A Thousand Tombs (15 page)

Mack was sitting in the foyer when Gen walked in. His face was clean-shaven, his hair was freshly washed, and he was wearing dress slacks and a shirt and tie.

The man looked good, like a kid on a first date.

He stood up fast as soon as he saw her, then rubbed his hands on his thighs and came forward to drop a kiss on her cheek. “Look at you,” he said. “You look great.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

He took her elbow and escorted her to the hostess podium. “We’re ready.”

The young lady showed them to a private table in the back, away from the noise and traffic of the main dining room. Gen bet he’d asked for the seating arrangement before she arrived. He held her chair, then took his own across from her.

“You look great,” he said again. “Happy.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I saw this post on Facebook one day. It said, ‘always keep your chin up, otherwise you’re just looking at your own boobs all day.’ Words to live by. It stuck in my mind.”

His teeth flashed white but he tamped it down, like he thought maybe too much cheerfulness wasn’t appropriate yet. “I didn’t take you for a social media junkie.”

“You’d be right. Facebook is like a car accident to me. I just can’t help but slow down, then stop and watch as I drive by.”

“I’ll have to look you up. Mostly I just check Facebook when I’m looking for evidence. People confess all kinds of crimes there.”

“You won’t get anything on me, I don’t post. I just use it to keep up with my niece and Madison. Emily puts up selfies, and Madison posts pictures of their garden and the house. And her stomach. And the nursery. Have I told you she’s going to have a baby? It seems like she’s been pregnant forever, but I think she still has six weeks or so to go.”

Gen went quiet and focused on the menu and assumed Mack had, too. But when she glanced up, his was still closed on the table and his eyes were trained on her.

“What?”

He shrugged. “When I don’t see you for a while, I forget how beautiful you are.”

Gen laughed. “Oh, come on. No one’s ever called me that.”

“What a shame.” He leaned back in his chair and contemplated her face. His eyes went all soft and she heard him breathe in, then exhale slowly. His voice was low when he spoke again.

“You steal my breath you’re so beautiful.”

Then her heart did that odd thing that happens to people once in a while. It skipped a beat, right out of the blue. She looked at him – really looked – for the first time that evening. She couldn’t find words and she didn’t want to break the mood, so she just watched his face. She felt off balance, like her mind was teetering on the edge of a dream and about to dive in.

“You could say something.” A smile played around his mouth. “You’re not exactly making this easy for me.”

“I don’t mean to make it hard.” She raised her brows and considered her feelings, then took a pull on her wine and looked away.

She spun the glass, slowly, watching how the overhead lights reflected off the smooth, transparent sides, and wished Mack was as easy to see into. And that she could see herself as clearly, for that matter.

“I have mixed feelings,” she continued. “Whatever’s going on here, I like it and I don’t want to mess it up. At the same time, my trust issues are screaming so loud I can’t hear over the noise. I was afraid you were going to walk out on me the other night, so I did it first. And since I don’t really want to have a heart-to-heart about it this evening, it’s better if I just keep quiet.”

She heard him inhale again, then let it out. They were both trying to steady themselves, it seemed.

Gen picked up her menu. “What looks good?”

* * *

When dinner was over he reached across the table for her hand, and she laced her fingers with his.

“Do you like to dance?” he asked.

“You mean disco? No. But my parents put us in ballroom classes when we were in junior high, so I can hold up my end through most of the classics. It comes in handy at weddings. Why?”

“Can you do the two-step?”

“I’ve never learned, but I love to watch.”

“I’ll teach you tonight if you’re game.”

“You can dance?”

He frowned and raised his palms. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“It’s just that the revelations never end.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? So yes, I can. I grew up in a little town called Franklin, which is just down the road from Nashville. Back there, kids learn to two-step as soon as they learn to walk.”

“I’m game,” Gen replied. “Just don’t expect too much.”

Mack paid the bill and they went out to the lobby.

“I’ll drive us over and drop you back at your car when you’re ready to go.” He told her to sit tight while he went for the truck, and five minutes later he double-parked out front and came around to open the passenger door. Once again she marveled at his manners and wondered how his mother had managed.

As he edged into traffic, she asked, “Your mom’s still alive, isn’t she?”

He nodded, but didn’t offer more.

“How did she pull off teaching you to be such a gentleman?”

He took his eyes from the road and looked at her, then back. “She grew up in a decent family, but after she married my dad she didn’t get much of that for herself. But she knew what was right, and she drummed it into me and Jimmy. And when Jimmy got old enough, he backed her.”

He laughed, remembering something he chose not to share. “I got more than one slap upside the head for not minding my manners, I can tell you that.”

Five minutes later they parked on Cortland. Mack took off his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, then held the passenger door and walked her to a country western bar called The Wild Side.

“Is this the secret place you go when you don’t want to be around cops?”

He chuckled. “One of them.”

“Do you think you’ll be a cop forever? Until you retire, I mean.”

He stopped just outside the door and appeared to consider the question, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Sure. Yeah. That’s always been the plan.”

The mood inside was upbeat with a dose of raucous. Three dozen couples moved rhythmically around the dance floor, spinning and turning and clearly having a great time. The venue was full, so they waited against the wall and watched the dancers until a table opened up.

“Fast, fast, slow, slow,” Mack whispered, and Gen knew exactly what he meant. It was the beat of the two-step, the women walking backward for much of the dance while their partners moved them around the floor.

They ordered beers and watched until Mack raised his eyebrows and twitched his head toward the floor. Gen nodded, they rose, and he walked her to the far back corner. She curled the fingers of her left hand around his bicep and placed the other in his upraised palm.

“Back on your right,” he said. “We’ll go slow.”

It didn’t take Gen long to pick it up; it was a simple dance to begin with, she was beyond comfortable with her partner, and the couples surrounding them were having such a wonderful time it was impossible not to catch the vibe. Halfway through the song she was spinning like a pro and wishing she had boots on like everybody else.

When the lazy beat of a slow dance started, Mack pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Gen leaned in and rested her cheek against his shoulder. He moved her to the dreamy beat and she relaxed into him.

“You could have said no,” she murmured.

Mack turned his face so his mouth was close to her ear and whispered, “No to what?”

“No to taking a break. You could have said no, you didn’t want that.”

“I didn’t realize I had that option.”

“We always have options.”

“So you’re telling me it was a test.”

“No. I was angry, and I was afraid. I wasn’t thinking about anything but me, and for just that second I meant it.”

“Could be why I didn’t say no.” He dropped his head and nuzzled his face into her neck before he spoke again. “I let you walk away because part of me wanted to know how bad you wanted to be there. It didn’t look like you wanted it that bad right then.”

“You can’t do that, you know.”

He turned his mouth to her ear. “Do what?”

“You can’t make arguments into a test.”

He let out an almost silent chuckle and nodded, remembering his own words. “I got my back up. I thought you weren’t being loyal. It’s hard for me if someone I care about doesn’t agree when I stand up for something. It’s a flaw in my good nature.”

“Mack, we’re not always going to agree.”

“No, we’re not. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“And it doesn’t mean I’m not being loyal. It just means I don’t agree with a choice you made, or the thought process you used to get there. It’s true, I was wrong to needle you about Luca. I didn’t need to push that hard, but once in a while I promise I’m going to push. It’s a flaw in my good nature. So if that’s going to get your back up every time, then you and I aren’t going to make it.”

He tightened his hold. “We can make this work.”

God, she hoped so.

He wasn’t finished. “But we won’t pull it off, Genny, if you keep calling breaks. You need to choose in or out. If you’re one hundred percent in like I am, that means no calling a break. Ever. I need the kind of person who’ll take a deep breath and work it out. If that’s not you, you need to say so now.”

She was surprised to hear him talk like that, with so much conviction in his voice. “I’m in,” she replied. “And you were right about not using something shared in a vulnerable moment against the other person. I’m sorry.”

“The past is hard,” Mack said. “I don’t let it out to just anyone.”

“The past is hard for me, too, so I get it. And Mack?”

“Yeah.”

The last notes of the song played out and he stopped, still holding onto her, but drew back half a step to look her in the eye.

“It works both ways,” she said. “You could have saved us, stopped me from walking away right then, told me there were no breaks. It looks to me like we both need practice.”

His lips curved, and he took her hand as they went back to the table. “Like I said before, people come into your life for a reason, because you have something to learn from them.”

“Oh?” Gen’s tone held a tinge of sarcasm. “Is that something you read on Facebook?”

They sat for a while, then got up and danced until Gen’s feet couldn’t take anymore, then sat and talked until it was so late they both knew it was time to go. They held hands on the way to the truck, then climbed in and talked about life and Madison and Cole and their garden and a million different things.

One minute they were laughing about Luca’s oh-so-nonchalantly sporting Oliver’s girly disguise, and the next minute they were making out like teenagers at the drive-in.

Gen finally pulled away. “I have to go.”

Mack didn’t protest, just kissed her again and slotted the key into the ignition and drove back to her car. “Are we good?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re good,” she replied. “I had a great time tonight, Mack. I’m driving up to Healdsburg in the morning. I’ll be back Tuesday, and I’ll call you then.”

He reached into the glove box and pulled out an envelope, then tucked it into her purse. “Here’s the information you asked for. You be careful with this Giampaolino guy, he’s not pretty. And if it was him who hit you, he’s done enough damage already. Keep your head down.”

He ran a finger down her jawline and over her lips. “I had a great time, too.”

She pecked his cheek, gave him one last hug, then climbed into her own car and drove home.

Mack’s envelope held a rap sheet that was complete enough to indicate that Rudy Giampaolino had made a decent career out of being a muscle-bound moron. He’d been picked up for assault and B and E, but nothing had managed to stick. It was like the guy was dipped in Teflon.

She was standing in her living room early Sunday morning, drinking coffee and looking out the west side windows toward the ocean – which she could not see – and thinking about Mack and Luca and the whole shebang. She hadn’t slept well for the jumble of dreams that tramped through her head like so many
tombaroli
, probing for graves in the pitch black darkness.

And Gen suspected that in her case, the tombs she’d been dreaming about were of her own design. Maybe she needed a shrink.

And that made her think about Madison’s husband, Cole, Gen’s go-to counselor and a psych professor at Sonoma State. She hadn’t been up to visit for months, and she was looking forward to having a good chat with both of them.

She looked at the clock. Eight a.m.

Gen wanted to be in Healdsburg by two o’clock that afternoon. The drive time was barely an hour and a half, and she could pack her duffel in fifteen minutes. That left plenty of time for another cup of coffee, a walk, and a detour to Giampaolino’s last known residence, which was listed as an apartment in North Beach.

What would it hurt if her route took her up toward Washington Park? She drained her cup, made a note of the address, and headed for the shower.

Two hours later she was in North Beach, wearing trainers and workout gear. Her bag was packed and in the trunk of the car; she would leave for Healdsburg from here and change for the party once she reached Maddy’s.

Something about Rudy’s address had seemed familiar, but she didn’t make the connection until she was parked out front. The apartment building was on the same street where they’d dropped Luca that first evening, the night this whole incident had spun onto her and Mack’s radar.

Lucky them.

Gen sat and thought about the coincidence, drumming her nails on the steering wheel. More duplicity? She thought about calling Luca and drilling him about it, but couldn’t see a positive. What use would that be? He and Vitelli both seemed determined to only say what they wanted.

She passed on the call.

Her thoughts segued to Mack and she wondered what he was up to today, but she switched off the thread. She was here about Rudy. Getting distracted wouldn’t help. But as much as she wanted to focus on Giampaolino, she realized the universe was telling her something when a familiar figure came strolling up the sidewalk.

It was Ralph Zuccaro’s pawn shop employee, John.

So her intuition had been right that day in the restaurant when she’d suspected John was pleased with Rudy’s treatment of Zuccaro. These two players were in bed together, she’d bet on it.

But who was calling the shots?

She put on a pair of sunglasses and grabbed her purse and a not-too-awful hat from the backseat, then stuffed her hair into the crown and slipped out the door.

She was up the walk and into the complex when she caught sight of John across the patio, peeling open the screen door at apartment number thirty-two.

Rudy’s place.

She ducked into a passage between buildings, leaned against the stucco wall, and pretended to search through her bag as she pondered the possibilities. Could their connection be unrelated?

Nah.

The more likely scenario was that John had snitched to Giampaolino about the kid coming into the shop with the coin, then later about Zuccaro’s confab with Vitelli. And she may have been the one who supplied the tidbit that day in the shop, when she shot off her mouth about seeing Zuccaro and Vitelli together.

Oops.

Gen wondered if Ralph Zuccaro knew about the John-Giampaolino connection, and if so, why he kept him on at the store. She broke off the thought when the door of thirty-two swung open and the two men in question emerged, then sauntered across the courtyard and out onto the street.

She counted to ten, then followed.

They crossed to the opposite sidewalk, hands in pockets, moving like they were out for a Sunday stroll. She hung back and trailed them, keeping her head down and acting oh-so nonchalant.

The boys cut through Washington Park and headed for Saints Peter and Paul, and for a moment Gen wondered if they were going to Mass. It was Sunday morning, after all. People did go to church.

But they passed by and turned at the corner and continued on. Two blocks later they pushed through the door of the Italian Athletic Club.

She didn’t formulate a plan, just took a deep breath and followed them in. She was no sooner inside than a hail of cries rang out in English and Italian.

“No women!”

She stopped and looked around.

A waiter approached and grasped her by the forearm. “Members only,” he murmured, low, and his tone promised that there wasn’t an argument that could breach the rule.

No doubt about it, he was going to toss her out.

She could see Rudy and John across the room, hanging with a group playing cards. Rudy ignored her but John’s eyes narrowed, and Gen swore he was trying to figure out if she was who he thought she was. He whispered something to the player seated closest to him.

He was an older man, and he twisted around to look. There was something definite about him, some aura that screamed leader. The guy stood out. He seemed to command respect from the group around him. It was subtle, but it was there. And his authority was crystal clear when he raised his hand and just like that, the stooge trying to rush her out the door dropped her arm like she was a leper.

John and the man conversed in Italian for a minute, then the boss-type guy nodded like he got the picture and rose from the table and strolled toward Gen. His cronies watched for a minute, then lost interest and lowered their heads back over the cards and resumed their conversation.

He was taller than he’d seemed sitting down, and as he approached he walked with a slight limp, favoring his right leg. His neck was reddened from years of sun, and his cheeks were marred by a web of tiny blood vessels just beneath the skin.

“You cannot come in.”

His voice was not unkind, and his English was tinted with an Italian inflection that sounded very much like Vitelli’s. “This club is for members only, and you are not a member. You will have to leave.” He placed a gentle hand in the middle of her back and gestured for her to turn, then opened the door and held it while she walked through.

He followed her out to the sidewalk.

“How do you know I’m not a member?”

“Members are Italian only. Of Italian descent, you see? And men. Italian men only.”

“Oh,” Gen replied. “Yeah, well. I guess that does count me out. Isn’t it illegal to have a male-only club in this day and age, Mister–?”

“I am Angelo.”

“Got a last name, Angelo?”

He ignored her, simply took her arm and waved a hand up the street. “Shall we walk? I believe you have questions, aside from my name. And for you, I have a few words of caution.”

She didn’t speak, just fell in step alongside and waited.

“You are treading where you should not.”

“That’s what everybody keeps telling me.”

“And yet you do not listen.”

“Yeah, I know,” she replied “I’ve never been real good about being told what to do. It makes me want to do whatever I’m being warned away from even more. It’s immature, I know, but there you have it.”

“It is childish and dangerous. What can I tell you that will make you turn away from this and go back to your life and be safe and happy?”

“How about you tell me what’s going on?”

He smiled. “Nothing is going on.”

“I’ve heard that line already. Like I asked the other guy who told me that, if everything’s cool, what’s with the thugs and the old man taped to a chair and the talk about illegal artifacts and the threats and the breaking into my house? Somebody owes me a new couch.”

The man pointed to a bench across the street and they walked to it and sat. “I can tell you about my country,” he said, “and what the artifacts mean to the
contadinos
there.”

“Contadinos?”

“Country folk. Farmers.”

“Okay.” She turned slightly toward him and stuck out her hand. “I’m Gen Delacourt by the way, Angelo.”

“I know your name, Miss Delacourt. Do you understand the story of the
tombaroli
?”

“Yes I do, Angelo. Everybody wants to tell it to me, so you can skip right to who the
tombarolo
in this scenario actually is.”

His lips twitched as though she’d told a joke. “I suspect we all take what we believe is ours, do we not, Miss Delacourt.”

“Did you do that yourself? Did you dig?”

“I was the best. I dug for the tombs once upon a time and brought the beautiful treasures into the light.”

“Your government says it’s illegal. They say you’re destroying history,” Gen replied. “That when you clear out the tombs, the evidence of how the people lived is lost. They can’t document anything.”

“I know this argument, but I also know that the scientists would never have the time or resources to expose all these things. Without us, they would remain buried for another thousand years.”

He made a gesture with his hand and Gen noticed his fingers were calloused and scarred, the result, perhaps, of his years of wielding a pick and shovel.

“They gain enough knowledge of the past from the sites they find. They pour over them, grain by grain, for decades.” He shrugged. “Museums do not have the means to share all these beautiful things with the people of the world. They store them away in closets and cases and cabinets. Only a tiny portion is put on display, and the rest are forgotten.”

Gen thought about Dr. Grayson’s archives. Angelo was right.

“Our families have owned the land for centuries,” he continued. “If we had brought up the artifacts and sold them generations ago, no one would have said a word. Now it is forbidden, yet we believe we have the right to the treasure that lies beneath our fields and our villages.”

Gen knew nothing of the politics or the laws or who was right or wrong, but she could see both sides. What she wanted to know was how it was related to what was happening in North Beach. “How are Vitelli and the boy involved?”

“Of what boy do you speak?”

“Luca Torello.”

“I do not know him.” He stood and faced her. “I must go. I am told you have a good life, is this right?”

“Yes.”

“Then go back to it. Leave this situation behind, and you will continue to be happy.”

He started to walk away, but returned and stood before her. His voice was soft when he spoke. “Do you possess something that does not belong to you?”

She blinked and tilted her head from side to side, looking confused and deep in thought at the same time. “Yeah, I checked out a book from the library about six months ago and never took it back.”

His expression reflected disappointed.

“I take it that’s not what you meant.”

“If I find out that you have what I seek, Miss Delacourt, you and I will have another conversation.”

This time she just shook her head and told a semi-truth, sincere as a nun. “I don’t know what you’re seeking, but I can assure you I don’t have anything in my possession that isn’t mine. I’d like to know more, though, if you’d like to share.”

He didn’t reply, just turned and left her sitting there.

Gen crossed her arms and watched him stroll amidst the burgeoning crowds, his lopsided gait making him easy to follow through the throng. When he disappeared back through the door of the club, she stood and headed for her car with a tangle of thoughts in her head.

She’d identified another player in this unnamed game, and this one had more or less admitted he was looking for the coins. And now yet another person was warning her to butt out. That made how many now?

At this point, she’d lost count.

As far as she could tell, Rudy Giampaolino, John the pawn shop appraiser, and Angelo the ex-
tombarolo
were pitted against Ralph Zuccaro, Mr. Vitelli, and Luca, with the coins and the Carabinieri team in between. Nobody was talking, nobody was pointing the finger at anybody – except the Italian cops at Vitelli – and they all seemed content to wait it out.

What was going on?

She stood up, then headed for the car and Healdsburg.