Dirty Secrets (9 page)

They heard him before they saw him.  An orchestra of tools in play on his belt announced his arrival into the building.  His bulbous figure reminded Adele of a buoy in the middle of the ocean.  He bobbed up and down when he walked as if he was fighting to stay upright.  He planted himself in front of Celeste, regarding his interrogators with a solemn expression.  

“Ignatius, what exactly did you see Mrs. Argentero doing,” Celeste asked. 

Ignatius removed a meticulously folded handkerchief from his pocket.  He sopped up the rivulets of sweat dripping from his forehead and neck.

“I was pruning the bushes by the front gate.  Those bushes are real sensitive.  I would be too if I greeted passersby all day, every day for the duration of my life.   Anyways, I ducked down real low.  I tell my plants they’re doing a good job of growing.  I was in the middle of my work when I heard Yanice’s cab pulling up to the property.”

“Did you see my grandmother get into the taxi?”  Ambrogio resembled a scale, leaning from side to side, trying to equally distribute his annoyance with Ignatius’s long-winded answers.

“Well, she jumped into the cab like someone held a torch to her backside.” Ignatius accepted the bottle of water Celeste handed to him.  The water secreted out of his pores as soon as he drank it.

“What was she wearing?” Adele asked.

“She was a vision.  She wore a flowing tie-dyed skirt.  I’m not certain about the rest of her outfit.  The armful of jewelry she wore glowed when caught in the sun.

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Ambrogio asked.

“I’m just a groundskeeper.  Plants are my game.  If it ain’t got a root, I figured it means ain’t meant to stay in one place,” Ignatius said.

“Thank you, Ignatius,” Celeste said. 

Celeste called Yanice after Ignatius lumbered away still patting at his slick forehead.  Fortunately, he was in the area having had dropped off a passenger at a nearby hotel.  Yanice walked in with his usual cool island ease.  Stock piled in access, his signature cargo pants brimmed with goodies.   

“I was on my way back here,” Yanice said.

“Where did you take my grandmother?”

“I took her to Pointe Serpahine in Castries.  She kept saying the word “shopping.” Yanice stared at Marissa. 

“You took a mentally unstable woman into one of the busiest shopping areas in St. Lucia?”  Ambrogio asked.

“It’s my fault Yanice.  The baby sits right on top of my bladder,”  Marissa said.

I tried to hold it as long as I could.  She left when I went to the bathroom.” Marissa’s hand rubbed her belly in small circles.  Ambrogio narrowed his eyes on the small lump nestled in her grasp. 

“Had I known you were pregnant, I would have never hired you.“

Your family may own St. Lucia, but you don’t own me.  Don’t speak to my fiancé like you own her,” Yanice said.

He had drawn a line in the sand with his statement, the look in his eyes dared Ambrogio to cross it.  Not only did Ambrogio cross the line, he demolished it and reconstructed it in a location of his choosing. 

“I don’t own anyone, but I do own the taxi company you work for.  I’d say it’s close enough, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Ambrogio, can I speak with you for a minute?” Adele asked. 

She needed to stomp out the crackling embers of a battle between the two head- strong men.  They had stepped out of eavesdropping distance, but all eyes focused on them. 

“You cannot threaten people to get what you want.  Stop this pissing contest with Yanice so we can start looking for your grandmother.”

“I’m scared.”  Ambrogio ran his hand through his windswept hair.  His icy demeanor melted when magnified under the heat of his despair.

“We’ll find her.” Adele tried to reassure Ambrogio and herself.

“I want to help you find her,” Marissa said. 

While Adele and Ambrogio had their side bar, Marissa had been engulfed in Yanice’s arms. 

“You need to stay here in case she returns,” Yanice said.

Marissa nodded her agreement into his neck.  Roles settled, the trio ventured out on their scavenger hunt. 

Like dogs released in the world sniffing the ground in search of foxes, the tourists spilled onto Pointe Seraphine looking for a good deal.  Yanice and Ambrogio powered through the crowd using their arms as machetes, chopping overzealous tourists down with each mighty swing.  

The hierarchy of the shops was apparent, high-end establishments sat at the mouth of the port. These stores swallowed passengers as they disembarked from gigantic cruise ships. 

These buildings boasted fluorescent colors and elaborate storefronts.  Some had benches, while other’s had catchers posted outside to reel tourists in with their sweet bargain talk.  Their eyes grazed on the varied assortment of shops without a clue as to Felicita’s whereabouts, until Ambrogio stopped, his finger plastered on the pristine glass over a lone piece of jewelry in the display case. 

“Eccola!”
Ambrogio said

“The necklace….do you recognize it?” Adele asked. 

“It’s Felicità’s.  I would recognize it anywhere.” He tripped over Adele in his haste to inquire about the necklace. 

Upon closer inspection, Adele realized that the flower sitting amidst diamonds was the same flower tattooed on Ambrogio’s ankle.  In the store, Ambrogio bombarded the frazzled store clerk with questions in Italian.  Naturally, his native tongue was his “go to” language in moments of anger and passion, a fact Adele bore witness to a few hours ago.  She felt as though it comforted him in times when he felt lost. 

“I’m sorry.  Where did the necklace in the window come from?”  Ambrogio asked.

“We were fortunate enough to purchase the necklace this afternoon,” the clerk said.  Her fair skin lit a match, sending a bright blaze of red hair aflame atop her head. 

“How could you determine its value so quickly?” Ambrogio asked.

“If you’re questioning the legality of the sale, I assure you, our appraisers are the best in the world,” the cler
k said.

“The legality of your so-called purchase is debatable.  This establishment feels distinctly like a high-end pawn shop.” Ambrogio s
potted more of his grandmother’s precious heirlooms scattered around the store. 

“Sir, once in a while some exquisite pieces fall into our lap.  If a customer insists on selling it, it’s our duty to provide assistance.  Are you interested in purchasing the necklace?” the clerk asked.

“I’m interested in purchasing all the items brought here this afternoon.” Ambrogio said.

“Absolutely sir.” The clerk smiled.  Adele could see her mentally calculating her commission. 

“I’m also interested in learning about the whereabouts of the seller,” he said. 

“We protect our client’s identities.”

“I’m her grandson.  She’s gone missing, it’s a matter of life and death.”

“I am not able to verify your familial relationship.”

“I will dismantle this store and your life piece by piece in the second it takes you to reapply your lipstick.”

“Is there a problem here, Mr. Argentero.” The man’s figure seemed to appear from out of nowhere.   The tailored suit he wore fit every nuance of his body perfectly.

“Not if you tell me what transpired today, Normand,” Ambrogio said. 

Normand shook head in agreement and dismissed his assistant.

“Your grandmother was here earlier, just as radiant as ever, although slightly agitated.  She wanted cash for the jewelry.  She also wanted to know the location of the nearest bridal salon.  It was a tad bizarre, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Normand said.

Adele noticed Normand’s posture slacken a bit when he finished the last sentence.  Yanice, who had turned mute during their entire exchange, watched with nervous eyes.  She wondered what he was thinking. 

“Where’s the shop?” Yanice’s voice lacked the playfulness it usually conveyed. 

Adele tuned them out, flabbergasted at how a series of no’s magically transformed into yes in a “jump, anything you say sir” kind of way when it came to the Argentero’s. 

Ambrogio, Adele and Yanice walked the ten blocks to Esmè Street.  According to Normand, the bridal shop was the only one in St. Lucia. 

The further away they walked from the tourist mecca of Pointe Seraphine, the shabbier the stores became.  The merchandise was far less impressive.  Storefronts grew gloomier.  Foot traffic from locals populated the streets.  After a few blocks, the trio stopped at Tress’ Dresses.

The store reminded Adele of a delicate page dog-eared in the book of time.  An antique sewing machine sat long retired in the store window. Mannequins flounced in lace stood tall, laying in wait for their grooms. 

Not a girly girl, Adele’s heart still leaped at the collection of old gowns displayed before her eyes.  Her admiration was cut short by Ambrogio’s stern face as he pressed her to enter the bridal shop. 

The smell of moth balls filled the air.  An elderly woman sat at an old wood table, negotiating a sewing machine needle through the twists and turns of a garment .

“I’m looking for a woman.  She’s Italian with long silver hair.”  Ambrogio cleared his throat.  The woman raised her eyes first, followed by her head. 

“You’re family. Your eyes burn with the same fire as hers,” she said.

“She’s my grandmother, and she’s very ill.  Can you tell us where she went?”

“She’s sick and determined, a dangerous combination,” she said. 

“I fear for her safety with every advancing minute,” Ambrogio said. 

“This store has seen many brides.  During slavery times, only white ones.   Now locals, tourists, and everything in between come in here to buy wedding dresses.  I have never seen anyone with as much love in her eyes for her soon-to-be husband than your grandmother.”

“Isn’t your grandmother married?”  Adele rememebered the obese ruby ring weighing down Felicità’s marriage finger.

“She had been married to my grandfather for thirty-five years.  He died six months ago.  My grandmother is still in mourning.  You must be mistaken.”  Ambrogio’s confusion marred his beautiful features.

“I may be old, but my senses are as sharp as an owls.  I know what you’re thinking before the thought creeps in your mind.  Come here and help me with something,” she said. 

A puffy white cloud of hair covered her head.  Her midnight colored skin pulled tightly against her frail frame when she lifted the tired piece of machinery, an ancient sewing machine, off the floor.  Her firm muscles flexed with her effort. 

"Let me help you, Signora."  Ambrogio tried to pry the machine out of her strong-willed hands.

"I don't know who this Signora is, but my name is Seamstress.  I go by Tress."  She placed the old machine on the table, unsettling snowflake-like scraps of lace varying in size and color.

"Your profession is a seamstress.  It cannot be your name."  Ambrogio cocked his head to the side.

"I may look old but my spanking hand is young."  Tress patted her knees.  Both Yanice and Adele turned away to conceal their impending belly rolls.

“Did she say who she was marrying?” Adele asked.

“Someone named Phillipe.  He must be foreign.  The only Phillipe I knew died in a car accident four months ago,”  Tress said.

“Can you think of anything else?” Adele asked.

“She bought a dress with a heap of cash and paid more than what it was worth, to be honest with you.  She refused alterations.  I ain’t never seen nothing like it.  Such a shame about Phillipe.  He was a good man and very handsome.  His family lives in Marigot Bay.  Rumor has it, he was carrying on with some rich foreigner in his hay-day.  I’ve told you all I know,”  Tress said. 

A light of hope beamed in Ambrogio’s green eyes.

“Are you talking about Phillipe Montague?”  Yanice asked. 

“Yes.”  Tress went back to work on her latest masterpiece. 

“I can get you to his family’s house quickly,” Yanice said. 

Mute throughout the entirety of their hunt for Felicità, Yanice exercised his vocal chords when describing the shortcut he would take to Marigot Bay.  Ambrogio heaved a thousand thank you’s onto the old woman, breaking her back with gratitude. 

Adele drifted away.  Sure of nothing, but Yanice’s command of St. Lucia’s terrain.  Adele settled on thoughts of who she was involved with.  Empty handed, but full of optimism, they returned to the taxi in the hopes of finding Felicità.   When Ambrogio took her hand in his, time and space collided, and all her questions surrounding the Argentero family splattered against the windshield when .

Chapter 15

Marigot Bay is home to the “well-to-do’s” and frequented by “lookie-lou’s” like Adele.  The landscape was an inexperienced driver’s nightmare.  Steep hills and curvy roads steered from the left side of the car, unlike God intended, made Adele dizzy.  She leased a brief stay on Ambrogio’s solid shoulder for the duration of the ride.

Thunder frightened Adele out of her slumber.  The brilliant blue sky had been chased away by a rumbling sea of grey clouds.  The wind intensified, picking up stray leaves and other objects as they reached the Montague estate.