by B R Snow
“Long story,” Chef Claire said with a shrug. “Do you think she died of natural causes?”
“What choice do I have?” he said, glancing away.
“That’s an odd comment to make, Marco,” Chef Claire said, still focused on her rice.
“Yes, I suppose it was,” he said. “But having a murder occur at the villa is the last thing Rosa and I need at the moment.”
Chef Claire set her wooden spoon down and lowered the heat of the gas burner. She nodded for Marco to follow her as she walked several feet away. She studied his face closely.
“Marco, I’m going to ask you a question you might not like.”
“It won’t be the first one I’ve got since last night. Go ahead.”
“Are you and Rosa having financial problems?” Chef Claire said without emotion.
Marco’s eyes went wide and he massaged his forehead.
“Is it that obvious?” he whispered eventually.
“Both of you seem to be under enormous stress,” she said.
“Well, someone did die in our dining room last night,” Marco said with a small shrug.
“No, you’ve been stressed since we got here,” Chef Claire said. “C’mon, Marco. We’ve known each other too long to play games. I used to babysit your kids.”
“Yes, you did,” he said, smiling at the memory. “Those were simpler times.”
“Are you overextended with the villa and the winery?”
“Oh, yeah,” Marco whispered. “But it was even worse a few years ago.”
“Before you brought Georgio in as an investor, right?”
“Yeah. He was here for cooking school, and one night we got talking after too much wine. I opened up about our money problems.”
“How did you and Rosa get into trouble?” Chef Claire said.
“We just tried to grow too fast,” Marco said. “We should have waited on the winery, but the offer seemed too good to pass up.”
“I get it,” she said.
“And when Georgio said he had some money laying around he didn’t know what to do with, well, it was…”
“Another offer too good to pass up?”
“Yeah, it was,” Marco whispered.
“Did you know about how he makes his money? You know, the more nefarious ways?”
“Where did you hear that?” Marco said, raising an eyebrow.
“Rosa made a comment at dinner. And Bronwyn was pretty open about it,” Chef Claire said. “The rumors are true, aren’t they?”
“I’m sure a lot of them are.”
“A lot of the wrong ones as far as you’re concerned, right?” Chef Claire said.
“Undoubtedly,” Marco said. “Rosa and I are stuck with him for the foreseeable future. He’d be willing to walk away, but we don’t have enough to buy him out. And there’s no way we can go to a bank given the questions they’d start asking.”
“Questions about how Georgio makes some of his money?” Chef Claire said.
“I’m sure it might come up in the conversation at some point.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how much did he invest?”
Marco stared at her then shrugged.
“Around three million.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s the word,” Marco said, nodding. “It was the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”
“So, you and Rosa are riding it out and hoping like hell things don’t fall apart before you can come up the money to buy him out?”
“Yeah, it’s not much of a plan, but apart from selling the place, it’s the only one we’ve got,” he said.
“You do know the three million will be the least of your problems if you get caught up in whatever happens to Georgio, right?”
“I do,” he said, doing his best not to tear up.
“I’m so sorry, Marco,” Chef Claire said, pulling him in close for a long hug.
“Thanks,” he said, exhaling loudly. “You don’t happen to know anybody with three million laying around, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Really?”
“But there’s no way I’m going to suggest it to any of my friends while all this crap is going on,” Chef Claire said firmly, maintaining solid eye contact to reinforce her point.
“No, of course not,” he said, his hopes dashed. “You don’t have any other suggestions for us, do you?”
“Only that you might want to be careful the next few days,” she said.
“About what I say?”
“Yes. And who you say it to.”
Chapter 15
Josie started to reach for one of the bowls of risotto then changed her mind and pulled her hand back. She sat back in her chair and wiped her mouth then took a sip of wine. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the look Chef Claire was giving her.
“What?”
“Stop the presses,” Chef Claire said, laughing.
“I’m just taking your advice not to fill up on risotto.”
“Good call,” Chef Claire said, nodding at the platters the staff had placed on the table. “Look at that.”
“What kind of fish is it?”
“I’m gonna guess lake trout,” Chef Claire said, holding the platter out to Betty who was sitting next to her.
“From Lake Garda?” Josie said.
“I’m sure it is,” Chef Claire said, offering the platter to Josie. “It doesn’t get any fresher than this.”
“It looks delicious,” Betty said, then slid a piece into her mouth and savored it. “Oh, my.”
“Wow,” Josie said, now completely focused on her plate.
“I might need to steal this one for the restaurant,” Chef Claire said, shaking her head as she glanced down the table. “You made this dish, didn’t you, Marco?”
“I did,” he said with a big smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Garlic butter sauce,” Josie said, glancing up briefly. “What’s not to like?”
“Have you heard back from the police yet?” Lance said, toying with his food.
“Oh, let’s not do this,” Emerson said. “We’re trying to enjoy dinner.”
“I’m sorry,” Lance said, stabbing a piece of trout. “It’s just so weird.”
“People die all the time,” Natalie said.
Georgio thought about her comment for a moment then shrugged and resumed his conversation with Emerson.
“Last night they almost came to blows,” Josie whispered to Chef Claire. “Tonight, it’s like they’re best buddies.”
“Yeah,” Chef Claire said. “They’ve been whispering since they sat down.”
“Maybe they have bigger issues to deal with than worrying about Bronwyn,” Josie said.
“Harsh. But I was thinking the same thing,” Chef Claire said. “But what the heck is it? It’s driving me nuts.”
“What’s that, Chef Claire?” Betty said, glancing over.
“Oh. There’s something in the sauce I can’t quite put my finger on,” Chef Claire said. “It’s driving me nuts.”
“Smooth,” Josie whispered.
“Shut it.”
“I must say I’m a little surprised by those two,” Betty said, nodding at Emerson and Georgio who were again huddled in whispered conversation. “Especially the husband. Where’s his grief?”
“Good question,” Lance said, obviously eavesdropping. He flashed a crocodile smile at her then focused on Emerson. “So, what did you shoot today?”
“What’s that?” Emerson said, glancing up. “Oh, seventy-five. I three-putted the last hole from ten feet. I couldn’t believe it.”
He went back to his conversation with Georgio. Lance shook his head before continuing.
“It’s really none of my business, Emerson, but isn’t it a bit strange for you to play golf the day after your wife died? And does it really matter if you three-putted?”
“Bronwyn would still be dead if I had made a forty-footer,” Emerson said with a shrug.
“Wow,” Josie said, staring
down at her plate. “Whatever ends up happening here, I sure hope he goes to jail for a long time.”
“You got that right,” Chef Claire said.
“Aren’t we going to talk about what happened last night?” Lance said, addressing the group.
Marco and Rosa both paused from eating and wiped their mouths in tandem.
“What would you like to talk about, Lance?” Marco said without emotion.
“I don’t know,” Lance said. “But all day everyone has been acting like nothing happened. Like it was all a bad dream.”
“We’re just trying to put it behind us,” Rosa said. “She’s in God’s hands now.”
“How very Catholic of you,” Lance said, reaching for his wine glass.
“Hey,” Marco said, glaring down the table. “Don’t even go there, young man.”
“Easy, Lance,” Betty said. “People grieve in different ways.”
“Yeah, and some people don’t seem to grieve at all,” Lance said, nodding at Emerson and Georgio. “Like those two. Just another day, huh, guys?”
“You have no idea what I’m dealing with or how I’m feeling,” Emerson snapped. “And I suggest you keep whatever ill-informed opinions you have to yourself.”
“Your behavior is despicable,” Lance said, then went back to his dinner.
A long, painful silence filled the dining room and lingered. Josie eventually leaned close to Chef Claire.
“Pass the fish, please,” she said, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “What do you think?”
“About Lance being the undercover agent?” Chef Claire said, holding out the platter.
“Yeah.”
“If he is, why would he feel the need to push the issue so hard?”
“Maybe Agent Tompkins told him to,” Josie said. “Maybe things are at a tipping point.”
“He certainly tried to get a rise out of Emerson,” Chef Claire said, setting the platter down on the table.
“Yeah. And mission accomplished. But Georgio didn’t bat an eyelash.”
“No, he didn’t,” Chef Claire said, sneaking a quick glance down the table. “What the heck?”
“What?” Josie said, following her eyes.
“They’re shaking hands,” Chef Claire said.
“At the dinner table? That’s odd.”
“That’s what I thought,” Chef Claire said, reaching for her wine glass. “And as strange as it sounds, it looks like the handshake of two guys who just closed a business deal.”
A loud knock on the front door soon followed. One of the servers left the room to answer it. Moments later, he returned followed by Commissario Bruno.
“Good evening,” he said, eyeing the various plates on the table. “I’ve come at a bad time. I’m so sorry to interrupt your dinner.”
“It’s quite all right, Commissario,” Marco said, getting up to shake his hand. “Have you eaten? There’s plenty of food.”
“Actually, I haven’t,” the inspector said. “Thanks. But I’ll pass for now. Maybe I’ll have a little something after we talk.”
“Where’s your Newfie?” Josie said.
“He’s at the house, and I’m sure anxiously waiting for me to get home,” Commissario Bruno said. Then he focused on Marco. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“Okay,” Marco said, sitting down and reaching out to hold Rosa’s hand. “What is it?”
“Mrs. Kingsley didn’t die of natural causes,” the cop said softly.
“I knew it,” Lance said to the table.
“Can I ask how you knew that?” Commissario Bruno said.
Lance’s face flushed red with embarrassment, and he did his best to stifle a nervous cough.
“It’s just a general observation,” he managed eventually. “A woman in her prime and in such good shape…well, it seems odd she would have died of natural causes.”
“I see,” Commissario Bruno said, maintaining a long stare with the surfer before breaking eye contact. “But you’re right. It seemed strange to us as well.”
“Bronwyn was murdered?” Emerson said.
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Kingsley,” Commissario Bruno said.
“How?”
“We believe she was poisoned.”
Everyone around the table glanced at each other, and soft murmurs filled the room as the news sunk in.
“You believe?” Emerson said, raising an eyebrow.
“Perhaps believe isn’t exactly accurate,” the detective said. “Let’s say we’re almost positive.”
“Excuse me if it sounds like I’m somehow questioning your ability as a cop, but how can you not be sure?” Emerson said, tossing out the question that sounded a lot like a challenge. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
“Fair question, Mr. Kingsley,” Commissario Bruno said, nodding. “I’m not sure I like your tone, but we’ll let it go for the moment. The reason we’re not positive your wife was poisoned is because we’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“It must have been something in the food,” Lance said, just loud enough for everyone else to hear.
“That was our original assumption as well,” Commissario Bruno said.
“But not now?” Marco said, still holding Rosa’s hand.
“No, it’s not,” the detective said. “As soon as one of our technicians discovered what we think was the entry point of the poison, we ruled out the food.”
“Entry point?” Marco said, frowning. “Where was it?”
“Her eyes,” Commissario Bruno said. “There were also trace amounts on her forehead and cheeks, but it’s clear that whatever substance killed her entered primarily through her eyes.”
“That sounds nuts,” Lance said, shaking his head. “But I suppose if you put the stuff on a towel or maybe a handkerchief and snuck up behind her…” He looked around the table when he saw the stares he was getting. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just spitballing here.” He focused on the detective. “That sounds logical, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Commissario Bruno said, then turned to Marco. “I need to talk with everyone again. Including all the staff who were working last night. I’m sorry to ruin your evening, but it can’t be helped.”
“I understand,” Marco said, glancing at his wife. “Rosa, would you mind telling the folks in the kitchen not to leave until Commissario Bruno gives them the okay?”
She nodded then headed for the kitchen.
“There’s only three staff,” Marco said to the detective. “And they were all here last night.”
“Thank you,” Commissario Bruno said, then focused on the group. “I’ll be speaking with each of you individually. And I must emphasize again, especially now that the circumstances have changed, none of you can leave the area until I give you the go ahead.”
Everyone nodded and the detective looked around again before his eyes settled on Lance.
“I think I’ll start with you,” Commissario Bruno said to the surfer.
“Why me?”
“Why not?”
Lance gave it some thought then nodded and got to his feet.
“Can I use the sitting room again?” Commissario Bruno said to Marco.
“Of course,” Marco said, also standing. “Just let us know when you need the rest of us.”
“Why don’t we wait on the veranda?” Josie said to Chef Claire.
“Good idea.”
They headed outside and sat down, staring out at the night sky and distant lights of the town.
“What do you think?” Josie said.
“It has to be Georgio, right?” Chef Claire said, glancing around to make sure they were alone.
“He invented some high-tech poison and decided to try it out on Bronwyn?” Josie said. “A woman he was hoping to get back together with?”
“I know it sounds strange,” Chef Claire said. “But the cop said they’d never seen anything like it before. It has to mean it was something Georgio created.”
; “Yeah,” Josie said. “But it doesn’t mean he killed her with it.”
“Emerson?” Chef Claire whispered.
“Well, he certainly isn’t very broken up about her death. And you saw him with Georgio at dinner. It sure looked like they were having a business discussion. Maybe Emerson was the one who wanted to try it out before deciding to partner on a deal.”
“And if he put the poison on some sort of rag all he needed to do was walk up behind her and hold it to her face,” Chef Claire said.
“There’s just one problem with that theory,” Josie said.
“What’s that?”
“If this poison is as powerful as it sounds, wouldn’t Emerson, or whoever it was, be worried about getting it on his hands?”
“Good question,” Chef Claire said. “I know I’d be worried about it.”
“Maybe it was eye drops,” Josie said. “She’d been crying after her fight with Emerson. The last thing she would have wanted was to be walking around with red eyes.”
“Or perhaps he was wearing something on his hands,” Josie said. “There are boxes of rubber gloves in the kitchen. And tons of oven mitts all over the place.”
“Interesting theory,” Chef Claire said.
“What is?”
Josie and Chef Claire jumped in their chairs, startled.
“Geez, Natalie,” Josie said, glaring at her. “How many times have I asked you not to sneak up like that?”
“I really haven’t been counting,” Natalie said, sliding into a chair and lighting a cigarette.
“How long have you been standing there?” Josie said.
“Long enough,” she said with a shrug. “But I share your confusion. It’s most perplexing.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Josie said.
“You sound like your friend Suzy,” Natalie said, blowing a cloud of smoke skyward.
“She does rub off on you,” Josie said, nodding before giving her a hard stare. “What are you doing here, Natalie?”
“Learning to cook Italian food,” she said. “The same as you.”
“C’mon, Natalie,” Josie said. “Fess up.”
Natalie took another drag and exhaled. She glanced back and forth at both women then shrugged.
“Sometimes, things are exactly the way they look.”
“Yeah,” Josie said. “But this isn’t one of them.”
