“I need to sit down. Do you have anymore of that?”
She glanced at the glass in her hand. “Of course, here take what’s left of this one. I’ll get another.”
Her room was a carbon copy of mine but in a different color scheme. Hers sported mauves and turquoise and lots of gold trim everywhere. Definitely a Cypriot decorator. But the huge couch and wet bar and room layout looked the same.
I followed her to the bar. “Aunt Elizabeth, how did you get out of jail?”
“Oh, that.” She waved her bangles. “Salvatore came to see me early Monday morning. It was odd because it was so early, and I was expecting you. But he came with an official looking gentleman, I didn’t catch his name, who opened the cell door. Mr. Bellomo offered me his arm and off we walked. We were over here by nine in the morning about the time I was expecting you.”
She calmly poured another iced tea.
“Didn’t you think to call me to let me know you were okay?”
She looked at me like I had two heads. “Marie-Claude, I didn’t have your cell phone number because the police took my phone. They took my purse. I assumed that man at the jail would let you know that Mr. Bellomo had come to get me. Why didn’t you come before now?” She made a pouty face like she was hurt. “I thought sure you would. And why did you come through the balcony? Wasn’t that rather dangerous, dear?” She peered at me. “You are acting rather strange.”
I was acting strange? “I didn’t know about Mr. Bellomo until Lonnie, the tour guide, told us about your widow friends. One of them told him about Mr. Bellomo. How was I to know?”
“Dear me.” She shook her head, moved to the sofa and sat down. “I thought I had mentioned him to you.” She patted the seat beside her, and I dutifully sat.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re having a fine time, Mr. Bellomo is taking care of everything, and you are engaged to be married. Is that an accurate summary of what is going on here?”
She pursed her lips and scrunched her nose in a funny little way she had. “Yes, I think that covers it. His home is quite comfortable. This is my suite. He has his own, of course. This is all on the up and up. I told him no hanky-pank until after the wedding. It will be a small one, I think. He’d like us to be married in Sicily. I haven’t met his family yet. Of course, I want you to meet him. But,” she looked me over, “that outfit will never do.”
I stared at her. Was this my Aunt Elizabeth? She sounded like Cleopatra surveying the empire. This from the person who lived in a tiny apartment surrounded by people she had known her entire life. She was going to marry a foreigner and live in Sicily? And hanky-pank? At her age? I was impressed. Would that I were still interested in hanky-pank when I reached her age. I was speechless.
She sipped her drink like it was the most normal thing in the world to be discussing getting married to a multimillionaire, maybe billionaire, wine merchant. She, who had never been married a day in her life.
“Would you like to go out on the balcony, dear? The view is spectacular. I guess you already know since you came in that way. However did you get on my balcony?”
“From the roof.”
She raised her eyebrows, something she used to do when I was a teenager, indicating I was going a bit too far.
I blew out a breath and leaned my head against the back of the couch. Exhaustion was getting harder to keep at bay. I knew if I closed my eyes I might drift off. Where to start and what to tell her? Maybe partial truth. Nope, couldn’t even do that. I gnawed on my lip.
The image of Zach being helped into the palace popped into my thoughts. I couldn’t imagine what had happened to him. He looked like he had been in a fight. Where was he now? Maybe he needed help. No, I couldn’t let him distract me. I had to help my aunt.
Salvatore Bellomo must have legitimate feelings for my aunt because she was an absolute nobody and lived on social security, her library pension, Medicare and a small amount of money saved for a rainy day. Any extra money she had went for travel, and I supplemented that at times. He couldn’t be after her money.
Then again he might be after those mythical jewels Zach swore he had touched. If my aunt, knowing or unknowingly, knew where the jewels were, and if Mr. Bellomo played along like he wanted to marry her, then maybe she would tell him where they were. If the jewels were worth two million dollars that was a nice piece of change for not very much work.
That was it. Grandpa was going to make an absolute fool of my aunt, take the jewels and break her heart. I wondered if she would get to keep the ring. I could work up an indignant rage, given half a chance.
“I’m waiting for your explanation, Claudie. Have you fallen asleep?”
My eyes snapped open.
“Before I go into that rather long story,” I said, knowing evasion of the truth was the best I could come up with at the moment, “did you hear of Berengaria’s jewels?”
My aunt stopped playing with the ice in her glass and looked at me. “Of course. Everyone’s heard of that legend, and everyone knows there are no jewels.”
“But did you hear anything during these last few weeks while you were on the island? Did anyone joke about Berengaria’s jewels or about finding them or about seeing them?” I tried not to prompt her with a hopeful face.
She frowned, pursed her lips, scrunched her nose. “Let me think. Maybe there was some mention. Someone on every trip talks about them.”
“Yes, about how they were lost when Berengaria’s ship wrecked off the coast, and how they were never recovered but people keep finding bits of gold and a precious stone or two on the beaches around here.”
“Yes, that’s it.” She smiled. “Such an enchanting legend. I was always partial to it.” She paused and cocked her head. “You know, now that you ask, I do remember Mrs. Crawford mentioning jewels to a man at lunch one day. She was waiting for me outside the ladies restroom and when I came out she broke off, and he walked away. I thought it might have been about the legend because I heard Berengaria’s name. It’s hard to mistake such a name, you know.”
“What did this man look like?” I asked.
“American. He and his wife are that American couple that come every year with the group from Boston College. He’s rather tall. A beefy sort of man, rather dull face. She’s a bit horsy looking, long head. They rented a blue Maruti this year. Quite an ugly thing, but I guess it gets them around well enough.”
That’s all that I had — a passing reference in a conversation overhead by accident. Was Zack right that Berengaria’s jewels really existed?
Fourteen
In all the excitement I had forgotten my aunt might have a phone in her room. I needed to get her away from this place. I decided to appeal to her sense of propriety.
“Aunt Elizabeth, I don’t think this arrangement looks quite right for you to be shacking up with your intended. How about I call Yannis and have him pick us up? We can check into a hotel. Where’s the phone?”
She frowned and scrunched her nose. “You think it looks bad my being here? I’m not shacking up. After all, I have my own room.” She gazed about rather wistfully at the sumptuous furnishings. “I don’t recall a phone in here, now that you ask.”
My nerves were getting the best of me. I had to get her out of here. Mr. Bellomo did not have honorable intentions as far as I was concerned. I debated over confronting him and telling him we were leaving or trying to sneak her out. I wondered if Luigi was watching her room and walked over to the door to poke my head out. I listened before I opened then cracked the door. No one in the hall. That was a plus.
“What are you doing, Claudie?” she asked, as I quietly shut the door.