Page 45 of The Fall Affair

“E tre, the walkie-talkies.” She tapped two fingers on the table, mimicking legs walking. “I hear you are in town, but I don’t know you open da shop already. We tell da walky people, dey spread the word faster than Pia Lolasantini spread her legs after her husband died.”

I laughed. “That all sounds great.”

“Good.” She gave a sharp nod and pointed behind her. “Now, you come. We have-a caffé in da garden toget’er.”

“I don’t want to put you to more trouble. You have a customer.”

She waved her hand like she didn’t care, then called out to the shopper. “Hey, signora!”

The woman smiled. “Hello.”

“We’re closed.”

Her customer’s smile fell. “But the sign on the door says you’re open.”

“Short break.” Francesca shooed her off. “Come back, eh…fifteen minutes.”

The customer seemed utterly confused, yet she put down the stemware she had been looking at and went to the door. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be coming back, but Francesca was already heading outside. “Come.”

She brought me out to her vegetable garden and told me to sit while she made us coffee. A few minutes later, she returned with two espresso cups. “I make it like your nonna and I used to drink. We sit toget’er, few days a week, before opening our shops.” She passed one to me. “Taste.”

I took a sip, and an unexpected burn went down my throat. I coughed. “There’s more Sambuca than coffee in this.”

She grinned. “Delizioso, no?”

Over the next hour—it was a good thing that customer hadn’t returned in fifteen minutes—Francesca amused me with stories of things she and my grandmother had done. She pointed to her garden. “My zucchini, look how small. Your nonna, she was-a queen of zucchini.”

“I know. She took a lot of pride in winning the biggest zucchini contest every summer at the farmers market. All of the plaques are still up on the back wall of the antique shop.”

“Da last year she-a was alive, she almost lose. Dey say Gianni Marcelli grow one that weighs twelve kilos. That’s more than twenty-six pounds!.”

“Wow. My grandmother’s weighed more than that?”

Francesca smirked. “No. We dress all in black one night and cut his zucchini off the vine in his yard.”

My eyes widened. “Are you kidding?”

“No! And his schnauzer wake up. We run fast, only escape by t’rowing cherry tomatoes at da animal—Boom! Boom! We run to da Vespa and go!”

I laughed. What a visual. Two eighty-something-year-old ladies dressed in burglar attire running with a twelve kilo zucchini. “No wonder she loved you. You’re two peas in a pod.”

“We don’t leave any evidence, eit’er. We bake fourteen zucchini breads, fry four pounds of fritters, make two big pots of ratatouille. We might be thieves, but we no waste food.”

I could’ve spent all day listening to these stories, but when another customer pulled up out front, I didn’t want to cost her another sale. “I should get going.”

“Okay, dear. I get the word out about da store. But you must come back. You promise?”

“I’d love that.”

She walked me to the front, and her eyes lit up when she saw my Vespa. “Ahhh, I miss dat bike.”

I smiled. “Next time I visit, we’ll go for a ride.”

“Perfetto.”

We hugged, and I was about to leave when she stopped me with a finger in the air.

“Oh! I almost forget. My niece, she live down in Minori near the Amalfi Coast, she call me. She has antique shop, too. T’ree years ago, Sophia show her da tea set she begin collecting. Iliana say she look out for pieces. And guess what? She found one. She buy it. Do you know of the tea set I speak of?”