The Ortega Gambit: A classic crime thriller

by J. Palma

  "Thank you, Will, for your wonderful insight,” Mrs. Howell said to her husband. “Yes, her passing, as you can imagine, left us in quite a bind. I'd like to review the details of the position and what will be expected of you. Please save any questions you may have for the end." She sounded dull and automatic as though reading from a prepared script.

  "Excuse me, what is his name? The child?" Lucina eyed the Howells.

  "Charles. His name is Charles. Please, like I said, let's keep questions to the end. We can move much faster if we do."

  Mrs. Howell spent the next ten minutes discussing the position and its incumbent duties—an interminable amount of time for Lucina, who sat rigid and upright as though in a church pew, her shoulder blades barely touching the chair back. Whenever Mrs. Howell paused, Lucina tipped her head slightly as though acknowledging what was just said. And she didn't forget to smile. Soon, her facial muscles hurt, and she worried she was overdoing it. Sitting still proved the most difficult part of the interview. The cruel fabric of her dress pricked her skin like she was swaddled in needles. And she was afraid if she crossed her legs the hem of her ugly dress would ride up exposing too much thigh. Fighting the urge to squirm, she locked her knees together and folded her hands in her lap. Periodically, Maria would angle her head just enough to inspect Lucina.

  Mr. Howell said, stretching his legs, "We tried putting the kid in every decent boarding school and even some not so decent ones, but none would take him. Something must be wrong with him. Retarded? I don't know. I don't think so. I mean, he knows his name. But that's why you're here."

  Mrs. Howell cleared her throat and said, "Our cook prepares three meals a day during the week and two on weekends. You and only you will be dining with Charles and will be responsible for arranging his meals. Do you have any food allergies we should be aware of?"

  "No," replied Lucina.

  "Dot here, she's a vegetarian,” Mr. Howell said. “She doesn't eat any meat. Not even fish. Have you met Albert? Of course you have. How else would you have got here? We'll introduce you to the rest of the staff later."

  Lucina looked puzzled. "Dot?"

  Mr. Howell said, "It's short for Dorothy. And you can call me Will."

  "Please address me as Mrs. Howell." Her eyes fixed on Will. "Are you finished?"

  "Yes, dear."

  "Will, don't you love her accent?"

  He took his eyes off the tops of Lucina's knees long enough to answer. "I feel so cosmopolitan."

  Mrs. Howell said, "Originally, I thought of putting you in the servant quarters over the garage, but instead, I had you put in the guest quarters upstairs, closer to the boy. He has what they call night terrors."

  Mr. Howell said, "Man, now that's something to see. He wakes up the whole neighborhood screaming bloody murder. Guaranteed, you've never experienced anything like it."

  "We'll go over the house rules in detail shortly. But I wanted to emphasize that there is no smoking in the house, or on the property, for that matter. Understood? I cannot endure the smell of cigarette smoke."

  Lucina nodded. Sweat, once collected slowly between her shoulder blades, now dripped from her armpits and upper back.

  "Now this position requires you to work seven days a week. Is this a problem?"

  In Italian, she faced Maria and said: "Livio told me six days. Six. Not seven. Six."

  Maria smiled and responded in Italian, "Don't be rude and stupid. How hard can this be? Look at this place. You don't have to cook or clean. You know how many people would kill for this job? I can find a dozen terrone who would kill their mother for this."

  "You disrespect me one more time, and I'll kill you,” hissed Lucina. “Do you understand?"

  Maria looked startled.

  "Is there a problem? I was told we would get someone for seven days a week," Mrs. Howell said, glancing first at Lucina then Maria. The short, tense conversation in Italian alarmed Mrs. Howell.

  Maria, stammered, recovering from Lucina's threat, finally said, "There is no problem. Lucina is concerned if she will have access to a car. She would like to take Charles to parks or museums during the day. She feels extracurricular activities such as museums are absolutely important for the child's development and well-being."

  Lucina, relaxed her jaw, forcing yet another smile, reluctantly acknowledging Maria's authority. Maria spoke the truth. Lucina's anger had gotten the better of her and she now regretted it. With a staff of servants to perform the household labor, how difficult could a single child be?

  The moment of confusion passed and Mrs. Howell became satisfied, smiled mockingly. "Lovely. That should be fine. Check with the driver. I don't expect any problems."

  Mrs. Howell tossed the CV on the coffee table and said, "We have nothing more to ask. We require a short recess as Will and I have a few items to discuss. Would you like a drink or perhaps something to eat while you wait?" She summoned Albert. He appeared instantly.

  Maria asked for a Coke.

  Lucina said a water was fine.

  The Howells exited the room.

  Lucina, turning to Maria, frantically said, "I don't understand."

  "What's not to understand?"

  "They have not introduced Charles. Where is he? Where is this child? Suppose he doesn't like me? Then what?”

  Maria shrugged.

  “This woman must have had Charles when she was old. How’s that possible?

  “Medicine. This is the States where the rich do what they want, even defy nature.”

  “And they didn't ask me any questions. Not a single question. Don't you find any of this odd? Did they check my work history? Who would they even call?"

  "Signorina, forget those details. What did you think the money you paid was used for? Just pray to the saints of Casa di Mora they'll hire you." After a few minutes of waiting, Lucina rose from her seat and went to a pair of French doors. Annoyed, Maria said, "Please sit. Where are you going?"

  Lucina left the sunroom, crossed the flagstone terrace and followed a small set of steps until she was on the grass. She kicked off her clunky brown shoes and walked barefoot, her toes disappearing as though in a lush shag carpet. She took a seat on the lawn, the Long Island Sound just a few yards away. Content, she stretched out against the grass, the blades tickling the backs of her legs, neck, and arms. Almost relaxed, the stiff dress collar reminded her why she was here. She inhaled deeply, determined to enjoy the moment.

  The late afternoon summer sun warmed her face. A light breeze stirred the leaves in the trees. She heard a birdsong she did not recognize. She sucked in the saltwater air, the sharp aroma both delightful and relaxing.

  Anchored boats dotted the water. The low tide revealed a small sliver of dark sand. In the deep grass, she flapped her arms and legs, making summer snow angels. She closed her eyes. She was afraid to open them and find herself back in Campania staring out her grandmother's window, looking at her neighbor's laundry, overhearing people yelling, the air ripe with the smell of garbage, a raucous din seemingly all around her. She fell into a deep slumber, and for a moment, she believed none of those places ever existed.

  When she opened her eyes again, unaware of how much time had passed, a funny-looking kid in heavy black sunglasses stood over her. War paint streaked down the sides of his face and nose. He wore a headdress and held a baseball bat with both hands. He was shirtless and sunburnt. Chubby, about ten, with sandy light brown hair and freckles, he stared at her for a few seconds before speaking.

  "I'm not allowed to have a phone," the child said, matter-of-factly.

  "Are you Charles?" Lucina sat up, wincing in the sun.

  The boy scratched the underside of his belly before he nodded.

  "I'm Lucina. Can you say Lucina?"

  "Lucina."

  "Perfect."

  "How would you like it if I was your new nanny?"

  Charles shrugged. "Will you take me to the circus?"

  She considered his request and after a brief pause, said, "If I get hired,
why not? But you have to ask nicely."

  "Lucina," he said seriously, "Will you please take me to the circus?"

  "How can you say my name without any trouble, but your mother has such great difficulty?"

  "That's not my mother."

  "What do you mean?"

  "She's not my mother. She's Aunt Dot." And the boy ran off, screaming, swinging his bat at invisible enemies, left and right, until he was out of sight.

  "Lucina!" Maria called from the terrace.

  Lucina stood at once, straightened her dress, and trotted to the terrace steps.

  "What were you doing?"

  "I was just sitting on the grass and I must have fallen asleep. Can you believe this view? Have you ever seen anything so marvelous before?" She looked past the edge of the lawn at the spread of water, and at this angle, more blue than gray. She returned her eyes to Maria. "I met Charles." She glanced about the lawn, but Charles was nowhere to be found. Maria shook her head, scowling.

  "You're very lucky. You begin immediately. Your things will be brought to your room. Albert will show you to your quarters. Do you understand you've just won the lottery?"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE HOUSE HAD four floors, including a basement and a working elevator. While Maria finalized the details of Lucina's employment with the Howells, Albert ushered Lucina into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. The elevator came alive with a mechanical groan, and after a short ride, lurched to a sudden stop. Albert slid the accordion-style gate to the right motioning for Lucina to exit first. He said, "The elevator was added to the home in 1900. It is one of the earliest private Otis elevator installations still in operation. The boy is on this floor. You'll be on this floor. Your room is next to his."

  "Where is he now?"

  "Most likely the TV room, on the second floor. He spends almost all his waking time there. I'll show you to your room and give you the tour later. I'm sure you want to shower and freshen up before you begin."

  Lucina followed Albert down a wide corridor, their footsteps silent against the thick patterned carpet runners centered on the parquet floors. Scribbles in black and red, at about the height of a child, marked the hallway walls, originating at the elevator and ending just before Charles's room. Albert led her to a medium-sized room, her new home. Lucina took her first few steps inside and conducted a quick inventory of the place.

  She had a four-poster bed with a lilac-colored duvet cover, a modest desk, a cherry wood armoire, and a small table. Much like the hallway, the room had parquet flooring with white moldings and trim. The walls were painted canary yellow. Her suitcase and shoulder bag were waiting in the center of the room like a pair of obedient dogs. Her eyes returned to the armoire, out of place with the other white painted pieces.

  Front and center, a pair of large deep-set windows with a dormer window seat opened on views of the Sound as well as the terrace and pool immediately below. She opened a closet opposite the bed and surprisingly, found it half full.

  "You can ignore that,” Albert said. “That was from the previous nanny. Darlene. My apologies. Until I figure out what to do with her belongings, just be a dear and push them to the side."

  "Here's your bathroom." Albert showed her the white tiled bathroom, complete with a shower, a bear claw tub, and a stocked vanity. "I think that's everything."

  "What's your name again?” Albert asked. “I have a bad memory for names. Dot doesn't tell us anything. I just found out this morning that we were replacing Darlene."

  "Lucina D’Alessio.” The two shook hands.

  "Where are you from?"

  "Italy. Outside of Naples."

  "Is that where your family is from?"

  "I have no one there."

  "You figured you give America a shot? Plenty of your people here."

  She looked at him, bewildered.

  He said, "In New York, you see, there are a lot of Italians."

  "I see."

  She heard the crunching of gravel and ran to a side window in time to catch Maria's Honda speeding away, kicking up gravel against the underside of the car. She felt abandoned. Maria hadn't even attempted to say good-bye or wish her luck.

  Albert said, "You want a drink?"

  Before Lucina answered, Albert continued, "Darlene, God rest her soul, she liked to hit the sauce from time to time. Once you've been around the boy for any length of time, you'll understand. She kept a secret stash up here. When the boy had his quiet time, she'd come in here for a little quiet time of her own. Let me see if I can find it."

  "Was this her room?"

  "Sometimes. She usually stayed in a room over the garage." He pulled out drawers and banged them shut, checked under the bed, foraged in the armoire. Undeterred, he moved to the bathroom. Continuing his conversation, he said, "Once I found a small bottle of J&B behind the sofa in the living room. I imagine she'd sneak a pull while the kid wasn't looking."

  A few moments later, he declared success, coming out with a pint of J&B in his hand. "I wonder how many bottles she put away working here. It was behind the toilet paper. This might be the last thing she ever drank."

  "Pass it here," said Lucina.

  She cleaned the bottle against the bottom of her dress. When she was convinced of its cleanliness, she tipped the bottle back against her lips and made a sour face. With her stomach now on fire, she returned the bottle to Albert.

  "Charles said Dorothy is not his mother."

  Albert hesitated. "Will and Dot are his aunt and uncle. Have you heard the story of the Howells?"

  She shook her head no.

  "I can't believe they didn't tell you this. Charles' parents died in a car accident several years ago. Will's brother Frank, he was the brains. He made a lot of money—mostly in finance, then real estate. They come from an old money family. But Frank took their wealth to the next level. Will is a loser. I mean, he's a nice guy, but his brother was on the cover of Time for chrissakes. He set the bar pretty high. That's hard to compete with. You see this house? This was Frank's weekend getaway. His “country house,” he'd call this place. With eight bedrooms. And an elevator. Before he died, he started a big remodel on the family hunting cabin Upstate. He had a penthouse in Manhattan, a summer place in Miami.

  "As for Will, he's a party guy. He's really good at spending his family's money and making a gin and tonic. His claim to fame is prison.” Lucina raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, can you believe that?” Albert continued. “Will did time for embezzlement. He's a white collar. It's not like he did armed robbery or killed someone, so don't get any crazy ideas. He's a good guy. Now, Dot. She's the one you have to watch. She's mean as a snake. And smart. She remembers everything."

  "How long have you worked here?"

  "I've been employed by the Howells for over twenty years. When Frank died, they just kept us around. According to Frank’s will, Dot and Will can't sell any of the property. I'm not even sure they can legally fire us. Only replace us if we die—that's how you got hired. They're just custodians of the boy. Now, Ellie, Frank's wife, she was a class act. She'd take the time to talk to you and be interested. Dot, on the other hand, she doesn't care and she'll tell you that. Just do what she asks and she'll leave you alone. I tell you what, it's a real tragedy what happened."

  "For Charles?"

  "I mean, I was talking about having to work for Dot and Will. But sure, what a tragedy for Charles too."

  She studied him with a raised eyebrow.

  He said, "His parents, Frank and Ellie, I mean, they did as much as they could for him. But, you know, you can't have all this without some sacrifice. You know what I mean?"

  "I don't."

  Albert checked his phone. He had a text message from Dot. "You ready for this? You're invited to dinner with Will and Dot tonight, at 6:00, in the formal dining room."

  She grabbed the whiskey from his hands and took one more pull.

  "Nervous? You'll do fine."

  Her face looked like she needed to burp. />
  CHAPTER SIX

  LUCINA UNPACKED.

  In less than fifteen minutes her life's belongings were put away. She didn't have much. Some dresses, a few pairs of jeans and shorts, some tops, t-shirts, sweaters, bras and underwear, a pair of boots, sandals, a toiletry bag, sunglasses, a small framed photograph, and three headbands. Wondering if she forgot anything, she glanced at her suitcase gaping open on the bed. No, that was it. Her life until now occupied a tenth of the storage space in her new home.

  In her lap she held her most prized possession, the only surviving photograph of her mother and father. Unsure where to place such a relic, Lucina scanned the room. In the photo, her mother sat with her hands folded, wearing a sad expression but remaining elegant—as much as a peasant from rural southern Italy could. But there was no mistake. Lucina was her father's daughter, sharing her father's dominant nose. Ramrod straight, grim in his only suit, he had refused to smile that day, upset at the cost of the photograph. And as often was the case, accompanying the photo were memories of their voices, shouting, yelling, whispering, praying, swearing, begging, apologizing. For now, the table near the door was as good as any place for the photo to sit.

  Lucina locked the door, undressed to her bra and underwear, and went to the bathroom. Like everything she had seen so far, there was no detail spared. Stocked beneath the sink were soaps, toilet paper, shampoos, perfumes, a loofah, a hair dryer, aspirin, toothpaste, extra toothbrushes, and mouthwash.

  Undecided where to store her empty suitcase, Lucina opened the doors to the armoire, wriggling her toes against the cold flooring. Aside from a lone garment bag, the armoire was empty. She slid her suitcase in the ample space in the bottom shelf and placed the garment bag on her bed for further investigation. Inside the bag she found a slinky haute couture dress. She would never mention this dress to anyone. This wasn't an old nanny outfit separated from the others; this was something chic and fabulous and she wanted one day to see how it felt against her body. Due downstairs for dinner soon, she returned the garment bag to the armoire and continued undressing, removing her underwear.