The Sicilian Wife by Caterina Edwards

Author:Caterina Edwards
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Linda Leith Publishing
Published: 2015-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

III

Water

It takes faith to plant an olive tree.

—Sicilian proverb

I wept and mourned when I discovered myself in this unfamiliar land.

—Empedocles

16 Edmonton

MAY 1989

When John Buonaiuto left the police station, he was convinced that visiting his soon-to-be ex-wife to gather some background information on Fulvia Mazzolin was a smart idea. Janet knew everyone in the fashion business in Edmonton; she’d have a fix on Mrs. Mazzolin, her reputation, as well as any current gossip or innuendos. But once at West Edmonton Mall, he began to question himself. Was this meeting just an excuse to see Janet? A way of testing himself? To measure how much pain she still provoked? And how much he could stoically withstand?

The giant mall put him in a bad mood. Walking through the noise, the lights, the crowds, John was reminded of the crime that went on in front of and behind the false fronts: the bribery and corruption that had built this disproportionate place. John saw the runaway youths, the shoplifters, and the gangs. He saw the ghosts, the Vietnamese kid cut up outside that nightclub, the tourists tossed from the roller coaster, the sweet child lured away from the food court to be raped and slaughtered. “Does anyone actually shop in that hellhole?” he’d once asked Janet, trying to convince her that West Ed was the wrong location for her second shop. She hadn’t bothered to answer, which was typical; instead of responding, she’d become inert, unmoving. She was a stone, and he ended up with a boulder in his stomach.

Janet’s store, Threads, was thronged with young women, clucking over nightgowns, holding up corsets, or wrapping themselves in boas. Janet stood by a cash register, conspicuous in vibrant red and yellow, a big-shouldered jacket, egg-sized earrings, ankle socks, and sparkly high heels.

“Trying out the elf costumes?” John said.

She blinked and then smiled. “You’ve made detective, and you’re still in a uniform.” She gave his khakis and polo shirt a disdainful look. “Boring.”

“I’m not working undercover.”

“I can’t interest you in an aquamarine T-shirt? Give you a discount.”

“As I said, I don’t need to look like an idiot.”

Janet laughed. “You sure this is a police matter?”

At the coffee spot, she said: “You drink espresso now?”

“I’m a new man.”

“So what do you want to know, new man?”

“I’m gathering background information on Fulvia Mazzolin.”

“The owner of Persephone in LeMarchand Mansion? Wow, I wouldn’t have pegged her as being an object of police interest.”

“Have you heard any gossip about her? Or her husband, Sam Mazzolin?”

“Oh, I never met him. Unless— Wait. I did see him at the launch of her new store. Short, dark, and handsome. An eye for the ladies.”

“Stared down your dress?”

“You would have been with me and met him yourself except, as usual, you were on duty that night.”

“And her?”

“Standoffish. She’s got a terrific eye. I’ll say that for her. Taste and talent. We worked together on a number of shows years ago when I was with Holts, and she was sales manager at Moda.”

“You don’t like her?”

“I don’t think she likes me.

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