decorated with straw-covered Chianti bottles coated with wax from the candles. Lace curtains adorned the windows. On cold winter days, a huge fireplace in the dining room provided welcoming warmth for enjoying a bowl of their famous minestrone, and another stone fireplace in the kitchen churned out authentic thin crust pizza, baked pastas, and desserts to die for.
“Frank! Linda! How the heck are you?” Marco Andreazza called out. He was the current owner, having taken over Nonna’s from his dad back in the 1960s. Marco was known for running one of the most popular restaurants around. Movie-star handsome, with dark, chiseled features, he wore black trousers, a white dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up utilitarian-style, and an ever-present dishtowel slung over his shoulder for mopping up spills. He and Frank shook hands, and Marco gave Linda a big hug. Since she had begun concentrating on her education, everyone missed seeing her as much. “Table for two coming right up,” he said.
Marco grabbed a couple of menus and led them to a table right near the window so they could people watch on The Commons. A portion of State Street that had been turned into a pedestrian mall in nineteen seventy-four, it boasted a glut of restaurants, bars, bookstores, and other retail shops that sold everything from new age crystals and tapestries to cookware and local T-shirts to head shop goods. Professors in blazers with briefcases, old hippies in tie dyes, little old ladies out visiting the market with wheeled carts, students in the latest fashions from Gap—it was a never-ending stream, and they had the best seat in the house.
Frank held out Linda’s black leather captain’s chair for her, and she sat down. An old Mario Lanza record played in the background, adding to the ambience. Marco brought them some ice water, and after a quick glance at their menus, they decided—gnocchi alla panna for Linda, and linguine alle vongole for Frank. Marco recommended a bottle of Barolo, but Frank surprised himself by ordering a Coke instead. Linda ordered a glass of the house red.
“I love this place,” she said, gazing out the window at the passersby. Outside, a mime in a Superman costume and cape punched imaginary bad guys. “Can you imagine what it must have been like in the nineteen twenties, watching them filming movies just down the street?”
He laughed. “Yeah, it kind of marches to its own beat, this town.”
“So tell me more about what you guys found. I’m curious.”
Frank unwrapped his napkin deliberately and set it on his lap, then took a drink of his water first. “We found her bones, along with a gold locket and buttonhook wrapped in what was left of an old blue blanket in a shallow grave.”
“Up near Buttermilk you said?”
“Yeah. Northeast of the falls, there’s a trail that winds through that wooded area. Not far from Pinnacle Rock. She was buried under a log right off of it.”
“A buttonhook. Now there’s something you don’t see people buried with every day. Any ideas there?”
“I was intrigued as well. According to Doc, it has blood on it. But the buttonhook wasn’t all bent up like it would have been if someone had stabbed her with it. And it doesn’t look like she was shot or stabbed with anything else. So we’re not sure what happened. We may never know that part. You have no idea how much her disappearance destroyed the Morgans, Linda. My poor mom…she always had to clean up Grandpa’s messes after Grandma died. She had to search for the booze that he hid all over the house.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure why she was able to tell us about living with my alcoholic grandfather but she won’t tell us about her sister. It’s so frustrating!”
Linda patted his hand as he continued. “I’d like to know everything that happened so I can try to fix my messed-up family. What was it Dostoyevsky said? Happy families are all the same? The screwed up ones are all screwed up in different
“Frank! Linda! How the heck are you?” Marco Andreazza called out. He was the current owner, having taken over Nonna’s from his dad back in the 1960s. Marco was known for running one of the most popular restaurants around. Movie-star handsome, with dark, chiseled features, he wore black trousers, a white dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up utilitarian-style, and an ever-present dishtowel slung over his shoulder for mopping up spills. He and Frank shook hands, and Marco gave Linda a big hug. Since she had begun concentrating on her education, everyone missed seeing her as much. “Table for two coming right up,” he said.
Marco grabbed a couple of menus and led them to a table right near the window so they could people watch on The Commons. A portion of State Street that had been turned into a pedestrian mall in nineteen seventy-four, it boasted a glut of restaurants, bars, bookstores, and other retail shops that sold everything from new age crystals and tapestries to cookware and local T-shirts to head shop goods. Professors in blazers with briefcases, old hippies in tie dyes, little old ladies out visiting the market with wheeled carts, students in the latest fashions from Gap—it was a never-ending stream, and they had the best seat in the house.
Frank held out Linda’s black leather captain’s chair for her, and she sat down. An old Mario Lanza record played in the background, adding to the ambience. Marco brought them some ice water, and after a quick glance at their menus, they decided—gnocchi alla panna for Linda, and linguine alle vongole for Frank. Marco recommended a bottle of Barolo, but Frank surprised himself by ordering a Coke instead. Linda ordered a glass of the house red.
“I love this place,” she said, gazing out the window at the passersby. Outside, a mime in a Superman costume and cape punched imaginary bad guys. “Can you imagine what it must have been like in the nineteen twenties, watching them filming movies just down the street?”
He laughed. “Yeah, it kind of marches to its own beat, this town.”
“So tell me more about what you guys found. I’m curious.”
Frank unwrapped his napkin deliberately and set it on his lap, then took a drink of his water first. “We found her bones, along with a gold locket and buttonhook wrapped in what was left of an old blue blanket in a shallow grave.”
“Up near Buttermilk you said?”
“Yeah. Northeast of the falls, there’s a trail that winds through that wooded area. Not far from Pinnacle Rock. She was buried under a log right off of it.”
“A buttonhook. Now there’s something you don’t see people buried with every day. Any ideas there?”
“I was intrigued as well. According to Doc, it has blood on it. But the buttonhook wasn’t all bent up like it would have been if someone had stabbed her with it. And it doesn’t look like she was shot or stabbed with anything else. So we’re not sure what happened. We may never know that part. You have no idea how much her disappearance destroyed the Morgans, Linda. My poor mom…she always had to clean up Grandpa’s messes after Grandma died. She had to search for the booze that he hid all over the house.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure why she was able to tell us about living with my alcoholic grandfather but she won’t tell us about her sister. It’s so frustrating!”
Linda patted his hand as he continued. “I’d like to know everything that happened so I can try to fix my messed-up family. What was it Dostoyevsky said? Happy families are all the same? The screwed up ones are all screwed up in different
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