by Mary Ellis
‘Yes, please. What can I do to help?’ Jill asked.
Jill was given the task of slicing cucumbers and radishes for the salad. Mrs Manfredi, dressed in a tasteful silk dress, sprinkled parmesan cheese on the garlic bread. Dani set the table in the screened-in porch. And Alfonzo lifted perfectly round meatballs from a skillet with a slotted spoon.
Nonni, who had been watching everyone work, climbed off the kitchen stool. ‘I’ll pour the tea,’ she said. ‘Eric, you open a bottle of Cabernet for those who want it.’
Jill would describe dinner with the Manfredis as ‘organized chaos’ since everyone was some sort of chef, except for Mike Conrad.
‘Dump the pasta, Bernadette,’ ordered Alfonzo five minutes later. ‘Everyone else, sit!’
The chaos ratcheted into high gear as everyone rushed final preparations. Jill carried her bowl of salad out to the porch, hoping her slices were sufficiently uniform.
After everyone had taken their places at the table, Alfonzo said, ‘Since this is your house, Mike, say grace and let’s start on the antipasto.’
After the host’s short prayer, Bernie passed around a platter of marinated artichokes, zucchini, eggplant, and mushrooms, along with fresh baked bread and butter. The first course was so good Jill had to remember not to fill up. However, the pasta course opened a can of worms at the table.
Alfonzo set down his fork. ‘What kind of tomatoes did you use to make the sauce, Bernadette?’
‘Campari, Papa. They’re juicier than Roma and I like a thinner sauce.’ Bernie swirled some noodles using her fork and spoon.
‘The Manfredis use Roma tomatoes in the gravy, always.’ Alfonzo thumped the table with his fist.
‘I know that’s your first choice, but Roma can be a bit bitter.’ Bernie offered her dad an agreeable smile.
‘That’s why I add a few tablespoons of sugar to my gravy, to cut the bitterness.’
‘With everyone so health and calorie conscious these days, why not use Campari in the sauce so sugar wouldn’t be necessary? More garlic bread, Jill?’ Bernie offered her the basket.
Jill took another piece and handed the basket to Eric, barely lifting her focus from Alfonzo.
The patriarch’s glare remained on his daughter. ‘Because in Bella Trattoria, we use the marinara recipe my grandfather brought from Italy. It’s tradition.’
‘And in Casa Conrad, we stick to my tradition, Campari tomatoes for a lighter sauce.’ Bernie raised her wine glass.
‘Hear, hear.’ Eric toasted his sister with iced tea.
‘Don’t they realize they’re arguing about two different things?’ Jill whispered in Eric’s ear. ‘Gravy and spaghetti sauce?’
Eric stifled his laughter behind his linen napkin. ‘No, gravy is the old-world word for pasta sauce. Have no fear of projectiles, Jill. These discussions go on all the time but are harmless.’
Irena shot her son a look of displeasure. ‘Do you prefer one type of tomato for your sauce, Jill? With so many heirlooms being planted, there are now dozens of varieties.’
Jill swallowed her mouthful and dabbed her mouth. ‘No, ma’am. I usually buy whatever jar is on sale that week.’
‘Good one, Jill,’ said Mike Conrad.
‘Worst. Answer. Ever.’ Dani mouthed across the table and then giggled.
Mrs Manfredi wasn’t to be put off. ‘Surely, your family has certain ethnic recipes they hold in high esteem.’
Jill pondered this. ‘No, not really. Perhaps because I don’t have much family.’
‘That could be an advantage at times.’ Mike Conrad raised his wine glass, which promptly warranted the evil eye from Nonni.
Confusion furrowed Irena’s forehead. ‘What ethnic nationality are you?’
Jill straightened taller in her chair. ‘I’m American, same as you.’
‘Good ole USA,’ said Eric. ‘Could someone pass me the meatballs?’
His mother handed him the bowl, but kept her focus on Jill. ‘I’m not making myself clear. Forgive me. I’m asking what country are your ancestors from?’
Jill gulped some water. ‘My adoptive parents were Scottish, I believe.’
‘Wow, you were adopted?’ Dani exclaimed. ‘That is so cool.’
‘But what about your natural parents, your bloodlines? They would be your ancestors.’ Mrs Manfredi, along with almost everyone else at the table, had stopped eating. Everyone was looking at Jill, except for Alfonzo, who seemed a bit confused.
Jill didn’t like the attention one bit. ‘I haven’t the slightest idea, other than my blood is red and the type is O-positive.’
‘You never tracked down your real parents?’ asked Dani. ‘I’ve seen several shows on TV like that. It seems to be the current thing to do.’
‘My parents are in a tiny cemetery on the Panhandle of Florida. They were about as real as it gets until someone went left of center, hit their car, and killed them instantly.’
‘OK, that’s enough!’ Eric said in a tone that didn’t encourage argument. ‘Let’s go back to discussing garden vegetables.’
Everyone resumed eating, except from his wasp-waisted, perfectly coifed, over-dressed mother. Irena took a sip of wine. ‘I’m sorry, son, if I offended your friend. I merely was interested in cultural traditions, such as stuffed cabbage, fried pierogis, bratwurst and sauerkraut, borscht soup.’ Her smile was deceptively placid, like a snake waiting to strike in the grass.
‘Don’t the Scots have an interesting dish called haggis?’ asked Mike Conrad.
This time the evil eye came from Bernie, aimed at her spouse.
But Irena wasn’t finished. ‘I’m curious why you haven’t investigated your ancestry. After all, your adoptive parents have passed on and won’t get hurt feelings.’
Silently Jill counted to five. Then she drained her glass of iced tea. ‘I’ll make this simple enough to understand: Because I’m not the … least … bit … interested.’ With that, she threw down her napkin and rose to her feet. ‘Thanks, Bernie and Mike, for a delicious dinner. Your home is gorgeous and your sauce was perfect, by the way. Eric, I’ll wait for you out by the car.’
Jill fled the house as though a pack of ghouls was hot on her heels. Never before had she been in such an uncomfortable situation. Never before had she wanted to make a good impression on people and failed so miserably. All because she really liked Eric. Once outside, instead of climbing into the SUV, Jill wandered into the backyard. A metal swing set sat forlorn, waiting for a little girl to come back and play. Surrounded by rabbit fencing, a garden with a bounty of goodness waited to be picked and savored. Flowers bloomed, grass glistened with dew, and peepers peeped from the hedgerow. All so ordinary, yet so lovely.
All something Jill could never be a part of in a million years.
SEVENTEEN
‘There you are. Thank goodness!’ Eric was panting when he finally reached Jill’s side. ‘When you weren’t in the car, I jogged halfway to the Ashley River before I realized you weren’t walking back to Charleston.’
Jill stepped into a circle of moonlight. ‘I’m so sorry, Eric, for embarrassing you like that in front of your family.’
‘You’re sorry? Are you joking? My mother acted like a Gestapo guard on Ellis Island.’
‘To my knowledge Ellis Island never used Gestapo to check immigration papers.’ Jill seemed to be biting the inside of her cheek.
‘I know, but I couldn’t think of a better analogy. Bernie and Mike were mortified by my mother. And Danielle? She’s in tears because you didn’t try her tiramisu dessert.’
‘What about your grandmother? Didn’t she throw in her two cents?’ Jill asked.
‘Nonni spoke in Italian to her daughter-in-law so only my father understood. And Dad practically turned purple.’
‘Still, I behaved badly and I’m ashamed. I should know how to express myself without storming out like a child. After all, Irena is your mother and deserves respect.’
Eric tipped up her chin. ‘My family tends to make nor
mal people run away screaming, so please don’t be hard on yourself.’
‘Are you saying I’m not normal?’ She looked him in the eye.
‘Not by a long shot. You, Jill Wyatt, are extraordinary.’
Jill’s cheeks flushed with color. ‘Thanks. You’re pretty neat too.’
‘Families can either be a blessing or a curse. Most of the time mine is the former. When they’re not, I put on jogging shoes and run along the waterfront. The exercise along with the view works wonders. If a person wasn’t born with much family, they usually create their own from neighbors or club members or people at work. I got the feeling Beth Kirby is very dear to you.’
‘She is – both her and Michael. I only wish I’d known them longer.’
‘And we shouldn’t forget the people we happen to fall in love with.’
Jill’s smile faded, so Eric changed the subject. ‘What do you want to do now? I could take you home and maybe stop for dessert along the way.’
Jill gazed up at the stars as though they might hold an answer. ‘What I really want is to go back inside. Is that even possible? I hate to pass up Dani’s tiramisu. And I don’t want to leave things like this with your family,’ she added softly.
Eric put an arm around her shoulder. ‘It’s not only possible, it’s the Manfredi way of doing things. We stomp our feet, storm out in a huff, then come back and pick up where we left off.’
‘And no one holds a grudge?’
‘Nope, just business as usual.’
‘Will that work for a Scottish Wyatt?’
‘In a heartbeat.’ Offering his elbow, Eric felt a surge of joy when Jill took hold.
Alfonzo was first to notice Jill’s return. ‘Miss Wyatt, you missed the entrée, but I saved you a piece of grilled salmon.’
‘Jill, you’re back.’ Dani ran to them and hugged Jill around the waist.
‘I couldn’t miss your tiramisu.’ Jill tugged on the girl’s ponytail. ‘Bernie, Mike, Mr and Mrs Manfredi, I apologize for my childish display of temper.’
Eric locked eyes with his mother as they sat down at the table.
‘You call that a display of temper?’ Alfonzo clucked his tongue. ‘You truly must be a Scotswoman.’
‘No, Miss Wyatt,’ said his mother. ‘I owe you the apology. I was very rude to pry into your personal life. Please forgive me.’
‘Of course,’ Jill murmured.
‘Good, everyone is happy again. That means it’s time for you to try the fish.’ Alfonzo handed Jill and Eric plates with hearty portions. ‘My secret is the sauce with tomato butter, fennel, and cannellini beans.’
Jill’s eyes grew very round. ‘I thought the pasta and meatballs were the main course. May I just taste the fish and take the rest home for lunch tomorrow?’
‘She must save room for my dessert, Grandpa,’ Dani explained.
Alfonzo nodded. ‘Sure, sure, take it home. You eat like a bird, just like my Irena.’
‘With that settled, shouldn’t we make our plans for tomorrow?’ Bernie’s gaze drifted around the table. Unfortunately, it was met with six blank stares, all but Nonni. ‘Tomorrow is Salvatore Borelli’s funeral at St Mary’s.’
‘And why would that concern a Manfredi?’ Alfonzo demanded.
Bernie pushed away her plate. ‘You can’t possibly skip that funeral. If for no other reason, you will look guilty if you stay away.’
‘What do I care what I look like to a Borelli?’ he asked.
‘Papa, half of Charleston will be there, not just Sal’s family.’
‘You exaggerate, Bernadette. I will not be a hypocrite by mourning a man who stabbed me in the back every chance he got.’
Irena brushed a crumb from her silk dress. ‘Sounds like a rather judgmental attitude, marito.’
Alfonzo softened his expression toward his wife. ‘I will pray for Sal’s eternal soul and light a candle in private. But I will not participate in the honoring of that man. I am head of this family and I say the Manfredis will go about their business tomorrow as usual.’
Eric decided it was time to hear from his grandmother. ‘What do you think, Nonni? You’ve been awfully quiet.’
‘My opinion is my own, Enrique. Don’t stir the pot.’ Nonni shook her finger at him.
‘The matter is settled,’ said Alfonzo. ‘Danielle, aren’t you ever going to serve your special dessert? And let’s have cappuccinos, Bernadette.’
Eric waited until his sister and niece left the room. ‘I’m afraid I will be forced to attend, Papa. I’m the one who hired Jill to investigate Salvatore’s murder. Since everyone knows murderers often attend their victim’s funeral, I can’t let Jill walk into that den of thieves alone.’
Alfonzo considered his son’s logic. ‘You’re right. You must protect Jill, especially from that Renaldo. Even if it is his papa’s funeral, that man won’t miss an opportunity to turn on the charm.’
Jill had been following the conversation like a tennis match. ‘May I remind you both that I’m licensed to carry a firearm in this state?’
Alfonzo chuckled. ‘There’ll be plenty of Borellis packing heat at Salvatore’s funeral. You won’t be the only one.’
‘Enough, please!’ cried Nonni. ‘Don’t you remember what happened the last time you disrespected the dead?’
Alfonzo looked genuinely confused. ‘No, Mama, I don’t. Please remind me.’
‘The police hauled you away in handcuffs.’
‘And with that cheery memory, coffee and dessert are served,’ Bernie announced as she and Dani carried trays out to the porch.
Eric waited until the topic changed to Danielle’s upcoming basketball game before squeezing Jill’s hand under the table. ‘Are you apprehensive about tomorrow’s funeral?’
Jill pivoted in her chair so only he could hear her response. ‘Are you kidding? I’m not afraid of a little gunplay. And I can’t wait to get a look at Renaldo Manfredi. I just hope I can find something proper to wear.’
Eric picked up his spoon and began eating the Italian specialty. He had no idea whether Jill was joking or not, but Renny wasn’t the Borelli brother he was worried about.
‘Looks like you found something appropriate to wear after all.’ Eric did a double-take when Jill came downstairs in a sleeveless black dress and black pumps. She looked gorgeous with her hair in a long braid down her back.
Jill tugged on the hem of the dress with both hands. ‘While you were talking sports with Mike last night, I asked your sister what folks wore to funerals these days.’
‘You’ve never been to a funeral?’ he asked.
‘Not since I was very young, and nobody cares what kids wear.’ Jill gave the hem another tug. ‘Bernie said that in Charleston, most women will wear a black or gray dress, neither of which do I own. She said I might be able to get away with navy, but my only navy dress has big yellow flowers.’
‘I take it that’s my sister’s dress?’ Eric tried not to stare at her tanned legs.
‘It is, but I didn’t realize how much shorter Bernie was until I put this on.’ Jill frowned.
‘Really? I barely noticed that the dress stops and your legs start.’ He tried to hide his smirk.
‘That’s it! I’m going back up to change. I’ll cover the flowers with a long cardigan.’ As Jill pivoted on the bottom step, Eric grabbed her arm.
‘I’m teasing, Jill. The dress isn’t too short. You look fine and the funeral starts in twenty minutes.’
Jill gave him a head-to-toe perusal on their way to the parking lot. ‘I take it you didn’t have to borrow a black suit?’
‘Nope, I wear this to every wedding, funeral, and charity event. It gets lots of mileage.’
‘Aren’t you the man about town?’
Eric was about to refute her assertion when he noticed exhaust fumes coming from his tailpipe and someone sitting in the back seat of his SUV. He yanked open the door. ‘Nonni, what are you doing in here?’
‘Waiting for you two to finish getting ready. And I cou
ldn’t very well wait without air-conditioning.’
‘How did you get my car keys?’ he asked, opening the passenger door for Jill.
‘Off your desk while you were taking a shower.’ Nonni dabbed powder on her nose.
Jill swiveled around toward the back seat. ‘But Alfonzo said the Manfredis wouldn’t be attending the Borelli funeral.’
Nonni rapped Jill’s knuckles with her fan. ‘I don’t take orders from my son. Francesca Borelli is my best friend and Salvatore was her son. I must pay my respects. Besides, you two might need my help later.’
‘Help with what?’ Jill asked, pulling her hand out of Nonni’s reach.
‘You’ll see.’
Eric caught Jill’s worried expression as she turned around. ‘Don’t worry, everything will be fine.’
Nonni rapped the back of Eric’s head. ‘Your mother wanted to come today too. I heard her and Alfonzo arguing after you two left. I know your papa finally told you the whole story.’
‘Care to share that story with me?’ Jill asked.
‘I will, but not today.’ Eric glared at his grandmother in the rearview mirror. ‘Let’s just get through today with a minimum of drama.’
‘As you wish, Enrique.’
However, drama kicked into overdrive the moment they reached the steps of St Mary’s Cathedral. All three Borelli sons, including the prodigal John, were greeting mourners by the carved double doors. At the sight of two Manfredis, Renaldo’s face registered surprise; John’s conveyed ambivalence, while Dominic’s expression was pure hatred. Renny and Dom left their brother to man the door and approached the threesome.
Renny spoke first. ‘Thank you, Mrs Manfredi, for coming today. Your friendship means a lot to my grandmother. I’ll take you to where she’s sitting. But first, who is this lovely young woman with you?’ Renny completely ignored Eric as though he didn’t see him.
‘This is Miss Jill Wyatt from Mississippi. She lives above our restaurant now. Jill, this is Renaldo Borelli, Salvatore’s eldest son.’ Nonni cast a sideways glance at Eric that he couldn’t interpret if his life depended on it.
