Revenge of the Ziti by Kirsten Weiss

Author:Kirsten Weiss [Kirsten Weiss]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: misterio press
Published: 2023-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Arsen’s hazel eyes blazed. “Come with me,” he said, anger bridling his voice. Grasping my hand, he led me through the plastic tables of the sidewalk café.

An angular waiter in a black apron materialized in front of us. He wagged his long finger. “No dogs.”

Arsen jerked his head toward the cobbled street. “My wife was nearly killed by your flower pot,” Arsen growled. “Who was on your balcony?”

“Flower pot?” The waiter noticed the pieces of white and gold scattered across the stones. He whitened. “Oh, no. Signora, I am so sorry. Were you hurt? Please, sit down.”

Arsen handed me Ziti’s leash. He brushed past the waiter.

“Signor... Wait…” the waiter trailed off. He turned to me, his hands fluttering helplessly. “Please, sit, sit.” He led me to a blue table, and I sat in a plastic chair. “I shall get you some water.” The waiter bustled away.

A few minutes later, Arsen returned, looking grim. “There’s no one up there. But all the doors are open, and there’s a back door for deliveries. Anyone could have gotten in and out without being noticed.”

“It could have been an accident.” How could it be anything else? No one had reason to hurt me. No one here knew of our track record as amateur sleuths.

But there was such a thing as the internet. Someone could have found out. I combed my fingers through my hair, and a golden, ceramic shard fell to the tiled floor. There were flecks of gold and black attached to my top as well.

I scowled. “Of course, it had to be one of the modern heads that nearly killed me.”

Arsen’s laugh was short and mirthless. “Better to be nearly brained by a classic?”

“Something like that.” I grimaced and rubbed the back of my head where it had struck the wall.

“You are hurt.” He scraped back a chair and sat beside me. Arsen took my hand. “I was too rough. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for saying that, but I don’t see how you could have done any differently.” I laid a hand atop his, broad and tanned and calloused. They were the hands of a working man, an outdoor man, and despite my near miss, warmth spread through my chest. “I’ll be fine.”

The waiter returned and unfurled a white tablecloth. In a trice, pastries and green bottles of water appeared before us.

“Susan?” Imogen and Miles waddled to our table. “I thought that was you,” Imogen said. “I told you we’d see her here,” she said to her husband.

“Are you all here?” My forehead crinkled. They’d warned us they would be in Erice. But seeing them so soon after the accident… I glanced toward the narrow street. A waiter swept up the mess on the cobblestones.

“Of course,” Miles said. “Charlotte and Julian are wandering somewhere.”

My breath quickened. And Miles and Imogen, at least, had been nearby… “Join us,” I said.

Arsen wrangled more chairs, and the two sat. I smiled at the newcomers. “So, what have—?”

At my ear, the elderly accordionist burst into a round of Yankee Doodle.

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