The Body in the Piazza (20 page)

Damn, Sky is coming to soak up some rays. Wish I looked this good in a bikini. Must remember to ask Tom what they were doing in the shed. Cannot believe have not done so yet. Cannot believe other more important things keep getting in the way. Husband possibly fooling around should shove all else aside.

F
aith closed the book and tucked it into her bag. To keep writing seemed a little antisocial, and besides, she had some questions for the golden girl from the Golden State.

“Beautiful day,” Faith said. Start slow.

“Every day has been. We're so lucky.”

Sky sat in the chaise next to Faith and stretched her extremely shapely legs out. Looking at her face, though, Faith thought that the woman didn't look as if she was feeling lucky. She looked tense, almost fearful. It was the same expression Faith had noted earlier. And glancing at her hands, Faith saw that Sky had been picking at her cuticles—definitely not a pageant queen habit.

“As you know, we're friends of the Rossis and I hope you've been enjoying the week so far,” Faith said. “They want suggestions from us, especially as we're their first group, about things they can do to make Cucina della Rossi better.”

“I can't imagine how.” The woman sounded sincere. “They seem to have thought of everything. The place is great. Our room is extremely comfortable, and we have a gorgeous view. I wasn't sure about a cooking class, but Jack is such a foodie. Now I'm thankful he pushed. I'll definitely use what I've learned.”

“I'm glad. That's what I think, too, but I'm biased. After the course will you be going back to Rome or on to someplace else?”

Sky shook her head. “We could only snatch this week. I'm excited to go to Montepulciano today because we'll be seeing more of Italy, but mostly because I'm a huge fan of
Twilight
—the books and the movies.”

Faith had heard of the series by Stephenie Meyer—you'd had to have been living in a cave not to, although that might have been an appropriate location, given the books' vampire and werewolf characters. She knew that although they were YAs, adults were also big fans of the romantic series—true love with more than a little horror thrown in. But she had no idea what they had to do with Montepulciano.

“I haven't read them, but I thought the books took place in Washington State,” she said.

“Mainly, but scenes in
Twilight Saga: New Moon
were filmed in Montepulciano. It was supposed to be Volterra. I don't know why they couldn't shoot there, but anyway there's an evil vampire coven called the Volturi who live there, and Bella, that's the human girl who becomes a vampire to be with the vampire she loves, Edward, has to go there to stop Edward from killing himself, because he thinks she's dead. Really dead. It's before she becomes a vampire. Oh, you just have to read the books. Anyway, when I heard we'd be going to the actual spot where they filmed, I was thrilled.”

The woman shed ten years as she gushed, and Faith glimpsed the teen she must have been. Then she put her grown-up face back on, and once more Faith wondered what could be worrying Sky. She was picking at her nails and looking toward the house as if she was expecting someone. Jack? Tom?

“I'm going to get ready. They want to leave at nine,” Faith said. “Francesca is packing a picnic, and we'll buy wine, the famous Montepulciano Vino Nobile, when we get there for tonight's dinner.”

“Do you think she needs any help?” Sky asked, clearly hoping for an answer in the negative.

“Mario is there, and she's probably finished by now. If she does, I'll let you know, but I'm sure she's fine.”

When she got inside, Faith looked back out. Sky was standing up, peering anxiously at the house. She was definitely waiting for someone.

“W
e know the way to Montepulciano,” Constance had said firmly before they got in their car and drove off. No one had shed any tears. Sky and Terry Russo, another
Twilight
fan, were sitting next to each other in the van. Faith could hear snatches of their conversation—“I always liked Jacob” and “Don't worry, honey, childbirth isn't like that.” This last remark from Terry was truly puzzling, and Faith made a note to ask the Millers' daughter, Samantha, to explain the reference. She'd gone through a Bella phase.

That left Len and Jack, who seemed to be bonding over golf. Olivia was seated with Luke across from the Culvers, who were uncharacteristically quiet. Olivia and Luke were getting along quite nicely. Faith wished she could hear what they were talking about so intently. He was much older, but May/December, or rather
maggio/dicembre,
romances had been known to work out well. Look at Carlo Ponti and Sophia Loren. Luke was leaning close to Olivia, but then he may just be wanting to see out the window better.

Everyone was accounted for, which left Tom and Faith herself. She'd deliberately picked the seats in the rear. It was a long ride, and he'd have plenty of time to explain himself.

Except he didn't, or rather wouldn't.

She'd spoken very calmly, merely stating a fact.

“I was looking out our window yesterday morning and saw Sky and you coming out of the shed in the garden. Or to be more precise, she came out first and then you did.”

He hadn't responded and she'd ramped things up—“Looking for a rake? A shovel maybe?”

This had done it. Even more calmly, he'd answered, “I'm sorry, but I can't share this with you.”

“You mean it's one of those times?”

“One of those times” meant that someone had told something to Tom as the Reverend Thomas Fairchild. It was one of the drawbacks to being married to a man of the cloth. You never got to hear the good stuff.

“Let's enjoy the day, okay?” he said.

Which translated as “Subject Closed.”

Faith wished she'd brought something to read. Something about vampires maybe.

A
s soon as they pulled into the Montepulciano information center's parking lot, Faith quickly made her way off the van. She'd had a lot of coffee for breakfast, and it had been a long trip. She hoped the office would have a restroom or would direct her to one close by.

“Be right back,” she called to Tom over her shoulder.

There was no one at the desk and she didn't see any signs indicating a lavatory. The only occupants were a couple examining a rack of postcards, which reminded her that she had to mail the ones she'd written to various people, especially the kids. A slight pang of guilt hit as she realized Ben and Amy had been far from her thoughts of late, but it passed as she reminded herself that if anything were wrong, she'd have heard. It was also unlikely that her two children, very much wrapped up in their own lives, were overly missing their parents.

The couple was speaking a language she didn't know. It sounded like Italian, but she recognized some French words. A dialect? She was about to leave—there must be portable toilets outside, since no facilities were evident here—when the man turned around and she realized it was Roderick Nashe, with Constance by his side.

“Hi. We just pulled in and I was looking for a restroom. I didn't know you spoke, what was that, some kind of Italian?”

If looks could freeze, Faith would have instantly become a Popsicle. “When I was a girl”—Constance seemed to be trying out for the role of Miss Jean Brodie—“it was considered impolite to eavesdrop. What you may have heard was our own patois, a little pet language. There is a restroom that you enter from outside. The key is on the desk, clearly marked. It is cleaner than one would have expected. Come, Roderick. We will join the others.”

The woman really is insufferable, Faith thought as she grabbed the key and followed them outdoors. And again she wondered why they had signed up for the course when they clearly preferred to go off on their own, although they wouldn't want to skip this. The Rossis had arranged a Vino Nobile tasting at Contucci Cantina right on the Piazza Grande in the Palazzo Contucci. Faith was pretty sure Roderick would never turn down a free glass of anything bibulous, and Constance no doubt wanted to be able to boast that she'd visited parts of the Renaissance building not normally on view to the public, which the Rossis had arranged.

As Faith rejoined the group, Gianni was speaking. “It's a short walk to where we'll be having our picnic. Francesca will lead some of you, and I'll lead the rest. We'll be passing by the church of Sant'Agnese, which you may want to visit later to see the Simone Martini Madonna.”

Feeling vaguely like a nursery school class, as if she should be holding on to a clothesline, Faith trailed after Gianni on the narrow sidewalk as typical Italian traffic—tiny cars, scooters, bicycles, trucks, buses—went speeding by. It was another perfect day. Not a cloud in the sky and not too hot. They passed a combination Upim—the very affordable department store chain—and Conad grocery. Maybe she'd be able to lure Tom in with the promise of hardware. He seemed to be able to spend hours contemplating lightbulbs, nails, screws, and especially tools at Home Depot, so an Italian version would be a treat. She could check out the food and maybe find fennel pollen or some other spices to take back.

Gianni opened a weather-beaten wooden door in a high brick wall, and suddenly they were transported into a
giardino segreto
. You would never have suspected a paradise of lush grass, flowering shrubs, and trees was hidden behind the walls, which muffled the sounds of the outside world. Birds were chirping, bees humming, a few butterflies fluttered prettily. Faith half expected them to turn into Disney-like creations and start singing aloud.

“This house and garden belong to a relative of Francesca's father,” Gianni explained. “And they are happy for us to use it. Unfortunately they are not able to welcome you today, as they had to be somewhere else, but please come in, and while we eat we can talk a little about Montepulciano. We have picked it as one of our destinations not because of this nice spot for a picnic, although that may be reason enough, but because it has an interesting history and beautiful buildings. The center is also closed to cars, so you can stroll and imagine what it was like before the invention of these useful but unattractive necessities.”

Everyone pitched in to spread the ground cloths, and Faith noticed both she and Francesca seemed to be making sure no snakes were slithering underneath. Faith immediately decided to get Tom to share so she could taste both the mortadella,
finocchiona,
and pecorino panino and the one with roasted eggplant, zucchini, and
robiola
. She'd helped Francesca and Mario finish making them, as well as others with tempting salamis and one featuring huge portabella mushrooms. There were also an assortment of olives, a salad with tiny, thinly sliced artichokes, and another with tomatoes and basil. Mario had fetched the fresh rolls from the village early that morning. To go along with the meal, Francesca had packed bottles of sparkling and still water, wine for those who wished, and to finish, fresh fruit and almond biscotti.

Half-reclining in the fashion of the ancient Romans, Tom said, “Tell us about Montepulciano, then. It's so much fun to say.” He repeated the name of the town, clearly enjoying the lilting syllables.

Gianni grinned. “Like everywhere else around here, the Etruscans were the first inhabitants, or I should say the first we know for sure. One of the things you may have time to explore are the underground tunnels, some of which connect to grottoes that were Etruscan tombs. The tunnels once were a network among the palazzos and other buildings. Now they are for the wine, and also in some, you'll see cheeses aging.

“We'll go into town by way of the Porta al Prato near where we parked and where we'll meet later. Here you will see the first sign of the Medicis—their crest cut into the stone. You always know the Medici one. It has a varying number of balls—seven during Cosimo's time. When painted, they are red on gold, and I leave it to you to decide what they mean. There are theories about what they represent ranging from dents in a shield to pawnbroker's coins and also the name itself, ‘Medici,' which translates as ‘doctors,' their ancient profession. The balls in that case are thought to be cupping glasses. You know them?”

“They were used both in the United States and England, too, and even now as an alternative medical treatment,” Hattie Culver said. “Although I think they are famous for doing more harm than good, burning the patients or causing them to bleed to death.” She shuddered.

“There are also some ruder interpretations of the Medici balls,” Luke interjected. “But I think that you should skip that part, Gianni.”

Everyone laughed and Gianni continued with a quick rundown of Montepulciano's greatest hits, urging them not to miss the interior of the duomo with its beautiful triptych by Bartolo and the famous well, so often photographed opposite the cathedral on the Piazza Grande with again the Medici arms flanked by Florentine lions and Poliziano griffins, symbol of the famous philosopher and tutor to the Medici children. Faith thought it was rather lovely that there should have been a tribute to a teacher, the equivalent of an edifice on Aleford's green honoring someone like Mrs. Fine, a longtime middle school teacher, adored by students, parents, and colleagues alike.

It was so pleasant in the garden that everyone moved slowly, putting some of the food away and then sitting back down to eat one more fig or munch one more biscotti. Faith looked at the bucolic scene. It could have been from any number of Italian films—a rustic feast—and like those films there was much going on beneath the jovial surface. Who was trying to destroy the Rossis' business—since what else could be behind an act like this morning's
serpi
? Someone here, or someone creeping in from the village or elsewhere? In Florence there had been commedia dell'arte masked street performers, and for an instant she pictured the people in front of her hiding behind those intricately sculpted disguises. Masks. Jack was concealing something, so was Sky. The Russos most likely their own misery. Olivia? Many possibilities. Luke as well. The Nashes? The only couple that seemed to be exactly what they were was the aunt/niece one. Except there was that odd remark she'd overheard in Rome . . . Faith's head was spinning, and she moved over closer to Tom. Here was certainty. Usually.