by Kyra Davis
“Why do you think she likes him so much?” I asked, although I had an inkling. Scott could be incredibly charming and he had this vitality to him that was kind of addictive, like a drug. Problem is when you’ve had too much of any drug it makes you sick.
“Scott has his charms,” Maria said, as if reading my thoughts. “But I believe the main reason Venus is so attached to him is merely because he’s still there. She has difficulty hanging on to her men. I imagine she’s impossible to live with, and there are other problems. I overheard one of her previous lovers complain about her modesty in regards to sex.”
“Venus is modest?” I asked. I had a hard time believing that.
“In the bedroom, missionary position, lights out. That’s what he said. Although I also overheard him say she knows how to give a good blow job.”
I squeezed my eyes closed against the image and tried to redirect the conversation. “So Kane has always hated Venus?”
“Always. Venus believes in ghosts, but will sacrifice a successful séance for a celebrity guest like Enrico. Kane doesn’t care about the guest list. He just wants to talk to the dead. He’s very single-minded that way. When Venus convinced…or should I say intimidated everyone into keeping Enrico as a Specter Society member and throwing me out, Lorna and Kane came to my defense. At first to no avail and then, something happened.”
“What?”
“I don’t exactly know. Kane called me and said he had discovered one of Venus’s secrets and if she wanted him to help her keep it she was going to have to do what she was told. The first thing he told her to do was let me back into the Specter Society.”
“But when you came to my séance…”
“You weren’t told to invite me,” Maria said coolly. “Yes, my readmittance was short-lived. Somehow Venus got the upper hand again. Don’t ask me how, but Kane called and told me I couldn’t come anymore. He clearly didn’t want it to be that way, but he said he no longer had any leverage.” She rapped her French manicured nails against the table. “With Kane I do believe it’s always about leverage.”
I nodded. So Kane once had leverage over Venus and she found a way of turning it around. As much as I hated to admit this, Venus had something to teach me. I took a sip of my orange juice. It was fresh squeezed and totally fantastic. “Do you come here a lot?” I asked.
“Not a lot. Never before on a weekday morning. I’m usually at work at this time.”
“Oh? I didn’t know you worked.”
“You didn’t think I was the type,” she said matter-of-factly. “You imagined that I wrapped myself in the security of Enrico’s hard-earned fortune while I set my mind to more amusing pursuits.”
“No…I mean…well…”
“It’s all right. I love nothing more than being underestimated. When Enrico met me, I was a tour guide in Salerno. My childhood friend, Giovanni, was my partner. I had never traveled farther than France, but I did speak English, the Queen’s English. And I can speak French, too, and Spanish and enough German to get by, although I hate the language. It lacks…whimsy.”
I sat back in my chair. “I’m having a hard time believing that English is your second language or even that you learned to speak with a British accent. You sound like you could have been born right here in the city.”
“I find that the only way to truly know a language is to study its poetry and its lyrics. From those, you can learn the language’s nuance and humor in a way that you could never get from a textbook.”
Maria glanced up at the framed French art deco poster hung against the exposed brick wall. Her eyes lingered on the foreign words that the artist had included to explain the scene. “I love words. And accents, I adore accents. Each has its own unique taste and texture. I’m obsessed with them in a way. So it was only natural that I would start a business that played into that. I’m a translation service provider.”
“Really?” I asked. Maria was becoming more impressive by the second.
“I have a staff of linguists and some very powerful clients. Fortune 500 companies, law firms, and I usually have at least one government contract at any given time…or at least I used to.”
“The investigation into Enrico’s murder has probably put a damper on that,” I noted.
“Yes. At first I worried that he would haunt me, but he doesn’t need to. The nature of his death has made him victorious.”
“How exactly is Enrico victorious now?” I asked. “He is dead, after all.”
Maria’s painted red lips drew up into a forced smile. “Yes, he’s dead and I’m alive, so I suppose that makes me better off. That’s easy to forget these days.” She looked down at her ice water and drew a circle in the moisture that clung to the outside of the glass. “The police came to visit me last night. This afternoon I will be meeting with a lawyer.”
“If they haven’t arrested you they must not think they have a very strong case.” Yet, I added silently. But Maria seemed to hear the unspoken qualification. It hung over our table like a bad odor.
“I’m not scared,” Maria insisted. “Not like I was in Italy. Giovanni got involved with some people who, as the Italians say, had their hands in the pasta.”
“Hands in the pasta? Is that some kind of sexual innuendo?”
Maria laughed. “No, we don’t have as many clever sexual innuendos in Italian as you do in English. We prefer our sexuality to be more explicit. To have your hands in the pasta means that you are involved with the mafia.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “How the hell does a tour guide manage to get mixed up in something like that?”
Maria gave me a withering look. “Incredibly easily. The mafia’s influence in the south of Italy is enormous. Whether you’re a small business or a large company with multinational ambitions, you simply must give the mafia a percentage or pay a horrible price. A few years ago the police tried to rein it in, but more often than not the government has looked the other way.”
“Okay,” I said, “so your partner got involved with the Godfather. If everyone does it then why was it so scary?”
“Because Giovanni did something to make them mad.”
“Oh. That’s not good.”
“No, it’s very, very bad, and I was right there in the cross fire. The fear was paralyzing. I was like a child looking for someone to take care of me. And then Enrico walked into my office, brochure in hand, ready to see the Greek temples at Paestum. He was a true American success story. I showed him everything there was to see and by the end of the tour he had me in his arms. He didn’t mind that I was so vulnerable. He said it made me alluring.”
There was something very disturbing about that statement and I tried to gauge Maria’s expression to see if she was aware of it.
“Yes,” she acknowledged, “it’s very sexist and condescending. But what I saw was a man who was willing to open his heart to a woman in need. In less than forty-eight hours he told me he loved me, and in less than three weeks we were married and off to America. He was my savior. How could I not love him?”
“Uh-huh.” I took another sip of my orange juice. “What happened when you stopped being so needy?”
Maria cocked her head to the side. “You’re rather clever, aren’t you? What happened is my marriage began to unravel. It took a while. I was so desperately grateful to him that I was willing to play the wallflower for a while. But people started making a fuss. They praised the ease in which I mastered American colloquialisms and accents and my ability to adapt to a new culture…Enrico didn’t like that. He grumbled when I started up my business, and when it began to succeed he hated it.”
“So he thought there was only room for one star in the family?”
“Yes. He said that a husband is like an entrée and his wife like a fine wine. Wine is meant to complement the meal, not overpower it.”
“Wow, that’s just…wow.”
The food came and Maria and I were quiet for a few minutes as we tasted our dishes. She didn’t seem to have much of an app
etite, but I had no problem devouring what was in front of me.
“People think our marriage ended because I’ll eat things like this,” Maria tapped her eggs and cheese, “and not something like that.” At this she waved her fork at the decadent pile of carbohydrates on my plate. “It’s not true.”
“Obviously,” I mumbled, my mouth full of roasted pears. “Your marriage was chock-full of more serious problems from the start.”
“But I owed Enrico everything…possibly my life. I would have found a way to make it work. But then Lorna came to see me.”
The pear stuck in my throat. “What did Lorna have to say?”
Maria toyed with her unused spoon, turning it around and around so that it lightly clicked against the wood of the table. “She told me that when her daughter, Deb, killed herself she had been pregnant. That would have been when I was first starting up my business. Enrico had been giving Deb cooking lessons as a favor to her father who was working for him at the time. I was rarely at home. Lorna told me that…she told me…” Maria shook her head fiercely. “It’s not true,” she whispered. “When I confronted Enrico he was so offended and…and shocked!”
“You think Lorna was lying?” I asked incredulously. “Why would she do that?”
“Not a lie, but a misplacement of blame,” Maria corrected. “She needs someone to blame for her daughter’s death. She needs for there to be a reason. I know it’s not true. But for a moment I didn’t know that and if I could believe something so horrible about my husband for even a second then the problems with my marriage were no longer surmountable. Enrico kicked me out. It was the right thing to do.”
I placed both my hands flat on the table. “Maria,” I said slowly, “has it ever occurred to you that Lorna is the one who killed Enrico?”
“I’ve considered it. But when she told me…when I believed her…well, I took out my gun.”
“You have a—wait a minute—you were going to shoot him?”
“I thought it was true, Sophie. I thought he had hurt that innocent little girl and then dared to come to my bed at night, dared to play the role of the hero and the protector. How could I not have at least considered it?”
I wanted to say that I wouldn’t have considered it, but that was a stretch.
“But Lorna had other ideas,” Maria said. She took a large bite of her eggs, her appetite apparently returning. “She said that the greatest punishment is not death, but to live to see the people you love leave you over and over again. I think that’s Lorna’s life. She dreams about her daughter and then in the morning…” Maria held up her empty hands to show me exactly what Lorna had when she woke up. “She was afraid Enrico would find peace in death. She wanted him to live and suffer. She talked me out of shooting him.”
“That was probably a good move on her part.”
“Yes, particularly because Enrico didn’t do those things,” Maria said stubbornly. Too stubbornly. We were the only people at the table and she was trying to convince both of us. “So I doubt it was Lorna. Besides, she didn’t know about the bird.”
“What bird, you mean the parrot? What does he have to do with any of this?”
“I told you Enrico had trained that bird to do some amazing things. Did you notice the perch built into the wall, right next to the door frame? Perhaps you thought it was a hook.”
“I didn’t notice,” I admitted, not adding that there had been more dramatic things to see at the time.
“Enrico had trained that bird to chain lock the door. He just picked the chain up with his beak and slid it in while sitting on that perch. He wasn’t as good at unlocking it, which proved to be a serious problem. One day Enrico and I sat outside that door for forty-five minutes with our faces pressed up against a sliver opening waiting for that silly bird to figure it out. But he did know how to lock it on command. Enrico and I were the only ones who knew the command. Lorna didn’t even know about the trick.”
“Did you tell the police about this?”
“Tell them what? That in addition to having motive and opportunity I also knew how to get the bird to chain lock the door behind me?” Maria asked with a cold smile. “No. Would you?”
20
Man cannot improve on God’s creations. When we try, we get things like hairless dogs and “cheese” that you squeeze out of a can.
—The Lighter Side of Death
BY THE TIME I LEFT ZAZIE, I FELT CERTAIN THAT I HAD JUST DINED WITH A murderer. Unless of course the killer was Lorna. The weird part was that I wasn’t at all sure if it mattered anymore. It was getting harder and harder to work up any sympathy for Enrico, and unless the person who killed him was Kane, finding out who did it wasn’t going to help me in my quest to hold on to my home.
I was walking back to that home now, and I kept my coat off so the cold weather could enhance the effects of the two cups of coffee I had already consumed. I had so much to figure out. How should I handle Kane? Was Venus a real threat? How could I repair things with Anatoly? It was all giving me a humongous headache. I needed help and maybe just a moment of peace.
I stopped short of the front door. Leaning against it was a large, bulky manila envelope with my name written across it in Leah’s hand. Leah was usually a very careful person. She wouldn’t have left a large envelope by my door in plain view from the sidewalk unless she had felt disoriented, upset or flustered.
I picked it up and tore at the seal. Inside was a small, rather outdated, minicassette player/recorder and inside that was a small tape labeled Andrea.
I put the recorder back in the envelope and pulled out a white piece of paper. It was a note from Leah. It read:
What’s going on? You’re never out this early! Anyway, Mama wanted me to drop this off. Be forewarned, it’s a little hard to listen to. I almost wish I hadn’t.
Love,
Leah
I put the note back and then, on a total whim, turned away from the door and went to my garage. I wasn’t sure where I was going when I stuck my keys into the ignition of my car. I just knew that I had the urge to escape. I put the manila envelope on the passenger seat. I would listen to the tape later. Not now. I couldn’t take it now.
I had only driven a block when I realized I was kidding myself. I simply had to know what was on the damned tape. I pulled over into the first parallel spot I could find and after several deep breaths pulled the recorder out of the envelope and pressed Play.
“You don’t love her,” a female voice said. It was small and distant as if the recording device had been placed far from her mouth. “I know you don’t. You can’t.”
“Andrea, I love my wife very much.”
I pressed my fingers against my lips to prevent myself from crying out. It had been so long since I had heard his voice!
“But we are fated to be together!” Andrea went on. “I went to a Tarot card reader yesterday. Do you know what she said?”
“Andrea, I’m telling you that we are never going to be a couple. You need to stop harassing us.”
“But even Kane knows we were meant to be. Kane, my own son! He understands! Why can’t you?”
“What has happened to you? You used to be more sophisticated than this! Now you take your advice from Tarot cards and eight-year-olds!” There was a muffled thump in the background and I knew it was the sound of my father’s fist hitting a table or some other solid surface. He always did that when he was struggling to make a point. “You broke the window of my car, Andrea!” he continued. “You’ve been stalking my family!”
“I’m sorry.” The tears were now audible in her voice. “About the car that is. But Martin, I had to do it. They told me to do it!”
“Who told you?”
“I love you so much, Martin!” she said as if she hadn’t heard his question. “I didn’t see it at first, but Oscar’s leaving me was a blessing! And when you get your divorce that will be a blessing, too! Your children can live with us. I’ll take care of Leah and Sophie. Sophie is such a special girl. I’ll
watch out for her. You just have to believe in me!”
“Andrea, you just admitted to vandalizing my car. How can I possibly believe in you?” His words were only mildly biting, but his tone…I had never heard him use that tone before. It was acidic.
“Why are you being so cruel?” she asked, more softly this time. “Don’t you see? It’s not just the Tarot card readers. The voices of my ancestors speak to me. The dead know what’s important and they tell me. They tell me what I need to do to hold on to you. They care about us, Martin. You and me!”
“Andrea—”
“That’s why I follow you. I’ll always be there, watching, waiting for you to do what’s right.”
There was a long pause and then my father spoke again. “You are an incredibly tragic figure, and yet, I can’t find it in me to feel sorry for you. You’ve threatened my family. I love them Andrea. I’ll never love you.”
“You don’t mean that,” Andrea insisted. “You’re confused.”
“I’m tape recording this conversation.”
There was another long pause. “I…I don’t understand,” Andrea finally responded.
“If you don’t back off I’ll give the tape to Oscar. It’s all he needs to have you committed. You could lose custody of Kane, Andrea.”
“How dare you!” This time it was a screech and I found myself wondering where they were. Surely if Andrea had raised her volume to that degree in a public place she would have attracted attention.
“I won’t give it to him if you leave me and my family alone, although I probably should. You need help.”
“Martin—”
“Goodbye.”
