And she was voluntarily giving him space in her life.
Because she still felt vulnerable, she blistered him with a frown. “Do you just happen to keep things like eye patches lying around, or did you steal that from someone who actually needs it?”
“Hey, the minute the guy fell down, I gave him back his white cane.”
“You’re demented.” But her irritation faded.
“Look at all this great food.” He surveyed the market stalls. “I’m not eating with anybody named Briggs tonight, so I’ll let you cook for me.”
“I wish. Unfortunately, I’ve been too busy building my empire to learn anything about cooking.” She looked around and saw that Vittorio and Giulia had disappeared.
“I must be losing my hearing. Is there actually something you don’t know how to do?”
“Lots of things. For example, I haven’t the slightest idea how to gouge out someone’s eyeballs.”
“Okay, you win this round.” He took the bouquet from her and sniffed. “Sorry about that interruption earlier.
“What’s that?”
“The harvest. It’ll start in about two weeks, depending on weather, the position of the moon, birdcalls, and a few other things I don’t understand. Everyone helps out.”
“It sounds like fun.”
“It sounds like work, something I’d rather avoid. You, on the other hand, will no doubt volunteer to organize the entire event, even though you know absolutely nothing about harvesting grapes.”
“I do have a talent.”
He snorted and started negotiating with an old woman selling eggplant. Once that purchase was complete, he began gathering up other vegetables, ripe pears, a gnarled wedge of pecorino, and a crusty loaf of pane toscano. His meat purchase was accompanied by a great deal of discussion with the butcher and the butcher’s wife about the pros and cons of various preparation methods.
“Do you really know how to cook, or are you faking it?” she finally asked.
“I’m Italian. Of course I know how to cook.” He steered her away from the butcher. “And this evening I’m making you a great dinner.”
“You’re only half Italian. The rest of you is a rich movie star who grew up on the East Coast surrounded by servants.”
“And a grandmother from Lucca with no granddaughter she could pass the old ways on to.”
“Your grandmother taught you to cook?”
“She wanted to keep me busy so I wouldn’t impregnate the maids.”
“You’re not nearly as rotten as you want me to believe.”
He gave her his bone-melting smile. “Baby, all you’ve seen is my good side.”
“Stop it.”
“That kiss really threw you into a tailspin, didn’t it?”
“Oh, yes.” He laughed, which made her more peevish, so she threw Michael’s words at him. “I’m schizo when it comes to sex. Sometimes I get into it, and sometimes I can’t get it over with fast enough.”
“Cool.”
“It’s not funny.”
“Will you just relax? Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want to.”
Exactly what she was afraid of.
12
Ren went upstairs to get rid of his eye patch and change out of his laborer’s garb. Isabel finished unpacking the groceries and straightened up the mess he left in his wake. She wandered over to gaze out the garden door. The workers had disappeared from the olive grove, and Marta seemed to have moved into the villa for a while. This was a good time to locate the key to the storehouse.
She searched the kitchen drawers and cupboards, then moved on to the living room, where she finally discovered a wire basket containing half a dozen old-fashioned keys bound together with a piece of twine.
“What’s up?”
She jumped as Ren appeared behind her. He’d changed into jeans and a lightweight oatmeal cotton sweater. The hot water, she’d already noted, had magically returned. “I’m hoping one of these is the key to the storehouse.”
He followed her back through the kitchen and out into the garden. “Is there a reason this matters?”
A pair of crows squawked in protest as they headed for the olive grove. “I thought everyone was trying to get rid of me so Marta wouldn’t have to share the house, but now it appears to be more complicated than that.”
“At least in your imagination.”
They reached the grove, and she began to look for evidence of digging. It didn’t take long to notice that the ground near the storehouse was more trampled today than it had been yesterday.
Ren gazed at the footprints. “I remember poking around down here once when I was a kid. I liked the way the storehouse was built into the side of the hill. I think it was used to keep wine and olive oil.”
She tried the keys. Finally she found one that fit, and she turned it in the old iron lock. The wooden door dragged on its hinges as she pushed against it, and Ren moved her aside to give it a little muscle. They stepped into the dim, musty interior and saw old barrels, crates piled with empty wine bottles, and a few odds and ends of furniture stacked around. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she noticed scuff marks in the dirt.
Ren noticed them, too, and stepped around a broken table to take a closer look. “Someone’s moved these crates away from the wall. Go up to the house, will you, and see if you can find a flashlight? I want a better look.”
“Here.” She pulled out the small flashlight she’d stuck in her pocket.
“Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”
“I’ll try not to do it again.”
He played the flashlight across the walls, pausing to study the places where the rock had been reinforced with stones and mortar. “Look at this.”
She moved closer and saw scratch marks around the stones, as if someone had tried to pry them out. “Well, well… What do you think of my imagination now?”
He ran his fingers over the marks. “Maybe you’d better tell me what this is about.”
She gazed around the dark space. “Didn’t you try to kill somebody once in a place like this?”
“Brad Pitt. Worst luck, he got me instead. But in a contest between you and me, Fifi, I’m going to win, so start talking.”
She brushed away a spiderweb and walked over to investigate the opposite wall. “Massimo and Giancarlo are supposed to be digging a well in the olive grove, but this doesn’t look like the olive grove to me.”
“It sure is an odd place for a well.”
They poked around a bit more but found nothing else suspicious. She followed him out into the sunshine, where he switched off the flashlight. “I’m going to have a talk with Anna,” he said.
“She’ll stonewall you.”
“This is my property, and if there’s something going on, I want to know about it.”
“I don’t think confronting her is the best way to get information.”
“You have a better way? Stupid question. Of course you do.”
She’d already thought it over. “It might be more productive to act as though we haven’t noticed anything odd, then make ourselves scarce and watch what happens from someplace we can’t be seen the next time Massimo and Giancarlo show up.”
“Spy, you mean. Now, that has to violate every Cornerstone you ever made up and a few you haven’t even thought about.”
