The following morning, I arranged a summit meeting, a gathering of the Vanzetti clan. Maybe it was a good idea, maybe it wasn’t, but the days and nights were blurring into one and with each passing hour, Vittoria disappeared further into the fog. It occurred to me that, maybe, she was dead. If someone had murdered her, how would Vanzetti, Catrin and V.J. Parks react? I saw more sleepless nights and possibly bloodshed ahead.
We met in Vanzetti’s gold living room: Catrin, V.J. Parks, Sherri and yours truly. The television was on, broadcasting more Reality TV. Then Vanzetti entered, snatched up the remote control and switched off the picture with an angry flick of his index finger. He sighed, composed himself then turned to the boxer and asked, “How’s the training going, V.J.?”
V.J. Parks shuffled forward, moved to the edge of his seat. He placed his elbows on his thighs and stared down to the ground. “I’m a bit distracted at the moment, what with Vittoria missing, and all.”
Vanzetti nodded. He looked grim, determined. I sensed that he was simmering, ready to explode. As he walked around the room, I said, “A thought...could someone be holding Vittoria against her will to put V.J. off his game?”
Vanzetti glanced at the boxer. Simultaneously, both men made a fist and thumped it into an open palm. “If someone is holding Vittoria, then he’s facing the big chill,” Vanzetti ground out through clenched teeth. “I don’t think anyone would take that risk, not with the daughter of Vincent Vanzetti.”
I glanced at Catrin, who was gazing at her ex-husband, her features set, hard and stern. “You look strained, Vince.” Her tone was matter-of-fact and lacked sympathy. “Is Sherri looking after you?”
“It’s this upset over Vittoria,” Vanzetti insisted. “Me and Sherri are fine.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Catrin said, her words heavy with sarcasm.
“No need to come on like a jealous bitch,” Vanzetti snarled, his moustache bristling.
“Me...?” Catrin scoffed. She glared at Sherri, a look that threatened to fry the actress on the spot. “Jealous...of that.”
Sherri glanced at Catrin, then stared at the wall, her bottom lip slipping into a childlike pout.
“You’re showing yourself up, Catrin,” Vanzetti insisted.
“Don’t you think I’m feeling the strain too?” Catrin asked, slinking into the sofa, turning away, looking upset.
“Well, don’t take it out on Sherri,” Vanzetti said. He walked over to the cocktail cabinet and suggested, “Maybe we could all do with a drink. You want one, Catty?”
“Whisky, neat. A large one.” Catrin scowled, no doubt recalling the promise she’d made to herself, to stand up to the strain alone, to abjure the crutch of alcohol. “No, second thoughts make it a fruit juice.”
“A drink, V.J.?” Vanzetti asked while pouring a measure of fruit juice into a tall glass. With a noncommittal grunt, he handed that glass to Catrin.
“Nah.” V.J. shook his head. “No alcohol while I’m in training.” He glanced up briefly, then continued to stare down to the ground.
“Sherri?” Vanzetti enquired, arching his left eyebrow.
“I’ll have a pina colada, thank you, Vincent,” Sherri said, while flouncing across the room.
We were here to discuss Vittoria, yet I sensed that there were many subplots at play. Maybe one of those subplots would offer a clue to Vittoria’s whereabouts. In any event, the Vanzetti family needed to talk; they needed this group therapy session, so I decided to go with the flow and let them have their say.
“How’s business?” Catrin asked, her simple question barbed and baited; she was looking for a negative reply – that was evident from the cynical look on her face.
“We’re prospering,” Vanzetti said while gazing at the ice in his whisky glass.
“You’d prosper even more if I were part of the team.”
Vanzetti glared at his ex-wife. He craned his neck back, drank two fingers of whisky, then splashed more malt over the ice cubes. “You decided to place yourself on the sub’s bench, two years ago.”
“You expected me to hang around with that thing warming my bed?” Again, Catrin offered Sherri a condescending look. And, again, Sherri dropped her bottom lip and stared at the wall.
“That ‘thing’ is my wife, and I’d ask you to show her more respect,” Vanzetti said. “And she warms my bed; this is my house.”
“And who built this house?” Catrin asked, her face ugly with anger and indignation. “Whose business nous supplied you with the money?”
“You grabbed your share when you left,” Vanzetti said. He swirled his whisky over the ice cubes then took a soothing sip.
“And I’m supposed to be content with that?” Catrin stood. She stared at Vanzetti with daggers in her eyes, with her fingers curled into tight fists. Meanwhile, V.J. Parks continued to gaze at the floor while Sherri sipped her pina colada through a long glass straw, her face sullen as she stared at the wall. “You’ve let the family down badly, Vince. That tart of yours is young enough to be your daughter. No wonder Vittoria left.”
“She didn’t run to you though, did she?” Vanzetti yelled. Then he held himself in check as a question formed on his angry face. “Did she?”
“I haven’t seen her,” Catrin said. She returned to the sofa where she sat at right angles to V.J. Parks and Sherri, casting a sympathetic eye over the former while studiously avoiding the latter. “You think I’d keep silent if I had.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Vanzetti said somewhat spitefully.
“Now who’s sounding bitter and twisted?” Catrin yelled. “You lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.”
Unable to hold her tongue any longer, Sherri swung her arms and flounced around the room, spilling her drink. She bumped into the long, low, glass table, but was so incensed she didn’t register any pain. “I’m not a dog, I’m an actress,” she insisted.
“You’re not an actress, dear,” Catrin scoffed, “you’re a porn star. In fact, you’re not even a star; you’re just a porn queen, a slut.”
“Vincent, are you just going to stand there and let her talk to me like that?”
Vanzetti glanced at his wife, then at Catrin. They were demanding his attention. However, his whisky spoke louder and he took another sip. “Put a sock in it, Catty,” he said while drawing his lips back into a Humphrey Bogart sneer.
“Socks and shoes and fake designer jackets, that’s all you were selling before you met me.”
Vanzetti loosened his tie, pulled it free from his collar. He was wearing a shirt and jacket, though the jacket hung open to reveal a shoulder holster and handgun. “You sound like an old gramophone that’s stuck,” he said to his ex-wife.
“You’re showing your age, darling,” Catrin scowled. “I bet she doesn’t even know what a gramophone is.”
“I do and all,” Sherri insisted. She stood beside the glass table and, slowly, mouthed the words ‘gram’ and ‘phone’. Then, with her innocent smile in place, illuminating her face, she turned to Vanzetti and said, “It’s a miniature phone, isn’t it, Vincent?”
Catrin shook her head, as though to clear it. She offered her ex-husband a painful, half-smile. “How do you manage to talk with her?”
“When I’m with Sherri, there’s not much time for talking,” Vanzetti leered.
“Don’t give me that,” Catrin glowered, throwing her half-smile on to the back burner, “I know you, Vince. You’re no Casanova. In fact...”
Before Catrin could utter another word, Vanzetti stepped forward. Like Sherri, he bumped his shin against the glass table, which deepened his scowl. “Don’t you think you’re embarrassing our guests?” he asked of Catrin.
I glanced at V.J. Parks, but he was still gazing down, brooding, lost in his own, troubled, world; the Vanzetti family and their bickering went straight over his head.
As my eyes flicked around the room, from one person to another, it occurred to me that, maybe, we should invite the TV cameras in. We could create our own Reality TV show, based on the Family Vanzetti; we’d make a fortune. It was a mildly amusing thought, tempered by Vittoria’s disappearance and possible plight.
“I think we should move the conversation on,” I said, “to Vittoria; assuming that she’s hiding out of her own free will, where could she be?”
“We’ve already offered you our suggestions,” Vanzetti said plaintively.
I nodded then asked, “Did Vittoria mention anything in a casual conversation that might suggest why she’s run away or where she’s run to?”
All shook their heads, except Sherri. She looked up and smiled brightly. “I have an idea.”
Vanzetti groaned in weary fashion. “Not now, dear.”
“Let her speak,” I insisted. “What is it, Sherri?”
The actress took centre stage. After discarding her empty glass, bowing and smiling at her audience, she went into a routine, touching her hair, her lips, her fingernails, underscoring her points with elaborate facial gestures. “Well, one day, me and Vittoria were talking. We started off about hair, then got on to our nails and pedicures, then...”
“Get on with it,” Vanzetti moaned. Then he caught sight of his wife’s pout and added, “Sugar pie.”
“He’s my little bunny rabbit, aren’t you, Vincent,” Sherri grinned while swinging playfully from side to side.
“Get on with it!” Catrin growled.
“Where was I?” Sherri asked, looking genuinely perplexed; in truth, this look did not stretch her acting ability.
“Talking with Vittoria,” I said.
“Oh, yes. Anyway, I says, ‘I’d love to spend a day on a dessert island’...”
“That’s desert, not dessert,” Catrin corrected somewhat unsympathetically.
“Desert island, then,” Sherri moped. She continued, “‘Alone, naked, just me and nature,’ and Vittoria says, ‘I have my own dessert, er, desert island, I go there when I want to relax. And I says, ‘where’s that?’ And she says, ‘no one knows about it, not even my father.’ And I says, ‘I bet it’s lovely there.’ And Vittoria says, ‘it is; it’s paradise; so peaceful and tranquil; like living in a dream.’ And I says, ‘you must take me there one day.’ And Vittoria says, ‘I will.’”
“And where’s this place?” I asked.
Sherri glanced down to the glass table. She clasped her hands in front of her midriff, pouted, hung her head then offered a solemn shrug. “Vittoria didn’t say.”
“Jeez,” Catrin sighed, placing her head in her hands.
“What’s paradise in Vittoria’s mind?” I asked, addressing my question to everybody.
After a moment’s thought, they replied in unison, “The beach.”
“We have a vast expanse of coastline,” I pointed out.
“My property business rents out beach houses,” Vanzetti said, his expression thoughtful, his fingers caressing the corners of his moustache.
“Could Vittoria have helped herself to a house without you knowing?” I asked.
He paused, then walked purposefully from the room. “I’ll find out.”
Vanzetti returned a minute later, carrying a laptop computer, wearing a pair of unadorned spectacles. He set the computer on the glass table, switched on the machine, then accessed his files. After close on five minutes of fiddling, of exasperated moaning, of removing his tie, Vanzetti sat back and massaged his temples. Meanwhile, Catrin stepped forward and assumed control.
Two minutes later, Catrin looked up at me and said, “A house near Newton has fallen into a black hole.”
I nodded then asked, “Vittoria’s done a little hacking?”
“It would seem so. We own the house, but it’s not listed anymore.”
Catrin used the royal ‘we’ I noted, which suggested that in her mind, at least, she hadn’t cut all her ties to the Vanzetti empire; but I let that pass, for now.
“Vince, you’ve really let things slip,” Catrin complained. “Your own daughter stealing a house from you.”
“She hasn’t stolen it,” Vanzetti said, somewhat sheepishly. “She’s borrowed it, apparently.”
“As a bolthole,” I said, “a place of sanctuary.” I turned to Parks and asked, “Have you ever been there, V.J.?”
He glanced up and shook his head. “First I’ve heard of it.”
I asked Catrin for the address then walked towards the door. “I’ll check it out now.”
“I’m going with you,” Vanzetti said. He straightened his jacket and shirt collar, knotted his tie, then ensured that his gun was in place.
“No,” I insisted. “If Vittoria’s gone there, she’s gone there for a reason. Best to establish that reason first. Trust me; I’m an old hand at this sort of thing.”
At first, Vanzetti hesitated. Then he nodded, decisively. “I trust you.”
I glanced at Catrin, at V.J. Parks and they nodded their assent. Then I thanked Sherri, for her initial suggestion.
“That’s okay,” Sherri replied with a girlish giggle. “You know me; anything to help.”