, wine, and Italian food. I love glass, but don’t make it anymore. I only sell it in my glass gallery. We have some lovely pieces made by ot
her artists.”
“But just because he had the fame doesn’t mean he was any better than you. You were always the artist. Marco was more of a showman,” Tessa said.
“Amica mia, Tessa. You are so honest. Such a good woman. Craig is a lucky, lucky man to have you. I will teach the class, and we will find the person who killed my brother. Now, you both must be hungry after your long journey,” said Dario, who, like Tessa, seemed to think, and rightly so, that food can soothe troubled souls. He led the way toward the restaurant on the far side of the vineyard.
The tables in his restaurant were located beneath an arbor covered with grapevines, their newly-opened leaves pale green in the sunlight. Dario spoke in Italian to the server. I didn’t understand a single thing he said to her, but I was certain that whatever it was he’d ordered for us would be delicious.
“Food is love, and we could all use a little of both right now,” Dario said, pouring us each a glass of wine as the server brought over bread, cheese, and olives. “And while we are sorrowful, we will toast to the good life my brother had. I loved my brother—”
“To Marco de Luca,” Tessa said.
“To Marco,” I added, raising my glass.
Dario, saying nothing more, afraid his voice might give way to tears, simply touched his glass to ours, and drank.
Our lunch was exquisite; each course was a delightful surprise: butternut squash soup, crispy flatbread with rosemary, a light salad of mixed greens, and a perfect crème brûlée. Tessa stopped drinking after her first glass, since she knew she’d be driving us back to the airport. Thanks to an attentive server who refilled my wine glass each time it was empty, I was a little tipsy by the end our meal. I kept my eye on Dario, wondering how he was doing, having received such shocking news. Feeding us seemed to help his spirits, but I could tell he was in tremendous pain under his suave exterior.
• • •
“Okay, we’ve got three hours to make it back to the airport for the last plane to Seattle,” Tessa said to Dario, who was in the passenger’s seat next to her. “Are you okay back there?”
Off the Beadin' Path, Glass Bead Mystery Series, Book 3 Page 11
