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

by Christa Polkinhorn

  “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.”

  Chapter 4

  “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.

  Chapter 5

  Sofia was sorting through a box of kitchenware and utensils Maria had left her. Since Sofia and Nicholas had lived in a small apartment for the last few years, they hadn’t accumulated too many things and were now grateful for a few hand-me-downs from the grandparents.

  A couple of months ago, they had moved into the charming old house that belonged to Martin and Maria. Several members of the Segantino fam
ily had lived in the house over the years. Sofia loved their new place, particularly the added space.

  It was a rustic home with hardwood floors and wooden beams, a so-called half-timbered house, a style that was well known in northern areas of Europe, Germany and Switzerland, for instance. It had been built by an architect who was a relative of Maria’s. Nicholas’s grandmother was of German background and had always wanted a house in that style. As a child, she had spent many of her vacations with her German relatives on a farm in the Black Forest region and had fallen in love with the farmhouses there.

  Sofia was admiring a colorful ceramic cake plate when a gust of wind rattled the window. It had rained off and on the past couple of days. The rain during the winter and early spring was only making a dent in the drought that had plagued California for several years. It wasn’t enough to fill the diminishing reservoirs, but it was a good beginning.

  The drought worried not just the government officials who tried to get control of the water shortage by means of a few controversial restrictions. Farmers, winemakers, and the tourist industry all agreed that something had to be done but had different opinions as to how the problem was going to be solved. There had been some acrimonious exchanges between the different factions of the otherwise peaceful communities in the drought-stricken Central Coast of California. Some people blamed the proliferation of vineyards in the area for the water shortage. Members of the wine industry, however, felt the blame was one-sided and unfair. According to the vintners, vines and grapes needed little water during the growing season, much less than for instance alfalfa and almonds, and they needed almost nothing when the grapes were ripening. Sofia agreed with the vintners but also felt that the increasing number of huge vineyards added to the problem.

  Sofia carried a box downstairs, unpacked the dishes and towels, and put them away. She and Nicholas wanted to convert the den upstairs into an office. Adjacent to it was a storage room with a few pieces of old furniture that belonged to Martin and Maria as well as a collection of boxes of items left by several members of the family who had lived in the house over the years. Sofia wanted to pull out the lighter boxes and put them downstairs, so the owners could pick them up or discard them. A few of the boxes were labeled and some were unmarked. She went upstairs again and opened one without a label to find out who it belonged to.