|
The Third Side of MurderThe 3rd Tony Harrington Thriller!
On Sale! Plus free shipping! Winner of Two Honors! |
Available Now - On sale!
|
Read the first 2 chapters (see below) for free! |
Reviews for the Book are Outstanding!
U.S. Review of Books
"Author LeValley has a firm grasp of his protagonist and supporting characters. He does a first-rate job of making them credible and memorable. His prose is tight, unpretentious, and easy to traverse. LeValley's dialogue reflects the way people actually talk and is used more for dramatic impact than plot exposition. It's easy to get caught up in Tony's plight, and one finds oneself turning the pages faster and faster to see what's coming next. Like the best of storytellers, the author has saved an intriguing surprise for the end. Chances are, it's one that readers won't see coming."
Midwest Book Reviews
"More than just a murder mystery, this thriller is about taking risks, making choices that hold dangerous consequences, and moving beyond the role of being a small-time reporter for the Orney Town Crier. Readers who enjoy multifaceted stories of small town reporters and big city problems will find The Third Side of Murder especially strong in its cross-cultural, social, and political revelations. These elements go beyond a whodunit ... The story's fast pace and personal connections will keep readers involved to the end."
Erin Kiernan, WHO-TV
"Just like the first two Tony Harrington novels, I couldn’t put this one down! It’s a compelling page-turner with all of the classic elements of a murder-mystery, set in a place most of us only dream of visiting. I have no doubt we’ll be seeing this character on the big screen eventually!"
David C. Elbert, Des Moines Business Record
"After three books, Tony Harrington has become family. His latest adventures in Italy and New York are page turners. Author Joseph LeValley has once again captured a character and story well worth following. Please let me know when the publication occurs, and I'm looking forward to book No. 4."
"Author LeValley has a firm grasp of his protagonist and supporting characters. He does a first-rate job of making them credible and memorable. His prose is tight, unpretentious, and easy to traverse. LeValley's dialogue reflects the way people actually talk and is used more for dramatic impact than plot exposition. It's easy to get caught up in Tony's plight, and one finds oneself turning the pages faster and faster to see what's coming next. Like the best of storytellers, the author has saved an intriguing surprise for the end. Chances are, it's one that readers won't see coming."
Midwest Book Reviews
"More than just a murder mystery, this thriller is about taking risks, making choices that hold dangerous consequences, and moving beyond the role of being a small-time reporter for the Orney Town Crier. Readers who enjoy multifaceted stories of small town reporters and big city problems will find The Third Side of Murder especially strong in its cross-cultural, social, and political revelations. These elements go beyond a whodunit ... The story's fast pace and personal connections will keep readers involved to the end."
Erin Kiernan, WHO-TV
"Just like the first two Tony Harrington novels, I couldn’t put this one down! It’s a compelling page-turner with all of the classic elements of a murder-mystery, set in a place most of us only dream of visiting. I have no doubt we’ll be seeing this character on the big screen eventually!"
David C. Elbert, Des Moines Business Record
"After three books, Tony Harrington has become family. His latest adventures in Italy and New York are page turners. Author Joseph LeValley has once again captured a character and story well worth following. Please let me know when the publication occurs, and I'm looking forward to book No. 4."
Winner of Two Honors from the 2021 Incipere Awards!
Won 3rd Place for Best Thriller of 2021
Won Honorable Mention for Best Mystery of 2021
Won Honorable Mention for Best Mystery of 2021
Musings from the author about "The Third Side of Murder"
Adapted from an article by Joseph LeValley, published in Mystery Readers Journal:
The Third side of Murder is the third novel featuring young newspaper reporter Tony Harrington as the protagonist. The first two novels, Burying the Lede and Cry from an Unknown Grave, are set in the Midwest of the United States. Tony is American but his mother, Carlotta, was born and raised in Italy.
Sadly, in the opening chapter of the book, Tony's cousin, Noemi dies in a fall from the seawall. This brings Tony and his mother to Italy for the funeral, and puts Tony on the trail of the man who had been seen stalking her. Tony becomes convinced the man killed his cousin. A growing sense of alarm spreads through the village as Tony pursues him. The reason, readers learn early in the book, is because the man is “family,” that is, a member of the Camorra or, as better known to Americans, the Italian mafia.
When I created Tony Harrington and his family, there was no particular reason I made his mother a first-generation Italian. It wasn’t until I sought a plot for the third novel that it occurred to me Carlotta’s heritage created an opportunity to tell a story set in my favorite foreign country.
Italy is an extraordinary place – equal parts momentous history, rich culture, and extreme beauty. My family and I were fortunate a few years ago to spend 12 days there. We loved every minute of it. We were typical tourists, visiting three of the major cities. However, for a portion of the time, we rented a car and traveled to Tuscany. We stayed in a former winery, converted to an inn, and had the opportunity to enjoy the gorgeous countryside and the life of a small Italian village.
One place we did not see was the Amalfi Coast, where the story in the novel begins. I wrote the passage about Noemi dancing on the seawall, knowing I had not actually seen a seawall in Italy similar to what I was envisioning in my head. The solution was made simple by the modern tools available to every writer. I opened Google Earth and followed the images down and around the coast of Italy until I saw a seawall that matched the story’s needs. The seawall is in Amalfi, so the story’s beginning, and end, are set there.
While it was great fun to write about my favorite character’s family and friends in Italy, as well as the suspense and action triggered by his investigation there, I quickly learned there are multiple challenges associated with writing about a foreign country. Perhaps the most obvious is the need to constantly decide what to call things. How often should the Italian word be used, as opposed to the English equivalent? The story must sound authentic and accurately represent the country, but it should not confuse the reader or force him or her to decipher words or make assumptions.
More subtle, and more difficult, is knowing enough about the country to not make blunders in referencing everyday things. Do restaurants use the same procedures as those in the U.S.? Do people predominantly use cash or cards? Do their gas stations have convenience stores? There are thousands of examples of this. Two specific examples I encountered were, first, Tony likes to drink Diet Dr. Pepper. I didn’t know if this particular brand of soda was even available there. In the end, I decided to make it a somewhat humorous sub-plot, as Tony tries to find his favorite drink. In the second example, Tony is assaulted by the man he is pursuing. The first draft of the book had the assault occur in the Amalfi train station. Later it occurred to me to check and, to my surprise, Amafi doesn’t have train service. So, the encounter had to be edited, and now occurs in the bus station.
In the end, the rewards of writing about Italy far outweighed the challenges. It gave me an opportunity to honor a place for which I have great affection, by sharing some of its beauty and other attributes, such as unbelievably good food, with readers. It also created an opportunity for Tony to get “sideways” with powerful members of organized crime, something he’s unlikely to do in his home state of Iowa.
The Third Side of Murder is available now, as are the first two Tony Harrington novels. The publisher’s representative and I have agreed that the fourth novel, Performing Murder, will be released this fall.
I hope those who love Italy and/or New York, as well as those who love a good mystery/thriller will buy The Third Side of Murder. More importantly, I hope they find it an exciting and satisfying read.
-- Joseph LeValley, May 2020; Updated December 2020
The Third side of Murder is the third novel featuring young newspaper reporter Tony Harrington as the protagonist. The first two novels, Burying the Lede and Cry from an Unknown Grave, are set in the Midwest of the United States. Tony is American but his mother, Carlotta, was born and raised in Italy.
Sadly, in the opening chapter of the book, Tony's cousin, Noemi dies in a fall from the seawall. This brings Tony and his mother to Italy for the funeral, and puts Tony on the trail of the man who had been seen stalking her. Tony becomes convinced the man killed his cousin. A growing sense of alarm spreads through the village as Tony pursues him. The reason, readers learn early in the book, is because the man is “family,” that is, a member of the Camorra or, as better known to Americans, the Italian mafia.
When I created Tony Harrington and his family, there was no particular reason I made his mother a first-generation Italian. It wasn’t until I sought a plot for the third novel that it occurred to me Carlotta’s heritage created an opportunity to tell a story set in my favorite foreign country.
Italy is an extraordinary place – equal parts momentous history, rich culture, and extreme beauty. My family and I were fortunate a few years ago to spend 12 days there. We loved every minute of it. We were typical tourists, visiting three of the major cities. However, for a portion of the time, we rented a car and traveled to Tuscany. We stayed in a former winery, converted to an inn, and had the opportunity to enjoy the gorgeous countryside and the life of a small Italian village.
One place we did not see was the Amalfi Coast, where the story in the novel begins. I wrote the passage about Noemi dancing on the seawall, knowing I had not actually seen a seawall in Italy similar to what I was envisioning in my head. The solution was made simple by the modern tools available to every writer. I opened Google Earth and followed the images down and around the coast of Italy until I saw a seawall that matched the story’s needs. The seawall is in Amalfi, so the story’s beginning, and end, are set there.
While it was great fun to write about my favorite character’s family and friends in Italy, as well as the suspense and action triggered by his investigation there, I quickly learned there are multiple challenges associated with writing about a foreign country. Perhaps the most obvious is the need to constantly decide what to call things. How often should the Italian word be used, as opposed to the English equivalent? The story must sound authentic and accurately represent the country, but it should not confuse the reader or force him or her to decipher words or make assumptions.
More subtle, and more difficult, is knowing enough about the country to not make blunders in referencing everyday things. Do restaurants use the same procedures as those in the U.S.? Do people predominantly use cash or cards? Do their gas stations have convenience stores? There are thousands of examples of this. Two specific examples I encountered were, first, Tony likes to drink Diet Dr. Pepper. I didn’t know if this particular brand of soda was even available there. In the end, I decided to make it a somewhat humorous sub-plot, as Tony tries to find his favorite drink. In the second example, Tony is assaulted by the man he is pursuing. The first draft of the book had the assault occur in the Amalfi train station. Later it occurred to me to check and, to my surprise, Amafi doesn’t have train service. So, the encounter had to be edited, and now occurs in the bus station.
In the end, the rewards of writing about Italy far outweighed the challenges. It gave me an opportunity to honor a place for which I have great affection, by sharing some of its beauty and other attributes, such as unbelievably good food, with readers. It also created an opportunity for Tony to get “sideways” with powerful members of organized crime, something he’s unlikely to do in his home state of Iowa.
The Third Side of Murder is available now, as are the first two Tony Harrington novels. The publisher’s representative and I have agreed that the fourth novel, Performing Murder, will be released this fall.
I hope those who love Italy and/or New York, as well as those who love a good mystery/thriller will buy The Third Side of Murder. More importantly, I hope they find it an exciting and satisfying read.
-- Joseph LeValley, May 2020; Updated December 2020
Read the first two chapters here, for free!
CHAPTER 1
Spring, Amalfi Coast, Southwest Italy
She was dancing on the seawall, aware she was being watched, but not aware she was being watched by him. A breeze fluttered across her face and the early rays of light welcomed her smile. As the sun rose from behind the mountain peaks, she stood on one foot and stretched the toes of her other foot toward the sky, her torso parallel to the wall. A glance to her right showed the worn stones of a street built centuries before, bordered by the blooms of spring flowers that awed the tourists who fed the cash boxes of many merchants in this seaside village. To her left, she could see the water far below, its waves pounding against the black boulders protruding from the surface. To the right, beauty, safety, happiness. To the left, an angry sea and certain death at the bottom of the abyss.
She thought it the perfect metaphor for life. Every day, a person faces choices. On one side, a clear path to health and happiness. On the other, an easy plummet to despair and death.
She pondered these things with no sense of melancholy or fear, but with absolute joy. Her exuberance flowed from her confidence in her abilities as she danced atop the wall, and from her certainty about the rightness of her choices. She always chose life. How could she not? How could anyone even contemplate the alternative? With the warm spring breeze in her face, and the scent of roses calling from the carts on the street, life was the only option.
Her name was Noemi. She was twenty-six years old, raven-haired, tall, and slender, but with a dancer’s muscular tone. She was well educated, talented, and single. She preferred the term “carefree.” This village was her home, but she had traveled the world as a student, a model, and an interpreter. She enjoyed the love and support of her family, the adoration of handsome young men, and the appreciation of her employers, who were good people doing important work. Why shouldn’t she dance?
She smiled broadly as she raised her torso, lowered her leg, and lifted it again in front of her, pulling it high until the flesh above the knee touched her nose. She slowly lowered the leg again, lifted her elbows, touched her fingers together, and spun full-circle on one toe. Noemi had been on the wall many times before. People in the village had grown accustomed to seeing her there but were still enchanted when they happened past and caught the image of her spinning on her narrow stage, the morning sun serving as her spotlight.
And what of the risk of balancing atop the seawall, the very dividing line between life and death? It never occurred to Noemi to be concerned. She had trained as a dancer all her life. She had even travelled to the heart of America and spent a year learning gymnastics from, ironically, an eastern European master, simply to prove to herself that she could. As someone who could do a backflip on a four-inch-wide beam of wood, surely she should not be concerned about a two-foot-wide seawall. If the breeze stiffened and caused her to sway, or a crack in the wall surprised her toes, it only increased the thrill of the dance. Let the sea beckon. Let death reach out of the depths with waiting arms. She chose life, and the choice was hers to make.
If she had shared this thought aloud, the man lurking in the alleyway across from the seawall might have laughed. He too was enchanted by the young beauty. He had followed her 4,000 miles, from New York City to the Amalfi Coast of Italy, because he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. He was going to have her somehow. The man in the shadows wouldn’t have used words such as “enchanted” or “adoration.” Where he came from, it was more likely men would say he was “hot” for her and would label her with crude, unacceptable terms. The man didn’t care how anyone else chose to put into words his pursuit of the woman. Obsessed. Micky said I’m obsessed. Okay, I’m obsessed. That don’t mean I’m wrong. She’s gonna be mine. On the wall, Noemi danced. She smiled, happy and content with her life, her choices. Believing the choice was hers to make was Noemi’s first, and last, mistake.
She was dancing on the seawall, aware she was being watched, but not aware she was being watched by him. A breeze fluttered across her face and the early rays of light welcomed her smile. As the sun rose from behind the mountain peaks, she stood on one foot and stretched the toes of her other foot toward the sky, her torso parallel to the wall. A glance to her right showed the worn stones of a street built centuries before, bordered by the blooms of spring flowers that awed the tourists who fed the cash boxes of many merchants in this seaside village. To her left, she could see the water far below, its waves pounding against the black boulders protruding from the surface. To the right, beauty, safety, happiness. To the left, an angry sea and certain death at the bottom of the abyss.
She thought it the perfect metaphor for life. Every day, a person faces choices. On one side, a clear path to health and happiness. On the other, an easy plummet to despair and death.
She pondered these things with no sense of melancholy or fear, but with absolute joy. Her exuberance flowed from her confidence in her abilities as she danced atop the wall, and from her certainty about the rightness of her choices. She always chose life. How could she not? How could anyone even contemplate the alternative? With the warm spring breeze in her face, and the scent of roses calling from the carts on the street, life was the only option.
Her name was Noemi. She was twenty-six years old, raven-haired, tall, and slender, but with a dancer’s muscular tone. She was well educated, talented, and single. She preferred the term “carefree.” This village was her home, but she had traveled the world as a student, a model, and an interpreter. She enjoyed the love and support of her family, the adoration of handsome young men, and the appreciation of her employers, who were good people doing important work. Why shouldn’t she dance?
She smiled broadly as she raised her torso, lowered her leg, and lifted it again in front of her, pulling it high until the flesh above the knee touched her nose. She slowly lowered the leg again, lifted her elbows, touched her fingers together, and spun full-circle on one toe. Noemi had been on the wall many times before. People in the village had grown accustomed to seeing her there but were still enchanted when they happened past and caught the image of her spinning on her narrow stage, the morning sun serving as her spotlight.
And what of the risk of balancing atop the seawall, the very dividing line between life and death? It never occurred to Noemi to be concerned. She had trained as a dancer all her life. She had even travelled to the heart of America and spent a year learning gymnastics from, ironically, an eastern European master, simply to prove to herself that she could. As someone who could do a backflip on a four-inch-wide beam of wood, surely she should not be concerned about a two-foot-wide seawall. If the breeze stiffened and caused her to sway, or a crack in the wall surprised her toes, it only increased the thrill of the dance. Let the sea beckon. Let death reach out of the depths with waiting arms. She chose life, and the choice was hers to make.
If she had shared this thought aloud, the man lurking in the alleyway across from the seawall might have laughed. He too was enchanted by the young beauty. He had followed her 4,000 miles, from New York City to the Amalfi Coast of Italy, because he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. He was going to have her somehow. The man in the shadows wouldn’t have used words such as “enchanted” or “adoration.” Where he came from, it was more likely men would say he was “hot” for her and would label her with crude, unacceptable terms. The man didn’t care how anyone else chose to put into words his pursuit of the woman. Obsessed. Micky said I’m obsessed. Okay, I’m obsessed. That don’t mean I’m wrong. She’s gonna be mine. On the wall, Noemi danced. She smiled, happy and content with her life, her choices. Believing the choice was hers to make was Noemi’s first, and last, mistake.
CHAPTER 2
Orney, Iowa
The attacker’s kick just missed Tony Harrington’s left temple. Tony had anticipated the move. He couldn’t pause even an instant to congratulate himself. He jerked right and forward, leaning in and throwing a mighty left jab into the attacker’s side. Except the attacker wasn’t there. He had used the momentum of the kick to spin out of the way. Hitting nothing but air caused Tony to lunge awkwardly, lose his balance, and fall hard on his left side. His attacker was upon him in an instant, twisting his right arm behind his back, slapping the side of his head with the back of a hand, ending the spar, and claiming victory.
“Dammit,” Tony said, smiling and rising to his knees. He rubbed his left shoulder. “I’m gonna feel that one tomorrow.”
The attacker, Pak Junsuh, was the owner of Jun’s Martial Arts and Tony’s instructor in tae kwon do. He bowed graciously, also smiling, and said, “Take heart, young friend. You are much less terrible now than three months ago.”
“That’s great,” Tony said, clearly not meaning it. “The next time I’m attacked, it will take the guy ten seconds to kill me instead of five.”
The elderly Korean chuckled. “Oh no, I say at least twenty seconds.”
“Master, I respectfully suggest you shut up,” Tony said, urging his five foot, ten inch frame into a standing position. He grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat from his face, then ran it through his dark, wavy hair. The banter was interrupted by the sounds of Big Head Todd and the Monsters erupting from Tony’s cell phone. Normally phones weren’t allowed in the dojang. However, Tony had convinced Junsuh to allow it in his case. As a reporter for the Orney Town Crier, the local daily newspaper, Tony received calls at all hours and from all types of people, including law enforcement officers and elected officials. He had explained to Junsuh that he couldn’t sign up for martial arts training unless his phone was accessible.
Junsuh had relented, but on one condition. He had required they meet for training three days each week beginning at 6:30 a.m. Junsuh believed the early sessions would at least minimize the interruptions from the accursed electronic device. Tony was half convinced the early hours would kill him before any attacker would. As an employee of a morning paper, his workday usually fell between the hours of noon and midnight.
Tony picked up the phone. He knew from the ring tone the call was from his father, Charles Harrington. It was 7:15 a.m. His father never called at this hour. It couldn’t be good. He punched the green “Answer Call” button. “Hey, Dad. What’s happened?”
The line was quiet for an uncomfortable beat. Then his father’s rich baritone said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Tony, but Noemi’s dead.”
Tony was stunned. It took him several moments to process what he had heard. “Noemi…my cousin Noemi? That’s not possible. How could that be? Oh, my God.” Tony felt his legs turn to rubber, and he sank to the floor.
“Tony,” his father attempted, but he sounded tired and a little hoarse. He swallowed and started again, “Tony, I’m so sorry. I know what she meant to you. She meant the world to all of us.”
“But how…?”
“We don’t know much yet. Apparently, she fell from the sea wall in Amalfi. Her body was found on the rocks below. Her mother said Noemi liked to dance on the wall.” His father started to cry. “I’m sorry…”
Tony wanted to respond but had no idea what to say. In his twenty-nine years, he had never heard his father weep.
Charles continued, saving Tony from forcing a response for which he had no words. “You know, it was just like her to dance on the wall beside the sea, heedless of the risks.”
Tony knew it was. He had seen her do it. He moaned, “Noemi…Dear God, not Noemi. She was so alive. How could anything extinguish that flame?” His father didn’t respond, and Tony’s mind began to shift to thoughts of Noemi’s immediate family. “How is Aunt Martina? Jesus, this is going to kill her.”
“It’s hard to say. She was able to tell me what she knew. It was a struggle, but she got through it. I have no idea what the coming days will bring. Obviously she’ll have plenty to do.”
“And Mom?” Noemi was Tony’s only female cousin. Noemi’s mother, Martina Moretti, was a sister of Tony’s mother, Carlotta, known as Carla to her American friends. Tony’s mother was a native of Italy. She had met Charles when he was in Europe working as an advisor to the director of a motion picture he had written. Carla had moved to the U.S. with her American husband, but Martina and the rest of the extended family still lived in their hometown of Amalfi on the southwest coast.
Tony’s father said, “Well, to be honest, your mom’s a wreck. She’s strong. You know she’ll get through it. But it’s going to be tough. She hates being so far away.”
“Of course.” Tony nodded, staring at the mat on the floor beneath his knees. He felt drained, and longed to just crawl away; to find a dark corner in an alternate reality somewhere…someplace where talented, loving young women didn’t suddenly die. Instead, he pushed himself up and twisted around so he could lean back on the cold bricks of the dojo’s wall. He swallowed hard and said, “I assume we’ll go immediately?”
His father hesitated again, then spoke softly. “Actually, Tony, that’s been on my mind since we heard. As you can guess, it’s a terrible time for me to get away. I loved that girl like she was one of my own children, but it’s the tail end of the school year. Trying to leave now would be an absolute nightmare. Will it be possible for you to take some time off and accompany your mother to Italy? I’ll pay for everything, of course.”
Tony’s father was a successful author and screenwriter. Fourteen years ago, he had accepted a position at the University of Iowa in Iowa City as a professor of English and director of its well-known writers’ workshop. Leaving that post in May would, indeed, be a nightmare. Also, it immediately occurred to Tony that his only sibling, Rita, would have an equally tough time getting away at the end of the school year. She was a graduate student in music at the University of Chicago.
“Yes, Dad, I want to go, and it won’t be a problem. You know Ben well enough to know he’ll not only agree, he’ll insist I go. Have you told Rita?”
“Your mother’s talking to her on the other phone right now. I’m sure they’re both sobbing, so I’m glad I got the assignment to call you.”
Tony smiled grimly as his own tears welled up. He asked, “Any word on arrangements? When do we absolutely have to be there?”
“No word at all,” his father responded. “They just found her body this morning. Of course, it’s seven hours later there, so it was just before noon their time when Martina called your mom. We waited a couple of hours to call you kids.” “I just can’t believe it,” Tony said, knowing he was wasting his breath and his father’s time. “Sorry, Dad. Should I make the travel arrangements?”
His father said no, to leave that to him, but to assume they would be flying out of Chicago later today or first thing tomorrow. “In other words, Tony, I need you here in Iowa City as quickly as you can make it.”
“Three hours, Dad. I just have to pack and call Ben. Everything else can wait.”
The attacker’s kick just missed Tony Harrington’s left temple. Tony had anticipated the move. He couldn’t pause even an instant to congratulate himself. He jerked right and forward, leaning in and throwing a mighty left jab into the attacker’s side. Except the attacker wasn’t there. He had used the momentum of the kick to spin out of the way. Hitting nothing but air caused Tony to lunge awkwardly, lose his balance, and fall hard on his left side. His attacker was upon him in an instant, twisting his right arm behind his back, slapping the side of his head with the back of a hand, ending the spar, and claiming victory.
“Dammit,” Tony said, smiling and rising to his knees. He rubbed his left shoulder. “I’m gonna feel that one tomorrow.”
The attacker, Pak Junsuh, was the owner of Jun’s Martial Arts and Tony’s instructor in tae kwon do. He bowed graciously, also smiling, and said, “Take heart, young friend. You are much less terrible now than three months ago.”
“That’s great,” Tony said, clearly not meaning it. “The next time I’m attacked, it will take the guy ten seconds to kill me instead of five.”
The elderly Korean chuckled. “Oh no, I say at least twenty seconds.”
“Master, I respectfully suggest you shut up,” Tony said, urging his five foot, ten inch frame into a standing position. He grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat from his face, then ran it through his dark, wavy hair. The banter was interrupted by the sounds of Big Head Todd and the Monsters erupting from Tony’s cell phone. Normally phones weren’t allowed in the dojang. However, Tony had convinced Junsuh to allow it in his case. As a reporter for the Orney Town Crier, the local daily newspaper, Tony received calls at all hours and from all types of people, including law enforcement officers and elected officials. He had explained to Junsuh that he couldn’t sign up for martial arts training unless his phone was accessible.
Junsuh had relented, but on one condition. He had required they meet for training three days each week beginning at 6:30 a.m. Junsuh believed the early sessions would at least minimize the interruptions from the accursed electronic device. Tony was half convinced the early hours would kill him before any attacker would. As an employee of a morning paper, his workday usually fell between the hours of noon and midnight.
Tony picked up the phone. He knew from the ring tone the call was from his father, Charles Harrington. It was 7:15 a.m. His father never called at this hour. It couldn’t be good. He punched the green “Answer Call” button. “Hey, Dad. What’s happened?”
The line was quiet for an uncomfortable beat. Then his father’s rich baritone said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Tony, but Noemi’s dead.”
Tony was stunned. It took him several moments to process what he had heard. “Noemi…my cousin Noemi? That’s not possible. How could that be? Oh, my God.” Tony felt his legs turn to rubber, and he sank to the floor.
“Tony,” his father attempted, but he sounded tired and a little hoarse. He swallowed and started again, “Tony, I’m so sorry. I know what she meant to you. She meant the world to all of us.”
“But how…?”
“We don’t know much yet. Apparently, she fell from the sea wall in Amalfi. Her body was found on the rocks below. Her mother said Noemi liked to dance on the wall.” His father started to cry. “I’m sorry…”
Tony wanted to respond but had no idea what to say. In his twenty-nine years, he had never heard his father weep.
Charles continued, saving Tony from forcing a response for which he had no words. “You know, it was just like her to dance on the wall beside the sea, heedless of the risks.”
Tony knew it was. He had seen her do it. He moaned, “Noemi…Dear God, not Noemi. She was so alive. How could anything extinguish that flame?” His father didn’t respond, and Tony’s mind began to shift to thoughts of Noemi’s immediate family. “How is Aunt Martina? Jesus, this is going to kill her.”
“It’s hard to say. She was able to tell me what she knew. It was a struggle, but she got through it. I have no idea what the coming days will bring. Obviously she’ll have plenty to do.”
“And Mom?” Noemi was Tony’s only female cousin. Noemi’s mother, Martina Moretti, was a sister of Tony’s mother, Carlotta, known as Carla to her American friends. Tony’s mother was a native of Italy. She had met Charles when he was in Europe working as an advisor to the director of a motion picture he had written. Carla had moved to the U.S. with her American husband, but Martina and the rest of the extended family still lived in their hometown of Amalfi on the southwest coast.
Tony’s father said, “Well, to be honest, your mom’s a wreck. She’s strong. You know she’ll get through it. But it’s going to be tough. She hates being so far away.”
“Of course.” Tony nodded, staring at the mat on the floor beneath his knees. He felt drained, and longed to just crawl away; to find a dark corner in an alternate reality somewhere…someplace where talented, loving young women didn’t suddenly die. Instead, he pushed himself up and twisted around so he could lean back on the cold bricks of the dojo’s wall. He swallowed hard and said, “I assume we’ll go immediately?”
His father hesitated again, then spoke softly. “Actually, Tony, that’s been on my mind since we heard. As you can guess, it’s a terrible time for me to get away. I loved that girl like she was one of my own children, but it’s the tail end of the school year. Trying to leave now would be an absolute nightmare. Will it be possible for you to take some time off and accompany your mother to Italy? I’ll pay for everything, of course.”
Tony’s father was a successful author and screenwriter. Fourteen years ago, he had accepted a position at the University of Iowa in Iowa City as a professor of English and director of its well-known writers’ workshop. Leaving that post in May would, indeed, be a nightmare. Also, it immediately occurred to Tony that his only sibling, Rita, would have an equally tough time getting away at the end of the school year. She was a graduate student in music at the University of Chicago.
“Yes, Dad, I want to go, and it won’t be a problem. You know Ben well enough to know he’ll not only agree, he’ll insist I go. Have you told Rita?”
“Your mother’s talking to her on the other phone right now. I’m sure they’re both sobbing, so I’m glad I got the assignment to call you.”
Tony smiled grimly as his own tears welled up. He asked, “Any word on arrangements? When do we absolutely have to be there?”
“No word at all,” his father responded. “They just found her body this morning. Of course, it’s seven hours later there, so it was just before noon their time when Martina called your mom. We waited a couple of hours to call you kids.” “I just can’t believe it,” Tony said, knowing he was wasting his breath and his father’s time. “Sorry, Dad. Should I make the travel arrangements?”
His father said no, to leave that to him, but to assume they would be flying out of Chicago later today or first thing tomorrow. “In other words, Tony, I need you here in Iowa City as quickly as you can make it.”
“Three hours, Dad. I just have to pack and call Ben. Everything else can wait.”
