Chapter 8 #2
“But,” Shelly added quietly, “we believe that while some people may believe they’re just trying to curse someone so that the universe will take care of them, other people have created almost a cult kind of thing, charging for services such as an authentic curse tablet, and taking matters of the curse into their own hands. ”
“Murder for hire,” Grant finished.
“And therefore, you can link a murder in Rome with a murder in St. Augustine, Florida?” Sal asked.
“Yes,” Grant said.
“It’s a theory,” Alfred murmured.
“I’m just not sure what more you think you can learn now than when you were here so recently,” Sal told Grant.
“We pulled forensics; you know the gun that killed the man was stolen several years ago—and reported at the time. No fingerprints. No cells—our forensic departments are damned good as well, you know.”
“Oh, I do know that,” Grant assured him. “We’re hoping that by talking to a few people, we may be able to get a piece of information, the tiniest clue about someone that hasn’t been a suspect yet …” He paused, looking over at Shelly. “Fresh eyes.”
“We’re with you,” Alfredo assured him. “We’re yours for the duration of your stay.”
“And we always felt something was off, too,” Sal offered, before falling silent as he saw their waiter on the way.
Their food arrived. They all set to eating.
And they hadn’t been lied to—it was wonderful.
“They do a great job with food on the plane,” Grant said. “But now I’m glad we slept through the possibility of eating dinner in the air!”
“Totally agree,” Shelly said, looking across the table at their Italian counterparts.
“Excellent. Dessert? Best cannoli you’ll ever have—or tiramisu!” Alfredo offered.
Shelly glanced at Grant. It would be rude to deny anyone dessert.
“Cannoli,” Shelly said.
“Tiramisu—we’ll get them both in,” Grant agreed.
“And cappuccinos all around!” Sal suggested.
And the desserts were as good as they had been claimed to be. And it was … just a second of awkward, and then nice, too, as she and Grant tasted one another’s dishes.
“Told you!” Alfredo said. “Now, as soon as Uncle Sam gets the check.”
Grant laughed. “On it!” he promised.
The check was paid, and they left. “We’re heading to the Trastevere neighborhood,” Sal, driving, told them.
“Very, very old. It was an Etruscan city before the Romans took over. Ripa Etrusca. And now, you’ll see cobblestone streets, homes from many centuries, bars, restaurants …
but Valeria has her family home, probably built in the 1600s, on a lovely lot behind the main streets. You’ll enjoy the sights as we pass by.”
“Of course. I’m enjoying everything that I see,” Shelly assured him.
And it was beautiful, but glancing at Grant, she thought that much of St. Augustine had been built at the same time as certain areas of this ancient city. Many of the buildings and the houses were similar.
They went by a high stone wall that appeared very old, as did the iron gate that opened for them when Sal put through a call.
The house was two stories, with a sweeping drive and planted fields alongside it.
When Sal parked out front, a pretty young woman with long dark hair came out to the brick porch to meet them, hurrying down the steps to greet the three men with quick hugs before stopping to look a little awkwardly at Shelly.
Shelly grinned and lifted her arms, and the young woman hugged her as well.
Naturally, she began to speak in hurried Italian, but Shelly knew that they were being invited in.
The living room or parlor was immense, with handsome archways leading to other rooms, pedestals holding fine sculptures, and paintings and family pictures artfully lining the walls.
Valeria indicated that they were to sit at an arrangement of chairs and a love seat surrounding a coffee table. She lifted a hand, asking for a minute, hurried off, and quickly returned with a tray that carried cappuccinos for all and a basket of cookies.
She took a seat, looking around at them, then bursting into hurried speech again.
Sal interrupted. “Valeria is concerned; she doesn’t believe either that her father’s real killer has been caught. And unless he—or she—is caught, she’s terrified that her cousin is going to be murdered as well.”
“Can she think of anyone who was so against her father that they might have done this? Of course, I’m sure that’s a question you’ve asked before,” Shelly said.
Valeria stood and wandered over to a picture. It was of a handsome older man in a suit, dignified, yet smiling, with white hair, dark eyes, and a good strong jaw.
Again, Valeria began to speak, with what seemed to be a thousand words a minute.
This time, Alfredo spoke for her. “She says that her father was the best man she ever knew. He could have a decent and level conversation with anyone. When people got excited and yelled and screamed, he just waited. He would listen to opposing views. There was no reason for anyone to kill him. Valeria seriously can’t think of anyone who might have wanted him dead. ”
“Except for someone against being level and working with others, seeking moderation instead of a fight,” Grant said, looking at Shelly.
He said something then in Italian that made Valeria smile. She gave Shelly a welcoming look and said, “Come! Grant, prego—”
“I’ll show her the house, your dad’s room, and the beauty of the place, if I may,” Grant said.
Shelly realized that he’d asked Valeria if it was all right if he showed her the house; obviously, he’d been there and seen it before. Of course.
“Grazie!” she said. At least learning “thank you” in other languages was easy.
They walked up the stairs.
“What about Sal and Alfredo?” she whispered.
“They’re fine. Not to worry. They’ll stay down there and talk to Valeria and have a few cookies and drink cappuccino. Come on. This way.”
The winding stairway had taken them to a little balcony that overlooked the living room and a hallway that led in two directions.
“This way,” Grant said. “Vincenzo Mero’s room is this way. I figured that if he is somewhere to be found, it’s here, watching over his beloved child. And a brilliant man becomes a brilliant soul, so he’ll understand we need to see him away from others. There, at the end of the hall.”
“Can it really be this easy?” Shelly murmured.
“We don’t know if the man’s soul stayed behind at all,” Grant reminded her.
“Right. Of course. Or even if he’s close enough to hear me,” Shelly said.
The man’s bedroom held handsome mahogany furnishings, from the massive headboard to the various dressers and desk. A large, floor-to-ceiling window looked out over a back courtyard.
“They are—the family—rich?” Shelly asked.
“As well as being a politician, the man was an attorney, but also a tech genius,” Grant told her.
“That’s where big money apparently is these days.
Vincenzo didn’t inherit anything but the house and the property—in his family for hundreds of years.
From what I understand, his father could barely keep it up.
Valeria still works with his tech firm. So does her cousin, Dante, who was raised by Vincenzo after his parents were killed in an automobile accident.
Dante still has his room here, too, but he’s in Venice on business right now.
And the real reason Valeria isn’t a complete nervous wreck is because he hasn’t formally announced any intention of following in his uncle’s wake.
” He hesitated. “We’re here. I’ll stand at the door if that will make you more comfortable. ”
“I will be more comfortable if I’m not worried about being surprised by someone,” she said.
“Gotcha.”
Grant took up a position by the door, and Shelly hesitated, feeling a little frightened, a little overwhelmed, and on the spot.
She almost smiled to herself. One benefit of working with people who had no concept of your hidden “gifts” was the fact that you were never expected to use them, and therefore you couldn’t fail.
She gave herself a fierce mental shake and sat at the foot of the bed. She concentrated on the man. On everything that she had heard about him. She knew that she would have loved to have known him when he was alive. Someone who talked; someone who didn’t fight.
She closed her eyes, mentally begging him to come to her, trying desperately to let him know that they were there to help, to find the truth, to bring justice to everyone involved.
Nothing …
Then, when her eyes were still closed, she suddenly felt something different. There was a sense of cold and, equally, a strange sense of warmth.
She opened her eyes just as she heard the words.
“I am here.”
She was so startled that she almost jumped. He was seated next to her, his gaze intense on her.
“And you know that I am here.”
“And you speak English!” she whispered, realizing that she had forgotten to worry about the language barrier.
He smiled. He was the man she had seen in the picture in the parlor. He was even wearing the same suit, or one that was very similar. He had a wonderful smile and an incredibly gentle look in his eyes.
Still kind …
As if even the fact that he had been murdered hadn’t changed the decency in the man or his care for his fellow human beings.
She smiled. “Sir, it is an honor to meet you,” she told him quietly.
“An honor to be seen and heard!” he told her.
“I … I feel no pain. I know that there is a beautiful path into the light, but … I can’t take that path.
Not yet. I have no idea what I could possibly do, but my fear for my family is great.
I can’t seem to make myself go where I know I long to be, where I will join those who went before me, and await those I love still here on earth.
But they deserve their time here, their growth. And I …”
“You’re afraid. So, sir, you don’t believe the man who confessed and killed himself was the man who killed you?” she asked.
“I know that it wasn’t,” he told her gravely.