Murder Under the Italian Moon (2 page)

The shower felt so wonderful. I lingered under the hot water. Afterward I felt much better. I turned on the television to CNN. Results from the 2006 Torino Winter Olympics, another car bombing in Baghdad…I clicked it off. My coat lay where I'd thrown it on the bed
.
I didn't want to carry it on the plane. I would pack it and wear a suit instead. Nick had always done the packing for us. I always unpacked. This was my second visit to Florence since his death four years ago.

Time healed? I missed him more every day.

I fell asleep thinking about my son. Kyle promised to pick me up at LAX.

A knock on the bedroom door woke me.

"
Un momento.
I'm coming." I threw the robe over my shoulders and flung the door open.

The young man smiled. "Good morning, Mrs. York. Your breakfast."

He placed the tray on the table by the window, removed the white linen covering the plate and opened the roll-up shutters to let the daylight in. "I hope you've enjoyed your stay."

I tipped him. "Can you send for my luggage in about forty-five minutes?"

"Of course. I will also arrange for your transport to the train station."

As usual, the simple breakfast was just what I wanted. Hot coffee with those baseball-sized rolls so common in Italy. I couldn't wait to bite into their golden crust. I wouldn't have time to look at the newspaper, but I could take it with me to read on the train to Milan.

Steam rose from the delicate porcelain cup. I tore a roll in half, munched on it and went to the window to look at the
Arno, one of the many charms that kept me coming back to Hotel Lungarno. The views pleased me, as did, of course, the endearing memories that embraced my heart every moment I spent here. Nick and I always requested this room when we visited Florence. It had become a tradition. Cuddling in the old-fashioned high bed. Waking to the voice of coaches calling the strokes to the rowers practicing on the water. All the windows faced the river, and by stretching my neck I could see Ponte Vecchio. That was one sight I wasn't anxious to see today, although I
would
feed the fish.

Every morning I opened the window and dropped crumbled bread into the water. Soon, hundreds of fish of all shapes and sizes jumped and fought for the morsels. Other guests did it too. No doubt the reason for the extra rolls. One morning, when Nick was still with me, I leaned out to take a picture of the fish feeding and noticed one of the kitchen staff sitting on the ledge of a lower window—fishing. I was so angry I threatened to throw the camera at him. He disappeared inside. I didn't catch him doing it again. Nick laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. He took my picture by the window. This window.

I opened the single pane of glass. A smoky smell lingered in the freezing air and drifted into the room. Dozens of chimneys dotted the red-tiled roofs. Even the clouds had the tinge of sooted snow. Winter in Florence. I pulled my robe tight against the chilled air and dispensed the small pieces of bread to the hungry mouths below. The last breakfast I would serve them until next year. I leaned out to see if they were nibbling.

Beneath my window, a billowing piece of turquoise fabric floated atop the gray waters. I leaned even further out to catch a better look.

It couldn't be. My heart raced. Ruby's shirt? I closed the window without looking back.

In the cramped lavatory of the airplane, I said, "It's back to hell" to the foggy mirror. An expression I'd picked up from Ruby. It didn't matter where she came from or what awaited her, her mantra for every homecoming was always "back to hell."

Kyle looked so handsome and sophisticated in a dark suit I'd never seen before. What appeared so different about him?
He seemed thinner, more mature, although I'd been gone just three weeks.
Dio mio,
his resemblance to Nick was uncanny. "Always something there to remind me," as the song went. Would I ever get used to it?

"Mom, you made it. Welcome back." He hugged me.

I lingered in the embrace, taking in the familiar scent of his aftershave.

Kyle grabbed my bag. "What did you put in here, lead?"

One of our old jokes.

"Did you do something? You look…"

"My hair, Mom. I had to lighten it. The part called for a blonde."

"Oh!" My son the actor
.
I had to smile.

Passengers crowded around the luggage carousel. Lots of tired eyes and sleepy faces. "Did you stop by the house while I was away? I know it's silly, but I worry about Flash. Then I see her and all is well and promise myself I won't do that again."

"No. Sorry. We've been shooting in Palm Springs. We're behind schedule." He ran his fingers through his straight hair, now cut short. He seemed tired.

"I'm sure Mrs. Russell has everything under control."

He patted my arm, his eyes alight with mischief.

I always suspected him of having a crush on Ruby, and she was one of his biggest fans.

The conveyor belt started moving. I craned my neck, even though Kyle was tall enough to see over the people in front of us. A familiar sound wailed from somewhere behind me. A violin?

I froze. A remembered strain of
Ponte Vecchio's sidewalk music floated through my mind.

"I won't be able to stay." Kyle interrupted my thoughts. "I'm dropping you off and driving back."

"Tonight?"

He checked his watch. "This morning. It'll be morning by the time we get to the car and drive to Dana Point."

A handful of worn-out passengers from Flight 1902 were still waiting when my luggage finally tumbled out at the very end of the carousel, looking as tired and beat up as I felt.

We managed to get into Kyle's Porsche by 1:30. I'd suggested taking a taxi, but my son was adamant.

"Chill out. I've lost sleep for less worthy causes."

Deep down I was thankful, even felt special.

The Porsche was Kyle's high school graduation present. Nick had bought it at a police auction. Restoring the twelve-year-old convertible became father and son's grand project. Not that either one knew much about cars in general, or Porsches in particular. After many trips to the library and to used-parts dealers, the car began to look like new. Better than new. They decided on a rich shade of brown for the exterior and invested in some leather seats. By graduation, the Porsche was in mint condition. Kyle kept the car in top shape, even after all these years.

During the ride home, I told him about my strange encounter on Ponte Vecchio.

"And he had just vanished?"

"Pretty much. None of the other vendors acknowledged his earlier presence or his existence, for that matter. Very, very strange."

"What did the chart look like?" Kyle kept his eyes on the road.

"The way it used to before the computer era, I guess.
I left it in my coat pocket. It's in one of the suitcases."

We traveled south on the 405. I always got excited when the San Diego Freeway merged with the Santa Ana. I told people that was when I could smell the brine. But that was a stretch of the imagination—the Pacific Ocean lay hills and canyons away. Then the ocean side of the freeway flattened, with fewer tall buildings and more tall trees. Even without daylight, I searched for a flash of blue water. I wouldn't see any. The ocean was as black as the sky. Still, it was one of my homecoming routines.

We pulled up to the security gate of my complex a little after 3:00 a.m. Kyle punched in the code, and the ornate wrought-iron gate slid open. The Porsche glided over the private road lined with palm trees and stopped in the guest parking.

I was still digging in my bag when my son used his key to unlock the front door of my town house. The moment I stepped across the threshold, a pungent stench hit my nostrils. I gagged. The smell of ammonia and cat feces was overpowering. The cat litter hadn't been changed in a very long time.

"Flash? Mommy's home. Here, kitty, kitty." I waited for a black shadow to dart into my arms. Nothing.

Kyle fanned himself with the weathered newspaper he'd picked up by my front door. "Phew, it's making me wanna puke. Why didn't you take Flash to Cat's Mirage?"

"Ruby offered to take care of her."

I opened the French doors leading to the back patio. Mail lay scattered across the thick glass dining room table. How odd. In the past, Ruby kept it organized every day.

"Mom, let's run through the place and make sure everything's okay. I've got to get going."

"Of course. I'm sorry."

Kyle followed me up the stairs.

We walked through the house and opened most of the windows. The smell of the filthy litter box improved only a little. "Everything looks fine. Better get going, and please take it easy, will you? I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you on your way back to Palm Springs."

"I'll call you." He hugged me and left.

I stood by the front door until his headlights came on. Then I wasted no time changing the litter box. I called my cat a few more times, and when I headed for the bedroom, something stroked my leg,

"Flash." I picked her up and rubbed my chin on her silky black head. "Are you mad at me for going away?" She cried while I carried her down to the kitchen. She felt so skinny. Could she be sick? Finally, she began to purr
. Poverina,
poor baby. I put her down and went into the laundry room for her dish. Both of Flash's food containers were empty, and her water bowl held only dust. I filled the water bowl and the dry-food container. What could have happened to keep Ruby from coming to the house? She wasn't the type of person to neglect a cherished pet on purpose. Maybe she called me at the hotel to prepare me for this? Nonsense. Why not call Kyle instead? He could have hired help.

I was tempted to phone Ruby and give her a piece of my mind. Knowing her, she must have found something very special to distract her. Her husband wouldn't appreciate a phone call at 3:45 a.m. I'd have to wait.

Still, I didn't like it. Idiot that I am, I wanted reassurance Ruby was okay.

The ringing of the phone woke me. A ribbon of sunshine draped across my hand when I picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. York? Donatella York?"

I stifled a yawn and glanced at the alarm clock. 11:00 a.m.

No one called me Donatella. "Who is this?"

"I'm Lieutenant Devin, Orange County Sheriff's Department. I'm with the Homicide Division, ma'am."

"Homicide?
Mio dio
!"

"I need to speak with you at your earliest convenience."

"Excuse me. Did you say
homicide
?"

"Yes, ma'am. I need to speak to you about the Russell case."

"Ruby Russell?" I missed the rest of Devin's answer because I dropped the phone and lost the dial tone.

I needed to think about Ruby and about this cop, Devin. This homicide cop. He hadn't mentioned Ruby by name, but then again, I didn't know anyone else named Russell aside from Ruby and Tom. Barely awake and already under stress. Welcome home, all right. The quickest way to find out what was going on would be the direct approach. I picked up the phone and dialed Ruby's house.

Her recorded voice caught me off guard. "…but if you leave your phone number and a brief message…" I hung up. Pure torture. Listening to her voice and not knowing if she was dead or alive. I tried her cell, but it rang several times before going to a message that her mailbox was full.

The doorbell rang. My heart skipped a beat. Lieutenant Devin? So early? How did he get through the gate? Cops must have special passes. I fought my sense of dread and opened the door.

A boy, maybe five or six years old, stared at me. A new neighbor? I smiled, not sure what to do. Long time since I'd been around kids his age.

"Hi. You didn't get your paper." He handed me the
Dana Point News.

I forgot my subscription was scheduled to restart delivery today. "Thank you." I took one end of the rolled-up paper, but he held on tight. Did he expect a tip?

"I live next door." His hair and complexion were unusually light, and he had the eyes of a child more grown up than he should have been. "My name is David." He let go of the paper. "Do you live here?"

I nodded, more puzzled than before.

"Where's the other lady?"

An uneasy feeling kept me from answering the child's question. Footsteps sounded and a tall, dark-haired man walked up to the house and stood behind David, watching me.

"You must be Lieutenant Devin." I looked down. "I'll talk to you later, little boy." Calling him a little boy seemed to irk him; he frowned like older people did.

I invited the lieutenant in and closed the door on David's disappointed face.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mrs. York."

"Yes, well, what is happening with my friend? I didn't quite comprehend what you were telling me—jet lag. I'm very concerned. I should have heard something, a phone call."

"I understand you've been out of the country."

"How do you know? Have you spoken to Ruby?" I still couldn't get myself to ask what I was dying to know:
Is Ruby all right?
"I got home from Italy last night—well, this morning. It's such a shock. I don't understand why Kyle didn't know. Kyle's my son."

He followed me into the living room and sat on the armchair across from me without hesitation. The lieutenant seemed to feel very comfortable. Too bad I didn't. I had expected a man in his position to be an endless source of information. Wrong. Seeing him so relaxed made me anxious. Why? I had nothing to hide, but growing up in Italy I always harbored great respect and a good dose of fear around people in uniforms. Devin wore civilian clothing.

"I'm sorry to be the one to break the news to you." His voice sounded only a tad above a whisper. Not intimidating at all. A learned expedient?

I waved my hand. "It's okay." I braced myself for what would come next.

"One of the neighbors interviewed after the accident suggested your name as the closest friend to the Russells."