“Nonna I’m not saying you poisoned Dad. I’m asking you if you left the soup unattended at any point that night. Maybe someone slipped the cyanide into the soup when you weren’t around”
“I would never let my son get poisoned.” Nonna sprays her rose bushes with water. “I was in the kitchen the whole time the men were there. When they left I brought your father the soup and then I cleaned up. I didn’t leave the kitchen. And I ate the soup. If it was poisoned, I would be dead too,” Nonna mutters.
“Where’s Bruno,” I look around the garden.
“He’s in the guest room sleeping. I slipped medication into his coffee so he can calm down. After his reaction yesterday, he needs a lot of sleep for his brain to heal. Right now it’s scrambled.” She moves to the next bush. “I can’t wait for Maria to get back from vacation. I don’t know how she deals with him.”
“Nonna,” I move closer and take the hose. “I need you to take this seriously. Please. Was there any other food in the study that night?”
She places a finger against her cheek. “There was the soup I made him, the wine, and the muffins.”
“What kind of muffins?”
“Blueberry muffins, another favorite of your father’s. Yes. I remember they were a little mushad on the top. I tried one. Nobody can make muffins as good as me, not even your mother.” She pauses. “They were a gift from Madeline.”
My eyes widen. “Madeline Toma?”
“Yes, she stopped by earlier in the day and dropped them off to him. She never went into the house. They were a thank you gift for loaning her money.”
“Money? But Madeline is rich,” I scratch my head.
“Tesoro, that was thirty years ago. I don’t know why people do what they do. But the muffins weren’t poisonous. I had one, so did Salvatore, Bruno, and your father. It could have been the wine, but it was our wine. I don’t know Cipi. Maybe it was something he had before he came home. He did go out for two hours after Madeline saw him.” She touches her temple. “All of this is giving me a headache. Stop bringing up the past dear. Let your father rest in peace.”
“I will when I find out who killed him,” I fold my arms. “Remember Nonna, whoever killed him is now trying to kill all of us. We have to be careful.”
“But why after all this time?” Nonna groans. “I’m too old for this shit. If they really wanted to make us pay for the Marconi Massacre they should have done it after it happened, not wait thirty years.”
“Mom, are you okay?” Mama walks out onto the back porch. She leans on the railing and stares at us. Concern is etchedacross her face. “Cipi, don’t go getting your Nonna’s blood pressure up. She needs to stay calm.”
I throw my hands in the air. “I’m just trying to keep all of us alive. Not like anyone cares.” I walk up the steps and stand in front of my mom. “Where were you the day Dad died?”
“I went out for dinner with my sister. I came home around eleven. I called for your father but he didn’t answer. When I went to check on him in the study he was dead. I screamed. Nonna heard me and came running. She almost had a heart attack seeing her son laying dead in the chair.”
“Were you here when Madeline dropped off muffins that day?” I ask.
Mom smiles. “Are you trying to play detective, Cipi? Yeah, I was here. I was in the kitchen. Madeline talked to your father at the front door and she gave him the muffins. They were terrible. I tried one. The top was all mushy. I threw it out. I told your father to throw them out but he said to leave them in his office for the guys later that night. So I did. I make better ones of course, but you know that.”
“Do you think the muffins were poisoned?”
Mom gives me a strange look, “If they were then your Nonna, Bruno, Salvatore, myself and anyone else who ate those nasty shits would be dead. Why only your father? He wasn’t allergic to blueberries or muffins. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Cipi.”
My shoulders slump, “Maybe I am. I’m going back home.”
“Well make sure you’re here tonight for dinner five o’ clock sharp. You need to keep up your strength if you’re going to keep having these bouts with death. I’m making lasagna.”
“Okay, Mom.” I give her a kiss on the cheek and walk around the side of the house. As I reach the front yard I notice something on top of the stone wall that runs across the front yard.
My stomach plummets as I get closer.
No. No. No.
It’s another one of Dad’s chess pieces.
Another rook.
Identical to the one found in Bruno’s hand.
These goldenwood objects have become a dark omen to me instead of a happy memory.
