Divided (Elena Ronen, Private Investigator)

by Jennifer Sights

  “You are particular.” He wiped a bead of sweat from his temple. I hadn’t thought the balcony wasn’t that warm. “We’ll have to do something about changing that, will we not?” His words held a hundred meanings, but as he touched my face, my body only recognized one.

  I stood clumsily. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.” I hated being rude, but couldn’t help myself. I had to get away, even if just for a few minutes.

  I was thankful to find the restroom unoccupied. Sitting on the cool porcelain lid of the toilet, I held my head in my hands. What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I react to Vittorio this strongly? I wanted to slap myself, but a handprint on my face wouldn’t be becoming. I had a job to do, I reminded myself yet again. I tried to shut my hormones down, but settled for my heartbeat slowing just a bit.

  The waitress dropped off a cranberry and tonic just as I returned. “You looked like you needed a drink. Do not worry, no alcohol. I did not forget,” he said.

  “Thanks.” I sniffed the drink to be sure, half wishing he lied.

  “Now where were we?” His voice held promise of things I didn’t want to contemplate.

  “Bird watching,” I said hoarsely.

  “Ah yes. You were surprised at my hobby. Have you ever watched a bird?”

  “Not really.”

  “You should sometime. They are fascinating creatures. Not so fascinating as some, however.” He stared intently into my eyes as he said this.

  I swallowed hard.

  “Quite beautiful, too. Would you care to join me sometime?”

  I couldn’t think straight. What was he asking me? I didn’t know, but said yes anyway, immediately regretting it.

  “Wonderful. How about the day after tomorrow then?”

  “So soon?” I couldn’t make sense of the conversation.

  “Why not?”

  Why not indeed? I couldn’t come up with an answer. “Um.” Surely I had some excuse why not. I couldn’t even make one up though. My brain was mush. “Okay.” I had to get out of there.

  “Shall I pick you up at 6:00 then? Bird-watching is best done early in the morning.”

  He already haunted my dreams. I didn’t want him haunting me in wakefulness. But didn’t guys usually pick girls up for a first date? I gave him my address and he tapped it into his phone.

  “Now, it is getting late. May I walk you to your car?”

  I didn’t want to be rude, so accepted.

  He stood with catlike grace, and held out his hand to help me up. He bent his arm at his side, and I looped mine through his, feeling very old fashioned.

  The instant I did, I wished I hadn’t. The world swam. It was the most contact we had shared, the length of his body pressed lightly to mine. The warmth of his touch overwhelmed me. It was as if his aura tried to meld with mine.

  “Are you alright, Elena?”

  I shook my head and took a few deep breaths. “Yes, I’m just tired. And I think I’ve had too much cranberry juice the past few days. It messes with my body if I drink too much of it.” That was the most pathetic excuse I’d ever made.

  He didn’t press the issue, simply looked thoughtful.

  The dizziness passed as he loosened his grasp on my arm, putting a few inches between us, and we started for the stairs.

  Tired, my body not working with my brain, I welcomed the cool night air I otherwise would have shivered against. I felt weak, and hoped I wasn’t getting sick. That would be a bad way to start an investigation, but if I could blame all this on being sick, I’d almost prefer that over the alternative.

  “Do you believe in magic?” I blurted before I could make sense of my thoughts.

  “The world is full of mysterious things. Why do you ask?” It wasn’t really an answer, but at least he hadn’t ridiculed my silly question.

  “No reason, forget it. I’m just tired.”

  “I shall see you the day after tomorrow at six then?” Vittorio asked for confirmation.

  “Yes.”

  He stroked my cheek, and oh so gently tipped my chin up. His lips brushed against mine, the barest of kisses, so light I might have imagined it.

  Feeling my legs about to give out, I sat down in my car, thankful I had already opened the door, hoping he hadn’t noticed my weakness. “See you then.”

  “I will be counting the hours.” He bowed slightly from the waist, then walked away.

  Was this guy for real? Unfortunately for me, he was.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Kevin, I’m scared.” I went straight to his half of the duplex when I got home that night and flopped on his couch.

  “Then call Ms. Carmen and tell her you can’t take the case after all.”

  “I can’t do that. I need the money.” I stood, full of restless energy.

  “You know I’ll help you out if you need it. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Vittorio wouldn’t hurt me. He’s a gentleman.” I paced Kevin’s living room.

  “But you said you’re scared.” He didn’t put the game controller down, but I knew I had his full attention. He could play video games in his sleep.

  “Not like that. I’m scared of the way I’m feeling. I’ve never been affected like this by a man. It’s like, this is going to sound stupid, but you know those movies where the handsome vampire uses his powers to seduce the beautiful young maiden?”

  “Yeah.” Kevin covered his mouth, stifling a laugh.

  “I told you it was stupid.” I sat back down on the couch, embarrassed for even comparing Vittorio to a vampire. But I didn’t know how else to explain it. I didn’t date much, and a pretty face never impressed me. But Vittorio did. Why?

  “Vampires aren’t real, Elena.” Kevin gestured to emphasize his point.

  “I know that. But I don’t understand why I’m so attracted to him. I mean, he’s gorgeous, yeah, but it’s not just that. I can’t explain it.”

  “I’ll say it again. Call Ms. Carmen and tell her you can’t work the case.”

  “And I’ll say it again, I can’t do that. She’s really worried about her daughter. I won’t let her down.”

  Kevin sighed.

  “I just need someone to talk to, Kevin. I’m not backing out of this case. If I can’t talk to you about this without you jumping all over me, tell me now.”

  Kevin opened his mouth.

  I cut him off. “And before you say anything, think carefully. You know how rarely I say I need anything from anyone.”

  “I was going to say, I’m here for you. I’m sorry, Elena. I worry about you, but if you want me to shut up and simply listen, I will.”

  “Good, because that is what I need. That, and sleep, though I’m not sure sleep will be possible.”

  I spent the next day researching Vittorio, Samuel, and Porter Enterprises, having regained my wits and skill as a PI.

  Vittorio had immigrated from Italy nearly twenty years ago. Bryn hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said he was full-blooded Italian. According to a news article announcing his promotion to Vice President of Human Resources, he had worked hard to gain his position in the company, and earned every dollar of his considerable wealth. He was a social butterfly, and repeatedly made both St. Louis’ and Missouri’s “Most Eligible Bachelors” lists, but I could find no details about his past in Italy.

  I ran a background check on him, which showed nothing out of the ordinary. Aside from a few speeding and parking tickets, he was an upstanding citizen. He obtained his citizenship ten years ago.

  Samuel’s background check was more interesting. There was absolutely nothing on his police record, not even a parking ticket. It was too clean. News articles hinted at a checkered youth - partying, pot and the like - so I assumed his father had lawyers to expunge any trace of wrongdoing from his son’s record. People with checkered youths and lots of money rarely turned out to be saints, as Samuel’s record showed him to be.

  I was about to give up when one last article caught my eye. It showed a colo
r photograph of Samuel and a gorgeous, very Gothic woman. The caption read, “Samuel Porter and companion Elizabeth Hardgrave entering the St. Louis Art Museum for the premiere of the Caribbean Art Showcase.” I wondered if this was the same Elizabeth Ms. Carmen had referred to. I read the article, dated six months ago, to discover the event wasn’t just an opening of a special exhibit but also a fundraiser to help expand the museum.

  My jaw dropped at the name of the museum curator. Alexis Carmen. Could this be a coincidence? Doubtful.

  I called Ms. Carmen.

  “Elena, have you found my daughter?” she asked as soon as I said my name.

  “No, but I have a question for you. Do you know someone named Samuel Porter?”

  “The name sounds familiar.” She paused. “Yes, I met him once, about six months ago. He was at a fundraiser at the art museum. I work there. He was very interested in a map I lent for the display. He wanted to buy it, but I would never sell it. He threw out some exorbitant numbers, but I don’t need the money, and refused.”

  “What was the map of?” I asked.

  “It shows the route of one of Ponce de Leon’s lesser known expeditions, and supposedly the real location of the Fountain of Youth.”

  “The real location?”

  “Most legends say it is in Florida, but other stories put it somewhere around the Yucatan Peninsula and the Gulf of Honduras.”

  I wrote that down. “Did you meet the woman he was with that night?”

  “No, but I saw him with her later in the evening.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “No, I’d never seen her before and haven’t since. What does this have to do with Courtney?”

  “Ms. Carmen, are you telling me you didn’t read the articles about the premiere?”

  “I glanced at them, but I’m not interested in what reporters have to say about my museum.” She said reporters as if it were a dirty word.

  She sounded sincere, so I let it go. “Her name is Elizabeth Hardgrave. Do you think it could be the same woman you overheard your daughter mention?”

  “I don’t know, now that you mention it, she did look Goth, yet more elegant than my daughter dresses. It could be, but I really can’t be certain.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Carmen. I won’t take any more of your time right now.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  I decided on black jeans and a fitted royal purple T-shirt for the bird watching outing. I kept my makeup simple with black eyeliner and deep red lipstick, hoping Vittorio would be less likely to kiss me if my lips were painted. I was probably wrong, but a girl could dream.

  I sipped my third cup of coffee when a knock on the door startled me. I opened it to find Vittorio, exactly on time.

  He wore a pair of dark jeans and an untucked black T-shirt. It was plain, but still managed to look expensive. I wanted to touch it to feel what it was made of, but knew that was a bad idea if I wanted to maintain control over myself.

  Had it not been for the long, thick hair he had pulled back into a braid, he would have looked normal; well, as normal as a man that tall with the face of a god can look, that is. As had become the norm, my heart skipped a beat or five when I saw him.

  “Elena.” He greeted me with the now customary arm stroke and kiss on the back of the hand. “Even dressed down you look stunning.”

  My face burned. “Thank you.” I looked down shyly, a foreign movement to my body. I had never been shy.

  “Are you ready for your first bird watching lesson?”

  “You better believe it.” At least I sounded more confident than I felt.

  We walked outside to a freshly waxed black Ferrari California.

  He opened the passenger door and held my hand as I sank down into the supple black leather seats, inhaling the warm scent of leather that enfolded my body. I sighed contentedly. This was so much nicer than my beat up Corolla. “I bet this is fun to drive during the winter,” I said.

  “I have a Mercedes G550 to get through bad weather.”

  Of course he did. Why would I have thought he only had the one car like us mortals?

  Vittorio started the car and classical music floated from the speakers, meshing with the purr of the engine. “Do you like Faust?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Charles Gounod’s opera Faust.”

  “I’ve never been a fan of opera.”

  “Why is that, mia belezza?” He turned his whole body toward me.

  We hadn’t even pulled away from the curb and my hormones took control of my body. I focused on the memory that started my distaste for classical music, wrapped it around me as a shield to block out Vittorio’s gaze. It worked. I’d have to remember hate was a powerful shield. “My grandmother listened to it constantly. Whenever I visited her, she made me listen to it, grilled me about how it made me feel, what I thought it was about. I didn’t care, and I had no idea what they were singing about in a foreign language. She smacked me whenever I said something rude about opera, which made me hate it even more.”

  “Will you try listening to a little bit with me, and if you still do not like it, I will turn on whatever music you like?”

  “Why do you want me to listen to it so badly?”

  “I have a feeling you will like it, if only you give it a chance. I adore opera, and want to share it with you. I want to share everything with you.”

  Everything? His eyes bored into me, pleading. My pulse raced, hatred of my grandmother long gone. How could I say no? I couldn’t say yes either; my throat was too dry. I nodded.

  “Thank you,” he said, as he lightly touched my cheek, sending tingles through my whole body. That one touch should not be so sensual.

  Vittorio narrated the opera while driving at high speeds through winding country roads after we drove west away from the city. I watched as he drove with confidence, admiring his features and his deep, rhythmic voice. Every once in a while he would turn to look at me, and smile.

  I focused on Vittorio while he narrated. I needed to be able to control myself around him. If I could watch him under a controlled circumstance such as this and keep my feelings in check, I’d have a start to build upon in less controllable situations. Such as when there was less than a foot of space separating us. And if I was really lucky, even when he touched me, or kissed me.

  At the end of the hour, by some miracle, I was able to control my heart every time he smiled at me. Perhaps it was because there was a full foot of space between our seats. Whatever the reason, for the first time since I had met him, I could concentrate.

  By the time he pulled off the side of the winding road and parked the car, I realized I no longer hated opera. Perhaps it was simply the fact that he was the one narrating, but I found myself enjoying the music and wanting to hear more.

  He came around to my side to help me out of the low vehicle.

  My heart sped as he rested his hand lightly on the small of my back, but my legs remained firmly beneath me; a vast improvement from the other night. He held my hand as we walked through the trees. The sound of chirping birds and leaves rustling in the breeze filled the air. We eventually reached a clearing with a stream lined with bushes at the opposite side. Vittorio stopped and pulled a thin blanket out of his backpack.

  Seeing Vittorio outside of the club in jeans and a T-shirt carrying a backpack was an odd sight indeed. His long thick hair and perfect face didn’t fit the image of rugged nature man; yet somehow it seemed right and reasonable. He was the type of man who would look at ease in any situation.

  Vittorio gestured for me to sit, then sat dangerously close to me, unpacking a pair of binoculars. For once, his attention was not focused on me. I was surprised to find myself feeling slighted. Then he drew in his breath, pointed across the field and handed the binoculars to me. “Do you see those blue jays over there?”

  I searched, but couldn’t find them.

  He leaned closer to me, gently put his arm around my shoulders, and helped me aim the binoculars in the right d
irection. I almost lost all focus at his touch until I found the birds, flitting around a bush by the stream. They were beautiful, and I didn’t mind that his attention was on them instead of me.

  “Wait here. I’ll be right back,” Vittorio said after some time of birdwatching.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Relax. I have a surprise in the car. I’ll only be a minute.” He kissed the back of my hand.

  True to his word, Vittorio returned with a basket. Very quaint.

  “You must be getting hungry. I know I am.” His voice held heat that alluded to more than lunch.

  Any control I had mustered over the course of the morning fled and my mouth went dry.

  I tried to swallow. “Well, now that you mention it, I am.” The last two words came out far more breathy than I intended.

  He unpacked sandwiches, fruit, and a bottle of wine. “Did you forget I don’t drink?” I asked.

  “Of course not. I haven’t forgotten a word that has passed your lips. This is sparkling grape juice. I thought it a good finishing touch since I cannot share my Italian wines with you.”

  I read the label and found he was telling the truth. Silly me. I bit into a sandwich realizing the extent of my hunger. My nerves hadn’t allowed me to have more than coffee earlier. The fruit tasted sweet and juicy. I inhaled the food in an unladylike manner, but didn’t care. If Vittorio wanted me, he could have me in all my starving glory. When we finished eating, he packed up and we walked back to the car.

  “Would you do me the honor of joining me at the club tonight?”

  “I’d love to,” I said honestly. “What time should I meet you there?”

  “I would like it if you would come with me, as my date.”

  “Well, I’ll need to go home and change.”

  “Do not worry about that. Come home with me.” I looked at him in alarm. “Now, now, where is your mind taking you? In case you have not noticed, I am a gentleman.” He grinned at me. “I will take you shopping, buy you a new gown.”

  Gown? Who said ‘gown’ these days?