The Knotty Bride Read Free Page A

about any child of Carlo Buschi’s, and that is why we have come to the Inn of the Seven Hounds . We have moved on to the second name on the list: Beatta Cavale.
    Rupa, bless her heart, has been trying to get in touch with Beatta Cavale for over a month. Since she didn’t have a direct number for the Signora, she had to leave a message with the town priest. Finally, Beatta returned the call and it was all very peculiar and secretive because when Rupa asked if she could help us locate the missing heir, Beatta Cavale informed us that she couldn’t discuss the matter on the phone. So, first thing tomorrow morning we’ll call on the Signora who lives in a nearby town. In the meantime, we decide we deserve a visit to the spa.
    Isn’t it amazing how one can forget all one’s problems when enveloped by the healing powers of hot water?  Especially the healing powers of a tiny, shimmering, thermally-heated pool that is inside a natural grotto? Although to be truthful, we don’t actually forget all our problems. Instead we begin to discuss them quite loudly. In a terrible turn of events, Rupa’s husband, Dario, has begun to talk about a permanent separation.
    “It’s awful. He says it was my latest and greatest attempted rescue of 102 cats which finally pushed him over the emotional and financial brink. He says he has no other choice, he must go his separate way!” Rupa looks down at her hands as she says this. To my astonishment, she isn’t wearing her wedding ring. Did she take it off for the spa? Or has she stopped wearing it altogether?
    I feel terribly guilty about all this. After all, I was the mastermind behind the plan to rescue the cats. Our flood-lit spa no longer seems like a sanctuary. To escape the gloom, I duck my head under the water. While holding my breath and pretending to be most engrossed in examining the grotto’s rock formation, I shed a tear. Or at least I think I do. It’s hard to tell if one is actually crying when one is immersed in water.
    “Why you naughty thing, did you sneak that in? The sign on the door says no alcohol,” I say when I bob back up to the surface to find Rupa holding a flask.
    Looking much happier than a moment before, Rupa busily pours bright yellow liquid into small plastic cups that she has pilfered from the water cooler. With a half-smile she hands one to me.
    Well, what do you know? Maybe I don’t have to wait until my vacation to Lipari to start forgetting all my problems. Maybe I can start forgetting them right here, right now.
    “Cheers,” I say to the ladies and hold my plastic cup up high.
     
    ******
    “Look at those bulging muscles,” Rupa says airily as we are waited on hand and foot in the inn’s dining room by yet another one of Francesca’s relatives. This one is a second cousin on her father’s side. I can’t remember his real name because Rupa keeps referring to him as “Hornirino,” which is a very embarrassing name she has invented.
    You have to understand, we ended up drinking a lot of limoncello in the spa.
    Fortunately, Francesca pays no mind to this blatant objectifying of her cousin. Instead she sits rigid in her chair staring at the ceiling, popping pickled asparagus into her heavily-lipsticked mouth. Encouraged by Francesca’s lack of attention, Rupa continues to behave poorly. Every time Hornirino walks away from the table, she pretends as if she is cupping his buttocks in her hands. At the same time she cackles loudly, “I’d like to enjoy a typical Italian.”
    Okay, you have to understand when I say we drank a lot of limoncello in the grotto, I mean a lot.
    And yes, Hornirino is a really lame name. According to Rupa, it’s some loose translation of the idiomatic term “horny.” As a feminist, I believe blatant objectification of anyone is wrong. Still, I have to admit I feel a tingle of happiness watching Rupa have a little fun. Back in the spa she seemed so depressed when talking about her husband.
    “It’s my mother-in-law