To Die in Tuscany by David Wagner (uplifting books for women .txt) 📗

to her lips. Her eyes were downcast. “And then all this happened, and now I hate this country even more than before.”

“That’s perfectly understandable, Señora.”

She looked at Rick and appeared to be deciding what else to say. Or thinking she may have already said too much. “Thank you for being so understanding.” She started to extend her hand but then let it fall to her side. Her eyes darted toward the police station and back to Rick. “I trust that your police inspector is not assuming this crime must have been committed by an Italian.” She turned and jerked her chin to signal the driver.

Rick stepped to the car and opened the rear door. The driver hurried over and got in behind the wheel before starting the engine. Isabella Somonte stared straight ahead as the car pulled out into the street and drove off. Rick watched it go and walked toward the police station to pass the widow’s concerns on to DiMaio, including her final comment. What else he would tell him about their conversation he didn’t know.

Meanwhile, Betta was walking into the lobby of the Hotel Botticelli. As she approached the desk to pick up the room key she noticed Pilar sitting in the far corner, holding tightly to her cell phone and staring at the floor. Betta walked over and sat in the chair next to hers.

“Pilar, are you all right?”

“What? Oh, it’s you, Betta. I just got some news I wasn’t expecting.”

“Bad news?”

Pilar shook her head. “No, not really.”

Given the look on Pilar’s face, Betta was not convinced. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It might help.” She tucked her phone into a purse on the small table between them. “The call was from our family attorney about my father’s will. Apparently my understanding of the will was essentially correct. I remember vividly when my father called me in just after he remarried and told me exactly what I was getting and what would go to that woman. It was a very cold, very short meeting. But the lawyer just told me that something in the will was changed—added, really—about six months ago. Either my father didn’t want to tell me face to face, or he wanted it to be a surprise after he’d died. Or he may not have wanted Isabella to find out until he was gone.” She looked at Betta. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“You’re making perfect sense. Take your time.”

Pilar took a tissue from the purse and held it at the ready. “When I was a child my father spent even more time at work than he did later, because he was building the business. I now understand how difficult that was, but at the time I resented it. Summers back then were especially busy for him, and he never took time off, even on weekends. He believed that vacations for him would come once the business had grown, and he was correct. While he worked during those summer months, my mother and I went off to a tiny rental cottage overlooking the Bay of Biscay, all we could afford at the time. It was very rustic, with no electricity, and water from a well, but I loved it. My most treasured memories of my mother are from those summers. She read to me by candlelight and told me stories of when she was growing up. Every day we walked down to the small, rocky beach and splashed in the water.”

She pressed the tissue to her eyes. “When the business became more successful my father rented a villa for us on Minorca near the one he eventually bought. I was thirteen at the time. Mamma was happy with the villa, of course. But I felt betrayed, and at first I refused to go. Part of it was my resentment that my father was still spending so much time at the office instead of with me. But I also understood that those times with my mother were coming to an end, though I didn’t want to admit it. My father couldn’t understand why I would not be happy to spend the summer at a beautiful villa.” She blew her nose in the tissue and pulled out another. “Betta, now I know that he did understand.”

“That’s what the call was about,” said Betta.

“Yes. The lawyer told me that six months ago my father heard rumors that the property where we used to rent the cottage could be up for sale and that a conglomerate would likely buy it, tear down the cottage, and build a hotel. He moved quickly, making a generous offer to the owner that was accepted.”

“And now it will be yours.”

Pilar nodded but took a minute to answer. “Betta, I’ll never be able to thank him.”

“It was the way he wanted it, Pilar. From what you’ve told us, he was a private man, so you have to accept that. Just be thankful for a posthumous olive branch, and remember this gesture rather than the disagreements you may have had with him.”

Pilar sniffed in a breath. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. Thank you for listening to me run on.” She rose to her feet. “I think it will help if I walk around, since my father loved this city so much. It will almost be like walking with him.”

“Good idea,” said Betta as she stood and gave Pilar a warm embrace.

Two minutes later Rick came through the door and spotted Betta in a chair in the corner. He walked over and sat down next to her.

“I passed Pilar on the street, but she just smiled and waved. Did you see her?”

“I certainly did.” She recounted what she had just heard.

“Fascinating,” said Rick, when she’d finished the story. He stretched out his legs and crossed one cowboy boot over the other. “It appears that old man Somonte was not as hard-hearted as we’d come to believe. I got a bit of that from his widow as well. She claims that they had a