Page 16 of The Rainbow Recipe
“Right.” She headed back up the steps.
With a sigh of exasperation, he pointed down the long hilly lane. “That drive is private land. The drive back to Leo’s place is all private. You only need to go a mile on public roads. Surely you can manage that without attracting the attention of thepolizia.There isn’t time to bring the Fiat up to sixty.” He angled the crutch and himself into the front seat of the midget car his mother used for running around town. It was never an easy fit.
“For all I know, they’re waiting at the bottom of the hill to extradite me for murder.” Looking like a disgruntled brown mouse in her all brown attire, she slid behind the wheel without effort.
“Did you think you’d hide by blending in with the dirt?” He cast her outfit a disparaging glance. Mistake. It fit all her curves much too well.
Intent on learning the gears, she didn’t even waste a glance to glare at him.
That unsettled him. Since childhood, as the only son and heir, he’d been treated like a prince. Since adolescence, women fawned over him. He was unaccustomed to being ignored. “They wouldn’t have let you out of the country if they thought Katherine was murdered. I can read. Rumors are not indictable offenses.”
“The police aren’t publicly admitting that she was murdered. The newspapers know nothing. ButIknow there is a killer on the loose, and he’s smart or experienced enough to get away with it. That isnota good feeling. My family could be next. How many others may he have killed?” She checked the car’s instruments, then turned on the ignition and pushed all the buttons and gears.
Dante had had time to think about her declaration of reading minds. His family had its fair share of known eccentrics. None of them read minds, although some possessed freaky knowledge that was almost as good. But reading minds...would drive any sane person insane. Whatever it was she thought she knew, it couldn’t be the mind of a murderer.
“Just because you think Katherine was afraid, doesn’t lessen the chance of heart attack. Stress can kill. Or she had some underlying condition.” He buckled in and pushed the seat back as far as it would go as the car jerked into motion.
“Believe whatever you like. I’m not waiting for our abysmally slow law enforcement system to find out she was killed by her limoncello. That stuff could be used as paint stripper and would eat any signs of poison as far as I’m concerned. I can’t imagine why it doesn’t strip taste buds.”
Dante thought limoncello too sweet, but to each their own. “Be that as it may, Lucia’s farm has nothing to do with her half-sister’s death. Leo is hanging on by the skin of his teeth. We can check to see if he’s heard from Lucia recently, but I don’t see anywhere else you can take your strange investigation.”
Although if she actually read minds...No, that was still ridiculous and useless in this case. Leo was a farmer, nothing more.
“Lucia doesn’t live here?” she asked with a frown.
“Not for years.”
She pondered that while waiting for directions once they reached the bottom of the hill. Despite the hellish ride she’d submitted him to the last time he’d been in her company, this one was uneventful. It was almost restful not having his mother nattering a mile a minute. He adored his mother and owed her more than he could repay, but he was not accustomed to idle prattle. On a dig, he gave orders. When seeking funds and giving presentations, he lectured and talked business. Time mattered.
Which presented a problem if he wanted to chat up a woman.
He directed her down the rutted lane to Leo’s sprawling farmhouse. Like the villa, it was well past its glory days. Leo had no more funds than Dante did to restore his home. The stucco peeled. The roof drooped. And chickens occupied the dirt yard.
“Not the glamorous image La Bella Gente portrays,” his companion said dryly.
“I looked up their website last night. Those are stock photos from Tuscany. This is Umbria. I don’t think they paid a photographer for original images. The ones of Vincent and his family are photo-shopped onto the background.” He opened the car door after she parked where he indicated. Prying himself out of this rolling tin can was going to hurt.
It didn’t hurt as much as seeing those photos of a smiling Lucia. She’d looked happy against the pristine background of a farm Dante couldn’t give her.
Priscilla came around and offered her shoulder so he could stand. Her head barely reached past his shoulder, but she was sturdier than she looked. With her aid and the crutch, he managed not to jar his leg too badly.
“Thanks,” he offered grudgingly as Leo emerged from the shed.
Dante’s neighbor wasn’t much taller than Priscilla, but he was muscular and good looking enough to attract his share of women. Dante waited for his guest to gravitate to Leo’s side, but the witchy female had already taken off to examine the olive trees. This late in the season, the olives had already been harvested.
“What’s going on?” Leo whispered. “I got your message but didn’t expect you back here anytime soon. How’s the leg?”
“I’ll need your cart for getting around, but it’s fine. Did you hire those men I recommended for cleaning out the tunnel?” Dante swung the crutch and ambled in Priscilla’s direction.
Out here in the morning sun, he couldn’t call her a she-devil anymore. The silver accents in her dark frizz were real, not an affectation. Without the punk gel, she almost looked approachable. And she hadn’t said anything obnoxious in twenty-four hours or more. In fact, she’d actually been helpful a time or two. He’d remain wary, but that was second nature for him.
“I’d rather have the crew planting and pruning,” Leo grumbled, loping towards the shed where he kept his cart. “Back in a moment.”
Priscilla turned, her face its usual impassive. “He speaks English.”
Dante shrugged. “Lucia’s father was Italian but spoke English. Her mother was English. Leo spent a lot of time here growing up, helping out. He had to learn. Many Italians speak English. It’s Americans who are ignorant of other languages.”
She nodded, whether in acceptance, agreement, or just to say she heard, he couldn’t say.
