The Bitter Taste of Murder
Page 32
“I want to know what will happen to his Irish setter,” Stella said.
“His ex-wife took her,” Nico said. OneWag started barking. Nico tried to quiet the dog without success. “I think he’s trying to tell me something.”
“Perhaps that it’s time to go home,” Ivana said.
“I think you’re right.” Nico stood up. The others got up too. OneWag took off. “This was wonderful. Thank you both.”
“Leave everything on the table, please,” Cinzia said. “I have someone in the kitchen to help.”
There were many thank-yous and buonanottes exchanged, cheeks kissed, hands shaken. Perillo offered Nico a ride home.
“Thanks, I need to walk it off.”
When Nico got home twenty minutes later, Nelli was sitting on the steps of the house with OneWag in her lap. The lamp above the door kept her face in shadow. She had chosen that spot on purpose. She felt bold, and at the same time as shy as a sixteen-year-old. “Today was the first day of summer and the longest day. I wanted to celebrate it, so here I am.”
Nico felt his whole body smile as he sat next to her. He looked at his watch. “We only have five minutes left.”
“Then hurry, give me a hug.”
OneWag slipped off her lap to give them room.
Sitting on the steps, they came together in an awkward hug, their backs twisted and their chests not touching.
Nelli pulled back and held her face up to the light. The shyness was gone. “Maybe we can celebrate more comfortably?”
“Good idea,” He lifted her up and didn’t hug her again, in case standing was what she meant by comfortably. She took his hand and led him up the stairs.
OneWag, being a wise mutt, chose the sofa as his bed that night.
Acknowledgments
COVID-19 has kept me away from my friends in Chianti, but they were with me nonetheless as I wrote this new story. They whispered in my ear, urging me on, bringing life to my words. I especially send grazie to Lara Beccatini, Ioletta Como and Andrea Sammaruga for their friendship. I will forever be indebted to Maresciallo Giovanni Serra, who continues to answer my questions virtually. I miss all the Panzanesi friends I made writing this series. I wish them good health and hope to see them very soon.
In New York, I thank Barbara Lane for her unerring eye. There is not a typo or misplaced comma that she doesn’t catch. Misha Meisel deserves a special thanks for inspiring me to get certain details right. I am grateful to Dr. Lee Goldman for answering the most important question.
I am blessed with a wonderful editor, Amara Hoshijo, who makes my story so much better. I thank Daniel O’Connor for his sharp eye. Publicist Alexa Wejko is great at spreading the word.
Thank you to the three of you.
I thank my husband, Stuart, for his support and undying patience.