Basil Instinct by Shelley Costa Page A

me.
    But if Nonna wanted to join their silly club, I could at least be sure she gave them a dinner that would make them have to get some alterations in their midnight-blue satin costumes.
    My plan was to arrive first at Miracolo that eventful day, the day when Maria Pia Angelotta was supposed to remind the fifty fuzzies of Belfiere exactly why they had drafted her, to eyeball the place after the lovely evening before. For Friday, June 20, Eve Angelotta was making herself Field Marshal for a Day, and Paulette could concentrate just on serving.
    Lucky thing: I was in the shower when I suddenly realized, with horror, that we had forgotten to call the cleaning crew, Maid for You, to come last night after we closed. Of all the days! Of all the nights! I think I told Nonna that I’d take care of it, and then, what with being thrown a curveball in the form of the teaching gig at the Quaker Hills Career Center and Home for Sociopaths, I forgot.
    So I threw a can of Pledge in my car—pretty sure there was an old Eureka upright vacuum cleaner in the storeroom—and took off for Market Square sooner than I ordinarily would have. Maria Pia wasn’t the only Angelotta to leave early last evening in order to rest up for her big day—thanks to Georgia Payne, who offered to stay and lock up, Landon and Choo Choo and I took off an hour earlier than usual. Landon had disappeared without a kiss, and Choo Choo had trailed off after Vera, who didn’t seem to realize it. But the stars had seemed especially steady, anyway, and I believed all of our problems were small.
    So, late that Friday morning I parked my old Volvo up the street from Miracolo, grabbed my stuff, and decided to go through the front. The street was already busy, what with the Quaker Hills street-cleaning machine brushing its way up the south side of the commercial district and a couple of hungry brunchers two doors up at the outsideseating at Sprouts. I waved to Akahana, who was jaywalking across to Providence Park, carrying a bag that claimed, I’m Out of Estrogen and I Have a Gun . She flung an arm at me, then cursed the guy in the VW Beetle, who narrowly missed her. Overhead the clouds collided, and it even smelled like rain.
    I turned the key in the lock of Miracolo’s front door—which had a linen curtain running the length of the glass—but the door wouldn’t open. At least, not very far. I stepped back, then put my shoulder to it, without any luck. Something was blocking the door on the inside. I put my hand to the glass and tried to peer inside, but the curtain was in the way. Finally, I sighed and rolled my eyes. Just what I needed on a day I also had to be Eve Angelotta, Cleaner of Restaurants Before Grandmothers Show Up.
    I pushed open the black wrought-iron gate and sprang up the side path to our courtyard and back patio, then let myself in the back. The kitchen looked spotless and the air seemed very still. More still, even, than outside, where everything waited quietly for a summer rain. Heading through the dark dining room—always strange to arrive first, when there’s nothing that reminds you of life, not even the ticking of a clock—I didn’t notice anything out of place.
    But in that crazy way we have when we try to make sense of what’s deeply unexplainable, I wondered if Kayla had left an order just inside the front door. But how? Had someone given my wayward cousin a key again? After using the back office for her three-night tryst with Joe Beck, she had lost her key privileges. My eyes were still adjusting to the low light, but I realized as I got closer to the foyer, where the inside door was half open, even Kayla wouldn’t do that.
    Pulling open the inside door, I nearly tripped on something.
    And when I realized it was human, I fell back against the door frame. Peering at the shape—small, blond, and still in a chef jacket—I leaned over. “Georgia?” From the way she was lying, facedown, it looked to me like she had sunk to her knees and