Murder A La Carte

Chapter 17

There"s a little store in Pianella that sells everything a little house would need, from cleaning supplies and newspapers to fresh fruits and wine. Salame and aged pecorino compete for space on the too-small butcher"s table at the end of the checkout counter, and dried goods like rice and pasta are stacked right next to the candy display. And if the preference for legume, pesce, and gelato weren"t apt reminders of the country you were visiting, the television in the corner with its non-stop coverage of the latest soccer games would be.

legumepescegelatoIt was this alimentàrio, roughly equivalent to a general store in America, I thought of the next morning when I realized I was running low on the supplies that Elisabetta had left for me on her second visit to the villa.

alimentàrioPianella was near enough to the Castello, and I knew I could make a quick run down there before a midday meeting with an old friend, so I shut the door to the villa, stepped quickly down to the Maserati that I now parked in front of the villa instead of leaving with Riccardo at the garage, and backed away from the low stone wall that separated my little home from the vineyards below.

I drove down the dirt lane toward the Castello, and then swung a sharp left turn around a field house sporting a wall shrine to the Virgin Mary, to follow another dirt road that would take me off the estate and towards my destination. I was clearly enjoying my stay in Tuscany at that point, more than I expected to. No doubt the dates I"d had with Ilsa played a major role in my newfound pleasures, but being home at Castello dei Trantini had a rejuvenating effect on me. I had always loved this place, the azure blue skies, the scent of grapes and rosemary drifting on the breeze, even the dust that wafted behind the car as I sped down the parched roads.

Nonno Filippo"s death was a specter that I couldn"t put entirely from my mind, and each time the thought crept back into my consciousness, I shuddered. He was a vibrant life force, a man of pleasure and of strong emotion, someone not easily forgotten by even a casual stranger. As his grandson and namesake, I knew I would never be able to forget him, and somber thoughts clouded my mind as I pulled to a sudden halt on the curb in front of the alimentàrio. I turned off the motor and sat in silence for a moment. I wasn"t over the pain of losing him, and I didn"t want to forget that this life, this place, the Castello and all of its environs were really what he gave to me. I was in Tuscany now and, no matter where I lived my life, my heart would always be in Tuscany because he gave me this.

alimentàrioAfter a moment of reflection, and recognizing that I would have to continue with the daily chores — not to mention carry on with my life — I stepped out of the car to the stares of some local townspeople who were probably wondering why this young man was sitting in this too-rich car, staring down at the floorboards. I smiled and stepped through the alimentàrio"s front door.

alimentàrio"sOnce inside, the buzz of activity in the shop replaced the pastoral quiet of the rural outside. There were only about seven or eight customers, helped by the husband and wife who owned the place, but Italians talk loud and almost every conversation is spoken with the gusto of an argument. The television blared the play-by-play of the Trapani-Bari soccer game, and even the opening and closing of doors on the refrigerated bins sounded louder than usual.

Friends had always asked me why Italian restaurants were louder than other restaurants, even in the States. It was partly because of the hard surfaces, I told them, the stone floors, solid walls not softened by fabric coverings, and so on, but it was also the Italians themselves. Italians didn"t love noise, but they embraced it as a sign of life. Waving hands and locking stares during heated conversations were part of the same thing, constant reminders that there is blood coursing through their veins. At the end of the day, with all that noise, all that hand waving, all that emotion packed into every action, the Italians were tired. They slept deeply, perhaps exhausted from all the activity of the day, and — I believe — because they think that sleeping is just as serious as any other activity and, if they"re going to do it, they"re going to do it with gusto!

The alimentàrio reflected that basic premise about life in Italy. A pleasant “buon giorno” greeted me when I entered, followed by a quick look from the proprietor while he sliced some pepperoni for a customer. I grabbed a basket and started to load it with the essentials, bread, oil, pasta, some fresh tomatoes, and even fresher mozzarella from the refrigerator. I didn"t need wine, of course, and there was an herb garden just outside the door to the villa, so I passed up the luscious-looking basil I saw on the counter. A hunk of Parmigiano Reggiano, some truffle oil, cartons of orange juice and milk, a brick of ground coffee for the espresso machine, and I approached the counter for the meat I would need to keep me going for a few days.

alimentàriobuon giornoI looked up as I neared the line of three customers and saw Elisabetta standing there. We exchanged a quick glance, looked at the baskets each of us was holding, and both of us started to laugh. We had selected mostly the same things and, knowing how well she had taken care of me, I had a suspicion that we were both there shopping for the same person.

“Buon giorno, Signor Filippo,” she said.

Buon giorno, Signor Filippo“Buon giorno, signora. Per chi compri?” I asked, knowing already the answer was she buying for me.

Buon giorno, signoraPer chi compriWith a laugh, she answered, “Per lui,” pointing to me and my basket.

Per luiElisabetta was about twenty years older than me and very attractive. She had thick, tousled black hair that she showed little interest in reigning in. Her clothes were proper, but not conservative, and she enjoyed showing off her tanned and ample breasts with blouses that dipped low enough to reveal them. Her hips showed that she had borne children, but the loose skirt that hung from them made her mid-section and legs look stunning. Her face was bright with homespun happiness, and her eyes shined when she smiled. Despite our age differences, she was a woman who could lead a man into mischief.

“Perche?” she asked simply.

Perche“What do you mean, what?” I replied, a little confused.

“Why are you shopping? Aren"t I taking good enough care of you,” she asked with a sideways glance and a pout.

I didn"t know how to respond. Certainly she was taking care of me, but I wasn"t her responsibility. I tried to explain that. She put a hand up in front of her and said, “No, no, no. You are the capo, and I work at the Castello. You are my responsibility.”

areThen with a conspiratorial wink, she told me that she had this same discussion with Anita the other day and the two had an understandable disagreement on the subject. Anita had taken care of Nonno Filippo and thought she would carry on that responsibility with me, especially in light of the conversation I had with her. But the villa was Elisabetta"s charge, and she was shopping for “Signor Filippo,” she told Anita, planting her fists on her hips as she told me, as I"m sure she did when she said it to Anita.

Then she laughed. She said her argument with Anita seemed so funny, but though she laughed at it Anita hadn"t. Since then, they came to an agreement that Elisabetta would continue to stock food in the villa and Anita would buy for the Castello, and each would be responsible for restocking as I and my guests consumed the food. “D"accordo,” they agreed behind fixed stares.

D"accordoJust as she finished her recap of the tussle with Anita, Elisabetta reached out and took my basket from me.

“I"ll take that,” she said with authority, graced with a flirtatious smile. She left no doubt that she intended to take care of my kitchen needs. Funny, I thought, how her look let me know she knew more than I could imagine, including a subtle inference that she knew about Ilsa, and the fact that we"d been seeing more of each other in the last few days.