From Mangia to Murder (A Sophia Mancini ~ Little Italy Mystery) Page 17

Eugene frowned. “With all due respect, Miss Mancini, it’s obvious you don’t have a clue how much work goes into creating a menu and dishes as exquisite as we serve at Vincenzo’s–-er, Eugene’s Ristorante.”

  “You’re telling me that you don’t have a single recipe written down anywhere?” she asked.

  “I tell you what, Miss Mancini, why don’t you come any day for lunch after we reopen, and I’ll prepare something special for you from scratch. Something just for you, I guarantee you’ll never taste anything better.”

  She’d pass. His words were polite enough, but it sounded like she was the last person he wanted in his new restaurant.

  Andrea chose that moment to ask Eugene a detailed question about the menu. Sophia watched with interest as Eugene’s manner grew less agitated and more animated. There was no question how passionate he was about cooking and the restaurant. To what end though? Where would Eugene stop to protect his beloved restaurant? Sophia wished she knew.

  ***

  An hour later, her mission accomplished now that Andrea was Eugene’s new kitchen assistant, Sophia unlocked the front door of her home and looked forward to a quiet evening with plenty of time alone to think everything through.

  “Nice of you to show up.”

  Sophia sighed. She knew the tone of voice. Her brother was in a mood. Angelo was generally the most easy-going person she knew, but his occasional bad mood was never pleasant. His voice came from the kitchen--the same kitchen where she desperately wanted to brew a pot of tea. There was nothing for it but to face his wrath or go thirsty.

  “Hi, Angelo.” Sophia tossed her handbag onto the counter and slipped her shoes off. She took her time washing her hands and filling the tea kettle. “Where are Grandpa and Luciano?”

  “Practicing the accordion.” His voice was terse.

  Did this foul mood mean he’d found out that Frankie had fired them yesterday?

  “I’ve got a stack of phone messages for you.”

  Sophia got out two cups and poured a titch of cream into them. “Anything interesting?”

  Angelo picked up several small pieces of paper they kept by the telephone for messages. He sorted through them. “Depends on how you define interesting.”

  “I’ll look through them in a minute.”

  “And deprive me of the pleasure of acting like your secretary? Certainly not.” Angelo tapped the message slips on table. “I’ve been sitting here all afternoon, tied to the phone, and only able to go as far as this cord would stretch while people kept trying to reach you. At least let me read them to you.”

  Sophia glanced up at the kitchen wall clock. He sounded terribly long-suffering for such a short period of time, but she’d hear him out. Thankfully this overly-dramatic, whiney side to his nature rarely showed itself.

  “Let me see,” he shuffled through the messages. “First we have a message from the Harrison Heights Police Department. It seems Captain McIntyre wants to see you in his office as soon as you’re able to fit him into your busy schedule.”

  Sophia tried not to smile at the sarcasm in Angelo’s voice. “Go on.”

  “Dr. Casterinni called with the information on the poison that knocked Mr. DiMuccio out of commission. We also have a call from a nurse on behalf of Mr. DiMuccio. Seems he wants to know how his kitten is holding up without him.”

  Sophia grinned, she couldn’t help it. “I assume you reassured him that Precious is just that, and we’re taking good of her.”

  Angelo leveled a cross look at her. “I am capable of that much, yes. You also received a call from Bagatelli Brothers who said to tell you that they had the jacket you phoned them about.”

  “Perfect.” That meant Mooch had been honest with her, and the bloodstained jacket at the police station was not his. That was the best news she’d had all day.

  “I don’t see what’s so perfect about it.”

  “What’s wrong, Ang? This isn’t like you to be so....” her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to use the wrong word and make things worse.

  “Let’s stick to the messages, shall we? I have one from Maria Acino who called about your shopping trip. Apparently she thinks you need something new to wear to impress your new beau.” He held up his hand when she started to protest. “Don’t worry, I don’t even want to know.” He flipped through a few more messages. “Stella called to tell you that Vincenzo’s funeral Mass is tomorrow afternoon, which is fortunate that you’ll be able to fit your shopping trip with the first Mrs. Moretti into your busy schedule, and still not miss the funeral.”

  Sophia got up to turn off the tea kettle. She filled the pot with steaming water, and took the tea cups to the table. She looked around the kitchen. She really needed cookies or something sweet if she was going to have to listen to more of her brother’s grousing.

  “Susamiellis are in the bakery box on the counter,” Angelo supplied.

  “You know me so well.” Sophia added some to a plate and set it between them. “Okay, are we almost done?”

  “No. One more message. Frankie Vidoni called.” Angelo sat back and crossed his arms.

  Sophia reached for a cookie and dunked it in her tea before taking a bit. Now they were finally getting somewhere.

  “It seems that our esteemed community member and first real client, Mr. Vidoni, wanted to tell you that returning the balance of his retainer wasn’t necessary.” Angelo raised an eyebrow, his expression challenging. “Any chance you could decode that for your clueless brother?”

  Sophia played with her cookie for a long moment, and then took a sip of tea. She couldn’t feel worse. She’d been so wrapped up in her investigation that she hadn’t given Angelo the respect he deserved.

  She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Ang. Really, I am. I was going to tell you.”

  “Tell me what? That you quit the case without consulting me?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Look, Sophia, I’m scared witless that my son will be taken away from me. Mrs. Featherstone shows up every damn day to look over my shoulder.”

  “You saw her today?”

  Angelo nodded. “When we got back from the ball game she was waiting here. She asked where you were, and Luciano told her you were probably in jail again.”

  She wanted to laugh, but stopped herself. Angelo was in no laughing mood.

  “God help me, sis, I miss my wife so much it hurts to even breathe.” He buried his face in his hands for a moment. When he raised his head and looked at her, Sophia clearly saw the turmoil in his eyes. “And now I’ve got no idea where this case stands. My father-in-law called to gloat about taking my son away soon. And you, the person I trust most in this world, isn’t bothering to tell me what the hell is going on with our client.”

  She hated the sadness and worry she saw when she looked at him. She wasn’t going to add any more. Any more than she had to.

  “What happened with Frankie?” he asked.

  “He fired us.”

  Angelo stared at her. “Why? What did you do?”

  She opened her mouth to argue that it wasn’t her fault but actually it was. She bit her lip. “Frankie felt that I crossed a line he found unacceptable.”

  “What line?” Angelo demanded.

  “I indirectly accused him of being involved in Vincenzo’s murder.”

  “To his face?” Angelo sounded incredulous.

  She nodded.

  “Sophia, I swear sometimes I don’t know if you are brave or just plain stupid to do the things you do.” He shook his head. “We’re probably lucky all he did was fire us.”

  Us. Sophia smiled. She always felt reassured when her brother used that word. It meant all was well between them.

  “So, let me guess. You have a plan to find out if you’re right?” Angelo asked.

  Sophia smiled. “Exactly. Want to hear about it?”

  Angelo shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Pass me a susamielli and start talking.”

  Chapter Nineteen

&nbs
p; Shopping with Maria Acino turned out to be pure torture. An hour into trying on clothes that were high in price and short on fabric, Sophia longed to bang her head against the dressing room wall. She couldn’t bear squeezing into one more frock so revealing it would make her grandfather blush and Sister Agnes faint.

  “Try this,” Maria sang out, her voice revealing her delight in their fashion parade. She thrust aside the curtain, and flung yet another pink something at Sophia. “Good heavens, I’ve never seen anyone change clothes as slowly as you do.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have your extensive experience disrobing,” Sophia shot back.

  She was getting nowhere with questioning Maria, although it shouldn’t have surprised her. Maria was bustling about the shops looking for dresses barely the size of a handkerchief, while she was stuck in the dressing room.

  “Sophia,” Maria stood with the curtain drawn aside, a frown on her face. “You cannot just stand there in your slip and think about how the clothes will look on you. What is the matter with you?”

  Sophia picked a dress up off the chair and held it up to her body, more out of modesty than curiosity as to how it might look on her. “I’m having fun, honestly. I just can’t find anything that is me.”

  Maria grinned. “Isn’t that the whole point, sweetie? We’re looking for something that will help you catch a captain.”

  Sophia grabbed the dressing room curtain and yanked it shut, ignoring Maria’s laughter. If word got back to Captain McIntyre that she was sweet on him she’d die--just die.

  She wanted Maria to talk about men, specifically her first husband, so this was a road they needed to go down. She reached for her own blouse and skirt and hurried into them.

  “We’re not done,” Maria protested when Sophia stepped out of the dressing room. “Which ones are you going to buy?”

  Sophia held up a dark green shirtwaist dress with three-quarter length sleeves.

  Maria shook her head adamantly.

  “It’s perfect for Vincenzo’s funeral,” Sophia argued.

  “Oh, that.”

  “What are you wearing to the funeral?”

  Maria’s eyebrows rose. “I’m not going.”

  “I thought you knew Vincenzo fairly well?” Sophia asked. Being legally married to a man and knowing him in the biblical sense counted as fairly well in her book.

  “I don’t know if anyone really knew Vincenzo well,” Maria said.

  “Won’t Frankie expect you to be there?”

  Maria thought for a long moment, her face unreadable.

  “I suppose I’ll go, out of respect for Frankie’s wishes,” Maria finally said. “Now, are you sure that dress is all you want?”

  Sophia held up the hanger and examined the dress again. It was the only thing in the shop that was within her budget, and the least bit respectable. She nodded. “Well, this and lunch.” She was determined to corner Maria and talk about her marriage to Vincenzo. A dress shop wasn’t the place to do it. She doubted Maria could focus with so much lace and so many frills distracting her. “Let me pay for this and we’ll go to Michelangelo’s for pizza.”

  Maria nodded reluctantly. “I suppose that dress is a start.”

  “It is, and you were a wonderful help,” Sophia assured her. “I want to sit and talk over lunch, because I’ve got so many questions about men. You know so much that I don’t.”

  Maria brightened. “Oh, that sounds fun. I could talk about men all day. The only problem is knowing where to start.”

  “Don’t worry. I know just what I want to ask.”

  They would start with questions about Maria’s first husband.

  ***

  “So, Maria, tell me everything I need to know about marriage,” Sophia said once they were settled in a booth in the back of Michelangelo’s. She smiled at the waitress as she accepted a menu.

  Her lunch companion laughed. “Why, Sophia Mancini, I had no idea you moved so fast. Here I thought you were just trying to catch the police captain’s eye, and your mind is already on marriage.”

  Sophia’s mind was most definitely on marriage. But not her own. “Tell me about your first husband,” Sophia prompted her.

  Maria frowned, more of a perplexed expression than an angry one. “Alberto Tomosolli? I swear that was ages ago, Sophia. Why would you want to know anything about him?”

  “Alberto was your first husband?”

  “Who have you been talking to?” Maria set down her coffee cup with a bit more force than necessary. “You’ve been talking to Al’s kids haven’t you? They always hated me. They thought I was only after their father’s money, and that was not true. Not that I didn’t appreciate it, you know. I mean, I was young--”

  “I’m not asking about Al.” Sophia decided to stop this runaway train of a story because she didn’t care about Alberto Tomosolli. She cared about Maria’s real first marriage. The one she seemed to have forgotten about. Conveniently forgotten about considering the man was to be buried in a few hours. “I wanted to know about your first husband.”

  “But Alberto was my first....” Maria’s words trailed off. Her eyes remained fixed on Sophia’s, her expression uncertain. She remained quiet for a long moment. “What are you implying?”

  Sophia sipped her coffee. “I’m not implying anything. I know who your first husband was, and it wasn’t Al Tomosolli.”

  Maria lifted a heavily ringed hand to cover her eyes. The bracelets on her left wrist jingled merrily together as she did so. The jaunty, happy sound contrasted sharply with Maria’s suddenly weary and guarded expression.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Maria finally said.

  “Talk to me, Maria.”

  Maria narrowed her eyes. “Why should I? This has all been a set up, hasn’t it? The shopping trip? The lunch out? You’re just after me.”

  “No, I’m not after you. I’m after the truth.”

  The waitress chose that moment to interrupt them. She set a pizza pillar in the middle of the table and refilled their coffee. “Your lunch will be right out, ladies.”

  Maria waved away the suggestion with a flick of her wrist. “I can’t eat now. Don’t bring that pizza anywhere near me.”

  The waitress turned to Sophia, a startled expression on her face. “What about you, Ma’am? Can you eat?”

  Of course she could. Why on earth Maria couldn’t handle a personal conversation, however difficult, and a slice of pizza at the same time, Sophia couldn’t fathom.

  “If you’d be good enough to box it, we’ll take it with us, thank you. But we’d like more coffee.” She gave Maria a pointed look. “We’re not done talking.”

  As soon as their cups were refilled, Sophia leaned closer and lowered her voice, hoping to lull Maria into a sense of confidence.

  “The truth is what I want to hear, Maria. I don’t have an agenda, and I’m not trying to set you up. But that doesn’t mean that someone else out there isn’t going to try to pin Vincenzo’s murder on you.” Sophia paused to let her words sink in. Judging by the growing fear she saw in Maria’s eyes, her words were having the effect she wanted. “After all, if I can find out about your marriage to Vincenzo, then someone else will be able to as well. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Maria leaned forward. “Did the police captain send you to talk to me?”

  Sophia shook her head. “No, I’m not working with the police. I don’t know if Captain McIntyre even knows. Yet.”

  “You’re working for Frankie, aren’t you?”

  Sophia hesitated. Maria had been less than forthcoming about Vincenzo being her first husband. Maria’s lie had been one of omission. So would be hers.

  “It’s not Frankie we need to talk about now. It’s Vincenzo. Tell me how long you two were married.”

  Maria stirred her coffee without looking at Sophia, which was maddening. Sophia wanted to see what emotions Maria was feeling. Was it a murderous anger, or fear? Guilt or sadness?

  “We couldn’t find a divorce decree,”
Sophia prodded her.

  Maria’s head snapped up. “That’s because that rotten, lying bastard didn’t file for divorce.” She shoved her coffee cup away, spilling the dark liquid on the white tablecloth. She grabbed her napkin and rubbed at the spot.

  “Leave it, Maria.” Sophia put the sugar bowl on top of the coffee stain. “You’re telling me you thought Vincenzo filed for divorce, but he never actually did? Is that right?”

  Maria nodded.

  Sophia’s eyes widened. “You’ve been married to Vincenzo all this time?”

  “Well, what did you think, Sherlock?” Maria snapped. “When you couldn’t find the divorce certificate, what did you assume?”

  “That you’d divorced in Las Vegas or someplace far away from Harrison Heights.” Sophia sat back and rubbed her temples. “So Stella was never actually married to Vincenzo. She doesn’t have a clue, does she?”

  Maria shook her head. “No.”

  “Then your two other marriages were--”

  “Not really marriages,” Maria supplied. Tears pooled in her eyes but she waved her hands as if to warn them not to fall. “I have a marriage certificate from my wedding with Alberto. And, of course, I have a death certificate after he fell out of the window, which then allowed me to marry Paulie. And then I have his death certificate too after he tumbled out of the boat. I can’t help it if men keep falling for me, can I?”

  Sophia didn’t laugh at Maria’s pathetic attempt at humor. Her mind was whirling.

  “How did you manage to obtain a marriage license for your wedding to Alberto if you couldn’t provide a divorce certificate from your first marriage?”

  Maria actually blushed. This time Sophia was sure of it. It wasn’t the rouge.

  “I might have forgotten to mention it when Al and I applied for our marriage license.”

  “Convenient,” Sophia said. “But illegal.”

  “I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong except perhaps expediting my marriage. I really believed I was divorced and that Vincenzo was just being a nightmare about not giving me proof we were divorced.”

  “Didn’t you keep a copy of the divorce papers?”

  Maria rolled her eyes. “No, Vincenzo stuck some papers under my nose, demanded I sign them, and he had the nerve to ask me for money to pay a lawyer. When I tried to get a copy, he avoided me after that until I gave up.”