I returned to St Donats and Vanzetti’s house.
In the gold living room, I found Catrin and V.J. Parks perched on the edge of their sofas while Vanzetti paced the floor. Sherri was staring at the TV, sans sound. Meanwhile, someone had removed the low glass table, so no bruised shinbones this evening.
“I found Vittoria,” I said; “she’s safe.”
“Where is she? Vanzetti asked. “At the house?”
I nodded.
“I want to see her,” he said, his tone insistent, forceful.
Without doubt, few people stood up to Vincent Vanzetti. However, I’d made a promise to Vittoria, so I said, “No.”
“No?” he frowned, clenching his fists in anger.
“I promised her. She needs time for herself.”
“What are you talking about?” Vanzetti glared. He walked over to me and placed a hand on my right shoulder. He gave my shoulder a forceful shove.
“I don’t know exactly,” I said, holding my ground. “Vittoria ran to her sanctuary for a reason. She doesn’t want to see you, any of you, for a reason. She needs time, before she can explain herself.”
Vanzetti grabbed my shoulders. He shook me and said, “She’s my daughter and I’m going to see her.”
Concerned, Catrin jumped up. She dragged Vanzetti towards a sofa, then eased him on to a plush seat. “Sit down, Vince. Keep your hands to yourself and let’s hear Sam out.”
“Mac is with Vittoria,” I explained, ignoring a twinge of pain in my right shoulder. Vanzetti had squeezed an old scar, a reminder of a bullet wound; although time had passed, that wound remained tender to the touch. “Mac knows Vittoria, from the times he’s worked for you.”
Catrin and Vanzetti nodded in unison. They were sitting side by side now, and Catrin took hold of Vanzetti’s hands. She caressed his hands, cradled them in her lap. From the corner of my eye, I could see Sherri, pouting, while V.J. looked on, his gaze vacant, his mind, no doubt, on Vittoria.
While flexing my shoulder, I said, “Mac reckons that Vittoria is not the woman he met at this house; her personality’s changed.”
“In what way?” Catrin asked.
“More withdrawn,” I explained, “sombre.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But she’s cut her arms and hair.”
“Why?” Catrin repeated.
I shrugged, “I’ll try to find out.”
The pain in my shoulder had eased; I could move with freedom. Nevertheless, I made a mental note; I reminded myself that Vanzetti was a man of violence; I’d do well to watch his temper, and his hands.
While wandering away from Vanzetti and Catrin, I asked, “Has Vittoria ever harmed herself before?”
“Never,” Catrin said. “Vittoria always takes pride in her appearance.”
“V.J.?” I asked, glancing at the boxer.
“Vittoria’s never harmed herself. She hates pain; has a low pain threshold.”
“I’d like to understand what’s going on,” I said, “for Vittoria’s sake, before asking her to return home.”
“You think that someone in this house is behind her behaviour?” Vanzetti glowered. “That we’re to blame?”
“I don’t know, Mr Vanzetti. But, to be honest, that thought has crossed my mind.”
Vanzetti struggled to his feet, only to submit to Catrin’s firm restraint. “I hired you to find my daughter!” he yelled. “Not to insult my family!”
Catrin tugged at Vanzetti’s sleeve. She said, “Sit down, Vince. You’re getting yourself worked up. You asked her a straight question; she gave you a straight answer. There was a time when you’d have respected that.”
Vanzetti glared at me for a long ten seconds. Then he nodded at his wife and held his position on the sofa. “Okay,” he conceded. “I’m sorry. But I’m upset.”
“We’re all upset,” Catrin said. She gave Vanzetti’s hands a reassuring squeeze, then placed them against her right cheek. Her lips brushed the backs of Vanzetti’s hands. He held them still. He made no complaint. “You spend some time with Vittoria,” Catrin said to me, “find out what’s going on; report to us, regularly.”
“You’ll be here?” I asked.
“Vince?” she turned to her ex-husband.
“Huh?” Vanzetti shook his head, as though to clear it. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “You can have the guest suite.”
As an afterthought, he turned to his wife, who’d abandoned the TV in favour of Catrin and Vanzetti; Sherri was sitting there, her eyes cold, her gaze vindictive; if she could have transformed her long fingernails into stilettos, she would have scratched Catrin’s eyes out.
“Is that okay with you, dear?” Vanzetti asked with all the subtly of a sledgehammer.
While sniffing back tears, Sherri flounced from the room. Meanwhile, Vanzetti gazed at Catrin and shrugged.
“V.J., you want to stay too?” Vanzetti asked of the boxer.
“Sure,” V.J. nodded. Then he stood and walked over to me. With a plaintive catch in his voice, he said, “I want to see Vittoria.”
“All in good time,” I said. “Please, trust me.”
I walked from the room. However, before I reached the front door, Vanzetti yelled, “You’d better deliver. You screw up, and I’ll have your hide.”