“My friend went missing in 1989 and–”
“Are you being funny? Did Mina tell you the story? My friend died, no, was murdered, in 1989.”
My mother was also murdered in 1989. Mina thought, then out loud, “1989 was a very bad year.
Chapter 12
Mina was left to scratch Fufa’s back while Diego and Emilia sat on the terrace in lounging chairs trading information and hypotheses. An outsider could mistake them for two old friends exchanging pleasantries, catching up on stories of yesteryear.
Diego asked Mina to “borrow” the chain and cross. He showed Emilia the imperfections that made it unmistakable then it was Emilia’s turn to get her stack of papers to share.
Mina was surprised at their instant connection. Was it the bonding of two professionals? What kind of professionals? Emilia, a retired lawyer, emphasis on “retired” but always ready to defend a gypsy. And why gypsies anyway?
As for Diego, well, the only time he even came close to discussing his profession, he’d told her the iceberg story. Maybe what they held in common were gypsy scuba divers. Be serious, Mina.
Emilia disappeared inside the apartment, and Diego twisted in his chair, closer to Mina. In spite of his smiling face, she felt tension beneath it all. “You like cats?” he asked.
“I do. My grandparents had one when I was growing up. Wonder what happened to it.” She eyed Alex’s necklace on the glass table. “Any progress?”
“We’ll see. Emilia is inside digging out whatever paperwork she has left from the court case. She describes Andria the gypsy the way I would describe Alex. It’s very possible that both names are derivatives of Alessandria, Alex’s given name. Aless became Alex and Andria could be the last half.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know, Mina. I just don’t know.” He seemed disappointed in himself. Must be an unfamiliar feeling to him.
Emilia dropped two folders on the table. She’d dressed and combed her hair during her absence. “Andria’s file is on top.”
Diego nodded. He hesitated, seemed to resolve himself then opened the first folder. Mina stood, moved behind Diego and craned her neck to peer over his shoulder. All she saw was a slim stack of typed papers. No photos. How disappointing.
“There isn’t much here,” Diego said. “Any chance there are more details in the original court files?”
“The problem is that gypsies move in and out of the court system. Most use false I.D.s. We’re all aware of it. Once they’ve been arrested they tend to avoid the town. Sometimes they get picked up on misdemeanors, like begging or loitering.”
“Where do they get these fake I.D.s?”
“Good question, Mina. Remember this is Italy. Don’t confuse our justice system with the American counterpart. The documentation these people carry consists of a birth certificate from another country. That’s it.” Emilia shook her head. “How much money and manpower do you think our little town is going to waste on investigating that?”
“Andria Kotor.” Diego said the name out loud. “Kotor.” He repeated the word in a trance-like state.
“Something interesting?” Emilia asked.
“Kotor is Alex’s mother’s hometown in Montenegro. What was Alex searching for?”
“Why do you say that?”
He looked straight ahead, then caught himself and looked at Mina, no, through her. “Why would she create a false identity unless she was on some kind of mission? If she was, people have been lying to me.” His expression darkened with determination. His eyes were as dark as the complete blackness in the space between thunder and lightning. He moved to the terrace wall and stared at the horizon, his back to them.
Mina started to go to him, but Emilia took hold of her arm and shook her head.
When he came back to the table, he was his usual self. “What else should I look at? Better yet, can you give me a brief succession of events regarding her arrest?” Very business-like.
“The clerk calls me every time a gypsy is arrested. In Andria’s case, he called in the morning. It was the morning Piero, the undertaker, found Vittorio at the bottom of the ladder by the convent. Good news spreads quickly in our small town, bad news even more quickly. I was devastated. Vittorio’s father and I went to law school together. I watched the boy grow into a man. I drove by the hospital in a state of denial. He was already dead. Nothing to be done.” Emotion was heavy in her voice. “I went on to meet my client who had been arrested very late the night before. Andria Kotor. I knew right away she was no ordinary gypsy. I’m used to their begging ways, playing the helpless victims. They are raised that way. Not this girl. She was neatly dressed, spoke in a self-assured manner, and the first thing she said was, ‘Whatever I’m accused of doing, I didn’t. I have nothing to pay you with except this.’ She handed me the gold chain and the cross then she smiled and added, ‘It’s the only thing of value I have on me. Don’t get attached to it. I’ll pay your fees in cash as soon as I’m released. Now, what’s the quickest way to get me out?’”
It seemed some lunatic had accused Andria Kotor of stealing a very expensive diamond ring. The accused was not surprised at all. She shrugged it off and insisted she had to get out of jail.
“She was serious about it,” Emilia shook her head. “I told her the express way out was to be pregnant or to have just given birth. Andria grew excited. ‘I could be pregnant. Yes, I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant.’ I listened to what she asked. ‘If you can get me a phone,’ she said, ‘I’ll have my doctor provide proof.’ And so we did. She made a phone call, only spoke for a few minutes, and that was it. She assured me proof of pregnancy would be delivered to my office and to the clerk of the court within twenty-four hours. I promised her she would be a free gypsy within forty-eight. We shook hands. That was the last time I saw or spoke to Andria Kotor.”
“So what happened to her?” Mina beat Diego to it.
“I don’t know. I did receive a copy of the doctor’s letter. The original went directly to the court. The day we were scheduled to go in front of the judge was the day of Vittorio’s funeral. After the funeral I went to the jail to talk to Andria. She was gone.”
“Gone? How?” Diego asked.
“The clerk explained the ring she was charged with stealing was found, and the accuser withdrew the complaint. Andria was set free. Someone picked her up outside the Caserma the building that houses the carabinieri, our Italian cops. For a while I expected her to show up at my door to claim her necklace. Time passed, no Andria. I never saw or heard from Andria Kotor again.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.” Diego shifted through papers again. He pulled out what looked like an official document. Mina could only make out the word Vicenza in the business address and a name, Dr. Guglielmo G. Isoldi. A doctor? Perhaps the one who confirmed her pregnancy.
“She had to be working undercover for someone. Damn it. I knew it. But who?” He dropped the paper on the table and turned to Emilia. “Alex knew the number to call when we’re in the field and need a cover. Sorry Emilia, long story. But what was she working on? Why here? I need to find out.” He looked at Mina. “Mina, please, don’t get upset. I need to go.”
“Where?”
“Vicenza is a good place to start.”
“Hey, not so fast.” Emilia interrupted. “I kept my part of the deal. It’s your turn. You said we could trade information—my papers regarding the gypsy in exchange for you checking out Pietro Rinaldi. You know Piero is just his nickname, right? I tell you what—you look through Piero and Vittorio’s papers while I fix a quick lunch. Fair?”
“Fair. I owe you that. Sorry. This is the first solid clue after two years of searching. Yes, I owe you that and then some. And a home cooked meal to boot? How can I refuse?” For all his agreeable attitude, he didn’t fool Mina for a minute. He couldn’t wait to get out of there, jump in his car and go searching for the mystical Alex. Would she ever see him again?
Diego couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary
in the papers Emilia showed him—a certificate of death for Vittorio and Piero’s application for the job at the cemetery.
After lunch, he left with both files and Emilia’s blessing. He didn’t ask to stop to retrieve his few toiletries at Mina’s place. Part of her wanted to rejoice thinking he’d be back. The other part doubted the man only had one set of toiletries. What started out as such a glorious day had fizzled into a mental bubble of what ifs.
Emilia sipped her espresso. “You look sad, Mina. You really like him, don’t you?”
“Like him? No. I love him.”
“It’s obvious the man has feelings for you.” Emilia paused. “But the Diego Morans of this world are not like the rest of us. Maybe they are born that way or maybe life molded them. Either way, regardless of how they feel, they aren’t going to be the dear companion who arrives home for dinner at six. If you can accept him the way he is, you may have something together. But if you hold hope of changing him to fit your expectations, you may as well walk away today and move on. You are young. You’ll get over him. Take it from one who learned the hard way.” Emilia set her cup on the table and turned to gaze at the horizon just like Diego had done earlier. Talk about a connection. What were those two? Family?
Well, she wasn’t going to hang around feeling sorry for herself. He was gone. It remained to be seen whether or not he’d be back. Mina stood, filled with determination. “I need to do something. I’m going to the cemetery.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s closed on Wednesday afternoon. Summer schedule.”
“Don’t care, I can use the exercise. If it’s open, fine. Otherwise, I still had a nice walk. Talk to you later.” She went to the door, leaving the gold chain and cross on Emilia’s table.
The narrow streets were familiar, but today Mina walked along oblivious to her surroundings.
Maledizione. Emilia was so right. It didn’t matter how much she loved Diego or how much she wanted to be with him, his disappearing act would always be just a phone call away. And then what? She would sit, hope and pray. Pray for him to come back for another shot at her? She flew halfway around the world, and all she’d accomplished was to have him walk all over her heart.
What happened to her? To her life? When was the last time she had fun with her friends? Maybe she should change her return flight and get the hell out of there, go back to California. That was her real home now. She had to come all the way here to find that out?
She became aware of the row of cypress trees leading the way to the cemetery The parking lot looked empty. Emilia was right. The cemetery must be closed. A lightweight motorcycle rested against the outside walls, but no owner was in sight.
Large flies and bees buzzed around the open garbage bin containing discarded flowers. It smelled of decay. Mina pressed her face against the metal bars of the gate. A good coat of paint would do wonders for this rusty old thing. She yelled and jumped back, as one side of the gate swung open with a grating screech.
“Hey, Americana.”
Who called her?
The man came toward the gate from inside the cemetery. As he drew closer, she recognized him, Piero the undertaker. Today he looked so… clean, well dressed and friendly. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his bald head. He approached with a big smile. “Wanna come in? Yeah, I know. It’s supposed to be closed, but I won’t tell if you don’t.” He laughed.
In spite of his folksy manner she didn’t feel comfortable. The silence and quiet of the place set her on edge.
“Come on, step into my domain.” He bowed slightly, put his hand on her arm and walked her in. The click of the bolt behind her indicated the gate had self-locked, and she was inside. Damn, what was wrong with her? She was completely alone with a stranger and if Emilia was correct, possibly a murderer. She wasn’t going to let him see how frightened she was.
“You visiting your family? I bet you didn’t know Wednesday afternoons we’re closed during the summer. Don’t worry. You go say hello to your loved ones. I need to make sure everything is ready for tomorrow.”
She found her voice. “What happens tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “What do you think? You youngsters don’t reflect much about death, but it happens every day. Tomorrow’s burial is in a crypt and it’s a pain. I’m rolling the crane over by the access slab, so in the morning I’ll just need to get it hooked up, and I’ll be done. Maybe I’ll even do it today. We’ll see. Another worker will lift the stone and lower the coffin; it’s a two-man job. The crane is over at the other end. You go and do your praying. When you are done, just let yourself out. The gate will self-lock.”
That was easy. She felt foolish. Piero seemed like a nice man. What was Emilia talking about? She turned to walk away. He called to her “Hey, Americana, how long are you staying in town?”
“Twelve more days.”
He rubbed his hand against his forehead then frowned. “You watch yourself. Okay? Watch yourself.”
Mina nodded and kept on walking. His remark struck her as odd, but when she glanced back, he was gone.
Chapter 13
The ringing woke her. She rolled over and looked at the clock. Damn. It was probably Emilia wondering why the bread rolls still sat by the door at ten-thirty in the morning.
Mina had stayed up late into the night watching some lousy Italian TV show—people playing strip poker and really taking off their clothes. It was as bad, if not worse than some of the reality television back in the States. What made it shocking was that all the participants were senior citizens.
Her reality was she would have watched just about anything to keep from obsessing over Diego’s absence.
The doorbell rang again. Give me a break. Mina dragged herself out of bed, pulled down her faithful oversized T-shirt, shoved her disheveled hair out of her face and went to see who it was.
Fufa lay next to the baker’s bag. How about that? A doorbell-ringing cat. That’s when it hit her; it was the bell on the outside, the one to get into the lobby. Diego? Her first instinct was to run downstairs and let him in, but she wasn’t really dressed. To hell with it; she wasn’t naked. Plenty of people answered the door in their nightclothes. It was a baggy T-shirt, not a see-through negligee. Okay, maybe Italians didn’t answer the door half-dressed, but Diego wasn’t really Italian, was he? Her feet on the cold marble were faster than the brain in her hot head, and before common sense kicked in she unlocked the outside door. Two young men in uniform stood staring at her bare legs and feet.
Who were they? Boy Scouts?
“Buongiorno, Signorina. Carabinieri.” The young man sported a sizable zit smack on his forehead. He could be barely twenty. They were carabinieri? Italian cops? So young.
“Buongiorno.” Stunned and so embarrassed she wished to die; she shuffled her bare feet and tugged at the hem of her cotton T-shirt. She hadn’t even brushed her teeth, damn.
They must have been looking for Emilia. Another gypsy under arrest?
“Signorina Calvi?” The other young man in uniform knew her last name.
“Yes, that’s me. Why?” Something happened to Diego?
“It’s about Signor Pietro Rinaldi.”
“Who?”
“Pietro Rinaldi.”
“Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else. I don’t know any Pietro Rinaldi and—I don’t even live here.” Both pairs of eyes traveled again from her face to her bare feet and back up. “I mean, I’m visiting…” Shit.
A door opened behind her. Mina turned to see Signora Rossi. Can’t miss that hair color of hers. The woman looked like a 50’s magazine ad of the perfect housewife in her flawlessly ironed pastel dress and lovely flat shoes. A faint scent of vanilla and freshly baked cookies found its way into Mina’s nostrils as the woman approached. Signora Rossi batted mascara-darkened eyelashes to the twosome and quipped, “Oh, i carabinieri. E’ successo qualcosa?”
“I don’t know if something happened , Signora Rossi. They say they’re looking for a Pietro Rinaldi.�
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“No, no, we are not looking for him. He is dead, and…”
“Dead? Pietro Rinaldi is dead? Wait.” Signora Rossi glanced at Mina. “Who is Pietro Rinaldi?
“I have no idea. Maybe they should talk to Emilia.”
Zit boy said, “Pietro Rinaldi is—I mean, was the caretaker at the cemetery—”
“You mean Piero? The gravedigger? I saw him yesterday. He was just fine.”
That’s when it hit her. They already knew she saw him yesterday. That’s why they were there. Was she hallucinating, or did Signora Rossi step away from her? Mina checked her hands, a little shaky, still holding the paper bag with the rolls. She didn’t feel so good.
“How about we go upstairs to my place? I need some coffee.” She headed for the stairs, convinced the young men would follow. They did, and they weren’t the only ones. She turned around. “Signora Rossi, unless there is something about the gravedigger that you’d like to share, I don’t think you need to bother yourself with climbing the stairs.” As Mina’s foot landed on the last step she heard the door of the first floor condo open then slam shut. Good.
Emilia stood by Mina’s open door, her hands folded on her chest. She seemed unhappy until she saw the young men in uniform. Her face lit up. “Ciao, Fabio, come sta la mamma?”
Zit boy smiled back. Must be Fabio. “Mom is doing fine, thanks, Signora Lauri. It’s nice to see you.”
“What’s going on? Are you here to see someone in the building?”
The landing was crowded with the four of them standing there.
“Piero the gravedigger is dead, and they want to talk to us about it.” Mina sent a cautionary glance to Emilia.
“No, no, not to Signora Lauri, only to…”
“Let’s go inside.” Emilia’s voice shook a little. She was visibly disturbed by the news, but still had the wherewithal to take charge. “Mina, why don’t you get dressed while I make coffee? We’ll see you upstairs. Don’t take too long.”
Italian Summer (Mina's Adventures Book 3) Page 8
