the way.”
“Rita Jewel,” I answered, and I set my plate down to shake his hand.
“You’re not Italian, are you?” he asked me. “Jewel is
bigiu
in Italian.”
“I’m not Italian, but I admire Italian food. I took a class with Guido. Wish I’d taken more. If I’d known…”
“That’s the way, isn’t it? If we only knew when we were going to die…”
“Guido sure didn’t,” I said. Or did he? Was that why he looked so nervous that night? Had he given me a clue and I’d missed it?
“I can’t believe he was murdered.” Lorenzo shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. Maybe a little too wide, I thought. As if he knew but didn’t want me to know that he knew.
“That’s what I heard.”
“Il mio dio, quanto terrible,”
he muttered. “Let me get you a glass of wine.” He turned and joined another man at the bar they’d set up next to the kitchen. The other man said something, then he looked straight at me. Why? Because of something I’d said? I wondered if they were talking about me, wondering if I’d killed Guido or wondering if I knew that they’d killed him.
When yet another Italian, an old guy named Antonio with steel gray hair and shiny black shoes, came up to ask me to contribute to a scholarship fund in Guido’s name, I told him I’d be glad to. As if I was some kind of philanthropic typewho had gobs of money to spare. Maybe my designer outfit made him think I was part of the moneyed crowd. “I had only one class from Guido,” I said. “What about you?”
“He wanted us to take his classes, but never had the time,” Antonio said. “I’m in the undertaker business. Never a dull moment.”
“Really? Then you prepared his body?”
He nodded. “What did you think? Did I do a good job or not for my friend?”
“He looked good, but I was wondering, what about the bullet in his heart?” I didn’t know if there was a bullet in his heart, but how else was I going to find out unless I put it out there?
“How’d your hear about that?” he asked.
“I, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Word gets out. Such a shame. He was too young to die. Too talented.”
“Well, the bullet’s still there for all I know.”
“But don’t the police want it?”
“They do, but the family is protesting. They don’t want him cut into.”
“Even though he’s already dead?”
“People are funny about death,” he said with a sigh. “The stories I could tell you. But it made things easier for me. You interested in the undertaking business? More women should go into it. You know, when a woman dies they want another woman to prepare the remains. My family’s been in the business for years. But my wife wouldn’t touch a body. So there you have it.”
I nodded as if I understood. I did understand. I wouldn’t touch a dead body. I didn’t even like looking at Guido in his coffin, and I was afraid I would have nightmares tonight.
“I don’t blame her,” I said. “I was wondering who’s going to take over Guido’s cooking schools in Italy and all of his TV gigs. He had a certain flair that made him stand out from all those other celebrity chefs.”
“If you ask me, it’s one of those two.” The man pointed to a man and a woman in the far corner gesturing wildly to each other in true Italian style.
“I never know if Italians are arguing or just talking,” I said. If they were arguing, maybe it had something to do with Guido’s legacy or who was getting the blame for his death. If only I was a little closer, I might be able to hear them, although, except from their gestures, they looked like they were speaking Italian.
“Then you’re not Italian,” he said.
“But I love Italian food,” I said. “And my last name translated into Italian is
bigiu
.” Actually I loved all food, which was lucky for me. Then I took a deep breath. I was tired of making small talk; as pleasant as it was to chat and eat, I had to make some progress. I knew from experience and
“Rita Jewel,” I answered, and I set my plate down to shake his hand.
“You’re not Italian, are you?” he asked me. “Jewel is
bigiu
in Italian.”
“I’m not Italian, but I admire Italian food. I took a class with Guido. Wish I’d taken more. If I’d known…”
“That’s the way, isn’t it? If we only knew when we were going to die…”
“Guido sure didn’t,” I said. Or did he? Was that why he looked so nervous that night? Had he given me a clue and I’d missed it?
“I can’t believe he was murdered.” Lorenzo shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. Maybe a little too wide, I thought. As if he knew but didn’t want me to know that he knew.
“That’s what I heard.”
“Il mio dio, quanto terrible,”
he muttered. “Let me get you a glass of wine.” He turned and joined another man at the bar they’d set up next to the kitchen. The other man said something, then he looked straight at me. Why? Because of something I’d said? I wondered if they were talking about me, wondering if I’d killed Guido or wondering if I knew that they’d killed him.
When yet another Italian, an old guy named Antonio with steel gray hair and shiny black shoes, came up to ask me to contribute to a scholarship fund in Guido’s name, I told him I’d be glad to. As if I was some kind of philanthropic typewho had gobs of money to spare. Maybe my designer outfit made him think I was part of the moneyed crowd. “I had only one class from Guido,” I said. “What about you?”
“He wanted us to take his classes, but never had the time,” Antonio said. “I’m in the undertaker business. Never a dull moment.”
“Really? Then you prepared his body?”
He nodded. “What did you think? Did I do a good job or not for my friend?”
“He looked good, but I was wondering, what about the bullet in his heart?” I didn’t know if there was a bullet in his heart, but how else was I going to find out unless I put it out there?
“How’d your hear about that?” he asked.
“I, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Word gets out. Such a shame. He was too young to die. Too talented.”
“Well, the bullet’s still there for all I know.”
“But don’t the police want it?”
“They do, but the family is protesting. They don’t want him cut into.”
“Even though he’s already dead?”
“People are funny about death,” he said with a sigh. “The stories I could tell you. But it made things easier for me. You interested in the undertaking business? More women should go into it. You know, when a woman dies they want another woman to prepare the remains. My family’s been in the business for years. But my wife wouldn’t touch a body. So there you have it.”
I nodded as if I understood. I did understand. I wouldn’t touch a dead body. I didn’t even like looking at Guido in his coffin, and I was afraid I would have nightmares tonight.
“I don’t blame her,” I said. “I was wondering who’s going to take over Guido’s cooking schools in Italy and all of his TV gigs. He had a certain flair that made him stand out from all those other celebrity chefs.”
“If you ask me, it’s one of those two.” The man pointed to a man and a woman in the far corner gesturing wildly to each other in true Italian style.
“I never know if Italians are arguing or just talking,” I said. If they were arguing, maybe it had something to do with Guido’s legacy or who was getting the blame for his death. If only I was a little closer, I might be able to hear them, although, except from their gestures, they looked like they were speaking Italian.
“Then you’re not Italian,” he said.
“But I love Italian food,” I said. “And my last name translated into Italian is
bigiu
.” Actually I loved all food, which was lucky for me. Then I took a deep breath. I was tired of making small talk; as pleasant as it was to chat and eat, I had to make some progress. I knew from experience and
Similar Books
