Page 17

I turned and saw a woman behind the counter, likely early sixties, with short gray hair. She was carrying a tray of biscotti. Because I didn’t like answering personal questions, I asked one of my own. “I assume you are the owner?”
“Oh, you’re Italian.” She moved behind the case and slid in the tray. “That seems to be catching on around here.”
Meaning Benetti and his crew. I gave a bland smile. “I’ve heard nice things about your town.”
“You’re staying at the B&B, right?”
It seemed word traveled quickly here. No doubt everyone would soon learn that I was now at the vineyard. “Is there a place to purchase an espresso machine around here?”
“Oh, honey,” the older woman said. “We bought ours in Albany a few years ago. But you’re welcome to stop in here whenever you like. We have the best coffee in town.”
Another item on my list of things to buy. “What about a decorator or a construction company? Do you have a local recommendation?”
She leaned against the counter. “I don’t think Salvatore will like you making changes to his B&B. Or are you buying a house out near the river, too?”
The young girl set two cups on the counter. Bending, she found a drink carrier below and secured my cappuccinos in it. “Gram, you’re asking too many questions. None of this is your business.”
“I can’t help the way I am,” her grandmother was saying. “But, fine. Donna is the best—and only—decorator in Paesano. But her taste tends to run flashy, if you know what I’m saying. I’m thinking you’re the opposite.”
I nodded once. This was definitely true.
The young woman punched a few buttons on the register. “Val hired a guy from the city and they seemed happy with the results. You might ask her who she used. How many biscotti and croissants?”
“Four of each, per favore. And the contractor?”
“Oh, everybody uses John,” said the older woman. “He’s reasonable and fast.”
“Will you write down his name for me?”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll give you his number. He’s my nephew.”
She wrote a name and number on a card and handed it to me. I pocketed it, then gave her two fifty-dollar bills for my breakfast. “Grazie, signora.”
“That is very generous of you, mister . . . ?”
“D’Agostino.”
“Nice to meet you, Mister D’Agostino. I’m Bev. This is my granddaughter, Sam.”
I inclined my head as I lifted the bag and the drink carrier. “Arrivederci.”
“Come back anytime.”
Once in the car I sipped my cappuccino and dialed Benetti. He picked up on the third ring. “Pronto—and this had better be important.”
“Benetti, come stai?”
“I’m on my long-awaited honeymoon, D’Agostino. And I’m not supposed to be working.”
I got to the point. “I’m taking over the Fiorentino Winery. I thought you should know.”
“Hold on.” There was some noise and I heard him say, “Fiore mio, I’ll return in a moment.”
More shuffling, then a door closed. His voice was deep and unhappy. “Tell me why you are taking over a winery in my territory.”
“I’m taking it as a debt repaid from Michael, the boy. He lost a fuck ton of money to me in a poker game at the casino.”
He exhaled. “Maggie is one of Valentina’s closest friends. And you’re swindling her brother? Che cazzo?”