Sheila Connolly - Reunion with Death (17 page)

“What brings you up here?” I asked. “It’s a little steep for a late stroll.”

“Simple—I switched places with Vicky, who was assigned to a room up here. After one walk down to the village, she decided she’d never make it back up, and I offered to take her place. I can use the exercise.”

“You’ll get plenty, believe me. What’s the hotel like?”

“Like a pleasant small hotel, I guess. There was nobody on the streets except a cat when I started walking up. The only odd thing is that they have Manx cats at the hotel—no tails. It’s a bit unnerving to meet one unexpectedly. Anyway, I brought enough to handle tonight”—she held up a sleek small bag—“I’ll worry about my suitcase tomorrow.”

“Welcome to the vineyard, Xianling. Wait until you see it by daylight, you won’t be sorry. Have a seat. I’m sorry, but we finished the wine.”

Xianling sat gracefully. “Who else is up here?” After I named the others, she asked, “You and Cynthia were roommates in college, right?” she asked.

“We were. And after too, for a couple of years.”

“Have you kept in touch?”

“Kind of. As much as with anybody. I hate to admit it, but I’m still having trouble putting names to some of the people in our group here.”

Xianling laughed. “I am
so
glad to hear somebody else say that! It’s so strange, you know? Some people you’d recognize if you passed them on the street now, they’ve hardly changed. Others I don’t recognize at all, even after spending a couple of days with them on this trip. Do you remember me? I won’t be offended if you say no.”

“You were an art historian, so of course I knew who you were. But I don’t remember ever having a real conversation with you.”

“That sounds about right. I think I started on that track before you did, so we didn’t overlap in classes.”

“Had you noticed how many people are here from the freshman crop in Munger?” I asked. “Funny how so many of us stuck with the first group of people we met the first week at school. Random choice—heck, it wasn’t even computer-organized back in those days. Some little lady in a back office in Green Hall sorted handwritten cards, and presto, people became friends for life. And here we are. Bet no one saw this coming!”

“A trip to Italy with these people forty years later? I can’t say that I did.”

“And yet you signed up. Why?” Why had this elegant and accomplished woman volunteered to join this motley group of classmates?

“I love Italy, of course, but mainly curiosity, I suppose. I’ve stayed close to Jean over the years—that art history connection—but I wanted to see how everyone else had turned out.”

“You’ve been taking a lot of pictures.”

“I have. In part, it’s a habit, given what I do. I also wanted a record of the event. I’ll be happy to share with anyone who wants copies.”

“I think I’d like that. Looking at what’s on my camera, I seem to concentrate on landscapes and cats, with food coming in third. I have very few pictures of people. I guess I feel embarrassed taking pictures of others, even candids. You seem to do it well, or at least everyone has gotten used to it. I love that group photo you took at Capitignano.”

“That did come out well, didn’t it?” She was silent for a moment, then said, “Can you point me toward my room?”

“It’s the one in the middle—go past the patio and up. You’ll be in with Pam. The others are at the far end.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you at breakfast then.” Xianling stood and vanished silently into the night. I wondered what kind of shoes she was wearing.

I’d missed a good opportunity to ask her about the professor’s death—but I was tired, and it had been a long day, and I’d probably just mess it up. I had to think about how I wanted to approach people without giving myself away. If that was possible.

I stood up and stretched. With one last look at the dark landscape, I went inside.

• • •

Cynthia and I were up early and went down to the main patio to kill time until breakfast started. The staff was apparently trying to drive us crazy because they put out everything else for the meal before they finally set out a carafe of coffee. Cyn and I used our time well, admiring the incredibly lush flowers everywhere. Roses predominated, but there were some impressive lilies, as well as a number of plants I couldn’t identify. The fowl down below the vines were making loud morning noises. From what I could hear, there was a mix of species, all producing different sounds. When the table was finally set up and the staff stepped back, Cyn and I helped ourselves to food and coffee, then settled ourselves on the shady interior side of the table, the one facing the view—I wasn’t going to waste a minute of the gorgeous scenery.

The others drifted in gradually. “What are you all planning for today?” I asked when a quorum had assembled.

“I want to take the ferry and do the whole circuit of the Cinque Terre. I’m pretty sure this is my only chance to see this part of the world,” Denise said.

“Not me,” Valerie replied with something approaching a shudder. “I might do one town. Maybe. And I don’t like boats.”

“Okay,” I said neutrally. “I was thinking it might be nice to see one, maybe have lunch there. I mean, how different can they be from each other?”

“You mean, you see one, you’ve seen them all? And what the heck is there to do in any of them?” Pam demanded.

“No museums,” I said. That brought a wry smile from Xianling. “I guess that leaves taking pictures of the scenery and the town, eating, and shopping. And apparently Xianling is the designated official historian for the trip and is taking pictures of everything and everyone.”

Xianling shrugged. “It’s not a big thing, I do it everywhere. I have a very visual memory, which may be why I went into art history originally.”

“Interesting about how your memory works,” I said, and meant it. “I think I was always more attracted to three-dimensional things, like medieval churches. So your pictures—does your tablet work inside and out? I haven’t seen any flashes.”

“It does.” She pulled it out of her bag, tapped the screen a few times, and turned it toward me.

“Wow,” I said. “Great resolution, great color. But you’ve also managed to capture people looking natural, which I know is a lot harder.”

“Thank you. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“You’ve traveled a lot?” I asked, and that set off a conversation that took us through breakfast and a second cup of delightfully strong coffee.

The next arrival was heralded by a flood of fluent Italian, none of which I could follow. I watched as a woman came up the path accompanied by Jane. Jane was having trouble stemming the flow of the other woman’s words, even though she tried.

“Buon giorno,”
Jane said when she saw all of us at the table, watching expectantly. “This is my cousin Loredana—she and her husband own the vineyard here, and when our head count exceeded the hotel’s capacity, she generously offered to let a few of you stay up here. She speaks some English. She’ll be accompanying us on some of our excursions in this area.” Jane made the round of introductions. Loredana was shorter than Jane and radiated energy and enthusiasm. Her words of welcome poured out in a haphazard mix of Italian and English, but her warmth was sincere. She seemed quite happy to meet all of us, but I guessed from the tenor of the conversation earlier that something was troubling her. And I thought I could guess what it was.

I stood up abruptly, almost knocking over the chair. “Jane, could I speak to you for a moment, in private? And your cousin too?” Cynthia looked at me, and I nodded slightly.

“Uh, well, sure,” Jane stuttered. “In the vineyard office?” She glanced at Loredana for confirmation. She nodded vigorously, still looking concerned. So did the others at the table. I’d managed to confuse just about everyone. I was rarely tactful this early in the morning.

Loredana led the way, opening the office door and letting Jane and me in. Then she closed it, and she and Jane exchanged a complex series of glances, accompanied by shrugs. I hurried to begin with explanations.

“Jane,” I began, “I didn’t want the whole group to hear this. You and Loredana came up here to tell us something, right?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “The police called. They think Professor Gilbert’s death was not an accident, or not completely. Were you expecting something like that?”

Loredana seemed to be following but was having trouble expressing her own opinions.
“Cara
, I no have words …
la polizia, si?”

I nodded. “Yes, I was. Have you told the rest of the group yet?”

“No. I thought I’d start up here because you were all together. Are you telling me that I shouldn’t tell people? Wait—why don’t you seem surprised?”

Poor Jane—I’d really thrown her a curveball. “I’m the one who found the body, and let’s say I had some suspicions about how he died. What have the police told you?”

“Not a lot, just that they have more questions for us.”

“Did they ask that we return to Capitignano?”

“No,” Jane said. “They volunteered to send someone here to talk to us.”

I tried to work out what that would mean and concluded that they were still fishing, although they knew something was amiss.

“Did they tell you anything else? Any details?” I asked carefully.

“When they called, I handed the phone to Loredana, and she gave it to her husband—you haven’t met him yet, but he’s a senator from this region, so he has some clout. They told him that somebody had slipped the professor something … harmful, the night he died, and it might have had something to do with his fall.”

So the police were making progress. I didn’t like it. I definitely didn’t want them here in Monterosso asking us questions, and I was pretty sure Jane and her family wouldn’t either.

“Laura, what’s going on?” Jane demanded.

I took a deep breath. “Jane, I … asked some colleagues of mine back home to keep an eye on this investigation, in case we needed some assistance. They warned me that it might come to this. Tell me: can Loredana and her husband stall the authorities long enough so that we have a chance to figure out what happened on our own? Kind of under the radar?”

Poor Jane’s circuits were reaching overload. I waited to see which issue she would tackle first. In the end she proved that she was a smart woman. “Yes, they can, if I explain it to them. You’re assuming you can fix this thing? What if you can’t? What happens then?”

I chose my words carefully. “Jane, I’m in over my head here, but I’d like to try to do it. I’d rather not have you tell everyone that the professor’s death was … not what it appeared. Cynthia and I have been talking this over, and we think we have some resources that will help. Can we set a deadline? Say, if we don’t work this out in the next two days, then we turn the whole mess over to the police? Would that get your relatives into trouble?”

Jane thought for a moment, then turned to Loredana and let loose a torrent of Italian; Loredana responded in kind. I could catch about twenty percent of the words, and I wasn’t sure who was winning. Finally it was Loredana who turned to me. “We help you. You are friends of Jane, and guests in our homes. We can keep this trouble away from you, at least for a little while. If Jane will allow?”

“Uh, yes, please. If you’re sure it won’t get your family into trouble.”

Loredana gave a dismissive wave. “Do not worry. Go enjoy the Cinque Terre with your friends.”

Jane turned back to me. “Well, there you have it. How can I help?”

“I don’t know yet, Jane. Cynthia and I haven’t come up with a plan yet, and we may need to enlist a few more people. But we’ll be discreet about it. Please thank Loredana for me—I know we’re asking a lot from her.”

“I will. So otherwise, for now I do nothing, and you all will go your different ways for today and you’ll ask all the right questions, and we can regroup after dinner?”

“That works for me. We’d better get back before the children get restless.”

Back on the patio, all eyes turned toward us when we emerged from the office. “Problem?” Cynthia asked.

“No, everything’s fine,” I said, trying to sound confident. “I had some questions about, uh”—I struggled for any reasonable excuse—“exporting wine by the case, back home, and I didn’t want to bore you all with it.”

“Hey, that’s a great idea,” Connie said. “You’ll have to tell us about it.”

“We can worry about that later,” Jane said brightly. “Right now you should decide what you want to do today. Did you want to visit any of the Cinque Terre?” She looked around at everyone at the table, clearly hoping to change the subject.

“We were thinking about it, but only if it isn’t going to rain,” Cynthia volunteered. “Do you think it will? And we don’t want to see all the towns. Which do you recommend?”

“Don’t worry about the weather, it’s supposed to clear later. If you want a short trip, Vernazza is closest, and you can take a train—it’s a short ride. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Cynthia said. “Is there any Internet connection somewhere around here?”

“Not on the property here. There are some in the cafés and hotels in town.”

“All right, then,” Cynthia said, slapping her hands on the table. “Ladies, I need maybe half an hour to check my messages down there, and then we can catch a train for this Ver-place and have lunch there.” She looked around the table, where nobody seemed to be in a hurry to do anything. “That suit you all?”

Nods all around: apparently we were in sheep mode today, happy to follow anyone with a plan.

Jane looked relieved. “Okay, how about I meet you at the train station and show you how to get tickets? Say, at eleven?” Jane said. “Oh, and it’s all the way on the other side of town, so allow yourself enough time to get there.”

“I’m sure we can find it,” I said. “Eleven sounds fine. Nice to meet you, Loredana. Thank you for looking out for us.”

“No problem, no problem.” She beamed at all of us. “We help the friends of our cousin Jane, no?”

We finished the last of our coffee, and by the time we were done the sun had broken through the early-morning clouds. Cynthia was the first to stand up. “I’d better go get dressed if I’m going to find that café.”