gone, I see with my own eyes: Lucia is not like her mother . . .â
âYou donât think Lucia will rebuild the caffè?â
âShe talks about marrying Glenn.â
The tone was disdainful. âWhatâs the matter with Glenn? You donât approve?â
âWhatâs to approve? Lucia is a grown woman. She can make up her own mind about her life, about this . . . this boy . . . â
âA boy? Not a man?â
âYou saw how she treats him?â
I nodded.
âWhy do you think he puts up with it? He is still a boy. Lucia says theyâre engaged. Eh. She wonât go through with it.â
âBecause?â
âBecause there is a man from my daughterâs past who still comes sniffing around . . . a real man, a grown one. Lucia has a special smile for this one. Glenn doesnât know it, but she does. Love is a game to my daughter . . . she is not like her mother . . . to Lucia men are playthings . . .â
âAnd who is this man? The one from her past who still comes around to play with her?â
Enzo shrugged once more. âYou donât know him . . .â He looked away again, into space.
âGlenn rebuilds cars, right?â I prodded, trying to keep the man focused. âWith his skills, maybe he can help Lucia rebuild the caffe.â
âGlenn Duffy is a mechanic , not a carpenter. He has no interest in running a caffè . . .â Enzo paused to cough. âIâve heard him talk. He wants to open his own car shop in North Jersey, where he has family.â
âIt takes money to start your own business,â I said. And I was willing to bet ten kilos of Kona Peaberry that a competent car mechanic would possess enough skill to rig a basic incendiary device with a timer.
âEnzo, where do you think Glenn Duffy is going to get the money toââ
âExcuse me.â The RN appeared again, a tall, slender woman of East Indian heritage. âHow are you feeling?â she asked Enzo, her voice a sweet singsong.
Taking in the nurseâs dark, cat-shaped eyes and flawless dusky-skinned face, Enzo immediately perked up. âI died and went to heaven, thatâs how I feel. Only this can explain the angel I see before me.â
The nurse laughed. âYouâre still here on Earth, Iâm glad to say, Mr. Testa.â
âYou call me Enzo, okay? No more of that Mr. Testa stuff. Mr. Testa was my father.â
She arched a pretty eyebrow then turned to face me. âIâm afraid youâll have to wrap up your visit. Mr. Testa has another family member waiting. As soon as you come out, Iâll show his sister in . . .â
âSister?â Enzo and I blurted out at the same time.
âYes, Mr. Testa, your sister Mrs. Rita Quadrelli.â
As the nurse turned and strode away, Enzoâs eyes widened in obvious panic. âClare! A favor, please ! I beg you.â
I already guessed.
âThe widow Quadrelli is not my sister. She must have fibbed like you to get in hereââ
âAnd you donât want to see her?â
âWhen God made that woman, he left out the quiet! Five minutes with her babbling in my ear, and Iâll be pulling these tubes out to get away, even if it means certain death!â
I considered going to the nurse, but that had the potential to turn ugly, especially if Mrs. Quadrelli were confronted. After all, how could I accuse her of not being his sister when I wasnât his daughter?
âIâd better deal with Mrs. Quadrelli directly,â I said. âWhat do you want me to tell her?â
âTell her Iâm sleeping. Tell her Iâm drugged. Tell her Iâm in a coma!â
I touched his shoulder. âIâll think of something. And Iâll keep checking in with your nurse to see how youâre doing.â
Moments later, I spotted Mrs. Quadrelli just outside the critical-care unit. She was waiting in a small seating area, but the
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