by Mary Ellis
‘Then why bother to pray, if everything is out of our control?’
Berman arched an eyebrow. ‘Ahh, you have been giving this some thought. For those with faith, prayer is simply communication – giving thanks, asking for help with a problem, and then listening for some kind of answer. The better people get to know God, the better they become at recognizing those answers. It might not be the answer they want, but it’ll be the one they need. That’s what Emma is willing to accept.’
‘This is way over my head. You make it sound easy.’
‘It’s not easy, but people have their entire life to practice.’
‘Ralph Norris asked me to pray for his wife,’ Jill whispered. ‘Since I really don’t know how, would you do it for me?’
‘I would be happy to, Jill. But if you wanted to try you don’t have to get fancy. You don’t have to wait until bedtime. Just turn off the radio, quiet your thoughts, and speak your mind. It could be while walking or running or driving, as long as you can still be safe. If you’re grateful about something, say so. Talk about anything that you regretted doing that day. Ask for help in not doing the same thing tomorrow. Today, you could ask God to spare the lives of Emma and Charlotte. But no matter what happens, someone other than you or me is in complete control.’
Jill stared at the floor as hot tears rushed to her eyes that were impossible to stop. Borne of personal frustration and fear she cried helplessly for several minutes. Then she rose to her feet. ‘Thank you making time for me. You are really a nice guy. I’ll think about what you said, but if it’s OK with you, I’ll wait for Eric outside.’
‘Of course, call me whenever you want to talk. And please feel free to show up for Sunday services. No strings attached.’ The minister waited until Jill reached the door before delivering his final salvo. ‘Aren’t you curious why you were picked to reunite the sisters?’
Jill glanced over her shoulder. ‘You said it was because I would go the extra mile.’
‘True, but I also think He noticed you’ve been away for a long time and He wants you back.’
How did this guy possibly know her mom had taken her to Sunday school when she was a little girl? Jill yearned to come up with a snappy comeback, but her well of sarcasm had gone dry. Now she had something else to think about later because just at that moment, Eric pulled up to the curb.
‘How did it go?’ he asked.
‘Fine. Greg disabused me of the crazy notion I’m responsible for what happens to Emma and Charlotte. But other than that, I don’t want to discuss it.’ Jill winked as she climbed into his car.
‘Whew, I started to worry after my third trip around the block.’
Jill might have elaborated on her conversation with the preacher, but her cell phone rang. ‘Uh-oh, it’s Lieutenant Schott. I need to take this.’
‘Put him on speaker,’ Eric demanded.
‘Hi, Lieutenant. Eric Manfredi is with me and you’re on speaker.’
‘Man, Miss Wyatt, you say a mouthful on the phone even when nobody picks up the other end. Not even my wife leaves such long messages.’
As Schott laughed, Jill felt a blush rise up her neck. ‘I wanted to share all my information. What did you find out about the landscaper, Bob Johnson?’
‘I’ll admit, he was worth looking into – sixty grand is a lot of money to be owed. But Johnson was with his dying wife when Borelli was being shot.’
‘He could have been lying about that.’
‘Hospitals have surveillance cameras that are date and time stamped. Johnson got to the hospital Friday night and didn’t leave until Sunday morning. Call me with your next hot tip.’
When Schott hung up, Jill turned toward Eric. ‘What did you find out about Colin MacFaren, the seafood purveyor? Sal owed him a bundle too.’
Eric rubbed his jawline. ‘I called Colin the next day. He told Sal Borelli that if he didn’t pay every cent he owed, he would ask his friends and relatives to start an internet smear campaign. Thanks to cell phones, nasty reviews posted on Yelp or Google hurt restaurants more than complaints to the Better Business Bureau. Colin said Renaldo Manfredi delivered a check to his office the very next day.’
‘Another dead-end. On to my next lead.’
Only Jill didn’t want to admit MacFaren and Bob Johnson were the best leads she had.
TWENTY-ONE
When they got back to Bella Trattoria the last thing Eric wanted was for Jill to run up to her room. ‘Come take a look at the kitchen and employee lounge, Jill. The restoration work is just about done except for a few decorator touches.’
After Jill delivered an appropriate amount of oohs and ahhs, he broached the subject foremost on his mind. ‘Give me an update on my father’s case. We haven’t talked since last night and I know you learned something at lunch.’ Eric pulled out the pitcher of iced tea and two glasses. ‘I gather from Schott’s call, Borelli owed Johnson Landscaping sixty thousand.’
‘Sixty-five, to be exact. Thanks to Nonni and Francesca, I learned that Johnson came to see Sal shortly before his death and they argued.’ Jill’s eyes filled with pain. ‘Johnson needed the money for an experimental cancer treatment, but Sal didn’t pay. His wife died shortly afterward. So although Johnson had a very good motive, he’s not our killer.’
‘Neither is MacFaren, so money owed doesn’t seem to have been a factor.’
‘Maybe not directly as in old liens, but Mr Johnson pointed me in a different direction. At the time I didn’t give it much credence since he looked so guilty. So much for my intuition.’ Jill rolled her eyes.
‘Maybe nasty people like Sal have plenty of people who mean them harm. Who’s next on your list?’
‘Sofia Borelli, Sal’s wife. During construction of that monstrosity, Sofia and Sal fought like cats and dogs – about money, Sofia’s extravagances, and something seedy-sounding.’
This was the last thing Eric expected. ‘What do you mean by seedy?’
‘I don’t know. That’s just how Mr Johnson made it sound.’
‘Come on, Jill. Mrs Borelli? Even if she lost her temper, do you really think a woman can shoot the father of her children in the face? Maybe hire a hitman or slip sleeping pills into his nightcap, but not something so up close and personal.’
‘If you check the case files for homicides, you’ll find that plenty of bad marriages end with a nasty act of violence.’
‘I know, but you won’t stay on Irena’s good side if you start digging into Sofia’s and Sal’s past history.’
Jill’s eyes bugged out. ‘Irena, as in your mom?’
‘One and the same.’ Eric slouched in the kitchen chair.
‘I knew there was no love lost between those two, but you’ve been keeping things from me.’ Jill shook her fist at him.
‘Only for a few days. I just found out when I bailed Dad out of jail.’
‘OK, I’ll calm down. But you need to tell all.’ She sat opposite him at the table.
‘Irena was already dating Sal Borelli when my father fell in love with her. In fact Sal and Irena had already announced their engagement. Dresses bought, catering lined up, the whole nine yards.’
‘Wow, how tacky is that?’
Eric glanced around the room. ‘I wouldn’t repeat that in my mother’s presence.’
Jill straightened her spine. ‘Absolutely not. Sorry. Mind telling me how old these people were?’
‘I’m guessing nineteen or twenty. Alfonzo and Irena fell madly in love. Irena called off her engagement, and Sal was humiliated.’
‘They were all very young, Eric. Plus this must be at least forty years ago.’
‘Forty-one, to be exact. My parents married one year later and Bernadette came along within a year or two.’
‘My point is this is water long under the bridge. Nobody carries a grudge this long. Sal met and married Sofia and had three sons. Everyone lived happily ever after. Even if Sal still hated your father, it doesn’t give Alfonzo a motive for murder.’
‘Tha
t’s what I thought too. So when Nonni got home after your lunch, I made her tell me parts of the story my father left out.’
‘Oh, dear, I’m not going to like this.’
‘Apparently, my parents lived happily ever after, but the Borellis have never been happy. Francesca told my grandmother that Sal had divorce papers drawn up. The only reason they hadn’t divorced before now was they were afraid of getting kicked out of the church. Either the church relaxed its rule, or the Borellis don’t care any more.’
‘How sad,’ Jill said, ‘after all these years. What was their major bone of contention – money? According to Nonni, Sofia loved to shop.’
‘I’m sure money factored in. Plus Renny was Sal’s favorite son, while Sofia doted on Dominic.’
‘No wonder poor John left home and changed his name.’
Eric focused on the new ceramic tiles around the sink. ‘Nonni also said Sal never got over my mother. He was still in love with her.’
‘What?’ Jill sounded skeptical. ‘You’re pulling my leg. After forty years, Sal was still in love with Irena?’
Eric shrugged. ‘Hey, what do I know about romance? So far, you and I have had exactly one date. I’m just telling you what Nonni said.’
‘Your mom is very pretty, but it’s hard to imagine anyone could carry a torch that long.’
‘Sal had a vicious streak. He constantly compared his wife to Irena, and poor Sofia always came up short. He never let Sofia forget she was his second choice. Plus, Nonni believes Sal has had a roving eye for years – something Granny Francesca wouldn’t confirm or deny. If that’s true, and I doubt my grandmother would make something like that up, it had to be hard on Sofia. Whenever the four of them attended the same civic or charitable event, Sal never missed an opportunity to flirt with Mom, just to rub salt in old wounds.’
‘That must be what Bob Johnson referred to as “something seedy,”’ Jill murmured more to herself than to him. Then she looked Eric in the eye. ‘Not that I have more romantic experience than you, but I always thought by the time people reached forty, let alone sixty, this kind of stuff would be behind them.’
‘I certainly can’t disagree with that.’ Funny how Jill’s admission seemed to make Eric feel a tad better.
Jill pulled out her notebook. ‘Sofia could have reached breaking point when Sal cut Dominic out of his will, in favor of that blue-eyed Renaldo.’
‘But I know Sofia has never dined in our restaurant, nor would my mother ever invite her into their home. No way could she get her hands on my dad’s gun. So where does that leave us, Jill?’
‘I’ll tell you where it leaves me … too tired to think straight. Let’s pick this conversation up another time. Maybe after a good night’s sleep, I can formulate a new battle plan.’
Eric studied her face. Truly, she looked more exhausted than he’d ever seen her. ‘You’re right. You’ve had a long day. Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
But when Jill got to her room, she didn’t sleep. She couldn’t sleep. Instead she paced the suite from one end to the other, and then began a circuitous route around the perimeter while her mind was anywhere but in Charleston. She thought about all the families she had joined for brief intervals of time and friends that had come and gone from her life. Playground, high school, and college chums that had been so important once upon a time were quickly forgotten when circumstances changed. When had she become a shallow, careless person? When did she start discarding people when no longer useful? Had it been when her parents were killed in a traffic accident? Or when she and her brother were separated by a heartless social worker? Or maybe she had been born genetically predisposed to shun deep attachments in favor of temporary, convenient liaisons.
With her head throbbing, Jill finally pulled off her clothes, slipped on a fresh nightshirt, and crawled between the crisp, clean sheets. But still sleep wouldn’t come. She wondered what it was like to be part of a close-knit family like the Manfredis, or the Norrises, or even the Sugarmans. That family was by no means perfect but they had each other’s back when the chips were down. Then her thoughts wandered to what it would be like to have Emma’s kind of faith. The outside world scoffed at the ultra-religious, but during critical times Emma and her husband had other church members to prop them up. Her belief system amounted to a generic ‘be a good person’ and ‘try to always tell the truth because getting caught in lies could be downright embarrassing.’
Her dead mother would not be proud of her.
So Jill did something she hadn’t done in years. She dropped to her knees next to the bed – despite Greg Berman saying it wasn’t necessary – and prayed. But she didn’t pray to be delivered from her self-absorbed reclusiveness. That was probably hopeless. She prayed for Emma and Charlotte – that their lives be saved for the sake of their families. And she prayed for the Manfredis – that Alfonzo be absolved of false accusations and that Eric find what he was looking for. Even if it wasn’t her.
With her kneecaps aching, she finally crawled into bed and slept without stirring. When she awoke eleven hours later, she felt better than she had in ages. She made coffee, did her floor exercises, and took a long shower. When she eventually got down to the kitchen, she found Eric sitting at the table with his laptop.
‘Good morning, Mr Manfredi.’
‘Good morning, Jill. How did you sleep?’
‘Like a baby. Thank you for setting up my visit with Reverend Berman.’
‘You’re welcome. Ready for a real breakfast – bacon, eggs, hash browns? Although it’s almost time for lunch.’
‘You’re singing my song.’ Jill poured herself more coffee and watched him buzz around the kitchen, doing what he did best. Soon buttered toast, golden hash browns, fried eggs, and crispy bacon arrived at the table, all at the same time. ‘You are amazing,’ she said.
‘You haven’t tasted it yet.’
‘The show alone is impressive.’ Jill picked up her fork and ate more than twice a normal breakfast’s worth. ‘My description of “amazing” still stands.’ She wiped her mouth and tossed down the napkin.
‘Thanks, and I know you don’t throw compliments around lightly. Are you ready to tell me about your next suspect?’ Eric asked.
‘Not quite yet; my mind is already thinking about dinner.’
‘We’ve just finished breakfast. You’re joking, right?’
‘Not by a long shot, my favorite gourmet extraordinaire.’ Jill buzzed his cheek with a kiss on her way to the sink with her dishes. ‘I’ll be gone for a few hours, but tonight I expect one of your Italian specialties in your new kitchen.’
‘What do you have a taste for? Your wish is my command. I’ll hit the grocery store this afternoon.’
‘I’m thinking about your pappardelle Bolognese. It’s touted to be better than your competitor’s, along with a Caesar salad and garlic bread. Can you handle that, Manfredi?’
‘With my eyes closed,’ he said. However the reference to the competition roused Eric’s suspicions. ‘What kind of errand do you have? You do realize the Borellis aren’t people to mess with. If you have suspicions about Sofia, you need to tell Lieutenant Schott and let him investigate.’
‘Don’t be silly. I want to drop off goodies at the hotel where the Norrises are staying and then stop by the hospital. But why don’t I give you something to remember me while I’m gone?’ Jill rose up on tiptoes and kissed him. Not on the cheek or his forehead, but right on the lips. Then she grabbed her purse and ran out the door, leaving Eric speechless.
But Jill didn’t head for her car. Instead, she crossed the courtyard, rounded the corner, and knocked at the private entrance to Nonni’s suite. ‘Good morning, Nonni,’ she chimed. ‘May I come in?’
The older woman stepped to the side. ‘Morning? It’s twelve fifteen. Half the day is gone.’
‘But the best part is still ahead of us.’ Jill gazed around the girly room with flowered wallpaper, a chintz bedspread, Italian provincial furniture, and a teardrop c
handelier. ‘This is adorable. Did you do the decorating?’
‘Don’t make me laugh. Irena created this set for a Victorian melodrama. Me, I would have picked Art Deco or something contemporary.’ Nonni sipped tea from a porcelain cup. ‘What can I do for you, my favorite secret agent?’
‘May I have Francesca Borelli’s address? I’d like to write a thank-you note saying how much I enjoyed our lunch.’
Nonni’s expression turned doubtful. ‘Why? I’m the one who picked up the check.’
‘I know. I’m writing you a note too. But Mrs Borelli was so friendly to me. And she didn’t have to be.’
‘I thought women your age didn’t write notes or letters. Everything must be emails or texts or Face Time.’ She clucked her tongue.
‘Just like you and Francesca dressing to the nines for lunch, I’m trying to preserve a custom. Please, Nonni?’
‘Fine with me.’ She shuffled to the desk for her address book and a piece of paper. Yet her skeptical expression never faltered. ‘What else do you need?’
‘Not a thing, see you at supper.’ With address in hand, Jill ducked while crossing the courtyard and ran to her car. She didn’t like spinning tall tales to Eric and his grandmother, but it was the only way to do her job. Had they known, both would have insisted on coming with her. And Jill needed to do this errand alone.
It was a good thing Beth had left her GPS unit in the Toyota, or Jill never would have found her way to Kiawah Island. She hadn’t paid much attention when Eric had been driving – a bad habit she needed to change. But after only three missed turns and one near sideswipe of a delivery van, Jill found her way to their exclusive neighborhood. When the GPS’s British accent indicated she had reached her destination, Jill turned into the Borelli driveway. There would be no walking the beach or hiding behind lifeguard platforms this time. She pressed the button on the intercom and waited patiently.
‘May I help you?’ asked a scratchy voice.
