A Villa in Sicily: Olive Oil and Murder

by Fiona Grace

  “You would?”

  “Sure.”

  She needed all the help she could get, especially since she really didn’t have a huge amount of know-how when it came to plumbing. Plus, she hadn’t actually used the bathroom since the airport, and she would have to soon. It probably beat asking a neighbor, or trying to find a public one. “All right. Great.”

  Luca pushed his shaggy long hair out of his face and inspected the set-up.

  “I’ve been checking, and it looks like there’s plumbing hooked up, and the supply line looks pretty decent,” she said as he did. “But I probably need some bolts for the flange and caulk that I don’t have.”

  He sat back on his haunches and jumped to standing. “That’s why you have me.” He pointed at himself with both thumbs.

  He disappeared, and came back a second later with a toolbox. Together, they assembled the toilet, placed it solidly on the flange, and connected the supply line. It took fewer than thirty minutes, and then they were done. She twisted the valve to the “on” position and waited for the water to fill the tank. When it started to, she smiled. Yes, it was a little brownish, but that was to be expected. It actually wasn’t too bad.

  She stood up and rubbed her hands together. “Now, the test.”

  Bracing herself, she pushed the handle for the flusher, half-expecting water to fountain in her face like a bidet. But the water formed a neat little whirlpool and made a glug glug glug sound as it exited the bowl. That was a good sound, her dad used to say, a healthy sound. Then it slowly began to refill with newer, slightly less brown water.

  “Yay!” she shouted, pumping her fist and giving Luca a high five. “Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  He waved that away. “My pleasure.”

  “Come back tomorrow and I’ll let you install my sink,” she joked, seeing him to the door.

  He laughed. “Good luck. I am sure I will see you around the store, yes?”

  “Probably so often, you’ll be getting sick of me.”

  He paused in the doorway. “You’re not actually staying here tonight? You stay in a hotel?”

  She shook her head. “This is my home. I’ll be fine here.”

  “Brave American lady.” He winked. “Good luck.”

  When he left, Audrey spent more time just basking in the beauty of her toilet. Maybe it was foolhardy to think she could stay here while the renovations were being complete, but that was what made it an adventure. Plus, she didn’t really have the cash to spring on alternative living arrangements.

  She used the toilet, and not having a sink to wash up at, or toilet paper, for that matter, found some wet wipes in her purse. Then she flushed, twice, mostly to hear the sweet, musical, glug glug glug.

  This time, it was more like a glug glug glllllaaaaaarrrrrggggg.

  The walls trembled. Was this an earthquake? Pompeii, the Sequel? An inhuman moan seemed to be coming from the pipes, all around her.

  She whirled to the pipes behind her, where the sink should be attached, and some strange, gooey, black molasses-like substance began to slide out slowly, landing with a plop on the ground. Grimacing, she looked over at the shower stall, tucked in the corner behind a mildewed white curtain. A low, menacing wail emanated from deep within.

  She fastened her hand around the curtain and, taking a deep breath, threw it back fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  Similar black goo was falling from the shower faucet, collecting in the drain like a living, breathing creature. Then there must’ve been an air bubble, because suddenly, the faucet spewed. Like vomit. A black, warm fist of goo slammed right into her chest, splattering there with an awful squelching sound.

  She screamed.

  Scarred for life, she ran out into the kitchen, wishing there was a door to the bathroom, because she would very much have liked to slam it, and keep it closed, possibly for the rest of … forever.

  Instead, she went outside and stopped at her front stoop, where she gasped for air. She looked down at her ruined T-shirt and sighed as the stuff dribbled down her shirt. She touched it, and it trembled, like a frightened slug. It also smelled like garbage marinating in poop.

  At least she had plenty of clothes to change into. She’d simply change her T-shirt. Not that she wanted to go back in the house just yet. Or … ever.

  Tears threatened to well in her eyes, but she held them back. You know what you need, Aud? A time out.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After Audrey finally summoned up the nerve to go inside and change her T-shirt, she decided to go in the opposite direction from the hardware store, in search of someplace to eat lunch.

  She followed her phone’s directions to a café called La Mela Verde, still calling Ciao to the people she passed, though not as happily as before. She couldn’t stop wondering if she’d get home and find her adorable little home transformed into a big black blob. Now her brand new housewarming gift was probably covered in it. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to use it again.

  It’s perfectly fine, Aud. It was just a reaction to the flushing. The pipes are old and just need to be flushed out. You’ll be able to go back there and get a plumber and it’ll all be sorted out. It’s fine.

  When she arrived at the place on her map, she looked up and smiled.

  It was the exact same café she’d seen in the pictures, with a bright yellow canopy, picket fence, and baskets of fruit in the windows. A few very Sicilian people were sitting at the umbrella-topped wrought iron tables outside, sipping their espressos and enjoying the beautiful weather.

  She smiled and went inside, determined to fill her growling stomach with something she could buy with the rest of her euros. As soon as she stepped through the front door, her eyes fell on a green-eyed cat with patchy gray hair. As grungy as it looked, it still sidled up to her like the queen of its domain and curled its tail around her calf, begging to be petted.

  Audrey’d never met an animal she could resist petting, so she crouched and stroked behind the little cat’s ears, ignoring the many conversations going on around her in Italian, since she couldn’t understand them anyway. But there were other languages, too. German. Spanish. Chinese. A few she couldn’t make out.

  “Oh, aren’t you a pretty kitty,” she said as she stooped in the doorway, in her standard baby voice that she only used with animals. At least animals only had one language. They just wanted to be loved.

  “She likes you,” a voice behind the counter said.

  Audrey followed the sound to a muscular man in an apron and a skull cap. Simply too good-looking. Audrey already knew she’d never be able to have a normal conversation with him without giggling like a goofball. He had a number of tattoos up and down his biceps, but despite the rather rough appearance, his face bore a gentle smile, and his piercing blue eyes danced. “Um. Is she yours?”

  “Clio? Nah. She belongs to the streets. Like most of the cats around here. Most are shy, but Clio isn’t. She comes right in here and asks for her lunch.”

  Clio quickly lost interest in Audrey and scampered out the door. Audrey went to the counter, trying not to do anything stupid, which she had a tendency to do in the presence of good-looking guys. There were five or six empty stools there, so she hopped up onto one. She wiped her hands with a wet wipe from her purse. “Poor thing has mange. You have a lot of cats around here?”

  “Yes. They are taking over the island!” He shook his head as he danced between the grill behind him and a large brick oven, pulling out what looked like the most delicious personal margherita pizza that Audrey had ever seen. “Mange, you say?”

  She nodded. “Yes, parasitic mites. And there’s a good chance other cats have it, too. You probably shouldn’t let her in here, just in case. Humans can get it, too, and it’s pretty nasty.”

  He cut and plated the pizza, then set it out for the waitress. “You’re a smart one. And how do you know so much?”

  “Oh.” She tried to suppress the giggle in her throat, but it came out anyway
. She blushed. “I’m a veterinarian.”

  “You are, eh?” He studied her, and then burst out in the loudest laughter Audrey had ever heard. He slapped the glass counter. “You’re pulling the leg. You’re too young.”

  For some reason, the dig didn’t bother her as much, coming from a guy who was so darn smiley. “No. I promise. And I’m not that young.”

  “Ah. Well. We don’t have any vets in town. Our nearest one is over the mountain.”

  She shrugged. “I guess that’s why I’m here. I have to get my license from the board here in Sicily, but once I do, I hope to set up a practice. Maybe even a shelter for rescues.”

  “Good! That will make you a welcome addition. What’s your name?”

  “Audrey.”

  “I’m Giovanni. My friends just call me G, and you’re my friend, I hope?” He wiggled his eyebrows animatedly.

  “Er …yes. Nice to meet you,” she said, surprised that he was still talking to her. Most good-looking guys lost interest after a few minutes, probably because of her tendency to giggle maniacally around them. “Hey, you wouldn’t know of any open office buildings, would you? I wanted to set the place up out of my home. But it’s kind of in disrepair right now.”

  He thought for a moment. “I might.”

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate the help,” she said, just happy to have someone to converse with in English, who didn’t see this as the biggest mistake ever. She grabbed a menu. “I’m so hungry.”

  “Then let’s get the veterinarian fed. I am the owner of this establishment, and it is an honor to serve you, Dr. Audrey. What can I get you? It is, as you say, on the house.”

  “Oh, no—”

  “I insist!” he said, slapping the counter to end the argument. He waved a spatula at her. “Name it and it is yours, Doctor.”

  “Well, this is my first meal in Sicily. Can you give me the best thing you make? Something that I will remember for the rest of my life?”

  He raised eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

  She nodded, wondering if it would be a mistake. What if she’d just ordered goat brains?

  “All right. You asked for it.” His eyes twinkled. “So you’re from America, hmm? You buy one of those one-euro houses?”

  “Yes, I did,” she said. “Piazza Tre.”

  He hooted. “Yeah? That one’s no good.” She winced as he grinned and slapped his knee. “Ah, no, they’re all good. Just need some love. Are you good with fixing things up?”

  “I know my way around a hardware store, yeah,” she said, thinking, Just barely.

  “Well, then, good luck to you. I know what you need,” he said, disappearing out of view for a moment, and then returning with a bowl of vegetables swimming in an orange sauce, along with a hunk of crusty bread. He slid it across to her. “This is my own special recipe ciambotta. People tell me it makes miracles happen. I think you will like it.”

  There was steam coming from the shallow bowl, so she spooned just the smallest bit from the side, blew on it, and gently took a sip. Giovanni watched her, waiting for the verdict. The second it hit her tongue, though, she knew she had never tasted anything quite so good in all her life. The vegetables—potatoes, zucchini, tomatoes, and onions—melded so perfectly together in a stew that was a million times better than their individual parts. She quickly drew up another spoonful. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

  He nodded as if he knew this already. “You know what you should do?”

  Have seconds, she thought, as she poured more of the liquid deliciousness down her throat. Maybe thirds. “I don’t know. What?”

  “You don’t need an office. When you get your license, you go to them, where they live.” He slapped the counter again. He pointed forcefully at her. “You see. You do a good business that way. Be very popular.”

  She looked up from her bowl. “That’s … actually a good idea.” Suddenly, the wheels in her head started to spin. It made total sense. It was a small community, tightly packed together. House calls would be perfect.

  “I know it is!” he said. “I am full of good ideas. And here is another one!”

  She tried to spoon up more ciambotta but she’d reached the bottom of the bowl. She hoped his new idea was more ciambotta, but instead, he said, “You’re new here. I live here in Mussomeli all my life. I take you out. Show you around. Eh?”

  She smiled, hoping that wasn’t a date either. Then she threw up her hands. His enthusiasm was contagious. “Sure, why n—”

  She stopped when G’s eyes lit up over the sight of someone behind her. She turned to see him hurry over and embrace a bald, older man like old friends, after which they spoke to one another in Italian. Audrey only made out a word or two, but she could tell from the tone of their voice and the way the man shook his head and frowned that there was something upsetting him.

  Suddenly, G looked at her and his eyes lightened. He presented her to his friend, and she made out her own name and the word “veterinaria.” The friend’s eyes grew similarly wide, and then he looked at her expectantly, as if there was a question she was supposed to answer.

  She looked at him, more curious than ever. “What’s going on?”

  “Ehm,” G started in a low voice. “My friend here. Francisco. His puppy is not well. Acting strange.”

  “Oh. Strange how?”

  “Not eating. Throwing up. Tired. Just sleeps all day.”

  Audrey looked over at the friend. “Signore … Can I see him? Your dog?”

  G smiled and patted her shoulder. “That was what we were hoping you’d say.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Francisco’s home was only around the corner from G’s restaurant. He lived in a small place that Audrey was sure her house could look like, given some time, TLC, and an insane amount of luck. After a stop off at her place to get her medical bag, she met the two men at the home and went inside.

  The poor pup, a brindle mutt that looked like he had a bit of shepherd in him, was lying on his side on his bed in the corner of the kitchen, staring at nothing in particular. There was a pot of something delicious-smelling on the stove, but even that didn’t seem exciting to him. He didn’t even raise his head to look at the strangers.

  Francisco murmured something and gesticulated. G translated. “He said if Dante was his normal self, he’d be barking his head off. He’s not one for strangers.”

  “Hmm.” Audrey set her bag down and knelt in front of the poor creature. When she offered him her hand, he sniffed without my interest. She petted his side. “It’s okay, boy. Let’s get you better.”

  She took out her stethoscope and took his vitals. His heart rate was sluggish, his breathing, labored. From the look of his water and food trays, both full beside the clothes washer, he hadn’t the interest. Audrey rummaged in her bag and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, snapping them on. “How long has this been going on?”

  G relayed the question to Francisco and translated his answer. “Two days.”

  Audrey stroked his fur again. Dr. Ferris would probably insist Francisco shuttle over to the next town to find a vet that was licensed. But Dr. Ferris luckily was nowhere on this continent. And though she knew it was risky to be practicing without a license, she wanted to be of help. “It could be something he ate, or a viral infection. I can’t make the determination without bloodwork and more tests, which unfortunately, I’m not able to do here,” she said, to them both.

  G translated, and Francisco shook his head and said something in alarm. “He tells me he doesn’t have the means to pay for a vet visit.”

  Audrey nodded with understanding and pulled the stethoscope from her ears. “If you want my completely honest, off-the-record, unlicensed opinion … I’d give it a day. He seems well-hydrated, and though he is sluggish, whatever’s inside him might just need more time to work its way through. Keep him drinking water, and try to tempt him with bland foods, boiled potatoes, rice, chicken. If he doesn’t improve in twenty-four hours, please come and let me know.”<
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  “Grazie,” Francisco said, after G translated the information to him.

  “He will, thank you,” G said as he guided her to the door. “You were fantastic. Obviously a very smart lady.”

  “Oh, well …” Audrey blushed.

  Francisco came up behind her with a giant basket, filled with tomatoes of all colors and shapes. “For you.”

  Audrey attempted to tell him she didn’t need anything, but G ushered her outside before she had a chance to refuse twice. “You never turn down food from a Sicilian. We will always try to feed you. Just don’t be stingy with your praise.”

  Audrey turned back to Francisco on the stoop of his house and waved. “Beautiful! The tomatoes? Bellisimo!” She looked at G and whispered, “Was that right?”

  He smiled. “You’ll be a regular Sicilian yet.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  On the way back from Francisco’s, Audrey took a roundabout route to her home, partly hoping to see more of the village, and partly hoping to avoid dealing with her possessed shower situation as long as possible. She wandered down a similarly narrow street, finding several which were under construction. One, tucked behind a gridwork of scaffolding, was particularly impressive. A man on the second floor was painting the drab gray brick a pretty sea-green.

  She stopped to look at it. Obviously, the owners had been here awhile. Maybe in another couple of months, her place would look this good. Unlikely, but there was always hope.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

  She looked up, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, and realized the guy on the scaffolding was looking at her. Her had longish hair and a jaw covered in stubble, bordering on a full beard. Handsome, definitely … and also holding his paintbrush like a weapon, his brow arched in a superior way.

  “What? I’m …” She stopped, replaying his words in her head. The accent, a slight southern twang. “Wait. You’re American?”

  He shoved his brush in his tool belt, peeled it off his hips, and climbed down the scaffolding with relative grace. He was slim, wearing cargo shorts, work boots, and a paint-splattered T-shirt. “Nice tomatoes.”