Chapter 13
Allegra
“CIAO. PARLI INGLESE?”
The woman shook her head. “No.”
Shoot. The following day, I’d ridden the Vespa to the antique shop my grandmother had mentioned in her last letter.
Since she’d told me to come here if I needed any help, I’d assumed the owner would speak English.
“Umm…” I looked around at the antique store before gesturing to it. “I own a store like this.”
The woman stared at me.
“Antiques,” I said then pointed to my chest. “Me.”
Zero reaction. I was about to give up when I thought maybe explaining who I was might help. “Mia nonna è Sophia Bianchi.”
The woman’s eyes lit up. She walked around the counter and hugged me. “You must be Allegra!”
I thought she didn’t speak English… “Yes.” I smiled. “I’m Allegra.”
“Ah, so nice to meet-a you!”
“You speak some English?”
“I speak-a plenty. I just don’t wanna all da American tourists talk-a to me, eh?”
I laughed. Yep. This was definitely my grandmother’s friend. She would’ve done that, too. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“’Ow are you, my dear?”
“I’m doing okay—as well as can be expected without my grandmother here anymore.”
Francesca’s eyes went soft. “Every day, it’s-a hard…without my Sophia.”
“She told me how close you two had become over the last five years.”
“We’re like-a sisters,” she said, shaking her head with a frown. “The good kind. Not like-a that thief, Anna.”
I smiled. “My grandmother told me to come to you if I needed help with her antique store. I’ve opened it the last few days, but people don’t come in like they used to.
I haven’t been to Montepulciano in a long time, but the last time I visited, there was a pretty steady stream of customers throughout the day. At least one or two an hour.”
As if to prove my point, the bells jingled on the door at the front of Il Baule di Nonna, and a shopper walked into Francesca’s store.
“I’m hoping to sell some of the shop’s inventory while I’m here,” I explained. “Is there anything I can do to let people know the store is open again?”
She nodded. “Yes, yes. Three tings.” She held up one finger. “Uno, da visitor’s guide. There’s-a online directory—wineries, restaurants, antique shops, all of it. But dey take down da listing for Sophia’s shop few months ago. I talk to dem. I make dem put it back.”
“Oh, that would be great. Thank you.”
She smiled. “Due, da church. We put-a little sign on da bulletin board. Maybe you make a sale, eh? Get people to come in. Twenty percent off, someting like dis.”
“I’d definitely do that.”
“I take care of dat for you, too.”
“Thank you.”
“E tre, the walkie-talkies.” She tapped two fingers on the table, mimicking legs walking. “I hear you are in town, but I don’t know you open da shop already. We tell da walky people, dey spread the word faster than Pia Lolasantini spread her legs after her husband died.”
I laughed. “That all sounds great.”
“Good.” She gave a sharp nod and pointed behind her. “Now, you come. We have-a caffé in da garden toget’er.”
“I don’t want to put you to more trouble. You have a customer.”
She waved her hand like she didn’t care, then called out to the shopper. “Hey, signora!”
The woman smiled. “Hello.”
“We’re closed.”
Her customer’s smile fell. “But the sign on the door says you’re open.”
“Short break.” Francesca shooed her off. “Come back, eh…fifteen minutes.”
The customer seemed utterly confused, yet she put down the stemware she had been looking at and went to the door. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be coming back, but Francesca was already heading outside. “Come.”
She brought me out to her vegetable garden and told me to sit while she made us coffee. A few minutes later, she returned with two espresso cups. “I make it like your nonna and I used to drink. We sit toget’er, few days a week, before opening our shops.” She passed one to me. “Taste.”
I took a sip, and an unexpected burn went down my throat. I coughed. “There’s more Sambuca than coffee in this.”
She grinned. “Delizioso, no?”
Over the next hour—it was a good thing that customer hadn’t returned in fifteen minutes—Francesca amused me with stories of things she and my grandmother had done. She pointed to her garden. “My zucchini, look how small. Your nonna, she was-a queen of zucchini.”
“I know. She took a lot of pride in winning the biggest zucchini contest every summer at the farmers market. All of the plaques are still up on the back wall of the antique shop.”
“Da last year she-a was alive, she almost lose. Dey say Gianni Marcelli grow one that weighs twelve kilos. That’s more than twenty-six pounds!.”
“Wow. My grandmother’s weighed more than that?”
Francesca smirked. “No. We dress all in black one night and cut his zucchini off the vine in his yard.”
My eyes widened. “Are you kidding?”
“No! And his schnauzer wake up. We run fast, only escape by t’rowing cherry tomatoes at da animal—Boom! Boom! We run to da Vespa and go!”
I laughed. What a visual. Two eighty-something-year-old ladies dressed in burglar attire running with a twelve kilo zucchini. “No wonder she loved you. You’re two peas in a pod.”
“We don’t leave any evidence, eit’er. We bake fourteen zucchini breads, fry four pounds of fritters, make two big pots of ratatouille. We might be thieves, but we no waste food.”
I could’ve spent all day listening to these stories, but when another customer pulled up out front, I didn’t want to cost her another sale. “I should get going.”
“Okay, dear. I get the word out about da store. But you must come back. You promise?”
“I’d love that.”
She walked me to the front, and her eyes lit up when she saw my Vespa. “Ahhh, I miss dat bike.”
I smiled. “Next time I visit, we’ll go for a ride.”
“Perfetto.”
We hugged, and I was about to leave when she stopped me with a finger in the air.
“Oh! I almost forget. My niece, she live down in Minori near the Amalfi Coast, she call me. She has antique shop, too. T’ree years ago, Sophia show her da tea set she begin collecting.
Iliana say she look out for pieces. And guess what?
She found one. She buy it. Do you know of the tea set I speak of? ”
“I do. The pieces I’ve seen are beautiful.”
“Maybe you want to keep collecting, maybe not, but with more pieces, you get better price if you sell, eh?”
“I’d love to add to the collection. How far is Minori?”
“Four and a half, maybe five hours. It is beautiful place to visit, when it’s not overrun by tourists.”
“Maybe I’ll take a trip down one day.”
“Or I have her ship it here. You just tell me. No rush.”
“I will. Thank you so much for everything, Francesca.”
On my way home, I saw Matteo in his driveway standing in the bed of his truck.
He had on a backward baseball hat and no shirt as he unloaded wine barrels, and I nearly drove into a ditch watching him.
When he spotted me on the Vespa, he stopped, and I beeped and waved, feeling like a local.
He shook his head, but I saw the smile on his face, even from the road.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his dinner invitation since I woke up this morning. I’d wanted to say yes—God, I wanted to—but something about Matteo gave me pause. He was the kind of man who could make you believe in forever, and I only had a few months.
At home, or rather, Nonna’s house, I flipped over the Closed sign in the store to show Open and decided to spend the morning weeding the rest of the flower beds.
I’d finished her English garden on the side of the house, but the front still needed to be done, and it was a gorgeous day.
It was a bonus that I could see Matteo’s driveway from where I was working.
Though sadly, he was no longer unloading barrels without a shirt.
Around eleven, I saw his truck pull out and head toward Nonna’s.
My heart sped up, thinking he was going to stop, but he looked straight ahead as he passed and didn’t even wave.
Four hours went by before the truck returned.
And when it did, his sister was with him.
A few minutes after they parked, Luciana crossed the field that separated our properties and climbed the fence like it was a normal, everyday thing to do.
Her big, friendly smile was the same as last night, but she was dressed very differently than I would’ve expected, based on the sexy robe she’d worn yesterday.
“Ciao!” She held up a bag. “I brought you some outfits to try for Friday night.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Sure I did. I needed to take away any excusa for why you can’t go.”
I laughed and didn’t mention that I had been going back and forth and considering canceling. Pulling off the garden gloves, I wiped my brow with the back of my forearm. “What’s the vibe of the place? Is it dressy?”
“The dress code is more like a competition to see-a who can come as close to being naked while still wearing clothes and not getting arrested. I’m pretty sure last time I went, one of the ladies I saw was wearing a belt as a skirt.”
I definitely didn’t have any outfits like that with me, and I wasn’t sure I had anything in my closet back home that fit the bill either. Luciana must’ve noticed my face.
She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I didn’t give you anything too risqué, just sexy and fun.”
I smiled hesitantly.
“How was your evening with my brother?”
“It was nice.”
“Nice is like eating plain toast for breakfast. Gets da job done, but you’re hungry a half hour later and can’t even remember what you ate.”
I laughed. “What word is better when discussing spending time with someone’s brother?”
She pointed at me. “Good point. I don’t want to know more than nice. But there is chemistry, no?”
I couldn’t deny that, not even to myself, so I nodded. “There is.”
“That makes me happy to hear, especially on today of all days.”
“What’s so special about today?”
“It’s the anniversary of Isabella’s death.” She pointed to the black material of her top. “That’s why I’m dressed like a ninety-year-old Sicilian widow. We go to the grave to visit today.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Dis horrible frock didn’t give it away?”
I smiled. “You look nice, but this wasn’t what I’d expect your style to be.”
“Today my brother is allowed to be grumpy. It’s the one day a year I give him. Tomorrow, I kick his ass all da way to Happyville if he’s not smiling.” She held out the bag of clothes. “I’m going to go visit a friend who makes jewelry. She has a small shop in the village. You want to come?”
I shook my head. “I’m going to finish up weeding this last bed before I close up the shop for the day.”
“I’ll make Mr. Happypants drive us Friday night. Uber isn’t a thing around here. Come by whenever you ready.”
“Okay.”
I went back to weeding, and before I knew it, the sun had started to set. I took off my gloves and sat to look at the sky for a few minutes before calling it a day. On my way up the stairs, my cell rang. The name flashing was Antonio Fanelli
“Ciao, Antonio,” I answered.
“Buonasera, Allegra. How are you?”
“I’m doing well. Finally settling in a bit and remembering what it’s like to relax.”
“Ah. Well, then I’m sorry to have to call. Unfort-unately, I have some rather unsettling news.”
“Oh?”
“As we spoke about, I submitted your grandmother’s will to the notary who handles publication of wills here in Italy.
He accepted the will for filing and then deposited it with the registry, which is a centralized repository for documents.
Their website is frequented by what we call ricercatori di eredi, in English heir hunters. You know this term, yes?”
I knew there were attorneys who stalked the U.S.
probate website to see if they could find heirs not named in wills who might be eligible to inherit anyway.
Often it was a relative who didn’t even know the decedent.
I’d once had a case where the husband died mid-divorce and his biological father—a man he’d never met—made a claim for a paternal share of the seven-figure inheritance.
The lawyers who sought out the potential heirs represented them and, of course, made money off the claim.
“I do. Is my grandmother’s sister Anna making a claim or something?”
“No, this is a new heir discovered. Someone your grandmother never mentioned when we reviewed her next of kin.”
My family’s tree had pretty sparse limbs, so I wasn’t sure who it could be. “What’s the relation to my grandmother?”
“She is Sophia’s granddaughter.”
I blinked a few times. “Granddaughter? But my father was an only child. You mean he had a sibling I never knew about?”
“No, Allegra.” He paused. “The child, she belonged to your father. It appears you have a half sister.”