Darby reached out and clasped her hands. “Come on,” he pulled her up. “Let’s walk up the road. I’m a sun person, you know. In another twenty years, I’ll be dead, or lying somewhere in a cold grave. Eternity’s a long time. Why not enjoy the sun while we can?”
“You’re right! I wish my daddy was here! Or someone to be proud of me. Girls laugh about their dads, how silly and clueless they are, but their eyes light up when they talk like that. Come!” she pulled on his hand. “I want to show you where I mowed. You’ll like it!”
Darby followed her to the orchard. She had concentrated on the area under the trees and about their grassy perimeter. In the process, she had created an oval design, lending a touch of grace under the gnarled limbs of the knobby trees. “Not bad for a waitress!” he teased. “Maybe you should be a cosmetologist!”
“No! I’m going to be a painter, a writer, or scholar. I’m gonna work my butt off. Charleston’s Ashley College’s not the only place I can go. You’ll see.”
“I’ve never doubted it. Not for an instant! Let’s eat an apple, if we can find one, and gather a few to throw off the cliff.”
“I like that! I really do.”
Soon they had collected an armful each. They ran happily through the orchard toward the overlook. “Here’s to you, Admissions Committee!” Darby hollered, as he lobbed one far out and over the face of the cliff. They waited to hear it splat, but the bottom was too far below to accommodate their hope. “Ah! That’s life!” Darby laughed, as Stephanie hurled one farther out than his.
“Look at it sail!” she said.
Far better to throw apples off a cliff than oneself, he thought, as he cast a worried but buoyant eye toward the girl!
2. Plotinus. Ennead. I. 6.
Chapter 8
Just prior to dinner, Curly came by the Villa to bid “Good Night!” Darby answered the door. He could see Hettie in the couple’s pick-up truck. Linda and Stephanie sat in the living room in front of the fireplace. Donaldson and Dominetti had stationed themselves in the kitchen to observe Jon Paul’s culinary arts. The shadows of evening lay cold and dark across the grounds.
“Won’t you come in?” Darby asked.
“No, Sir! Ain’t necessary,” Curly addressed him. “There’s a strange car parked up at the overlook. Ain’t nobody in it, but the license plate’s marked ‘New Jersey.’ I walked up there when I seen it. I think maybe the driver was in the woods, relievin’ hisself. But that ain’t for certain. Just thought you needed to know, especially with them ‘fire fighters’ of yourn hangin’ about here. Well, you’ens come and see us.” He tipped his cap before descending the steps. “Oh!” he turned, “Hettie says to say, ‘Till next time.’”
Darby waved to her as the truck drove off. “Linda! Did you hear that?” he asked her quietly.
“Yes!”
“Better call Jon Paul. Let Donaldson know.” While she hurried to the kitchen, Darby nodded toward Stephanie. “Stephanie! You’re not to know about this. Just sit loose until we know more.”
She shook her head in approval, her eyes wide with fear.
“Gentleman!” the marshal called, as he came running from the kitchen with Dominetti and Jon Paul: “If what your Curly said is true, we might be in trouble. Do you have a gun, or weapon?”
“Of course!” replied Jon Paul. “I keep a .38 in my room at all times. Why?”
“You’re going to need it, if that car’s from New Jersey. What about you, Professor?”
“Yes. I’ve got one in the cottage. A 9 mm semi-automatic. But I’ve never used it.”
“Mr. Ruffini, are you comfortable staying here with the professor while Mr. Wagner and I look around? We’ll come back instantly. Mrs. Wagner, lock all the doors. Do you mind? Is that OK, sir?” he directed his question toward Dominetti. “Do you feel safe?”
“Holy Mary, Mother of God! Stop calling me Ruffini! Do I have a choice? I could of warned you how this would end! Just protect the girl,” he groused bitterly. He held up his hands. “I, Angelico, would love to use these again! To crush their throats!” He snapped his knuckles as he clenched his fists. “Find them. Dead or alive!”
The tall marshal unzipped his leather jacket, checked his revolver, and spun-clicked the chamber of his Colt .45. “Mr. Wagner. Please get your gun. I’ll wait for you at the back door. I’m going out the front now to look around.”
“Linda! . . . Stephanie! . . . Mr. Dominetti!” Darby quietly enunciated each name, “let’s adjourn to the living room and . . . see what happens. . . . Sì?”
“Only for the sake of the Signora and la poca raggaza, yes!” Dominetti smiled reassuringly, giving Stephanie a hug. “Come, little one. I have granddaughters older than you.”
Time passed slowly. Darby sat nervously with restless misgivings, while Stephanie fidgeted with a doily under a lamp. Linda stared restively into the flames. All four listened for sounds of the night, from the faintest stirrings of leaves against the windowpanes to the terrifying possibility of crashing glass. Their prolonged silence was about to reach the breaking point, when suddenly Dominetti pointed his index finger toward the backyard. “Shhhh! Did you hear it, that zippin’ noise? That’s a silencer! Get down!” Immediately upon his warning, Donaldson’s .45 roared—once, twice, a third time! The popping sound of Jon Paul’s .38 punctuated the ensuing clamor. Dominetti bolted up and raced toward the French doors. He flung them open to crash abruptly into the chest of a large figure in a woolen overcoat. “You!” Dominetti exclaimed. He seized the man by his throat, lifted him off his feet, and, twisting him sideways, broke his neck with a shocking snap. Darby heard the man’s upper vertebrae crack as his body collapsed on the steps. “My own kin!” the exasperated don swallowed. “May God forgive me!” he crossed himself in anger.
Darby stepped out into the cold. Dominetti had bent down. He was stroking the dead man’s cheeks. “O Frankie! Why? Why? I wasn’t gonna rat on you. O Frankie, we were friends!”
Peterson looked up. Donaldson was on his cell phone. Jon Paul’s hands were trembling. “I shot him, but I missed!” he stammered. “The marshal killed the other one. He was hiding in the Garden.”
Darby could hear Gunn’s voice over Donaldson’s cell phone. “We’ll be there within two hours!” the agent stated. “Stay indoors and keep calm. Don’t let Dominetti out of your sight!””
“Can you help me?” asked Donaldson, directing his words toward Peterson. “We’ll need to drag them out to the parking lot under some lights,” he emphasized for Jon Paul to hear. “That large one there’s going be heavy.”
Within moments, Jon Paul flipped on the outside spotlights. Linda placed her hand on Angelico’s shoulder.
“Hey, I’m all right!” he grumbled. “How’s the girl?” he turned toward Stephanie. “Are you OK, sweetie?”
The girl looked at him, her large eyes filled with shock. Her shoulders quavered from the excitement. She opened her mouth to reply, swallowed; then, without warning, she threw up.
“Ah!” groaned Dominetti. “We all puke the first time. Jesus Christ! Here!” he bent forward and mopped up the vomit with a handkerchief from his pocket.
* * *
Just prior to nine o’clock, the agents arrived in a hearse. Darby was surprised, yet fascinated. He stared down at Frankie’s body. It had already begun to bloat and ooze with stench. Gunn stepped out of the long gray vehicle and opened its rear