“Right back at you.”
Another knock sounds, slightly more timid. “I truly do need to speak with you on a matter of some urgency.”
I use my phone to check the hall camera feed, then open the door. “What?”
Elliot, looking even more disheveled than I am, clutches a sheaf of ivory cardstock to his chest. Clearing his throat, he shifts nervously and sends a pathetic look to Ryan, the guard standing beside him.
“You asked to speak to him. Talk,” Ryan says.
Elliot coughs. “May I enter? It’s a matter of delicacy.”
The bathroom door closes behind me, my wife clearly having decided we’re out of bed for the day. I glower at Elliot in retaliation before stepping backward and ushering the two of them inside. “There’d better be a good reason for this visit.”
Elliot flinches as I close the door behind him, his gaze darting to the unmade bed, the large wooden lectern full of drowsing cats who mewed and played all night and are now sleeping peacefully.
“You didn’t want further trouble. And I agreed not to create that trouble, and, I’ll admit that I considered taking off and going home, but I assume you could find me if I did, and if I simply left and—Well, it would look like I’d done it on purpose.”
“What is the problem?” I ask testily.
“The printer here at Villa dei Limoni was on its last doddering legs, which is absurd. Look at this place. One would think having a working printer would be a priority. But it took its final gasp last night, and the only print shop in this tiny village will not open until Monday. And every person I asked for assistance told me to speak to you.”
I give one slow blink.
“The problem, such as it is, is that I may have—”
At my lifted eyebrow, he corrects himself, “—did create a situation prior to our, er, talk. And I didn’t mention it for obvious reasons. I believed I could set it back to rights with no one the wiser, but the printer has died.”
“What exactly did you do?”
His shoulders slump, and he holds out the sheaf of cream-colored cardstock.
Swiping a hand down my face, I accept the papers, then lift my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose before I finish reading the first two lines:
Menu
Created by Chef Phyllis Monroe and Gianna Ludovici exclusively for Villa dei Limoni
Franki exits the bathroom, dressed in comfortable clothing, and joins me, craning her neck to read.
She gasps. “What were you thinking?”
“That it was funny. But, obviously, no one else has a sense of humor here, and I tried to reprint something at least close to the original, but I can’t. This is all we have,” Elliot says.
I have to read it, if only from a vague sense of being unable to look away.
Cold Things First
Raw Fish, Garnished with Several Kinds of Sour Fruit and Oil from a Plant You Cannot Identify (Shockingly, on Purpose)
A Large White Ball of Dairy Containing a Smaller, Wetter Dairy Inside It, Served with Leaves and a Red Fruit That Thinks It’s a Vegetable
Mid-Meal Carbohydrate Phase
Skinny Noodles Coated in Room Temperature Lemon Juice and Cheese Dust
I press my lips together and deliver Elliot my most cutting version of side-eye.
He makes a sound somewhere between a squeak and a “Ha.”
