The Player's Encore by Joe Cosentino

Author:Joe Cosentino
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, mystery, lgbt, humor, amateur sleuth, key west, italy, cozy, roaring 20s, player piano
Publisher: Joe Cosentino

Chapter Due

After enjoying the enormous dinner, we all staggered through the hallway into the expansive living room. Uncle Darryl and I stood opposite a large window, gazing outside as the sky gods wove ribbons of scarlet, amethyst, and peach that faded to gray. Bartolo joined us. “The view is magnificent, no?”

“Magnificent, yes.” Uncle Darryl scanned the indigo hills and cobalt mountains in the distance.

I asked, “Who works in the olive orchards and vineyards?”

Bartolo replied, “People from the village. They enjoy sharecropping.”

“Sharecropping?” I asked.

Bartolo nodded. “A tenant works a specific lot and then takes a percentage of the produce, giving the rest to me to sell in town.”

“A win-win for all,” Uncle Darryl said.

He smiled. “I pinch myself every morning for my good fortune in living here.”

“I can certainly understand that,” Uncle Darryl replied. “Over the last few decades, I’ve been living in a rectory overlooking a mountain. But that view pales in comparison to this one.”

Bartolo asked him, “You are a priest?”

“I was—until three months ago.”

Turning toward me, Bartolo said, “May I steal your uncle for a few moments? There is something in my study I believe he would like to see.”

I replied, “Of course.”

“I’ll admit I’m intrigued,” my uncle said.

Bartolo extended an arm. “Please, come this way.”

After they left, I spotted Claire Forest sitting on a bench in the courtyard. I exited out the glass door, taking in the pleasing aroma from the nearby lemon grove. “What a beautiful smell.” Staring at the frolicking fountain, I said, “This place is so beautiful.”

“Its high rating in my travel agency’s literature is well deserved,” Claire said.

“Agreed.”

She smiled at me. “Beaufort is French. Is your father French?”

“He was, and my mother was African American.”

“Was?”

“My parents and my baby brother died in a car accident when I was four.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I hardly remember them.”

“But I’m guessing you miss them all the same.”

“You guessed right.”

She blinked back tears.

Sitting next to her, I said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. I didn’t mean to burden everyone at dinner.”

“It was no burden. I can’t imagine what you and your husband are going through.”

She quivered. “I wake up each morning absolutely positive that losing T.J. was a terrible nightmare. Then the horrible reality sinks in all over again.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did it…?

“Start?”

I nodded.

She seemed to be watching it all in front of her like a horror movie. “One night when I was getting T.J. ready for bed in his room, he pointed to his large throat glands. My husband and I brought him to the doctor the next day. He ran some tests and assured us it was probably enlarged tonsils or mononucleosis.” She shuddered. “A few days later came the frightening diagnosis.”

“Aren’t there treatments for—?”

“Yes.” She took in a shaky breath. “They were promising at first, but then…. T.J. never came home from the hospital.” Tears filled her eyes. “After crying, pounding on the walls, staring at our son’s pictures, and living like recluses, Julian and I thought we had come to terms with losing T.

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