Unknown Truth

54

PROLOGUE

Loose Ends

It was probably the most fitful night’s sleep he’d had yet. He didn’t remember dreaming; he hadn’t slept that long.

He plumped up the pillows in an attempt to fall asleep. For years, he’d had bouts of insomnia with hours of staring into the darkness. Sleeping pills never worked.

After a few restless minutes, he reached for the lamp on the nightstand to switch on the light. He was not going to acknowledge the fatigue, the slight headache, or the fact that he was exhausted and nauseated. He had set his interest on something certainly more satisfying—taking care of the one loose end that had haunted him for many years.

Years ago when he was young, he had left things hanging, but now, he lived and breathed unfinished business. His wounded spirit had been wrapped up in self-pity and bitterness for too long. It was time to rid his life of this pain.

He swung to the edge of the bed, running his hand over his bald head, and then rubbed his eyes before he slipped his feet into his slippers. He stood, and with deliberate steps, strode over to the kitchen and lit the burner under the coffee pot.

I’ve waited a long time for this very day to happen, he murmured as he sat back comfortably in his favorite leather chair. He gazed out the window with a solemnity that he seldom, if ever, exhibited in public—confident that after thirty years, he would finally tie up all the loose ends. He’d soon forget about spending twenty years in prison and waiting for full revenge.

Finally, he was keeping good on his promise.

CHAPTER 1

Wednesday - June 1, 2005

Napa Valley, CA

They were murdered!

It was the first thought I had when I awoke. How could I think of anything else? After all, it was on this date, seventeen years ago, that I became parentless—an orphan at thirteen.

I closed my eyes, and within moments, anxieties flooded my mind with images of that unforgettable day…..the day the tragedy unfolded on a Massachusetts highway when a Ford truck crossed the road and collided head-on leaving my parents dead at the scene of the crash. It could have been avoided. Toxicology tests revealed that the driver of that truck was heavily intoxicated with both alcohol and cocaine at the time of the crash.

That was the day when it felt like someone cut out my heart and left me to die. There was no more love in me, no more life in me, and indeed, no feelings left in me. I felt as if I too died on that day, just as my parents died.

I slowly slid out of bed and went to the window to open the blinds. Even though I was in low spirits, I could not help notice the beauty beyond the endless mounds of small hills that emerge from the mist to display rows of trellised vineyards backed with an amazing horizon of slender threads of light that seem to trickle up into the heavens indicating that it would soon be dawn. From all indications, it would be…a beautiful day? Goddamn you, God, I whispered, not wanting God to hear me. I don’t want it to be a beautiful day!. I don’t want the birds to chirp! I don’t want the sun to shine! How could it be such a lovely day on this day of all days? Is this God’s will?

I took a step back to reach for my robe on the chair; my eyes fell upon the photo on the dresser—a picture of my loving parents with their arms around each other. My mother—her affectionate nature, her smile, her beautiful brown eyes, and her long honey brown curly hair. My father—tall, handsome, so patient and understanding. They were so proud of me—a skinny, awkward thirteen-year-old girl.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my mood now somber and gray. I closed my eyes for a moment letting the darkness snag, from time immemorial, memories of yesteryear—few things were more supportive than the bonds of my family gathered around the dinner table every evening where we shared the happenings of the day. Each of us, my mother, my father, my older brother Larry, and I were to share something that happened during the day that made us either laugh, cry, or in some way might change our views on something. We talked about sports, politics, where we wanted to go on our next vacation. We shared our hopes for our future and our dreams of all the tomorrows.

But, there would be no tomorrows, no gatherings around the dinner table, no bonding. My parents would never see us grow up. They’d never be proud of my brother who works at NASA-Langley. They’d never see me graduate from the Culinary Institute in St. Helena. They’d never be proud of my accomplishments in the restaurant business.

Nick was leaned up against the kitchen doorway, sipping his double macchiato while listening to my half of the phone conversation. After the first few moments, he figured out that it was my friend, Maggie.

I hung up, took a sip of my coffee, and looked into his eyes.

Maggie? Nick asked.

Yes. She called to say she couldn’t come to the restaurant for lunch today. She’s doing emergency surgery at the clinic. Nothing serious.

Ahh, he said. That’s good. He paused a few seconds, his eyes before saying, I see a sadness in your eyes, my love. What’s wrong?"

Oh, I said as tears came to my eyes. I woke up thinking about my parents. It’s seventeen years today since they were killed.

He walked over to me and wrapped his loving arms around my shoulders and in a voice so gentle, he said, I’m sorry you woke up so unhappy. Do you want to talk about it? Is there anything I can do for you to make you feel better?

I covered my mouth with my hands trying to quell the tears, and said, It’s my own depression. Grief just never goes away…it settles on the inside because there’s no place to put it. There’s really nothing anyone can to do or say. I just feel sad. I’m alright.

Nick reached for a tissue and gently wiped my eyes. I can’t bear to see you cry. You should never have to cry or worry about anything. That’s what I’m here for, he said, holding me close to his body.

I love you for being here with me, I whispered in his ear trying to reassure him that I was okay.

That makes my day. We’ll always have each other, he said before he kissed my forehead. Here, he said as he ushered me to a chair before he poured me a cup of coffee.

I smiled and gave a slight chuckle when he placed me on the seat. Sit down and have your coffee and tell me what your day is going to be like.

I sat for a few moments in silence. I then took a deep breath, like I was sucking in all my sorrow and exhaled fiercely in an attempt to push my heartache away and to evaporate all the sadness in me. I must get myself out of this downward funk. I have work to do.

Yes…my day. I’ve got a full day, I said before I took a sip of coffee. It’s actually good that Maggie can’t make it for lunch because we have so much going on today.

Yes, Nick said, Harrison called to ask if I could help him out this evening with the wine tasting.

Are you able to help him? I asked.

Yes. I told him I’ll be there by two o’clock.

Good, I said before I gulped the last of my coffee and then got up from my chair, to put the cup in the dishwasher.

I turned and looked at Nick. At six-one, every inch of him was solid muscle. His dark hair was slightly curly, slightly longer than usual but suited his handsome face. I looked into his dark brown eyes and walked closer to him. You certainly look very attractive in that beige suit and black silk shirt.

You like? he said, as he slid the lapel of his jacket between his fingers.

"Oh, my, yes. You’re very hot, Mr. DeMarco. If I weren’t already married to a tall, dark and lustily handsome guy, I’d be chasing you all the way to the bedroom."

He laughed before saying, I don’t think you’d be able to catch me. I run really fast.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and ran my fingers through his thick dark hair before I put a finger to his lips and said, Oh, I’d catch you all right.

Ha! he shouted, curving one hand around my head and sliding his other hand around my waist. "Yeah, I’d let you catch me, he nodded. You’re pretty damn cute and I kinda like your unrefined style."

Laughing softly, I leaned into him, taking love bites on his earlobe and neck. Oh, you’re way too easy, Mr. DeMarco.

Yeah, that’s what all the girls say.

With is strong arms, he grabbed me and kissed my forehead, both my cheeks and then moved his mouth slowly down my neck with nibbling kisses. He rubbed a finger over my bottom lip and looked deeply into my eyes. Tu sei l’amore della mia vita.

I knew he was saying, you are the love of my life, but it sounded much more romantic in a foreign language.

I kissed him, then leaned back to look at him. You’re my life, and my love, too.

I’m one lucky guy.

Hold that thought until tonight and I’ll show you just how lucky you really are.

That’s probably the best deal I’m going to get today, so I will hold onto it, Nick responded and placed both hands over his heart.

What have you got going on today? I asked him.

"I have a haircut appointment this morning and a business lunch at CaraBella’s with what I hope will be a new investor. But I will be at the restaurant about two this afternoon. What else is going on today?"

We’ve got a retirement party on the terrace at seven tonight. Have a band coming in for that. Should finish up by ten, I said as I glanced at the wall clock ticking off each second. Right now, I’ve got to get some cookin’ done at the restaurant. I’m running late.

Then I’ll see you later today, Nick said.

Good luck with your meeting. Love you, Sweetheart.

I snatched my purse and satchel from the bench and headed to the door leading into the garage. I hit the remote on the wall, and as the garage door rumbled open, the early morning sunlight lunged inside. It took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the blinding light.

I slipped into the car and put my purse and satchel on the front seat before I started the engine, buckled my seat belt, put the car in reverse, and backed out of the garage. I slid the gear shift into drive and I was on my way…..or not. Something was different this morning.

I stopped abruptly as my eyes zeroed in on a black Cadillac CTS with dark tinted windows parked directly across the street from my driveway entrance. Actually, the car was in front of my neighbor’s house, and she was on a two-week trip to Florida.

This is strange, I muttered under my breath. No one ever parks on this short cul-de-sac. Only four homeowners live on this quiet lane and they all have ample parking on their property. So who is this parked in front of her home?

Suddenly, puffs of smoke billowed out the partially opened driver’s window. I moved slowly down the driveway. When the smoke cleared, I caught a glimpse of the upper half of a man’s face sitting behind the wheel. His eyes were dark and deep set, and his dark hair was rumpled as if it hadn’t been combed. I did not recognize this man.

When I reached the street and turned to pass by the car, the window quickly rolled up, making it impossible to see who was inside. Once I passed the car, my glance shot to the rearview mirror hoping to get a better view of who was sitting at the wheel.

Damn it. No luck. The sun glared off the Cadillac’s windshield.

By the time I reached the main highway, my instincts were telling me that something strange was going on. I had no idea what it was. But I’ve always believed that things that don’t make sense need some kind of explanation.

I’ll call Nick, I muttered to myself. He’ll waste no time finding out what’s going on and who is in that Cadillac. I grabbed my cell phone.

What did you forget? Nick asked, laughing.

I didn’t forget anything. There’s a suspicious looking Cadillac CTS parked in front of Sara’s home with dark tinted windows like those on limousines. Smoke was coming out the driver’s window and I saw a man with rumpled dark hair sitting in the front seat smoking.

The window was opened? Nick asked.

It was opened halfway and when I drove by, he rolled the window up. Who would come down this street and sit in their car to smoke a cigarette? It’s a cul-de-sac. No one drives down this street for no reason. Something’s just not right, Nick.

When is Sara coming back from her vacation? Nick asked.

Not for another couple of days. That car doesn’t belong to anyone on this street. Promise me you’ll check it out, okay?

Yes, my love. I will check it out and I’m sure everything will be fine. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it? It’s probably someone who took a wrong turn and is lost. I’m just about ready to leave and I will take care of it.

Thanks, Nick. Talk to you later. Love you. Bye.

Oh, my God! I just got a glimpse of the band coming in to set up on the terrace. What time is it? I screamed out.

It’s six-fifteen, Chef, Carmen said.

I completely lost track of time. Where the hell is Nick? Has anyone seen Nick? I yelled out to the kitchen help.

Haven’t seen him yet, Chef, Carmen responded. No one else spoke up. I looked around at the kitchen crew who were all moving around with a sense of urgency in the midst of pots clanging and ovens roaring with flame and they just shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads.

"He was supposed to be here this afternoon at two o’clock. He’s four hours late. He is never late. Where the hell is he? I reached for my phone and pressed the speed dial. Where are you? Goddamn it, Nick. C’mon, answer the phone!"

My heart sank as the phone rang for the sixth time. There was a click followed by a pause, and my heart skipped a beat thinking he had answered—but no, it was just his voice recording. This is Nick DeMarco…

Ugh, I hate voicemail, I muttered to myself. I tried to keep my voice calm as I spoke into the void. Nick, it’s me. Where are you? Please call me as soon as you get this message. I need you at the restaurant, pronto!

I hit the END button and slipped the phone into my pocket.

When I turned back to face my crew, I noticed my assistant, Sherry, hovering anxiously behind me. Sherry! How are we doing for time?

Where’s Nick? Sherry asked. I thought he was supposed to come by to help out.

Yes, he was. I just left him a message. He should be here soon. Do you need help?

I sure could use some. Who’s available?

I paused a moment, to think about who I could spare. I’ll get two of the runners to help you. I just saw Matt and Rick come to work.

Okay, I’m still working on the dinner party set-up. I need help setting the tables in that banquet room.

I’ll send them right down.

Great, Sherry said as she turned and headed downstairs.

I waved Carmen over from the service window. Where did Matt and Rick disappear to? I asked him.

They went the other way. Probably heading downstairs as we speak.

I ran down to my office, kicked off my shoes, and changed into clean checks, my chef’s jacket, clogs, and an apron. After popping a pen into my pocket, running a comb through my hair, and applying a little lipstick, I was ready for the guests who would be arriving in forty-five minutes.

Matt and Rick appeared at my door.

Ah, just who I was looking for.

Where would you like us to start, Chef?

I need you both to help Sherry. She’s working on the dinner set-up in the large banquet room. You guys finish that room for her. Guests will be here pretty soon.

We’ll get right on it, Chef, Rick said, as they both turned and rushed down the hallway.

I grabbed my phone out of the pants pocket of the dirty uniform I had just changed out of to check if there were any messages from Nick before I clipped the phone to my waistband. None. Where is that man?

I speed dialed him again—no answer. I left another message: Honey, I’m getting really worried about you. I need to hear from you. Call me.

Just as I was about to go up to the kitchen, Harrison, the general manager called out, Chef I need you out here on the terrace for a minute to check this setup.

Sure, I’ll be right there.

The night ahead was promising to be hectic.

CHAPTER 2

Four Hours Later

Carmen, you are the man! You outdid yourself tonight! I said, clapping my hand on his shoulder several times to show my satisfaction.

Carmen, my head sous-chef, often felt closer to me than my husband because of how much time we spent together. He ran the kitchen in my absence, watched my back, and had the remarkable ability to get things done. Carmen was always on top of things and would never break a promise; I could always trust him. And, what an incredible memory. He could tell you every ingredient in every dish in every restaurant he’s been to.

By nature, Carmen was a man of esoteric skills: affable, easy-going, and fluent in Italian, Spanish, and French. But once he stepped into the kitchen, he turned into a Type-A personality, making a lasting impression on anyone who happened to be working beside him.

With a huge smile, he spun around, and said, Thanks, Chef. Are we the team or what? He gave me a high five. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.

Ah, that works. A glass of wine sounds wonderful, I said while I reached for my phone to see if there were any messages from Nick—none.

Has anyone seen Nick tonight? I yelled out to everyone in the kitchen. Maybe I missed seeing him with all the commotion.

No, a few people mumbled back. The others just shook their heads.

Where is that man? I said, in frustration while my mind was now consumed mostly with worry.

I followed Carmen into the dining room, mumbling, This is so unlike Nick. No calls, no messages, no nothing. I’m going to kill him when I see him. He tells me he’ll be here to help out, and then he’s a no-show.

Something must have come up, Carmen said.

Yeah, you’re probably right.

When Harrison walked up to us holding a bottle of wine in his hand, he said, How’s everyone holding up?

Glad tonight is over. What a night, eh? Carmen said.

That it was, I replied. Where’s your beautiful wife, Harrison?

Sherry’s still downstairs. She’ll be up as soon as the band breaks up, Harrison responded while he opened the bottle of wine. She was pretty happy and said everything went well tonight. Chef, what happened to Nick tonight? He told me he would come by to help me out.

In an attempt to act calm, I said, I have no idea where that man is.

I took a sip of the wine Harrison set in front of me. Hey, this is a very sleek wine. Hmm, I like the cherry and smoke aromas. Ah, and with a peppery flavor. Very nice.

I thought you’d like it, he said, pouring a glass for Carmen. It’s a new wine I tasted a couple of months ago. He picked up the bottle to read the label. It’s a Giana Young Vine Zinfandel from Chiarello Vineyards here in St. Helena.

Let’s carry it. Order six cases, I said.

We sat around for a few minutes reviewing the events of the evening and planning our moves for the next day. My eyes darted nervously toward my watch—it was nearing eleven o’clock. Still no word from Nick.

This was a great evening, and you all did a terrific job, but it’s time to get home. See you guys tomorrow, I said.

Sherry and I are off tomorrow, Harrison said. We’re taking the ferry over to San Francisco. She wants to walk the bridge.

What fun. Enjoy yourselves. I turned to everyone else. Good night, everyone. Tomorrow’s another day.

Night, Chef, Carmen said. See you tomorrow.

I fumbled in my purse for my car keys and exited out the rear door of the restaurant. I tried Nick’s phone again—still no answer. After I had disconnected the call, a feeling of uneasiness came over me. Something is wrong—terribly wrong. My mind suddenly went into overdrive. Could he have been in a horrible accident? He was on his way to Calistoga for lunch. If he were in an accident while driving up 29, they surely would have found him by now. Wouldn’t they?

CHAPTER 3

On the drive through the dark streets to my home, I reviewed each word that Nick had said this morning. Analyzed every inflection in his voice, his hand gestures, body language—there had to be something I missed.

I went over every conversation that we had during the week. Everything that happened, everywhere we had gone, searching for some clue, some connection as to where he could be. There had to be something he said that I didn’t pick up on.

I made a right turn down the street toward my home, and when I turned onto the paved driveway I could see that the house was dark…Nick wasn’t home. I pressed the remote and the interior light brightened the entrance when the garage door opened. Nick’s car was not there. God, something is wrong.

I jumped out of the car, grabbed my purse and satchel, and hit the remote to close the garage door. The moment I crossed the threshold, a wave of nausea hit me full in the face, and I stopped for a moment, waiting for it to pass. I was jolted out of my episode by the short, curt beeps of the alarm system that was waiting to be disarmed.

I pressed the code on the security keypad before the thirty-second grace period ran out. At the end of the hallway, my sickness momentarily lapsed when I saw the message light flashing on the telephone console. Please, I prayed to myself, let it be Nick.

I flipped on the light switch, tossed my keys, satchel, and purse on the countertop and sat on the stool next to the phone. Hesitantly, I pressed the PLAY button, my heart pulsing out of control, fearing that none of the calls would be from Nick, but yet hoping to hear his voice on the playback.

Hello, Mr. DeMarco… A woman’s squeaky voice came over the speaker. It was Nick’s dentist’s office calling, reminding him of his upcoming appointment. The next message was David, his barber: Hey, buddy, where were you today? Missed your nine-thirty. Call me.

Nick didn’t keep his haircut appointment? He’s never missed one. What’s happened to you? I murmured, hoping to hear Nick answer me from the depths of the house.

Calm down, I told myself. You’ve had a stressful day and you’re overreacting. Nick is fine. You just need to relax. I filled the electric teapot with water and plugged it in, trying to distract myself from my thoughts. With cell phone in hand, I went into the bedroom to grab a refreshing shower. After five minutes under the hot, steaming water, I dried off, wrapped a towel around my wet hair, grabbed my white terrycloth robe, and slipped on my fluffy slippers to watch TV and have my tea. I had hoped to see Nick’s smiling face as I walked into the kitchen to pour my tea.

Nick? I asked the air. The silence answered my question.

I tried to get local news, but it was too late—a Frankenstein Meets Godzilla movie was on the local channel. I punched the remote off and sat there, not knowing what to do next. It was too late to call anyone. Maybe he went into the city with the new client he was meeting.

I tried to not look at my watch every five minutes as I nursed my tea. I sat, manically checking my cell phone every few minutes while my mind went through what felt like a tornado of panic and dread. By midnight, I was at my wit’s end. All I could do was look at the clock in terror. My exhausted body told me something was terribly wrong. I could feel it. Nick was rarely, if ever, late, and that was what troubled me now. And, if he was going to be late, he always called me. He never wanted me to worry about anything. I’ll take care of it, he would always tell me.

I finally flipped the lights off and went into the bedroom, turned the bed down, fluffed up the pillows and plopped my tired, weary body into bed. Within minutes, I fell into an easy doze.

I woke up feeling achy and exhausted with tightness in my forehead. I glanced at the clock—it was a quarter of one. Nick was still not home.

Grimacing, I sat up in bed, pulled my knees to my chest, and rested my head in my hands so I could rub my aching forehead. I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath to relax, and soon, the diary of memories, as if embalmed as a treasure, came into my mind—three years fell away—I stepped back to September 2002.

CHAPTER 4

Three years earlier – Early September 2002

I wake up every morning at five-thirty when it’s still dark. I lie in bed thinking about the day’s specials, and about the deliveries of produce, meat and vegetables and I begin to arrange in my mind what needs to be done first.

But today is different. It’s Monday and the restaurant is closed which meant I would have peace and quiet and absolute privacy without any interruptions. Hooray!

I jumped out of bed, showered, brushed my teeth and put on my old gray sweats. I grabbed my dingy gray, what used to be white, tennis shoes, from the back of the closet and slipped them on.

With my hair pulled back into a ponytail, and void of any makeup, I jumped in my car and headed for the restaurant. The radio blared out the weather and news and with little traffic on the road I reached the empty parking lot in five minutes. I drove to the back of the restaurant and parked in front of the sign that reads: Chef Parking Only.

I grabbed my purse and with keys in hand I ran up the stairs and unlocked the back door. The kitchen was quiet. Not at all like it usually is at this time of day. Dropped my purse on the counter, took a deep breath and headed for the utility closet.

I had not been able to schedule a day in the last two months to clean and