The Body in the Piazza by Katherine Hall Page

Apparently months ago she found the perfect sous chef, Alberto. Someone from another village (maybe this was a mistake?), and they have been working side by side to get everything ready. Last night they all said buona notte and trundled off to bed. The Rossis and staff are sleeping in what used to be the Italian equivalent of a granary, which they remodeled for their use and any overflow guests. When Alberto didn’t show up for his morning cappuccino Gianni went to his room and discovered that he was gone. Also all his things. The bed hadn’t been slept in. This without a word to them or any other indication that he was planning to jump villa. They’ve put the word out to get a replacement and I offered, but Gianni’s sister is filling in for now. Not a good solution, tho. Besides working in the kitchen, Alberto was acting as the handyman, helping Gianni, and she can’t do that. She’s about five feet tall and her arms are like linguine. First Francesca was afraid something happened to him, but after she discovered some truffles stored in a place only the three of them knew about were missing, she moved straight to livid. More later. Tom’s awake and it’s time for some vino.
    B efore moving into the kitchen, Gianni invited the students for a glass of cold Prosecco served on the terrace, which extended across the rear of the house. Lavender and rosemary the size of small shrubs lined the walls, and a pergola covered with vines provided shade. It smelled, and looked, heavenly. Whether because of the wine or the beautiful setting or both, by the time the group moved indoors, it was a convivial one. Faith noticed that Roderick Nashe had managed to snag several refills, and his face was looking much less like that of a country squire confronting a poacher, his habitual expression heretofore, and more like a country squire hoisting a tankard or two after riding to the hounds. Even Olivia seemed almost cheerful.
    They had just started to go indoors when a man appeared from around the corner of the house. He looked Italian and Faith immediately assumed it was the wayward sous chef returning with a plausible excuse for his absence and his sudden need for the truffles—his Vespa had been stolen? A relative needed an operation? Anyway, whatever the reason for the sudden absence turned out to be, Faith was very relieved to see him. Gianni’s sister seemed like a lovely person but was clearly not up to the chores.
    Except it wasn’t Alberto.
    â€œJean-Luc! Just in time.” Gianni went to greet his neighbor. “Come and meet everyone. We are about to start preparing, and more important, getting set to eat, the antipasto.”
    â€œSince I have brought the wine for our tasting, I knew you wouldn’t start without me.”
    He was smiling broadly, conveying the impression that there was nowhere else he’d rather be at the moment than with all of them. He was going to be a fine addition to the group, Faith thought.
    Seeing him closer, she realized he was older than he had appeared at first. His curly dark hair was streaked with gray, yet he carried himself with youthful athleticism. He was stylishly dressed in a pale yellow linen shirt and trousers the color of cocoa.
    â€œBefore I learn your names, please call me ‘Luke,’ since so many of you are Americans, I understand. When I was working in Colorado a long time ago—a young man’s adventure—they gave me the nickname and I think I will be ‘Luke’ for the week again.”
    Glancing at her fellow classmates, Faith noted they seemed as taken with the man as she was, even Constance, who had acted positively, and even slightly nauseatingly, girlish when he shook her hand.
    About to introduce herself in turn, Faith felt the words stick in her throat in reaction to the smell of lime that hit her full force as he approached. It was the same citrus cologne that Freddy had worn. She swallowed hard.