Murder Under the Italian Moon by Maria Grazia Swan Read Free Book Online

toured open houses and model homes. With Kyle close to leaving home for college, Nick and I had to decide if we wanted to move south or stay put. Ruby lived in Laguna Beach and, unlike Nick, she didn't commute and worked mostly at home. We met for late lunches. She introduced me to California's new generation of wines. Ruby's true passions? Wine and jazz.
    At forty-five, she'd been married and divorced three times, and she still dreamed of Prince Charming driving a white Ferrari Testarossa. While waiting for the prince, she kept herself busy—often with more than one man.
    "Hell, use it or lose it." She didn't have to explain what "it" was. Oddly enough, she didn't discuss any lover in particular, and I never met any of them.
    Ruby worshipped the sun. After our family settled into our new home, I spent many afternoons at the beach with her. I wore a big hat; she soaked in the rays. Her nose had the redness of overexposed skin, but instead of detracting from her looks, it seemed to fit her all-or- nothing attitude.
    Did opposites really attract? It appeared that way. I often thought of Ruby as the Hollywood version of plain old me.
    Ruby fascinated Kyle too. He hung around her place on his time off—willing to run errands, or wash her car. Puppy love?
    On a dare, she used him for a fashion spread. We all gathered around the kitchen table that Friday morning, opened the fashion page and shrieked with excitement. Kyle, my baby, shone on the glossy sheet. A golden boy against the endless cobalt sky. Soon the phone was ringing, and the next thing I knew, he was a rising star. Goodbye, college.
    During our first spring in Dana Point, things began to go wrong. My mother became very ill, and Kyle got entangled with a much older but still famous movie star, a married woman who was breaking his heart. I felt helpless; why couldn't I stop my loved ones from suffering?
    On a late summer morning, Ruby called while Nick finished his second cup of coffee. Her car wouldn't start, and she had an important meeting at the paper. Could Nick give her a ride?
    He did, and soon they were carpooling several times a week. Their return route grew longer and longer. Toward the end, Nick sometimes missed dinner altogether. Was I too distracted by my family problems to notice the signs? Perhaps I refused to see them. Wasn't denial the ultimate placebo?
    Some nights the phone rang, and I was afraid to pick it up. What would it be this time? My dying mother? Kyle on the brink of suicide? Or another of Nick's late, late business meetings?
    When Mother was diagnosed with cancer, I packed my bag and flew to Italy.
    I was there when it happened.
    Kyle called. His father was dead, killed in a car accident.
    "Please, Mom. Come home."
    I don't remember what I did or said. I don't remember getting to the airport or even the flight home. When I arrived at LAX I was still in denial. Somebody was playing tricks on me. Nick dead? Impossible. He wouldn't do that to me.
    Kyle picked me up in Nick's car. Nick's car?
    I waited until we reached the freeway to ask.
    "Mother." His voice more like a whimper. I noticed how pale he was—and thin too. That woman he got involved with was destroying him.
    "…driving her car, and…"
    "Wait! Whose car?"
    "Mother, haven't you been listening?"
    I shrugged.
    "Dad was driving Ruby's car. The brakes failed on the way down Ortega Highway, a mile or so above San Juan Hot Springs. You know—the same damn spot…." He shook his head.
    Every resident of South Orange County knew someone who'd had a close call in that same damn spot.
    "What was your father doing on Ortega Highway in Ruby's car?" My voice sounded shrill. I had to blame someone. I had to unleash the rage inside me. I needed a scapegoat.
    "What difference does it make? When Ruby comes out of the coma… if she comes out of it, you can ask her."
    I cried. Nick was dead. It wasn't fair. I needed him. I loved him. It was my fault. I should have been there. How could I go on