“Lots of bottles. Beer bottles. Root beer bottles. Coke bottles. Wine bottles. Empty. Full. With spiders or without. But no bottle of wine made by Massimo Bruno.” Chips flew. Players folded or stuck. Noah laid down his hand.
Amid many groans, he scraped the pot out of the center of the table and sorted the chips.
Brooke collected the cards and shuffled like a Las Vegas dealer. “Five-card draw, jacks or better to open.”
Noah grinned at her. “Fours, whores, and one-eyed jacks wild?”
“We’re playing poker, not Go Fish,” she said, and dealt.
Brooke was serious about her poker.
Rafe pulled in his cards. “You could use some help, Noah. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“I’ve only got about a couple of hundred more feet to go. You’re welcome to come behind me and check to see if I’ve missed anything, but frankly, I’ve done a thorough search.” Noah wouldn’t have trusted this task to anyone else.
“Where else would your grandfather have hidden the bottle?” DuPey asked.
All cards were slapped, facedown, on the table. Everyone leaned forward, intense and still.
Chapter 27
“I still say the bottle is in the house.” Brooke waved a hand around her.
“We’ve searched. And searched. Everywhere.” Rafe’s blue eyes burned with ferocity. “There’s nothing.”
“What if he buried it in the yard?” DuPey asked. “That would be cool and dark.”
“If he buried it, it could be buried anywhere,” Eli said.
“He left a note in the cubbyhole where the wine was stored,” Chloë reminded them.
“He had lousy handwriting, especially at the end. Maybe we’re reading it wrong.” Noah liked the idea that Nonno had fooled them so easily—except that it got them nowhere.
“It’s clear enough.” Rafe reached across and ruffled Noah’s hair. “It says, ‘Up.’ ”
Noah yanked his head away. “What’s it say if you turn it upside down?”
Chloë had apparently already thought of that, for she said promptly, “ ‘dn.’ ”
“Down?” Brooke sat up straight.
“That doesn’t help,” Chloë said patiently. “That gets us back to—did he bury it somewhere?”
“If he did, we’re screwed. He’s been gone nine years.” Rafe glanced worriedly at his grandmother. He continued, “Any sign of his work would be grown over.”
“I can’t sit here on my hands and not do anything.” That was an exaggeration. It was late spring. Eli worked all day in the vineyards and in the cellars blending the wines. Yet he couldn’t contain his impatience. “Is there something that detects objects buried in the ground? I could get my field guys together and have them search the grounds—”
“First of all, how well ground-penetrating radar works depends on the type of soil and how much electrical conductivity is in it. Also, I don’t think we want your vineyard workers looking for a precious object like that bottle—the chances that we’d actually receive it from their hands is not good.” Rafe lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.
Eli gave a half shrug back.
Brooke picked up where Rafe left off. “What happens when you start looking at a highly developed site like the resort is you find chunks of pipe, chunks of concrete, nails, two-by-fours, ceramic tile, rolls of insulation, all from the original construction and the construction since.”
Noah nodded. “And bottles, lots of bottles, from the drinks the workers enjoyed after work and then tossed into a slag pit and buried. Every time we build a new cottage, what do you think we find?”
“Bottles?” Bao ventured.
“Right. Plus the resort includes part of the vineyard. Include that, and we’ve got more than forty acres. Searching the grounds of the resort is a waste of time unless we have something more to go on.” Too bad Noah’s Propov cousins were such thugs. He could put them on the job.
He half smiled. Maybe he could stick them at the far end of the vineyard and tell them to work their way forward. That would keep them busy.
Having Hendrik and the lovable gang o’ thugs in town with nothing to do was making Noah extremely nervous.
“I don’t think Nonno would have buried the bottle there, anyway. He worked at the resort, but he loved the vineyard, and he loved his home.” One by one Eli stacked his chips into one tall pile, sorted by colors. “I think the bottle has to be here, somewhere on the home ranch.”
“How about searching Sarah’s yard with your ground-penetrating radar?” DuPey said.
Nonna and Bao exchanged glances.
Nonna shrugged and nodded.
Bao spoke up. “We already did it.”
Everyone turned to face her.
“You did?” Rafe asked. “When?”
“We needed a distraction. And I’m sorry, but I’m here, a highly trained killing machine”—Bao held up her hands, callused from years of martial arts—“and mostly nothing happens. After a few weeks of peace and tranquillity—broken by the occasional murder—even breaking boards with my forehead loses its hint of fun. Sarah and I decided a search was a good idea. So I rented a ground-penetrating radar detector and we combed the yard. We found some interesting stuff, mostly dead pets, buried toys, some used condoms.…”
Noah pretended he knew nothing.
His brothers did the same.
Bao continued. “But no bottle of wine. And no one has been digging in the yard recently, either.”
“Does it look like anything special?” Chloë asked. When everyone looked at her in puzzlement, she said, “It’s old, made during Prohibition and the Depression. Didn’t they clean and reuse bottles then?”
“Yes, and in those days, when wine was illegal, it was sometimes bottled to disguise the contents,” Nonna said.
Eli’s mouth kicked up in a half grin. “You’re right; this bottle would not resemble the modern red wine bottle. For one thing, it’s more than seven hundred and fifty milliliters. That size is a relatively recent development. They used to bottle wine in fifths, like liquor. So Nonno’s bottle is thin and tall—”
“More like a white wine bottle?” Chloë clarified.
“Yes, but taller.” Eli gestured with his hands. “Twenty-four inches, perhaps? Straight-sided, with slender shoulders. It’s heavy for its size. The glass is green and I think thick, although I can’t tell that until I decant it.”
“Here’s to the day that you do.” DuPey lifted his glass in salute.
Eli inclined his head. “God grant it be soon.”
“Amen,” Noah said fervently.
Nonna sat biting her lip and looking worried.
Noah had to ask. “You don’t know where it is, do you, Nonna?”
She shook her head. “I wish that I did.”
“Because lives depend on finding that bottle,” he said.
Nonna turned on him, her usually gentle brown eyes flashing. “Dear. I realize I’m a befuddled old woman who couldn’t possibly comprehend the seriousness of the situation, but since I’ve been attacked, my personal nurse has robbed me and been killed, and Joseph Bianchin himself threatened me.… I think I have as good a grip on what is happening as you young people do.”
“I know, Nonna. I’m stupid. I’m sorry.” He was, and he was.
But she was having none of it. She stood, quivering with anger. “I need to get the dining room ready for company.”
Brooke and Chloë came to their feet. “We’ll help you, Nonna.”
“No!” She pointed a finger at each one. “I want to be alone for a minute.” Because they all knew she didn’t lose her temper very often, but when she did, it took time and patience for her to bring it under control.
Both girls sank back into their chairs.
As soon as Nonna left the room, Chloë said, “Good going, Noah.”
“What happened to the usual smooth charm, Noah?” Brooke taunted. “Got something on your mind?”
Even the girls wanted him to confess
his part in this ongoing crime.
But he couldn’t dare.
When he remembered last month’s outburst, admitting he knew about the pink diamonds and who sought them, he wanted to smack himself. All these years, he had been so careful to keep his mouth shut. Apparently the strain had finally breached his good sense, and this was the result: He had slipped, causing his brothers and his sisters-in-law, and most of all Nonna, aggravation and worry.
Right now, he didn’t need them trying to pry his secrets from him. His family couldn’t imagine how much danger it would put them in if he shared what he knew. He needed them on their guards, but ignorant. Because with every heartbeat, the leather dog collar seemed to tighten around his neck, and every time it tightened, a tiny bit of his discipline slipped away.
He didn’t dare lose control again. He would say too much, and with his mother and her family in town, Noah feared an indiscretion would lead to deaths—Di Luca deaths. As much as he loved his brothers, they couldn’t overpower Liesbeth and her gang.
Ignoring Brooke and Chloë, Noah said, “I feel as if the bottle has to be in plain sight, or someplace painfully obvious, and somehow we’re just missing it.”
Nods all around the table.
He leveled a look at his brothers. “Nonno did so much work in the shed and in the garage, and both of those places are dark and cool. If you want to help, empty them, pull out everything—”
“We already did that,” Eli said.
“Do it again. Run your radar detectors over every inch of the dirt floor and any patches in the concrete… that would help.” Noah must have looked grim. Or determined. Or scared. Or something.
Because Eli said, “Damn it, Noah, tell us what you know!” And in an unexpected move from the usually stoic Eli, his long arm reached around and slapped Noah hard on the back of the head.
An unexpected flash of pain.
A piercing fear.
A single thought.
He was dead.
Noah found himself on his feet, heart pounding, clutching at his throat and the studs that would ignite and end his life, facing a tableful of puzzled, worried faces.
No. Not dead. He was still alive. Still alive…
“Noah?” Rafe stood slowly. “C’mon, man. Nothing can be that bad. Tell us.”
With an effort, Noah loosened his grip from around his neck. He flexed his hand and cleared his throat.
Yes. Tell them. They were his kin and perhaps they could think of something he had not. Maybe they could help—
“Noah, you darling boy.” Nonna bustled into the kitchen, laughing and crying.
Noah looked around, dazed and confused.
Nonna threw her arms around him. “I never could stay mad at you long, but this—this stunt exceeds all your other shenanigans.”
He looked at her uncomprehendingly.
Then he realized—his present had arrived.
Behind Nonna, his great-aunt Annie rolled down the hall in her electric wheelchair, holding the leash to her assistance dog. Walking behind was his great-aunt June, tall, brisk, white haired. He had flown them in, Annie from Washington State and June from Far Island off the coast of California, to let them reassure themselves that Nonna was well—and to be with her after she suffered another loss.
They didn’t know that part, of course.
Their arrival brought the family to their feet, laughing and calling out, rushing forward to hug and exclaim.
Noah laughed, too, and hugged, and exclaimed, and preened. He explained to DuPey and his brothers that Annie was ready to show up on Nonna’s doorstep to see for herself that she was okay, and he had simply made it easier for her.
Annie explained that in three days, they were off to visit June’s place off the coast of California, and they wanted Sarah to come with them.
Sarah shot Noah an annoyed, knowing glance and gently refused, saying she couldn’t leave until the kids had cleared up a few things. When her grandsons all urged her to go, she promised to visit in the autumn.
Everyone was happy at this unexpected family reunion.
Noah pressed his hand to the dog collar hidden under his shirt.
The impulse for confession had passed.
It was better that way.
Chapter 28
Penelope decided that if she was going to stay in Bella Terra for employment and to work out her personal problems, she had to make her life here bearable.
After Friday, her first full day of working with Brooke Di Luca, she searched out the best Mexican restaurant in town. She discovered it across the river, housed in a crummy little building where plastic tablecloths printed with parrots and hibiscus covered the tables, And the dining chairs all had torn vinyl seats. Yes, The taqueríA guadalajara might look like a greasy spoon, But the seared pork tortas tasted so good they brought tears to her eyes.
On Saturday night, while sitting alone in her motel room listening to the ruckus that was the Beaver Inn, she decided to screw up her courage and go to the Di Lucas’ the next evening for their weekly dinner party.
Maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea. After all, Noah would be there.
But the coming week would be difficult for her, not because of what faced her in the future—she was very aware that in a couple of days she would be meeting her father—but because of what had happened in her past.
Tears filled her eyes, and hastily she wiped them away.
She needed diversion. She needed people around her. She needed kindness and family, and she knew she could find it all in Sarah Di Luca’s home.
So Sunday afternoon, she returned to Taquería Guadalajara, and for an extra fee and a lot of flattery, the cook cut the tortas into appetizer-size pieces and put them in a to-go box.
Lovingly she placed the tortas in the passenger seat and drove to the Di Luca ranch, her stomach growling all the way. That was good, a distraction that kept her from remembering the last time she’d driven up here googly-eyed with a love she thought would last forever.
She snorted.
Ah, youth. Wild, lighthearted, optimistic… stupid.
She turned off the main road and onto the long driveway that wove first through vineyards filled with old, well-tended grapevines, then through a large, well-tended yard with grass and flowers and dotted with sprawling old valley oaks spreading their shade across California’s heartland.
Penelope slowed as she passed the house to examine it; the Di Luca home looked the same: American farmhouse traditional, square and white, with flowers blooming around the edges and the open windows breathing in the fresh air. The only change she could see was a new coat of white paint and a handicapped ramp that came straight off the left side, took a corner, and came back to the sidewalk. The sameness gave her a feeling of continuity and was at the same time a little disorienting, as if she’d stepped back in time.
She swung into the parking space between a green extended-cab F-250 with massive tires and a gleaming black BMW 650 with an engine so massive she could almost hear it humming—and the car was off.
She knew, without being told, that both vehicles belonged to Di Lucas.
She hoped her mother’s conservative old Volvo C70 didn’t get a complex.
A police cruiser was parked there, and Brooke’s car, and a Porsche Panamera 4-S, and, incongruously, a new red MINI Cooper.
It looked as if the Di Lucas had a good crowd for the evening.
Good. Penelope would blend right in.
She grabbed the tortas, got out, and turned to look around.
The summer solstice was only two weeks away, and at five o’clock the sun leaned toward the west, filtering through the massive oaks on the long stretch of lawn and giving the three women moving up the driveway a patina of agelessness.
Penelope recognized them. She had met them all that summer nine years ago: Noah’s great-aunts Annie and June and, most important, Noah’s beloved grandmother, Sarah. They wore sun hats; obviously they’d been for their daily walk along the paths in
Nonna’s capacious yard. Now they hurried toward her, Annie’s dog in a vest and on a leash, June’s hand resting on Annie’s mechanical wheelchair, while Sarah smiled broadly and waved at Penelope.
Penelope waved back, deposited her tortas on the steps, and hurried to greet them.
“Dear girl, I had hoped to see you!” Sarah embraced her, looked into her face as if rememorizing her features, then embraced her again.
Why had Penelope ever hesitated for a moment to call or visit? Immediately she knew Sarah would never reproach her or pile on the guilt. “It’s been too long.”
“Don’t be a stranger, no matter what is happening with my reprehensible grandson—who is here, by the way.” Sarah glanced toward the house. “That’s why I hardly dared hope that you would come to our Sunday-night dinner.”
Faint alarm stirred in Penelope. “I hope I’m not intruding. I was trying to decide when to come out, and Brooke and Rafe urged me to come tonight—”
Annie laughed. “Intruding! We Di Lucas live for your kind of intrusion. Do you remember me, Penelope?”
“Indeed I do, Mrs. Di Luca.” Penelope shook her hand, and then when Annie tugged, she leaned over and hugged her.
“You can’t call us all Mrs. Di Luca.” June kept one hand on the handle of the wheelchair and offered her cheek. As Penelope kissed her, she pointed and said, “June, Annie, and Sarah. Those are our names. We married the Di Luca brothers, which worked out well, since we knew and liked one another in high school—although I’m the youngest—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sarah said.
“—by three years,” June continued.
“Only two years for me!” Annie said.
“And in the Di Luca family, we are collectively known as ‘the girls.’ ” Sarah smiled at her friends.
They smiled back.
“This is Ritter.” Annie indicated her dog. “He’s half yellow Lab, half golden retriever, trained by Canine Companions for Independence, and he’s been with me for six years. Ritter, sit!”