Arrivederci, Baby
by Philip Pak
part 1
On a hill overlooking the Gulf of Salerno, on the Amalfi Coast of Italy, stood a man selling lemons. He would gather the lemons from a family orchard, which hung off the side of a steep cliff, and sell them from his stand beside the Puccini Dei Marini Hotel. The man was surrounded by beauty, but he no longer saw beauty. Instead, he looked at the tourists who arrived daily to check into this exclusive hotel.
He had seen the cliffs and the sea all his life; he took them for granted. The wealthy tourists who visited the hotel marveled at the view. Most lived in luxury apartments that looked out onto bleak city streets. Just the opposite of the lemon man, who lived in a humble shack surrounded by natural wonders. Every day he would cut up his lemons and offer a taste to the tourists. Some bought; some didn’t.
The area produced the largest and sweetest lemons in the world, due to the rich soil and the cool breezes that were trapped between mountain valleys. Chefs from the hotel restaurant regularly bought his lemons. Although they routinely bargained, the price decided on would almost always be the same. The lemons were used for cooking in the Capri restaurant and for homemade limoncello, served in the Green Grotto Bar.
* * *
Dewey Phelps was a minor celebrity. He was an ex-New York City detective who received notoriety by being instrumental in breaking up a notorious international drug ring. Because of the large amount of money involved, it made headlines worldwide. A book detailing the case became a number one best-seller.
Hollywood got into the act by attempting to make a musical of the story. It was about a small Eastern European drug ring that migrated to America from Slovenia to become the most profitable in the history of crime. The musical, as well as the hit song, was called Slovenia, I’ll be seein’ ya. Phelps had a small non-singing part as the police commissioner. The critics panned it, but it was a money-maker.
Phelps retired from the force a rich man. Recently divorced, he decided to take a long vacation. The weather and the scenery brought him to the Amalfi Coast. He walked through the lavish entrance of the Puccini Dei Marini and approached the desk.
“Ah, Mr. Phelps a pleasure to have you stay with us. My name is Abramo, and I’m your concierge. I saw your movie; it was great. You look a bit taller on the screen.”
Phelps, who was five-foot six, was sensitive about his height. He was one of the shortest cops on the force and often wore shoes with Cuban heels.
“Thanks for that,” Phelps said sarcastically.
“I have you in a special room, with a beautiful view of the sea. However, there is a slight obstruction, which shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll have the bellhop take your luggage.”
Phelps followed the bellhop to the second floor. He opened the door to 205 and walked over to the balcony to look out. The obstruction was a crane that was doing some construction. However, the view through the slats of the crane was breathtaking. He tipped the bellhop and proceeded to unpack.
After spending the afternoon resting in his room, Phelps decided to have a drink in the bar before dinner. After all, today was his birthday. He put on a clean shirt, slacks, and a brightly colored sports jacket. Passing through the lobby on the way to the bar, he passed the concierge.
“Interesting jacket, Mr. Phelps.”
“Thanks, Abramo. I’m on my way to the bar, to celebrate my birthday.”
“Wonderful. How old, may I ask?”
“Forty-seven.”
“Funny, I pictured you older.”
“Excuse me.”
“What I mean is, you accomplished so much in so few years. May I be the first to wish you a very happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
There were several open tables in the Green Grotto; Phelps chose one by the window. When the waitress approached, he ordered a Gimlet. The view of the sea was even more spectacular without the crane in the way. Looking around the room, he noticed a woman in her fifties with a much younger man. She was attractive for her age. The woman kept staring at him. Her companion’s eyes followed one of the young waitresses as she moved around the room. The waitress was obviously aware of the young man’s presence. She returned his stare with daggers in her eyes.
Finally, the older woman, who was staring at Phelps, got up and approached his table. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, sir, but are you Mr. Dewey Phelps?”
“Yes, I am. How do you do?”
“I saw you in that musical crime movie. You were great, but I must say I liked the book a lot better. I’m kind of in the same business.”
“What business is that, Miss..?”
“Luce Marbles.”
“Not Luce Marbles, the mystery novelist?”
“Guilty as charged. Nice to meet you. I’m on my honeymoon with my new husband, Paolo.”
“Well, that’s cause for celebration. May I buy you and your husband a drink?”
“Thank you.”
The waitress came over, and Miss Marbles ordered a Campari and Limoncello mixer for herself and ginger ale for her husband.
“They have the best limoncello in the world in this part of the country. You should try it. Hate to say it, but it’s my third one today. My poor Paolo has an intolerance for alcohol, so he can’t enjoy it.”
Marbles turned to her husband. “Paolo, this gentleman is buying us a drink.”
From the other side of the room, Paolo momentarily stopped staring at the waitress and raised his hand in a thank-you gesture and smiled. Phelps returned the smile. The waitress brought them their drinks; however, when she got to Paolo’s table, she almost slammed his drink down.
Phelps turned to Mrs. Marbles. “I’ve been a fan of yours for years, Mrs. Marbles. I spent many a night reading your novels. I just finished your novel about the pizzeria stabbing murders, Death by the Slice. So true to life.”
“I guess I have a criminal mind. I’ve often wondered if I could pull off a murder that would fool a smart detective like you. But then again, I deal in make-believe.” She looked around the room and sighed. “I love this hotel. I’ve been coming here for more years than I care to count. For me, it’s still magic.”
She finished her drink. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Phelps. My Paolo and I have reservations for dinner in the Capri. I’m afraid we have to get going.”
“A real pleasure meeting you.”
She and her husband got up to leave. They walked through the doorway as Abramo was coming in. Abramo stopped and stared at Marbles as she passed. Phelps couldn’t help but notice the hate he saw in Abramo’s eyes. Strange. After tossing down the rest of his Gimlet, Phelps decided to take a cab to the town of Positano for dinner and some nightlife.
* * *
The following morning, slices of sunlight shone through the slats of the crane onto Phelps’s bed, awakening him. He hadn’t returned to his room until late the previous night. He looked at his watch. 10 o’clock. The Capri was still open for breakfast, and he was hungry. He pulled himself out of bed, showered and dressed quickly. He took the elevator down and hurried through the lobby, passing by Abramo, who always seemed to be working.
“Morning, Abramo.”
“Good morning, Mr. Phelps. Rough night?”
“Sorry?”
“What I mean is, there must be plenty of lovely ladies who would love to keep you from getting a good night’s sleep.”
“Oh, nice of you to say.”
He walked into the Capri restaurant; It was his first time there. A little overly ornate, but beautiful views in every direction. He waved to Ms. Marbles and her husband who were finishing their breakfast. He was surprised to see her drinking her Campari and Limoncello at this hour.
There were tables available, and he took one. Seated, he watched as a man in a business suit approached Ms. Marbles’ table. They started to talk. Ms. Marbles seemed both annoyed and dismissive. As their conversation continued, the man got louder, angrier and more animated. People started to notice and look in their direction.
Phelps heard Marbles reply in a stern voice: “I made my position clear at our last meeting, and that’s that. Now go away.”
The business suit, red with anger, shot back: “You’re not going to get away with this! I’ll make sure you pay.” And he stormed out.
Marbles seemed a bit shaken. Shortly afterward, she and her husband left. Phelps had just enough time to eat breakfast and catch a tour bus to Sorrento, where he spent the rest of the day.
* * *
Inspector Mario Gotto was a short chubby man, with a shiny black comb-over. Gotto had been with the Amalfi Coast Police for twenty years, and the Puccini Dei Marini was part of his beat. The police had been called by the hotel due to the apparent suicide of Ms. Luce Marbles. At about 4 p.m. in the afternoon, after drinking heavily, she started acting strangely. While she and Paolo were in their room she started screaming and waving her hands uncontrollably as if she was hallucinating.
Guests on the floor, hearing the commotion, knocked on their door to see what the trouble was. Paolo opened the door just in time for the guests to see Ms. Marbles jump, or fall, from their balcony to the rocky cliffs below. When they were able to get to her, she was dead. Her body was taken to the morgue for an autopsy. Paolo was placed in another room. The room of the incident was sealed until the investigation could be completed.
Phelps had just gotten off the bus from Sorrento when he saw the flashing lights of the ambulance and police cars. He walked over to Abramo who was talking to Inspector Gotto.
“What happened, Abramo?”
“Ms. Marbles committed suicide.”
“What?! I can’t believe it. I was speaking to her yesterday; she seemed so happy.”
“Yes, it was a shock to everyone.”
Abramo turned to face the inspector and gestured towards Phelps.
“Inspector Gotto, this is the actor Dewey Phelps.”
“Detective Phelps, from NYPD?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“I followed that Slovenian Connection case. Nice piece of work. We don’t get anything that big over here.”
“Yeah, but look around, we don’t get to see scenery like this.”
“Nice of you to say. I’m not sure what to make of this situation. I know that Ms. Marbles had been coming here for years. It was her place to get away and relax. Quite a shock. One thing’s for sure since Ms. Marbles was famous, I better dot my “i’s” and cross my “t’s” on this one. The press is already on it. If there’s anything unusual about this suicide, I’ll keep you posted. Your opinion would be appreciated. I’m afraid I have a lot of paperwork to do, so I’ll be going. Pleasure meeting you, Detective Phelps.”
“Thanks, nice meeting you.”
Gotto left, and Phelps went to bed.
The afternoon sun shone on a patch of sand, which appeared and disappeared depending on the tide. Earlier in the day, Phelps had made his way down the steep staircase that led from the hotel to the bottom of the cliff. He had put the hotel towel on the sand, laid down and fallen asleep. He didn’t know how long he slept, but he felt a shadow across his face and opened his eyes to see the sun reflect off the black shiny comb-over of Inspector Gotto. His towel was wet from the approaching tide.
“Detective Phelps, Abramo said I would find you here. The tides are tricky here. You could go to sleep on the sand, and wake up in the sea.”
“Abramo was the one who recommended this spot to me in the first place.”
“Whatever. Thought you might like to know that the autopsy results are in. Luce Marbles had enough poison in her system to kill her. This is no longer an accident or a suicide. This is murder!”
“What was the substance?”
“Atropa belladonna.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Juice from a black, shiny, poisonous berry. Also known as deadly nightshade. It has a slightly sweet flavor that people say makes wine taste better. It contains tropane alkaloids which cause dizziness, vomiting, hallucinations and death. Belladonna means beautiful lady. In ancient times, young women used a tiny amount of it to make them look more alluring. It was used to promote pupillary dilation, a proven way to increase attractiveness. Hence the name.
“After searching her room, we found the substance in the bottles of the Campari and the Limoncello that were kept on her table. Apparently, they were a gift. There was a typed note with the bottles that read: ‘For my beautiful author’.”
“Any prints on the bottles?”
“Just Ms. Marbles’. The bottles were wiped clean before they were packaged.”
“The note intrigues me, Inspector. It sounds like the murderer admired Marbles and maybe was rejected by her.”
“Could be a love-hate thing. I know well the people who work in this hotel, and there are at least four people who hated Luce Marbles. I’m going to question them now, and if you’d like, you can accompany me. I’ll be in the hotel’s conference room shortly.”
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by Philip Pak
