Secrets Of Bella Terra by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page B

“Yes.”
    “Which part?” Brooke’s eyes sparked with ire. “The hors d’oeuvres and champagne, the tushies, or enjoying an evening with the matriarch whose grandsons don’t spend enough time with her?”

Chapter 8

    R afe winced. Brooke never hesitated to make her opinion known, at least not to him, and he should have seen that reproach coming. “What makes you a suspect? All of your activities. None of them. I may not have been here for Nonna when she needed me, but I’m not going to fail her now.”
    “She worries about you.”
    “No need.”
    “You’re not Teflon. You already proved that once.”
    “Nonna knows I’m fine.”
    “Avoiding the issue. I guess you’re not as brave as the military medals might signify.”
    Brooke could always talk rings around him.
    He turned to the bedroom on the right, Nonna’s bedroom. He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and breathed in Nonna’s perfume, flowers dipped in vanilla. The flowered comforter was spread precisely over the queen-size bed; the dust ruffle brushed the off-white carpet; the pillow shams were arranged against the headboard. Family photos covered the walls and the cedar chest, and Nonna’s collection of glass perfume bottles was arrayed on the dresser. Everything looked exactly as it had every morning when Nonna left it.
    He was lucky. Nonna kept her house habitually and with precision. If she’d been a different woman, this investigation would be a lot more difficult.
    Beside him, Brooke said, “It’s amazing how this house makes me feel like all the generations of Di Lucas have worked to create a safe haven.”
    Because she had said exactly what he was thinking, he curtly answered, “Somehow this generation blew it, since a few days ago the heart of the family was hurt. See anything out of place?”
    “No.”
    He moved on to the dining room, a good-size room where a dozen chairs of various shapes and sizes surrounded a long, battered walnut table. Cabinets were built into the far wall. All were constructed in the forties by Palmiro Di Luca, a carpenter. The top row of doors was glass, displaying Nonna’s heirloom china and cut glass. Nothing expensive, just stuff that had been passed down through the generations and was precious to the whole family.
    He scanned the shelves. Eventually, he’d look in the cupboards, but right now, everything looked as it had looked all the years of his life.
    Yet here in the dining room, something was out of place. . . .
    He narrowed his eyes, putting the room out of focus.
    “The candles,” Brooke said uncertainly. “They’re . . . sort of . . .”
    “Yeah.” Ever since he could remember, Nonna had lit the dining room table with tapers inserted into empty Di Luca wine bottles. Now instead of lining the center of the table, the six bottles and their candles were lined up before the master’s chair.
    Brooke started to walk forward, but he gestured her back, flipped on the overhead, and walked in a slow circuit around the table, examining the floor.
    “What are you looking for?” Her voice, always low and throaty, was quieter than normal, as if she feared being overheard.
    “A man’s dirty footprint.” He barked out a laugh that mocked his expectations. “The driver’s license he dropped.”
    “I already looked for that.”
    She spoke so solemnly he looked to see if she was serious. Only when he realized her expression was deadpan did he sigh and shake his head reprovingly. He donned a pair of latex gloves. “Don’t touch anything,” he warned, and walked to the table.
    She followed. “Nonna could have been cleaning the bottles.”
    He pointed at the wax drippings that dusted the table, then lifted one candle out of its base. It easily came free. “He removed all the candles, looking for . . . what?”
    “More important, he replaced all the candles when he was done. Why would a thief care enough to tidy up after himself?”
    Of course Brooke would observe the fact that most interested