“Let’s hope so.” Marco moved to the door. “What are your plans today?”

“I’m going ashore as soon as possible. There’s a lot to see, and if the Gang of Eight is going to believe I’m here to cover a story, I need to continue doing what I can to keep my cover.”

Marco reached for the door knob. “Be careful. You may think you’ve convinced Neil you know nothing, but I’m pretty sure someone from the Gang will be watching you. Stay out where people can see you. Better yet, get back on board as soon as you can. Chef Louie will be teaching a cooking class this afternoon. It might make a nice addition to your story. The class starts at two p.m. And if there are any doubts about your safety, I’ll be your taster.”

“I’m sure I don’t need it. But you’re right. It would be a nice addition to my story. Meanwhile, do me a favor. If you need to get back in my cabin, ring the bell.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ihad hoped that if I took the first tender to Capri, I might avoid running into any of the Gang of Eight. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way. Camile, the Inspector, and Carlo were onboard when I arrived. The three of them appeared ill at ease with each other’s company. Not that Camile ever looked happy, but she looked more discontented than usual, with a definite scowl on her small face. I had an uneasy feeling the Inspector might have interrupted a tryst and noticed the fingernails of her left hand were digging into the flesh of the Inspector’s as they sat side by side at the stern of the small ship while Carlo stood off by himself, near the helm.

The Inspector greeted me. “Off for another day of sightseeing, Ms. Lawson?”

I reached into my backpack, slung casually over one shoulder, and took out my camera. “Just another day in paradise to report on.”

“You do seem to enjoy your job.” The Inspector dropped Camile’s hand, and she snapped it away like a petulant child.

“It’s hard not to when there’s such beauty everywhere.” I put the camera up to my eye and framed a shot of the Isle of Capri, peppered with sprawling villas clinging to her white limestone cliffs. So different from Ischia’s black volcanic rock or Procida, Capri’s grittier sister island.

“Well, I do hope you enjoy yourself. This is the island to see and be seen. Lots of beautiful scenery and people everywhere. The perfect place for lovers. Wouldn’t you say, ma cherie?” The Inspector put his arm around Camile.

I moved toward the rear of the tender and busied myself with my camera, adjusting the focus and light settings, doing my best to avoid conversation while the rest of those going ashore filed in behind me.

“Good morning, Ms. Lawson. I was hoping you’d be going ashore this morning. Mind if I tag along?” Doctor Jon put his hand on my shoulder to steady himself as the tender bobbed in the water. I nearly gagged. The Doctor reeked of cologne and wore a cotton shirt he had buttoned mid-chest, exposing the top of his potbelly and graying chest hair. “If you’re unfamiliar with the island, perhaps I might show you around.”

“That’s a lovely offer, but I have a lot of quick stops planned. I need to be back on board for Chef Louie’s cooking class this afternoon.”

“Such a shame. Perhaps a quick lunch then or maybe a glass of wine?”

“I’m really sorry. I don’t have time.”

The Doctor positioned himself directly in front of me, blocking my view of the island. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“You know I wanted to be a journalist myself once.”

“Did you?” I held my camera between us like a shield, tight to my chest.

“Yes, but it doesn’t really pay well, does it.” The Doctor stroked the side of my face. “But then, I suppose, an attractive, single woman like yourself must find other ways to pay the bills?”

I put my hand on top of the Doctor’s. “I think you have the wrong idea, Doctor. I’m very well compensated for what I do. And what I do is write stories.”

“I’ll bet you do. And I’m sure I’d like to read a few. Especially the one you’re working on right now.” The Doctor slid his hand from my cheek to the neck of my tank top, then slightly lower, and pinched my breast.

In one swift motion, I lifted my arm, raised my knee to the appropriate spot, and kneed him between the legs, sending a clear message—hands off!

The Doctor doubled over immediately, and I put my hand on his back.

“Are you alright?”

Some onboard might have thought the boat had lurched, the water choppy, and the Doctor merely lost his balance, but both the Doctor and I knew better.

The Doctor waved me off. “I’m fine.”

I doubted the doctor was fine. If he was testing me, trying to get close to learn if I was on to the Gang of Eight, or if he thought I’d be an easy target for his company along with a bit of compensation for allowing him to paw me, I had made it very clear I wasn’t interested. Either way, Doctor Jon hadn’t counted on my martial arts skills and took a seat at the rear of the boat by himself while I turned my attention back to taking photos.

Our tender turned out to be more of a tour boat than a direct shuttle to the island. And, with the doctor now clearly out of my way, I was able to shoot Capri’s Blue Grotto, the three giant Faraglioni Rock formations that jutted from the sea, and the Green Grotto with her emerald-green colored water without being hassled.

Once on the island, I did my best to get lost on the Via Camerelle, a pedestrian street jammed with small designer shops. The walkways were so narrow and crowded with tourists that it was easy to blend into the crowd and dart from one area to the next. If anyone from the Gang of Eight had been following me, they would have had trouble keeping up. By the time I took the chairlift to the top of Mount Solaro for a panoramic view of Capri and the Bay of Naples and got back, I’d barely time to race back to the Marina to catch my tender to Athena for Chef Louie’s class.

* * *

Chef Louie was a wall of a man. Dressed in his double-breasted cook’s jacket and tall toque hat, he was almost seven feet tall, and adding to his overwhelming presence was a butcher knife that he wielded like a quick-draw cowboy. Noting that Marco and I had entered late, the Chef twirled his knife in the air and, catching it by its handle, pointed to those already present, asking them to make room for us at the demo table in the front.

I sat across from the Chef, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. Few things make me as nervous as knives, and being close enough to see the perspiration on Chef Louie’s brow as he chopped, sliced, and diced a row of carrots caused me to wonder, had he ever missed? Subconsciously, I counted the fingers on Chef Louie’s left hand, the knife a hair’s breadth from his sausage-like fingers.

I whispered to Marco. “Please tell me this guy’s not one of the Gang.”

“Hardly. The Inspector’s wife’s not a fan. If Camile had her say, Chef Louie wouldn’t be here. She doesn’t like anything on his menu. But then, look at her. I don’t think the woman eats.”

Louie put the knife down, wiped his hands, and looked at me. “Now you.”

“Me?” The last time I took a knife skills class was in the seventh grade, when my grandmother had signed us up for a cooking class, and I nearly sliced my thumb off.

“Yes, you. You are a journalist, right? Maybe you include me in your story and make me famous? No?” Louie slapped a raw carrot down on the table in front of me. “You try.”

I sat back and held up my hands. “I’m really more of a baker. I’m better with dough than vegetables. Maybe someone else should try.”

“No. I insist.” Louie spun the knife around on the table like a roulette wheel, waited for it to stop, and then slid the blade closer to me. “Try.”

Marco elbowed me. “Go ahead.”

I sighed, picked up the knife, and, positioning the carrot on the table, began to cut. The first slice of carrot rolled off the table and onto the floor.

Louie put his hand on top of mine. “I think is better you leave chopping to me. You write story.”

Relieved, I surrendered the knife back to Louie. He holstered it and wiped the table. Then, clapping his hands together, he addressed those who had come to see Athena’s famous Chef prepare his signature dish, Guazzetto with baby octopus.

“Today, I show how to prepare my specialty. I make for tonight’s party. Very fresh. Very good.”

I took my camera from my bag and snapped several candid shots of Louie. He played it up for the camera and smiled a big, friendly grin with a pairing knife in one hand and a baby octopus in the other.

Satisfied I had the pictures I needed, I took my notepad from my bag and began to scribble the recipe as Louie explained step-by-step how to prepare.

The ingredients were simple. Baby octopus, tomatoes, white wine, a glass for preparation, and another for the cook. Olive Oil. Parsley. Garlic. Salt and pepper.

“Twenty minutes to prepare and two hours in the oven and…” Louie kissed the tips of his fingers, then extended his hand above his head.”Deliziosa. But for now…you must take my word and wait to taste tonight…for Aunt Ida’s birthday. It is her favorite. I hope to see you all there.”

Chapter Twenty-Five