“They did?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
I shrugged and told him I didn’t know, but what I wanted to say was that maybe they recognized I had something to contribute. That my work ethic, not to mention my curiosity, was enough to make me an asset on a crew like theirs.
“Did you know the numbers were high?” he asked.
“Not until today,” I said. “But I assume you did?”
He gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
“What’s the navy going to do about it?”
“You know I can’t talk to you about that,” he said, and I didn’t push. I had managed to defuse the situation, and Paul was on my side again, or at least not raging mad.
As we pulled up in front of the house, I cleared my throat. “You have to trust me, you know?”
Paul touched my face. “I do trust you. It’s Teo Manca I don’t trust.”
He meant it as a joke, but it didn’t come off right.
I took his hand and removed it from my cheek, then laced my fingers through his. “I married you for a reason,” I said, softly. But in that moment, I have to say, I was having a hard time recalling what that reason was.
101.
THE COMMAND’S SPRING PARTYwas supposed to be held at the Greers’ house, but Paul had come home a couple days earlier and announced, apropos of nothing, that it would be at the Italian Officers’ Club instead.
The club was an old nineteenth-century villa that sat on the Via Ammiraglio Carlo Mirabello and faced the water. At one time it had been the summer home of someone fancy, but unlike the Villa Webber, which had been allowed to fall into disrepair, this building wound up in the hands of the Italian government and had been renovated several times.
The night of the party, I had barely checked my coat when Bev grabbed my hand and whispered, “Come with me.”
“I don’t have a drink yet,” I complained.
“There will be time for that,” she said as she led me to a small ladies’ lounge, really an antechamber, on the way to the bathroom, where Laura and Rita were already sitting on a narrow sofa. “You’re going to want to sit down,” Bev told me, and the two of them scooched over to make room for me. When we were seated, she checked that the stalls in the next room were empty, then pushed an upholstered ottoman in front of the door.
“What’s all this about?” I asked.
“Nancy Drew’s been sleuthing,” said Rita, and Beverly gave a small bow.
“The Greers are out,” said Bev.
“What do you mean, out?” said Laura. “Their tour’s not up until this summer.”
“There’s a sub,” said Bev, “that just came in a week ago. TheChartridge. It’s based out of New London.”
“Okay,” said Rita.
“Well, you know Betsy McLynn, who lives in Santa Teresa?”
We nodded.
“She just came from New London, and a bunch of her friends are still there, including some gals who’ve got husbands on theChartridge.”
“You are really dragging this out,” I said.
“I am telling this the shortest way I know how,” said Bev. “A couple of days ago, Betsy starts getting all these calls from her gal pals in New London, and they’re all freaking out because their husbands are telling them there’s some sort of issue with the sub, and it’s possible their patrol’s going to be extended.”
