The Villa

grand plan. A humble enterprise to international empire.
    Now that it was threatened, was it any wonder she'd use whatever came to hand to defend it?
    She saw the winery, the original stone structure and its various additions. Her great-great-grandfather had placed the first stones. Then his son had added more, then his son's daughter. One day, she thought, she might place her own.
    On the rise, with the fields spreading out like skirts, the castello ruled. Gracious and grand with its colonnaded facade, its sweep of balconies, its high arching windows, it stood as a testament to one man's vision.
    He would have fought, she thought. Not just for the ledgers, not only for the profit. For the land. For the name. It struck her here, more deeply than in the fields at home, more than within the walls of her offices and meeting rooms. Here, where one man changed his life, and by doing so forged hers.
    Tyler stopped so the car faced the house, its entrance gardens in young bud. "Great place," he said simply and climbed out of the car.
    She got out more slowly, breathing in the sight of it as much as she breathed in the lightly scented air. Vines spilled over decorative mosaic walls. An old pear tree bloomed wildly, already shedding some of its petals like snow. She remembered suddenly the taste of the fruit, sweet and simple, and how when she'd been a child the juice trickled down her throat as she walked down the rows with her mother.
    "You wanted me to feel this," she stated, and with the hood of the car between them turned to him. "Did you think I didn't?" She pressed a closed fist to her heart. "Did you think I didn't feel it before?"
    "Sophie." He leaned on the hood, a friendly, companionable stance. "I think you feel all sorts of things. But I know some of them can get lost in the worry and the, well, the now. Focus too hard on the now, you lose sight of the big picture."
    "So you badgered me out of the penthouse in Venice so I'd see the big picture."
    "That's part of it. It's blooming time, Sophie. Whatever else is going on, it's blooming time. You don't want to miss it."
    He walked back to the trunk, popped it.
    "Is that a metaphor?" she asked as she joined him, reaching by to grab her laptop herself.
    "Me, I'm just a farmer. What do I know from metaphors?"
    "Just a farmer, my ass." She hitched the strap of the laptop on her shoulder, plucked out her briefcase.
    "Excuse me, but I'm no longer supposed to think about your ass." He pulled his suitcase out, then studied hers in disgust. "Why is your suitcase twice as big as mine, and three times as heavy? I'm bigger than you."
    "Because." She fluttered her lashes. "I'm a girl. I suppose I should apologize for being snotty to you."
    "Why?" He hauled her case out. "You wouldn't mean it."
    "I'd sort of mean it. Here, let me give you a hand." She reached in, picked up the little tote that held her cosmetics, then slowly strolled away.
     
    Pilar opened the door to the police. At least this time, she thought, she'd been expecting them. "Detective Claremont, Detective Maguire, thanks for coming."
    She stepped back in welcome, gestured to the parlor.
    "It's a beautiful day for a drive," she continued. "But I know you're both very busy, so I appreciate the time and trouble."
    She'd already arranged for coffee and biscotti, and moved to serve the moment the cops were seated. Claremont and Maguire exchanged looks behind her back, then Maguire shrugged.
    "What can we do for you, Ms. Giambelli?"
    "Reassure me, I hope. Which, I know, isn't your job." She passed out the coffee, impressing Maguire by remembering how each of them took it.
    "What reassurances are you looking for?" Claremont asked her.
    "I realize you, your department, is in contact with the Italian authorities." Pilar took her seat but didn't touch her coffee. She was jumpy enough. "As you may already know, my mother has some influence over there. Lieutenant DeMarco has been as forthcoming as possible with information. I'm aware that my cousin contacted Jeremy DeMorney yesterday, and that Jerry informed the New York Police of the phone call. Jerry was concerned enough to call my stepfather to tell him directly."
    "If you're that well informed, I don't know what we can tell you."
    "Detective Claremont, this is my family." Pilar let that statement hang. "I know that the authorities were eventually able to trace Don's call to the Lake Como area. I also know he was gone when they arrived to take him into custody. I'm asking