by Sara Rosett
“A ride,” Zoe said, studying his face. “Somehow I doubt a kind stranger gave you a lift to Vegas.”
“Nope. I kept some emergency money in the car. I bought that black hatchback we left at the airport from a pizza delivery guy. He said he’d catch a ride home with a friend. The police will track him down, eventually. Probably pretty quickly now that we’re having our fifteen minutes of fame.” Seeing her face, he said, “Don’t worry. We’ve got a good lead on them.”
“It’s not that—well, that’s always at the back of my mind—I can’t believe you bought a car while you were on the run. I thought you’d gone all Jason Bourne and stolen it.”
“Why go to more trouble than you have to?” Jack said. “Besides, I only steal cars on weekends. Now you need to get some sleep. We have a lot of ground to cover when we land, and I can’t have you asleep on your feet.” He crossed his arms and was breathing deeply in seconds.
Chapter Sixteen
Pozzuoli, Campaigna, Italy
Sunday, 1:17 p.m.
ZOE folded the map and looked out of the passenger window. She’d spent most of the drive from the airport fighting to convince the GPS unit that Roy Martin’s address did exist, but there was no arguing with technology. The GPS steadfastly refused even to admit that Roy’s town existed. She’d given up and switched to the map the woman at the rental counter had given them, which only helped them get out of Rome and onto the toll road that ran south.
Not that they’d seen much of Rome. The airport was miles away from the city, and Zoe was disappointed that the drive only gave her glimpses of modern apartment blocks, miles of highways, and an occasional Autogrill, a sort of gas station/restaurant combo that dotted the freeway and sounded, to her at least, more German than Italian. There were mountains, beautiful blue-hued ranges, which marched along the spine of the peninsula. Some of the highest peaks were still topped with a white layer of snow. Before they reached Naples, Jack took an exit that put the mountains at their back. Their route crossed the relatively flat stretch of land then dipped to the Mediterranean, a vast expanse of blue that sparkled in the noontime sunlight until stands of bamboo as well as rows of hotels and walled homes positioned between the road and the sea blocked the view.
Jack hit the steering wheel hard with the heel of his hand. “That’s when it happened,” he said.
Zoe pulled her gaze away from the window. “What?”
Jack stared down the road as he said, “The gun. It’s been in the back of my mind. How did it go from the attic to the office? But with everything happening...I didn’t figure it out until now.”
“So what happened?”
“You know that pharmacy in the office complex, the next duplex over? It was robbed.”
“I didn’t hear about that.”
“Yeah, well, it happened. Nothing major, but it bothered Sharon. I told her that I had a gun in my attic at home and I’d bring it in, if she’d go to the gun range and take some classes.”
“I bet that went over well,” Zoe said, her tone indicating the opposite.
“She was scandalized that I even owned a gun. She said she’d rather take someone on with her bare hands than fire a gun.”
“So you think Sharon took the gun out of the attic?” Zoe said, perplexed. “That would never happen.”
“No,” Jack said with a bark of laughter. “She’d rather pick up a hot coal than touch a gun. But Connor was there. You can hear everything in that office.”
“You think Connor came to our house and—” Zoe broke off abruptly, then swiveled toward Jack. “The day of the storm—when everything happened. I heard someone up stairs, but it wasn’t you. I know because I went up there later and there weren’t any wet towels. You hadn’t showered. And the front door wasn’t locked after you left—except it wasn’t you. You didn’t come home that day. Unless you came home and didn’t shower?”
“No, I didn’t even run that day.”
“Do you think it was Connor?”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said slowly. “I think whoever took the gun used it to kill Connor. It was probably Stubby Guy. I figure he shot Connor and put it in my drawer to implicate me. My prints would have been on it already.” He squinted as he said, “I’m not sure why Stubby Guy and his partner would kill Connor and then leave...but maybe they’d assumed I’d be on my normal schedule. Connor usually didn’t take a lunch, and I left for my run and returned at the same time everyday.”
“You do usually operate with clock-like precision,” Zoe said.
Jack shot her a look with his brows lowered. “That day was different. I went to the post office and skipped my run. Maybe they were supposed to get us both, but when I wasn’t there, they shot Connor, planted the gun in my desk, and left, thinking that it would implicate me. They must have seen that I’d returned and had come back to finish the job. I was only in the office for a few minutes before that short guy came inside.” His gaze caught on a sign beside the road, and he hit the brakes and made a turn onto a side road at the last moment. “I think this is it.”
After a couple of passes up and down the twisty road with no sighting of Roy’s road, Jack swung the car into a parking area beside a café. It was a small white stucco building with three tall tables with the Coca-Cola logo in front of its dark doorway. Zoe climbed out of the car to stretch her legs, wrapping her jacket tightly around herself as the cool air hit her, then she followed Jack inside.
A glass counter displayed sandwiches, pizza, and some delectable-looking desserts. A woman with brownish-blond hair and a lumpy face turned from the cappuccino machine to hand a dainty cup and saucer to a man standing near the display case. Jack engaged the woman in some rapid Italian while Zoe selected a Coke Light from a cooler since there wasn’t any ginger ale. Jack thanked the woman and paid for the drink with some euros that they’d exchanged at the airport. Jack went to the restroom and Zoe went to the tall tables outside the café and sipped her drink.
The woman came outside and wiped down the table beside Zoe. “Good that you are going to see the signore,” she said in halting English.
Zoe got the feeling that the woman wanted to practice her English. Zoe nodded politely.
“He lonely,” she continued. “No visitors except,” she waved her hand at the cloth in her other hand, “cleaning lady. He needs signora,” she said with a definite nod of her head.
“I see,” Zoe said, thinking the woman saw herself as ideal for that role. “Arrivederci,” the woman said with a flap of the cloth before she went back inside.
Jack emerged from the café, and they clambered back into the car. “She said it’s right here,” Jack said, as he turned onto a narrow asphalt road lined on each side with tall stucco walls interspersed with gates and steep driveways.
“It looks kind of iffy,” Zoe said, studying the high, discolored paint on the walls that lined the tight asphalt street, which was pockmarked with holes and weeds growing through the cracks.
“This isn’t the States,” Jack said as he bumped from pothole to pothole along the road. “This is a good neighborhood.”
“But there’s no where to go...if something happened. It’s a dead-end,” Zoe said. A low-hanging branch dipped over one of the walls and scraped the window beside her. She glanced behind them, but the narrow street, an alley, really, was empty.
“Good instincts,” Jack said, “but we’re okay here. This is it—second one from the end.”
Jack wedged the car into a tiny space, and they followed the white stucco wall to a blue door. Acorn finials topped the wall on each side of the door. Windows from the second story of the house loomed over the gate. Jack pushed the button set into the wall.
“Pronto,” said a gruff voice through an intercom.
“Roy. It’s Jack.”
There was no reply, except for the door buzzing open. They stepped into a minuscule courtyard with a small tree dotted with tangerines and climbed a set of stairs to the front door.
A heavy-set
man with a barrel chest and thick, wavy salt-and-pepper hair threw open the door. He removed a cigar from the corner of his mouth and greeted Jack in a deep voice that rumbled around the entry area. “Jack, my boy, good to see you.”
They did that manly greeting that was part handshake, part slap on the back. As they broke apart, Jack waved Zoe over the threshold and said, “Roy, this is Zoe.”
Roy’s sharp blue eyes pinged between Jack and Zoe, questioningly. When Jack didn’t add any explanation, Zoe held out her hand and said, “His ex. Nice to meet you.”
“Ah,” Roy said and clamped his cigar in the corner of his mouth before shaking her hand. “Interesting. Well, come on in. Let’s go out back.” He closed the door and lead them by a curving staircase, through a white-tiled living room and dining room combination filled with contemporary furniture in shades of tan and brown, and out the back door to a terrace. “Best part of the house,” he said, waving them into seats around a patio table situated under another tangerine tree. It was chilly in the shade, and she kept her jacket on.
“You want a coffee? A beer? Cigar?” Roy asked, his hand on the back of his chair.
“None for me,” Zoe said, sliding to a seat. Mitch shook his head.
“Down to business, eh?” Roy smiled around the cigar. “So how are you?”
“Honestly, not so good,” Jack said.
“I heard.” Roy’s face turned serious.
Jack leaned forward. “What have you heard?”
“That you did in your business partner, took the money, and ran.”
“That’s news here, too?”
“Nah,” Roy flicked the fingers of his right hand as if he were shooing away a bug. “I did some research after you called. Read up on you in the American news sites. I can see why you’d want out of the States.” His gaze, which had been focused on the leafy branches overhead, swept back and zeroed in on Jack as he said, “but I don’t know why you’d come here.”
“Because I didn’t kill my business partner or take any money.”
“You were framed.” Roy said it flatly as if there was nothing unusual about that situation.
“Yes, but I haven’t gotten to the best part. I was supposed to die, too.”
Roy puffed on his cigar for a moment before saying, “Clean, that way.”
Jack nodded. “No one to contradict my story of innocence.”
Zoe fought down the beginnings of a yawn. For the first time in how long? Days? She felt almost safe. The tight coil of worry inside her loosened, and she felt herself relax. Part of it was jet lag, but some of it was due to the snug courtyard with its high walls and canopy of green leaves combined with Roy’s solid personality and his no-nonsense acceptance of Jack’s story. She felt she could almost tilt her head back and go to sleep.
“But you didn’t die,” Roy said with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Doing my best not to,” Jack said. “I need your help to stay that way. Costa is involved in this.”
Zoe blinked at the name, trying to clear the fuzziness from her head. She hadn’t heard the name before. He had to be the guy Jack had told her about. It was only in that moment that Zoe realized Jack hadn’t mentioned the name to her, probably intentionally. Even when he was revealing secrets, he kept something back. She felt stupid that she’d assumed he’d confided the whole story to her. She should have known better.
Roy’s forehead wrinkled. “Can’t be. He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Jack said, “Where would he go?”
Roy shrugged. “Word is, he’s living like a German count in a Bavarian castle. I don’t necessarily believe that myself,” Roy said with a warning tone, “but that’s the rumor.” A black cat with three white paws and one black paw appeared at the top of the back wall. The cat walked daintily along the wall, leapt lightly to the ground, then positioned itself a few feet from the table, its gray eyes fixed solidly on Roy.
Jack barely glanced at the cat. He looked stunned. “He left Naples?”
“Apparently, he didn’t want to end up like Zagaria. You hear about him?” When Jack shook his head, Roy rearranged his bulky frame in the chair as if settling in for a good story. “They caught him a while back, living like a mole in an underground bunker. Done in when they found a pair of expensive socks in the garbage from the house above his bunker. Designer quality—not something that your average Neapolitan wears every day. They raided the place and arrested him. He’s in jail. No, I think after Francesca—” He broke off abruptly, cleared his throat, and said, “After Francesca, well, I think Costa realized that we were closing in on him. The Carabinieri were right there with us. He got smart. Cut his losses and high-tailed it out of here.”
Zoe had been watching the exchange silently, but it was clear that the news this Costa guy was out of the game was something Jack hadn’t expected to hear. He was at a loss for words, so Zoe said, “Just so I understand—I’m new to all this—you’re saying Costa wouldn’t have been involved in this at all?”
The cat inched closer and meowed.
“Don’t see why he would be...I haven’t been...connected, you might say, for a few years, but I don’t think he’d put himself out there, risk his anonymity, just to...”
“Avenge himself?” Jack supplied, and Roy lifted a shoulder in acquiescence. Jack blew out a breath and sagged back in his chair. “Then, who? Who would do this to me?”
Roy pulled his cigar out of his mouth and leaned forward, putting both elbows on the table. “I read in those articles you’re in business for yourself now. Got any enemies? Competitors?”
“No,” Jack said, his voice hard. “No one who’d plan a double murder and fraud.”
Roy held up a hand. “Easy, there. Just asking.” His tone had changed. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
“Hours,” Zoe said promptly, cutting Jack off. Zoe knew he was about to decline an offer of food. She was famished and wasn’t embarrassed to admit it. She could feel the first twinges of a headache behind her eyes and hoped that food might waylay it.
“Alright, I’ll bring us out some food along with Leo’s. I’ve got to feed him,” Roy said nodding to the cat, “otherwise, he’ll set up outside my bedroom window and yowl all night. I’ve been adopted,” he said ruefully and stood. The cat sprang up and followed Roy into the house.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Jack muttered. “There’s no one else. It has to be Costa.”
Instead of answering, Zoe succumbed to another yawn. He was talking to himself anyway. Roy was back momentarily, carrying a large tray with thick slices of mozzarella, tomatoes, large crackers, bread, and a pot of orange jam. He set it down, told them to help themselves, then returned with several sodas and bottled waters. “I’m afraid this is all I’ve got—bachelor rations,” he said.
“This is wonderful,” Zoe said, already several bites into the cheese and tomatoes.
“Local products,” Roy said and drizzled some olive oil over his plate. “Try some of that jam,” he said, hitting the side of the glass jam container. “Made it myself from the tangerines from this tree,” he said pointing overhead. Jack gave him a doubtful look, and Roy said, “Retirement does strange things to a man, I’m warning you, Jack.”
“So you make marmalade and have a cat?” Jack said, his face carefully blank.
“Damn straight.”
They ate in silence, the only noise the wind ruffling the leaves overhead and Leo crunching through his bowl in the kitchen. When they’d finished, Zoe said, “That was wonderful.”
“Tasty,” Jack agreed. “Especially the jam.”
“Thank you. I’ll send some home with you if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face,” Roy said, and then his voice shifted. “Now, about your situation...” he carefully stacked the empty plates on the tray. “I can ask around. See what I can find out.”
“I’d appreciate that. I might need you to vouch for me,” Jack said.
Roy nodded his head slowly. “Of course.”
&nbs
p; Zoe felt her eyelids slipping lower. The food had filled her up and she felt lethargic, except for the dull pulse of a headache beginning behind her eyes. The guy’s voices seemed to recede into nothingness, then she felt her head bob, and she jerked herself back into a sitting position. The guys didn’t notice. It sounded as if they were working their way through a roster of old acquaintances, updating each other on where people were now and what they were doing. Zoe excused herself, asking Roy if she could use his bathroom.
“Sure. Use mine in the bedroom on the right at the top of the stairs. The sink in the one down here is broken,” he explained.
Zoe made her way up the curving staircase and through a bedroom with a heavy antique four-poster bed, matching dresser, and nightstand. Several black and white prints of mountains hung on the walls. In the bath, she splashed water on her face, which jerked her out of her dozy state.
She patted her face dry with a white towel and still had a moment’s surprise when she raised her gaze to the mirror and saw brown hair framing her face. Her eyes looked like she’d pulled an all-nighter and her fair skin seemed paler than it normally did. She looked rather vampireish. She had a love/hate relationship with her skin. She loved her creamy complexion until she put on a swimsuit or a tank top, then she felt like she looked more ghostly than glamorous.
The headache was still there, and she opened the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet, thinking that Roy wouldn’t mind if she took a few aspirin. She found some ibuprofen behind a bottle of perfume. A gold chain necklace with a butterfly pendent inset with diamonds was curled into a careful coil beside the perfume. She returned downstairs, thinking that the café owner better make her move because it appeared Roy wasn’t quite the lonely guy she thought.
Leo met her at the bottom of the stairs and arched his back. As she paused to run her hand over his fur, Roy’s deep voice carried inside from the terrace. He sounded almost angry as he said, “You know that wasn’t your fault. There’s no way you could have known someone was about to give her up.”
