Montesereno. Benjamin W. Farley
I removed. Neither has an iota of identification.”
“I’m not surprised. We don’t need the car. Remove its tags and obliterate the VIN. Drive it off the Parkway, if you have to. Just ditch it. I’m coming back for Ruffini,” he glanced about, using his fake name, “probably around Tuesday. Just stand guard. We still don’t know how the mob found out. My God, it was almost instant! Watch him around the clock. I’d take him with us, but we’d only have to find another place first.”
“Why can’t we just impound the car? It’d make great evidence later.”
“That’d involve the locals, the sheriff’s department. No. Just get rid of the damn thing. OK!”
“Yes, sir! I savvy.”
* * *
Not until ten o’clock did the guests finally gather about the dining room table for their evening meal. Angelico had provided the wine from his own larder upstairs.
“I’m still not hungry,” said Stephanie, “yet I want something to eat.”
“Nervous energy,” smiled Donaldson. He had seated himself across from Dominetti who sat beside the girl. The marshal’s smile warmed his otherwise grey face, framed within his neck-length cropped blond hair. His eyes could not conceal his attraction to the girl. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Seventeen! I’ll be eighteen in April. What about you?”
“Twenty-nine! My first name’s Joel. Straight out of Tulsa. With a BS in chemistry from Oral Roberts. Been a marshal since 2002. Mainly in New York.”
“That’s right!” uttered Dominetti. “That’s where babyface,” he nodded toward Joel, “infiltrated the mob. They had him selling ‘coke’ in the Bronx schools. I was his contact. He had us fooled.” Dominetti set his fork down and raised his wine glass. “Now aren’t you glad I brought this vintage!” he said, as he turned the glass of translucent vino in his hand. “You couldn’t of asked for a sweeter wine to go with this pollo e pasta. No? Sì!”
Darby raised his glass. He wished Linda had joined them, but she rarely, if ever, compromised her role as the Villa’s hostess-server. The creamy white sauce on the pasta, which Linda had ladled over the crumb-encrusted breasts, could not have been richer. “I’ve never eaten this soon after a death, or murder, I should say. Strange, but I feel no guilt.”
“Yes! It’s like a wake, a vègila!” Dominetti smiled. “Too bad for them; perfect for us.”
“If you say so,” Darby rejoined.
“It was a close one, though,” Dominetti admitted, first refilling his own glass before pouring the professor’s to the brim. “Tomorrow, we must talk,” he stated with raspy seriousness. “There is something I must tell you in secret. No offense, my pretty one, or marshal,” he deferred to the girl and Donaldson. “Somethin’ just between the Father and me. Mr. Wagner did say you were a priest? Sì?”
“Yes, and a professor!” beamed Stephanie. “All in one guy.”
“The good don here’s just being gracious,” Darby smiled. “And I’m honored, sir, with the title, but the priest part was long ago.”
“No matter. Tonight we celebrate!” Dominetti raised his glass anew. “Tomorrow is different.” He looked down at his plate. His jubilant countenance had waned. He looked up at Darby, with something of an absence of mind. “I must retire. Please excuse me!” he announced, as he slid his chair back and stood up. “Give my compliments to the chef.”
Stephanie hopped to her feet to give the Italian a hug. “I’ll be going home in the morning, in case I miss you,” she kissed his neck. “Thank you for being so sweet.”
“My dear!” Angelico croaked in his harsh voice. “You are the sweetest of all.” He hugged her tightly with a tear in his eye. “May our Savior’s Mother watch over you all your life.”
Chapter 9
Darby watched as the black Nissan slowly crept down the pebbled driveway and came to a stop. It was still early morning, and the sunrise had yet to clear the oaks and Fraser firs opposite the Inn’s gateway. An elderly driver in a petite gray hat and white gloves peered through the windshield before cutting off the engine. Slowly she opened her door and crept out. She looked about and glanced up timorously at the Villa. Her hat sported a red band. In her hands she clutched a red purse. A long black woolen coat hung loosely about her frame. Darby estimated the cautious lady to be in her late seventies, if not older. Surely, this was Stephanie’s grandmother. Darby opened the front door to greet her.
“Mrs. Gay, I assume? I’m Darby Peterson, Mr. Nelson’s fill-in until he returns.”
“Yes! I heard you were coming. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” A thin smile formed before disappearing from her lips. “I suppose I’m early,” she added, as she climbed the steps, holding to the iron rail with both hands.
“Allow me to assist you,” Darby stated, as he stepped down to take her arm.
She looked up and smiled, but her expression was cheerless. “I trust the child is ready. I know I have to write the check first.”
“I can’t say about either, but please come in. I’ll inquire.”
Darby escorted her into the hallway and walked with her toward Garnett’s office. Linda, having heard the commotion, stepped from the dining room to greet her. “Please, Mrs. Gray, would you care for some tea or coffee while we tell Stephanie. She’s been expecting you since dawn. Couldn’t sleep, she said. Had breakfast with Dr. Peterson here at seven o’clock.”
“How nice!” the woman replied, as she held to Darby’s arm. “May I sit down in your office to write the check?”
“Of course, but if you wish to pay only half now, we can bill you for the remainder after November.”
“No!” the woman said with a stiffened lip. “I just hope Stephanie’s better and ready to come home.”
“I believe you’ll find her in good cheer,” Darby offered. “She’s a marvelous girl with a sound and inquisitive mind. It’s been a joy to know her.”
The woman let out a guarded breath. “We’ll see,” she answered indifferently. “That’s what they all say.”
Linda led the woman to the office while Darby took a seat in the living room and waited for Stephanie to come down. He could hear her footsteps in the stairwell, along with someone else’s. He rose and looked up. It was Donaldson. He was standing with Stephanie, with her suitcase and Tunstan’s painting in hand.
“Stephanie, I wish you all the luck in the world,” Donaldson reassured her, as he kissed her cheek.
The girl smiled as he walked her to the door. Just then her grandmother emerged from the office, somewhat started to see her “child” with the lean “cowboy.” She placed a hand over her mouth, as if to suppress her thoughts. Her arched eyebrows, however, conveyed her disapproval. She followed them to the door.
Suddenly, Stephanie turned and raced toward Darby. He was standing in the living room. She flung her arms about his neck and kissed his ear. “Thank you! Thank you a thousand times,” she muttered with tears in her eyes. “I will write you as soon as I can.” She stepped back and, looking admiringly into his face, turned and ran toward the door, down the steps, and out to the car. Joel was waiting with her items by the trunk.
The elderly woman released the trunk latch. Donaldson lifted the suitcase and painting and placed them inside; then closed the trunk and held the driver’s door, while Mrs. Gay seated herself; then he helped Stephanie. The grandmother started the car and stared back again at the Villa. Darby stepped out and walked down to stand beside the marshal. Both waved as Stephanie craned her neck to wave in return. The sun’s yellow morning bands had crept now into the trees and its bright aura blinded them as they watched the Nissan pass