Voices Carry Read online

  “A little,” Genna admitted. “Do you see either of your sisters? I was hoping to get a chance to chat with both of them.”

  “Tess and Angie are just going up the stairs with the guest of honor. Poor little guy must be pretty tuckered out right now. But I guarantee that my mother and my aunts are all in the kitchen.” John took her hand, saying, “Here, let me help you get through this crowd.”

  John led her toward the back of the house, through an endless sea of cousins and aunts and uncles who conversed with him in both English and Italian. Small children squeezed around the adults, some balancing plastic plates holding all manner of delicacies. It took ten minutes to make their way into the kitchen, where Rita Mancini was arguing with her sister Anna about which fabric shop on Fourth Street had the best inventory.

  “Goldberg’s. No question.” John’s mother’s firm pronouncement, met with a nodding of heads and a chorus of affirmatives, appeared to be accepted as the last word on the subject. Turning toward the doorway, she called over the heads of her nieces, “Genna, did you have something to eat? John, did you feed her yet? She’s a rail. Here, Genna. . .”

  Reaching behind her, Rita grabbed a dark blue plastic plate and in one motion, served lasagne from a pan on the stove, sausage and peppers from a still-bubbling pot, and scooped salad from a wooden bowl that had been set on the counter.

  “Johnny, you serve yourself. . . no, not from the dining room, from my pots, here in the kitchen.” She handed Genna the plate, piled now with food and said in a low voice, “Mary Giordani made the lasagne that’s in the dining room. Two words, Genna. Canned tomatoes. You want mine. I make my own, everything from scratch. It’s much better. Johnny, grab a fork for Genna—she doesn’t need a knife to cut my sausage. And put down that salt shaker. I put salt in. Now, go on outside and eat.”

  She held the back door open and Genna followed John down the back steps.

  “Mary Giordani uses canned tomatoes in her sauce?” She whispered out of the side of her mouth.

  “It’s the talk of the neighborhood.” John shook his head solemnly.

  Genna nibbled on a slice of sausage seasoned with fennel. “Oh, God, this is good. Someday, when I have time to really learn how to cook, I’m going to learn how to make tomato sauce just like this.”

  “Shhhhh.” John held a finger up to his lips. “Do not let my mother hear you say that. She’ll be at your apartment first thing in the morning, bunches of basil and parsley in one hand and a basket of plum tomatoes under her arm.”

  “There are worse ways to start your day,” Genna told him as she sampled the lasagne.

  Neighbors wandered in and out of the back gate, and soon the small yard had filled up as tightly as the inside of the house had, with nearly as many guests.

  “Can I get you something else?” John asked, noticing that Genna had stopped eating.

  “Are you kidding? I started out with a full plate. Do you see anything left?” She grinned. “I was just thinking that I should walk back to North Jersey, and I should probably start now.”

  “That might be a bit of a hike.” John took her plate and stacked it atop his own. “But as soon as I get rid of these plates, we can go for a walk around the neighborhood. That way, you’ll be ready for dessert. No one leaves a Mancini party without a slice of my Aunt Concetta’s Italian rum cake.”

  Genna groaned and leaned back against the cyclone fence that surrounded the small backyard.

  Laughing, John headed up the back steps and opened the door, just as his sister Tess stepped out. They chatted quietly for a moment before John disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Genna, it’s good to see you.” Tess joined her at the back of the yard. “I was hoping we’d have a few minutes to talk. It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes.” Genna cleared her throat. “How’s Nate?”

  “He’s fine. He’s out on the front porch talking antique cars with Uncle Vinnie.”

  Tess sliced a meatball in half with her fork, choosing to toy with it rather than eat it.

  “I was so glad to hear that you were coming today. I owe you a big apology,” Tess said at last.

  “Apology? Why?” Genna raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “For blaming you for the problems that John had last year,” Tess said bluntly. “I’m so sorry, Genna. There was just so much I didn’t understand. You know, you and John and people like you have to deal with things that the rest of us thankfully never have to see, don’t even really have to know about. I don’t know how you can face such terrible things and still function in the real world with the rest of us. It’s a wonder you aren’t all crazy.”

  Genna crossed her arms over her chest, still not certain where Tess was headed.

  “It was so hard for John to put everything back together after all that murderer put him through last year. None of us could reach him,” Tess said without looking at Genna. “None of us had ever seen him like that. It’s just not in John’s nature to shut out the people he loves, the people who love him. It must have been so terrible for you.”

  “Then he told you. . .”

  “Pretty much everything.” Tess nodded. “I only wish he had told me sooner. Unfortunately, he wasn’t speaking to anyone. Certainly not to me, and apparently, he wasn’t speaking to you, either. I just wish I’d known.”

  “I didn’t hear from him for months,” Genna said, feeling oddly comforted to learn that she had not been singled out by John to be kept in the dark.

  “If I’d been aware of what he was putting you through. . . well, as it was, we all thought that you. . .” She paused, as if searching for words. “Well, that you’d broken up with him and that was the reason he was so. . . distant. It was the only explanation we could come up with. The only reason why we could imagine him wanting to be alone for all that time.”

  “Alone?” Genna frowned. “For some reason, I thought that you and Jeff were down there with him.”

  Tess shook her head.

  “John stayed in our house, but he wouldn’t let any of us stay with him. He just told us that he had things he needed to think about and that he needed to be alone. It wasn’t until later that I found out that he was so afraid of self-destructing, so afraid of having anyone near him when he did. So afraid of tainting anyone who he loved with what he was afraid he was becoming. Please understand that in our experience, only a fatal disease or a broken heart makes a person behave like that. And since John swore he wasn’t sick—”

  “You thought I’d broken off our relationship,” Genna said softly.

  “I found out all too late that it was much more complicated than that. And so I apologize. For not being there to help you through it, as a friend. And for thinking the worst of you. I hope someday I’ll find a way to make it up to you. In the meantime, it’s important to me to know that you forgive me.”

  “Of course.” Warmed by the offer of friendship, Genna held out her hand, and Tess took it and gave it a squeeze. “You know, there were times last year when I did think to call you. But since I’d thought that John had dumped me, I just figured it really wouldn’t be fair to put you in the middle—”

  “Well, I’m glad to see that you’re back together—” Tess said, then seeing the look on Genna’s face, stopped and said, “Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t assume. I don’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m here because Angie invited me as a friend. I’m with John because he offered to pick me up at the train station after my car died. . .” Genna’s voice trailed away.

  “Don’t feel that you have to offer an explanation. It’s none of my business. But you know how our family is. Everyone looks out for everyone else. And we all love John.” Tess hesitated only momentarily before adding, “And he loves you so much. . .”

  “Hey, Gen,” John appeared in the open doorway. “You ready for that walk now?”

  Genna turned to look at the man who stood on the top step. In spite of her best efforts to deny it, a rush of longing washed
over her.

  “Sure. A walk sounds great,” she nodded.

  “Tess, you up for a walk around the market?” he asked.

  “I was there yesterday,” she told him dryly. “When everything was open.”

  Tess turned to Genna and hugged her with her free hand. “I’m glad you’re back in John’s life, in whatever capacity. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him so relaxed. So happy.”

  “Thank you, Tess.” Genna returned the hug.

  “We’re not leaving the party, Gen, we’re only going for a ten-minute walk,” John told her.

  “One second,” Genna called back to him. Searching her pocket for the medal, she held it out to Tess and asked, “Would you know who this is?”

  “On the medal?” Tess turned it over in her hand. “I think it’s Saint Anthony. My grandmother had one like this. She called him the Saint of Lost and Found. She even had this prayer she used to say. ‘Dear Saint Anthony, please come around. Something’s lost and can’t be found.’ Something like that. Where’d you get it?”

  “A woman gave it to me outside of church earlier,” Genna told her.

  “Maybe she thought you looked like someone who was searching for something,” Tess told her as she returned the medal. “I hope you find it, whatever it is.”

  “Thank you,” Genna whispered and tucked the object back into her pocket.

  John held out his hand to Genna as she climbed the steps, telling her, “We’ll go out through the front. But stay close. It’s a jungle in there. . .”

  “Where are we going?” Genna asked as they emerged into the crowd that milled about on the front porch.

  “I thought we’d walk down to the Italian Market,” he told her, lacing her fingers with his own and setting an easy pace as they crossed onto the shaded side of the quiet street. “Just a few blocks. It’s a Philadelphia landmark. Oldest outdoor market in the country and it’s hardly changed over the past one hundred years. You haven’t been to Philly till you’ve been to Ninth Street.”

  The fabled street was nearly deserted, late on this Sunday afternoon. John paused and pointed to a storefront midway down on the opposite side and said, “My grandfather Mancini worked there after he arrived here from Italy in 1932. One of his cousins owned it, imported olive oil and cheeses from the Old Country. When the cousin, who had never married, died, he left it all to my grandfather, who promptly moved his wife and young children into the apartment up there on the second floor. I used to stop here every day on my way home from school. My grandmother made a pizzelle that could knock your socks off. She kept a tin filled with them on top of her refrigerator.”

  They continued past a few more storefronts.

  “My cousin Millie owns the spice shop across the street.” John led Genna across the street and stood in front, peering through the window. “My great-aunt Magda works here a couple of mornings each week. She has a table there in the back corner.”

  “Magda? Your mother’s Aunt Magdalena? Isn’t she eighty-something?”

  “Yes.” John said, looking amused.

  “What does she do?”

  John seemed to consider the question before answering.

  “She’s sort of a consultant.”

  “What kind of consultant?” Genna glanced at the sign above the doorway.

  “I guess you can best describe her as a curse consultant.” John rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Aunt Magda has the gift. For a fee, she can put a curse on someone. For another fee, she can remove it.”

  “You mean, you can go to her and pay her to place a curse on someone? And then, if you are the person who’s been cursed, you can pay her to take the curse away?”

  “That sums it up quite neatly.”

  “That’s silly. No one believes that.”

  “You ever notice the jewelry the woman wears? The gold bracelets? The diamond rings?”

  “It’s hard not to.”

  “People believe.” John said meaningfully, and they both laughed.

  “What costs more, having a curse put on or having one taken off?” Genna asked.

  “Having it removed, definitely.”

  “Did you ever have her curse someone for you?”

  “Nah. When I was growing up down here, the most effective curse one guy could put on another was with his fists. Same for having a curse taken away. You did for yourself.”

  They walked along in silence for a few minutes before John asked, “Are you going to tell me what spooked you today?”

  Genna debated for a long moment before replying, “I was watching the old woman pray, wondering what she was praying for. And then, the next thing I knew, I heard my own voice, inside my head, praying just like I had in the courtroom and I was back there—”

  “You mean, you had a flashback, to Brother Michael’s trial?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “It was like watching a movie. I remember how the courtroom exploded when the jury foreman read the verdict. Guilty on all counts. It was chaos. I turned in my seat to look for my parents, but I couldn’t see them and I stood on the chair. They were about ten rows back. I called to them to let them know I was ready to leave. I knew they had been angry with me for testifying against Brother Michael, but I couldn’t lie, you know? I’d put my hand on the Bible and said I would say only what was really true. After the verdict, I thought that it was over, all of it, that it wouldn’t matter anymore, that it was done and we’d just go home. . .” Genna bit her bottom lip in the hopes of making it stop trembling.

  “What did you pray for that day?”

  She looked up at him, the sorrow of the child reflected in the eyes of the woman.

  “I prayed that they would come back for me.”

  9

  “You really didn’t have to drive me all the way back home, John,” Genna said for maybe the sixth time since they’d crossed the Walt Whitman Bridge. “I really did have a train ticket.”

  “I’m scheduled to fly out of Newark Airport tonight anyway,” he repeated, hoping that this time she wouldn’t ask why he hadn’t flown out of Philly, the airport being less than twenty minutes from his mother’s home. He had an answer all prepared, but he wasn’t sure how credible it would sound. The truth being that he just wasn’t ready to say good-bye to her yet. Hadn’t looked at her enough today. Wasn’t ready to relinquish the sense of completion that filled him when she was with him.

  “So what’s so pressing that you have to take the red eye to DC tonight to make a nine o’clock meeting tomorrow morning?” Genna asked.

  The Mercedes had just glided past Exit Eight on the New Jersey Turnpike. The lights that lined the sides of the highway flashed across the front seat like a strobe, casting John’s face alternately in shadow and in light that highlighted the angle of his jaw. Genna watched from the passenger seat, trying to ignore the fact that no one had ever affected her, on every level of her being, the way he did, and wondered just what, if anything, she was going to do about it.

  Perhaps some rethinking was in order here.

  “It’s a really odd case,” he was saying. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. We’ve gotten reports of missing women from six different law enforcement agencies in different parts of the country over the past three weeks.”

  “Runaways?” she asked as she searched for the lever that would move the seat into the recline position and allow her to settle in comfortably.

  “No. Definitely not runaways,” he shook his head. “My gut’s saying abductions.”

  “Based on what?” Now he had her full attention. Kidnappings were her specialty.

  “Just a feeling that I have.”

  “Who are the victims?”

  “All of the women are in their late twenties, early thirties. All but one married, all happily, by all accounts. Several of them have small children, almost all have solid jobs and full, active lives.”

  “Ransom notes?”

  “None.”

  “No phone calls? No bodies?”

  “
Nada.”

  “But you think they’re related somehow.” It wasn’t a question.

  “They feel exactly the same.”

  “But women go missing every day. They walk out on bad marriages, they leave for another man. . .” she rationalized.

  “None of these women fit that pattern. There is nothing in any of their backgrounds that suggests that any one of them would simply walk away from their homes, from their husbands or their young children.”

  “A rash of abductions, though, in different parts of the country. . .” She couldn’t help but play devil’s advocate. “What do they have in common?”

  “I’d say they’ve all been very carefully planned. In each case, no one saw anything and no one reported anything unusual. Each time, the woman has gone out on a routine errand or to work, and has not been seen again. It’s as if she’s been plucked from the face of the earth.”

  “By someone who has apparently been watching them closely enough to know their routine,” she said softly. “You think it’s the same someone?”

  “I do.”

  “Have any of these abductions been witnessed?”

  “No. The closest we came was in the Omaha case, where a neighbor reported having seen an unfamiliar dark blue van in the neighborhood, but she didn’t know the make, model, or year. Know how many dark blue vans of indeterminable age and make there are in Omaha?”

  “What’s the connection between the victims?”

  “This is the most intriguing thing. On the surface, there doesn’t seem to be a connection,” he told her, “other than the fact that they were all within a certain age range and the fact that they all disappeared so mysteriously. Rex Egan has been brought in also, and he is, as you know, very good at finding common threads. He hasn’t been able to find a thing. We’ve had agents in each of the cities—Wilmington, North Carolina. Kansas City, Omaha, Chicago. Wheeling, West Virginia and Mystic, Connecticut—talking with the locals. Haven’t found a thing that would connect these women.”

  “To jump around geographically like that could imply that he or they or whomever is following some sort of blueprint. Otherwise, it wouldn’t make any sense.”