A Thousand Tombs (14 page)

Once again, Vitelli didn’t answer when she knocked on his door. This time Gen didn’t ring the bell, just left the porch and hiked around to check if his car was in the garage. But before she got that far, she saw a wide-brimmed straw hat bobbing among the feathery fronds in the back yard. She opened the gate and went in.

“Mr. Vitelli, it’s Gen Delacourt.”

Vitelli looked over his shoulder, then rose and brushed the soil from his gardening gloves. He was in good shape for a man his age. He hadn’t struggled up from his knees and he had a pile of weeds and clippings in the middle of the path, ready to be bagged. It looked as if he’d been at it for a while.

While she made her way to his side, Gen was surrounded by deep green, healthy foliage. The garden was lush and vibrant. The paths that crisscrossed the space were heavily mulched with bark chips, and the soil was dark and rich.

It struck her that so many people in her life were gardeners. It must give them something other than fresh produce. Peace, maybe. Release from worry, if only for a while. Madison had told her once that it made her mind stop revving like a race car engine. How had the urge to nurture the earth passed her over? Maybe she should give it a try.

“The dirt,” she said. “It’s almost as black as tar.”

“I keep worms,” he replied. “I feed them manure from a friend in the country who has a cow. The plants reward me for my care.”

Despite her musings, Vitelli did not look anywhere near peaceful. His face was as ravaged as before. Sleep was still eluding him, it seemed, and once again she felt a pang of worry and wondered why.

“I can see they love it.” She looked around at the beds that teemed with vigorous plants. “Isn’t it late for tomatoes?”

“They produce until the first freeze. Would you like some to take home? I still have Romas and cherry tomatoes.
Molto delizioso
.”

“You might not feel so generous once I’ve told you why I’ve come.”

He gestured to a bench in a shaded niche. The arbor above was laced with vines, and once Gen was beneath it she saw that the stems were heavy with grapes. She’d never before seen so many plump clusters in one place, and her mouth watered just thinking of their sweetness.

“Mr. Vitelli, I’ve had a visit from Luca. He gave me the other three coins for safekeeping, and he told me about the debit card and your plan. So like I said before, I need to know what’s really going on. You tried to stage something. I want to know why. If you tell me, I can help.”

Vitelli looked away and shook his head. “I told the boy to stay quiet.”

“Why?”

“We have discussed this,” he replied. “Nothing is amiss, as I said. The Carabinieri have simply mistaken me for someone of lower moral standards.”

“You and I both know there’s more to it than that. What about the thugs who tied you up?”

He sighed. “Women in my country are not so curious.”

“You’re not in your country, Mr. Vitelli, you’re in mine. And the women in the United States want to know what’s going on around them. Look, somebody gave me a black eye. Then someone broke into my house and sliced up all my furniture. I’ve had a fight with a man I care about very much over all this, and I’m not going to let anything else happen. Luca told me about your deal, now I want you to tell me why you made it.”

“Why will you not leave it alone?”

“I left it alone and got a living room full of shredded upholstery for my stupidity. Luca said–”

“The boy exaggerates.” Vitelli turned on the bench and held her gaze. “He needed help. I gave him money, nothing more. It was harmless.”

They stared at one another for five beats.

“That’s not true. I saw you with Zuccaro.” Her voice softened as she worked her way through the evidence against him. “You know him, Mr. Vitelli. You’ve got some kind of deception working here. I know you gave Luca the coins and money and told him to go hide. It beats me how you’d think a destitute kid would keep that kind of an agreement and not run off and sell the goods behind your back. How did you know he’d stay true to his word? Why did you put the kid in harm’s way like that? None of it makes sense.”

Vitelli’s features had turned to granite. “I asked that you stay out of it.”

“I can’t.” She matched his expression and gave him more. “You put the coin back in my purse. You pulled me into it. I will not just stay quiet and stop wondering about anything and keep it until you give me a call and tell me I can bring them all back. You need help.”

Gen had never been the best at pulling off a bluff, but she decided to try. She stood and walked to the edge of the arbor.

“I’m taking the coins to the Carabinieri team. I want out of this before my life goes south any farther than it has. There’s nothing in it for me, Mr. Vitelli.”

“Please–” He held out a hand and she stopped. His voice held a tinge of desperation she hadn’t heard before. “Please wait. I care what you think. You heard the Carabinieri call me a
tombarolo
?”

“Yes.”

“A
tombarolo
is a tomb robber, a digger.”

“I know all about them. And you swear you aren’t one.”

“No my daughter, I am not. I am not
tombarolo
, and I am not
capo zona
, a regional chief who buys from the diggers.”

“And you don’t buy from the
capo zona
, either.”

“No.”

“What are you then?”

“I am loyal to the country of my birth.”

“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t tell me anything. I don’t believe that’s all there is to it. Luca said–”

“The boy lies!” Vitelli shot to his feet. It was the first time Gen had heard him raise his voice, and the strength behind his words was startling. Who was telling the truth? Luca had been dishonest from the beginning. Was he misleading her again, about the deal and Vitelli’s part in it?

“What is he lying about, Vincenzo? Which part? You have to tell me. Please tell me what’s going on.”

Vitelli dropped his head into his hands and sucked in a deep, raspy breath. “It is not the boy who is the problem,” he replied. “It is not the boy.”

Gen turned away and contemplated a fat grape. It glistened in the sunlight, despite the powdery white coating that obscured the color beneath, just as the red skin hid the pale pulp within.

People were like that, too.

Gen accompanied Oliver to the SFPD Central Station Friday afternoon, then stood by while he raised a ruckus about a pair of thieves who’d pinched his wallet on the street outside his condo. He described the men he’d passed in the hall, but kept mum about the real story.

Gen added that she may have caught sight of them as they were running away. The cops took their statements, then sat the pair down in front of a pile of mug books and left them alone.

Two hours later they came up for air with a name: Rudy Giampaolino. Gen knew him right away when she saw the photograph. It was the guy who’d intimidated Ralph at the restaurant. The same guy who slugged her. And according to Oliver, he was one of the two men who’d hurried past that night in the hall outside Gen’s place.

But they told the uniform who came to check that their search had been a bust. They’d come up empty-handed. The cop commiserated with their feigned disappointment, and told them someone would be in touch if any trace of Oliver’s wallet turned up.

Which was highly unlikely, since it was on his kitchen counter at the time.

When Gen got back to the office she booted up her laptop and Googled Giampaolino, then searched the county property records and the phone book and every database she could access.

She found an old arrest record for attempted assault, but no accompanying address, contact information, or conviction associated with the crime. Mack would be able to find more, she was sure of it.

Too bad that door was closed.

She was feeling sorry for herself and knew it wouldn’t get her anywhere but into a tub of ice cream, so she turned off the computer and locked up and went home. If she was going to indulge herself with a pity party, she might as well get comfortable.

* * *

Gen’s cell rang at seven o’clock that evening. She was lying on the couch reading a novel, and her hand clenched tight on the phone when she looked at the display.

It was Mack.

It had been a while, and she was beginning to believe that the last time they’d talked was really going to be the last time. Looks like she was wrong. She crossed her fingers and held them to her chest, then thumbed on the phone.

“Thanks for taking my call.” Mack’s voice sounded halfway between wretched and hopeful, an uncharacteristic combo for the man who could out-chill everyone she knew.

“Sure.” She kept her tone neutral, not certain where this was going. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m okay, thanks. How about you?”

Gen cycled between wariness and anticipation, and warned herself to just wait and see. “The same,” she said. “I’m okay.”

“I miss you.”

He probably took her silence for a bad sign, but she was merely processing. He had no way to know that, so when he spoke again she could tell whatever optimism he’d had was trickling away.

“I owe you an apology.” He swallowed audibly. “I’m sorry it took me so long to call, but I didn’t think you’d want to talk. I was going to leave a voice mail.”

She was surprised and not surprised. So Luca had told Mack his questionable story, and now Mack knew the kid hadn’t told the truth before and she’d been right.

Sort of right, anyway.

Still, she could have gone about presenting her side with a little more finesse. Any tact at all might have helped, considering she’d roared into him like an insensitive jerk.

“I won’t keep you.” Stoicism had crept into his tone. He’d taken her reticence as a message that they were over, and he probably figured that was it.

He was wrong.

“I miss you, too, Mack.”

He was quiet for two beats, then said, “I’m not proud of how I handled it.”

“I’m not proud either,” she replied. “We were both pigheaded.”

“That’s a good word.”

“I’ve been described that way before.”

They sounded like a pair of grammar school kids confessing on the playground. For some reason that made them both chuckle, and their laughter broke through the tension.

“Have dinner with me, Genny.” The words rushed out, as if Mack had kept them bottled up and the cork had just flown off.

She hesitated, thinking she wasn’t ready to rejoin the threesome at his house. This time he read her thoughts correctly.

“I mean I’d like to invite you out to dinner,” he continued. “Just you and me. I’d like to have that meal we were going to have that night at Tosca.”

She took in some air and reached for the right way to share her feelings. “The problem I’m having–” She stopped and weighed her words carefully.

“The problem I’m having is trust. This thing with Carla, and putting Luca first, and the way you talked to me like you were going to give me the boot.”

“I wasn’t,” he replied. “And the problem I’m having is that the first argument we have, you call a break. And there is no
thing
with Carla. So even though I admit I pushed back pretty hard, your reaction makes me worry that you’re going to do that every time. Walk away, I mean.”

“I was wrong. I can understand why you would feel that way,” Gen replied. “To tell you the truth, it doesn’t fill me with hope about my ability to feel secure in a relationship, either.”

He was quiet on the other end of the line. “I want a chance to change your mind. I’m not going to beg, Genny. But I mean it when I say I want this. You and me.”

She nodded to herself, remembering her thoughts the first time she’d seen the scars on his knees. She still didn’t know how he got them, but she knew it wasn’t from begging forgiveness. She imagined that saying what he’d just said must have been difficult. “Does this mean our break is over?”

“You tell me,” he replied. “You called it. It’s up to you to decide how you want it to be.”

“I want it to be over.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “So I’d love to have dinner with you.”

From the sound of his thready exhale, he’d been holding his breath. “Do you have anything going on tomorrow night? I know that’s against the dating rules, a guy isn’t supposed to assume a woman doesn’t have plans on a Saturday night. We can make it next weekend if you prefer.”

“Come off it, Mack, this is me you’re talking to. Tomorrow would be great.”

“Then I’ll come and pick you up.”

The thought of ripped couch cushions she hadn’t had time to do anything about stopped her cold. No sense letting him find out and worry, although if he came to her place it would set the stage to end dinner with a little romance. In private. That thought made her heart go pitty-pat.

Drat. Choices.

“No.” Her voice was firm. “It’s too far. Let’s choose a place close to the bridge and I’ll meet you there.”

“It’s not out of my way, Gen. I’d like to do it.”

Yeah, she’d like him to come here, too, and probably for the same reasons. “Another time. I’m going up to Healdsburg Sunday for Madison’s baby shower, so I’ll probably have to make it an early night anyway.”

A lame excuse, but it worked.

“All right. If that’s what you want.”

The truth was she was torn about what she wanted. But she also didn’t want to spend the start of their date – or the end of it, for that matter – having to talk about the break-in, then about Luca and the case and how she should get herself un-involved.

It was better this way.

But there was something related to Luca she needed help with.

“Mack, I need some information.”

“Sure. What about?”

“A guy named Rudy Giampaolino. I think maybe he owns the arm behind the fist that connected with my eye. I found an old assault charge, no conviction, no contact info. Maybe you can do better.”

“How’d you find out his name?”

“Umm, just lucky.”

“Okay. Spell it for me.”

“G-i-a-m-p-a-o-l-i-n-o.”

“I’ll check him out and tell you what I find tomorrow night.”

“Mack? Let’s make that the only shop talk.”

She could hear him smiling through the phone. “How about I just write down what I find and give that to you, and we don’t say a single word about it.”

“Works for me. I’d kind of like the evening to be just me and you. Nobody else in the room, if you know what I mean.”

“That would make me happy, too.”

“Let’s text about the restaurant and the time.”

“Perfect. Genny? I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

“Yeah, well, now that my black eye is gone, you won’t be looking at such a hot mess.”

He laughed.

“I’m glad you called,” she said.

“Me too.”