The Shooting Star by Frances Dall'Alba

Author:Frances Dall'Alba
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Poinsettia Publishing

“Benito. Benito.”

Connor swung around at the familiar name. An old, stooped man approached him in what looked like an agonising effort to walk the short distance. Each step an Olympic hurdle. Connor rushed closer to the hunched man and helped him towards a concrete seat near the bridge’s rail, all the while his heart thumping against his chest.

Looking into watery, red-rimmed eyes, gnarled hands gripped Connor’s arm. He used every scrap of energy his tired brain had left to make sense of what the man was telling him.

“You remind me so much of Benito. We were good friends.”

Connor recalled his grandfather’s words on his last night and, in an instant, knew this kind, old man was talking about his grandfather’s missing twin. Connor seated him as gently as he could, the old man refusing to release his hold on his arm.

The man took a few moments to rest, his breathing laboured. “You’re looking in the wrong place for the jewels,” he revealed.

Connor gripped the edge of the concrete seat with his spare hand. Oh my God, someone else knows about them? In halting dialect, he asked, “How do you know about the jewels?”

The old man smiled with missing teeth, those remaining, blackened with time. “I was there that night. I watched them dig the hole in the rain, but I hid well behind Fetuletti’s old house.”

Seeming to relax, the old man released his hold and reached into his jacket pocket. With tobacco-stained fingers, he pulled out his pipe and lit it before taking a couple of puffs. Connor inhaled the strong smell, curbing the need to cough it out of his lungs, waiting patiently for him to continue.

After a couple more puffs, he asked, “Who are you?”

In dialect, Connor replied, “I am Nicolo’s grandson, and on the night he died, he asked me to come to Falerna and retrieve his mother’s jewels.”

The old man nodded, continuing to smoke. “It was a tragedy when their parents were murdered. I was so scared the same people would murder my family. I never told a soul about seeing Benito and Nicolo that night.” He paused and turned his wrinkled face towards Connor. “I’d forgotten the memory until I heard strangers in town were looking for an old fontana dei poveri. When I saw you today, the memory rushed back to me, and I knew I had to finally tell someone.”

Relief swept through Connor. Something hadn’t clicked when he’d compared his grandfather’s diagram to the water fountains he’d inspected. But why is there no record of this other fountain?

He snapped back to attention and concentrated on the old man’s next words. “The fontana where they buried the jewels was already old and disused back then. Fetuletti’s old house was eventually used as an orphanage after the war. If you didn’t know about the fontana, you’d never recognise it today. The building is now used for childcare during the week, and the old fontana faces the outdoor play area. On weekends, there is no one around.

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