Dying on the Vine

the lieutenant, Gardella, his name was, did a really thorough job; they all did—but the boys simply can’t make themselves see their father as a murderer.”

“I’m having a hard time myself,” Julie said.

Gideon said nothing. He’d have liked to tell Linda that he had his own doubts, having examined Nola’s bones himself, and that he had the lieutenant rethinking things as well. But Rocco had specifically asked him not to discuss that, so he kept it to himself.

Rocco hadn’t, however, asked him not to talk about the case in general, and after all, the three of them were old friends who had shared a good many confidences, so . . .

“What about you, Linda?” he asked.

“What about me what?”

“Do you see Pietro as a murderer?”

She thought about it. “Well, there were some rumors about Nola’s having an affair, and babbo was, you know, very Italian, very . . . theatrical. Not exactly cool-blooded. Sometimes life with him was like living in a Puccini opera, nothing small-scale about it. He didn’t get mad often, but when he did, boy, you didn’t want to be anywhere within range. And—and this is the main thing—he was an extremely, and I mean extremely, old-fashioned male, straight out of the nineteenth century. It took him years to get over the fact that I wanted to keep my maiden name and not become signora Cubbiddu. Heck, I’m not sure he ever really did get over it.”

She smiled. “And you notice I’m calling him babbo, not Pietro. When I first got here I tried calling him by his first name, but that sure didn’t last very long—not coming from a daughter-in-law and a foreigner as well. It was a slur on his honor—those were his own words. He had his rules about how the family should act toward the padre, you see, and you had to follow them if you knew what was good for you.”

She paused, remembering. “So if he found out she was cheating on him? Then yes, I could see him killing her. And himself too, for that matter, yes. A normal person would maybe choose divorce, but babbo? Not an option. ‘Family above everything, except honor,’” she said. “That was his motto.” And then, in an acid undertone: “Or so we used to think.”

“Were they true?” Julie asked. “The rumors?”

Linda shrugged. “I doubt if anybody really knows. Honestly, Julie, the whole thing was so awful that everybody just wanted it to be over. I don’t think anybody wanted to know. What would be the point?”

Interesting, Gideon thought. The same words Rocco had used when asked the same question.

Linda’s expression, sober for the last few minutes, suddenly brightened. Seeing it happen was like watching the sun break through on a gloomy day. Her face was transformed. “Well, well. Here’s my hubby,” she proclaimed with transparent pride as Luca came charging up the steps to the portico.

Like Nico, Luca was a good-looking guy, but in a different way: a bigger-than-life type, expansive and spontaneous, more rough-cut than either of his brothers, and, in general, much like their father in personality. He was earthy, generous, opinionated, blunt, honest, and always ready to laugh, which he did loudly and lengthily. There had been times when Gideon had expected him to break into the big dance from Zorba the Greek at any minute, but so far he never had. Luca was great fun to be with for a few hours, but any more than that and Gideon needed to get away to someplace where Luca didn’t suck up all the air and take up all the space. Now, as he strode toward them with a giant grin plastered on his face and his arms spread wide, Gideon thought for a moment that he was going to try to gather Julie and him in at the same time in one of his bone- crushing hugs, but he settled instead for two separate ones, first Gideon, then Julie. Gideon’s was accompanied by a wince-inducing back-thumping, which he returned in full measure, but Luca got the best of it. He was an immensely powerful man, about an inch shorter than Gideon’s six-one, but far thicker in the chest and shoulders. Then on to Julie.

“Luca, honey,” Linda suggested sweetly as her husband wrapped his arms around Julie and swayed back and forth with her, “you might want to let her go now. It’s possible she might want to breathe.”

“Ah, she loves it,” Luca said, “and why wouldn’t she?” He finished with an explosive vacuum cleaner of a kiss to her cheek: mmwaaak! Julie, who wasn’t really that keen on being engulfed by large males (happily, she made an exception for Gideon), smiled politely. There wasn’t much else you could do when Luca Cubbiddu decided he was going to hug you.

He had barely signaled to the barista for an espresso and sat down when Nico showed up as well, fresh from his grape-stomp responsibilities. Brushing back that Superman forelock from his forehead (to which it immediately bobbed back) and giving them his raffish but inarguably appealing grin, he welcomed Julie and Gideon. “Hey, pallies, long time no see. How’s it going?”

Like his brothers’, Nico’s English was first-rate: fluent and casual. That had been their father’s doing. Pietro had never learned English himself—even his Italian was rudimentary—but he’d understood that if the boys were to compete in the increasingly globalized business of wine, English would be a necessity. He had seen to it that they learned it as children and learned it well. Since then their travels—trade shows, expositions, conferences—had given them an idiomatic ease with the language. To Gideon they all seemed as comfortable in English as they did in their own tongue, and he’d heard them chatting in it even when there were no Brits or Americans around.

“Fine, pally,” he said amicably, “how about you?”

“Can’t complain.”

“Hey, who’s tending the booth?” Linda asked.

“Gianni and Ettore are there now,” Luca said. “We just wanted to say hello. We’ll go back in a minute and give them a hand wrapping up. There won’t be that much to load back up in the truck. We moved a lot of wine.”

“Yeah, it helps when you’re giving it away,” Nico said and went to the bar, coming back with Luca’s coffee and for himself a glass of Moscato, a golden, mellow, afternoonish kind of wine.

“No, I mean we sold a lot too,” Luca said. “It was a good festival.”

Nico sat, took a long swallow, sighed, and stretched, looking worn out. “Lot of work, though. I’m beat.”

“You’re beat,” Luca said. “How do you think I feel? And about three hours from now, Vino e Cucina gets going. Whew. It’s like it never ends.”

Linda laughed. “You know you love it, honey.”

“I thought the class started tomorrow morning,” Julie said.

“The class, yeah, but there’s an opening reception at seven tonight. You two will be there, I hope. And your friends.”

“Actually,” Gideon said, “John and I haven’t signed up, Luca, so—”

“Oh, please, tonight’s different. No cooking demonstrations, I promise. No lectures. Just some good wine and a few simple appetizers, and a chance for people to mingle. And a few introductions. I’d really appreciate it if you came, Gideon. You’d be a—”

“Cultural ornament,” Gideon said. “I know.”

“Well, that too, definitely, but I was thinking more of an extra body to help out in the kitchen with the heavy labor.” As it often did, a burst of bluff, hearty laughter followed his comment.

“Oh, well now, that’s different, Luca. Of course I’ll be there.”

Nico stood up and finished his wine with a single gulp. “Luca, my man, what do you say we head back to the booth and flog another case or two of Villa Antica plonk to the unsuspecting masses?”

Luca responded in kind. “Watch it, baby brother, you’re speaking of what I love most in the world.”

Linda cleared her throat, loudly and meaningfully.

“Second most, that’s what I meant to say,” Luca amended. He bent to plant a kiss on her forehead. Eyes closed, smiling, she tilted up her face to receive it.

“We’ll see you two later,” Luca said to the Olivers.

“Ciao, pallies” Nico said.

“I’ll be along in a while,” she called after them, and then to Julie and Gideon, with a long sigh: “I really love that man, did I ever tell you that?”

“Really? You’re kidding us,” Gideon said. “I would have thought from those flushed cheeks and shining eyes that you couldn’t stand the guy. Hey, I’m going to get a cappuccino for myself. Watching Julie drink one always makes me want one of my own. Linda?”