Brown Daniela Domenica and the Guarneri di Gesù

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-5439-6107-2
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 256 Seiten

Award-winning musician and composer Daniela Domenica has been commissioned to write a requiem for the dedication of the Buffalo Catholic Cathedral's pipe organ in which she showcases the Guarneri di Gesù violin. Given to her father as a gesture of gratitude from the Guarneri patriarch, the last violin of its kind is now a priceless family heirloom. But Daniela's best friend and estranged husband are conspiring behind her back to sell it on the black market-for millions of dollars. Can the rugged police detective who's fallen in love with Daniela save her, and the violin, before it's too late?

Autoren/Hrsg.

Brown, Angela

Leseproben

I “What does ‘thou shalt not kill’ mean, Mama?” seven-year-old Daniela asked as she skipped around the kitchen table. “It means, tesoro honey, that people should not kill each other. Now”—she waved her arms—“stop running near the oven. You’ll make the cake go flat.” Earlier in the day, Daniela had stood at the front of her first-grade classroom at St. Peter’s Roman Catholic Elementary School and recited the Ten Commandments. When she was done Mrs. Foster, the teacher with the gentle smile and perfectly arched eyebrows, said, “Very good, Daniela.” Smiling, Daniela returned to her seat. Daniela skipped around the kitchen table again, rattling off the Commandments in perfect order. “Ottimo, good job,” Daniela’s mother replied impatiently, “now go tell Papa it’s time for dinner, go on now.” “Yes, Mama.” Daniela skipped her way out of the kitchen toward her father’s art studio at the other end of the house. Her mother shook her head. How Daniela loved the sound her black patent leather shoes made as they click-click-clicked against the hardwood floors. “Papa,” Daniela announced, skipping right into her father’s studio, “Pronto mangare. Time to eat.” Daniela loved showing off her bilingual skills. Papa beamed. “All right,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. “Tell her I’ll be right there.” He picked up a rag to wipe the paint from his right index finger. The painting on the easel before him caught Daniela’s eye. As quickly as she had forgotten that skipping wasn’t permitted near a hot, cake-filled oven, she now forgot that she should tell her mother that her father would be right there. “Papa,” she pointed to the girl in the picture, “is that me?” It was a painting of a little girl wearing a sweet dark blue dress with white polka dots, a dress identical to the one Daniela had worn to Catholic Mass the previous Sunday. The little girl in the portrait had shiny chestnut brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and neatly trimmed bangs; the pulled-back hair had pin curls in it from sleeping in uncomfortable bobby pins the night before. That was the sacrifice little girls made back then to have curls. And the little girl in the painting was wearing Daniela’s dark blue dress with white polka dots, white leotards, and shiny red shoes, she was on the school’s playground swing set, just as Daniela had been many times in the past. Try as she might, her mother could never get Daniela to put on play clothes before running outside and swinging or playing in the neighbor’s play set. “Si, Daniela,” he said, pointing to the painting. “That’s my little sweetheart. Now, go, run and tell Mama that I’ll be right there before she yells at both of us,” he winked. Daniela obediently left the studio and skipped back to the kitchen, click-click-clicking all the way. *** The next morning as the school bell rang Daniela ran into her classroom and approached her teacher’s desk. “Mrs. Foster, will you help me memorize the Hail Mary?” “If you’ll stay after school this afternoon,” Mrs. Foster replied, “I’d be happy to work with you, Dani.” Later that afternoon, after school had let out, as Daniela sat at her desk in her Catholic school blue and white plaid uniform, she heard the principal, Sister Mary Gertrude, yelling, “Turn around! I said, turn around!” And then, though Daniela couldn’t see what was going on in the long, dark hallway of the right wing of the school, she heard two large smacks, followed by wailing. She suspected that Brian Chatham was in trouble again. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t please the nuns. A chubby kid, whose school uniform shorts were always too tight around the waist, he was always sneaking food from the cafeteria. Inevitably, he managed to get caught, much to the chagrin of his mother, whose voice could be heard in that same hallway, apologizing to Sister Mary Gertrude again. “I’m so sorry, Sister. I promise you that Brian will be punished when we get home tonight.” “Mrs. Chatham,” Sister Mary Gertrude responded coldly, “one more time, and you leave us no choice but to expel your son.” It was rumored that Brian was on one of those generous anonymous donor scholarships to attend St. Peter’s. His mom had submitted a scholarship application, they said, because she wanted to have him raised in a nice Catholic school away from the neighborhood bullies who mercilessly taunted him to tears. Some of the St. Peter’s moms resented that Brian, whose dad had abandoned him and his mom years before, received a scholarship, giving him the ability to come into “our neighborhood school.” “Yes, Sister. I promise.” Mrs. Chatham said. “Right, Brian?” “Yes, Sister,” Brian whispered sheepishly. “I promise.” A tear slid down his cheek as his mom dragged him down the hall toward the exit, right ear in hand. As the Chathams walked across the parking lot several boys were playing a pickup game of basketball n the court adjacent to the school. The one dribbling the ball stopped and elbow ribbed the kid next to him, whispering into his ear. Though Brian couldn’t hear what he was saying he imagined that it was the same old sing-songy insult he’d heard countless times before, “Chat ham, fat ham, whatcha’ gonna’ eat today? Chat ham, fat ham, won’t you come out and play?” Just then the school bus drove by. Brian looked up to see Daniela staring back through the window. *** It was one of those rare March days when the temperature soared to eighty. Daniela’s best friend and next-door neighbor, Mindy, was having a birthday party cookout on Friday. “Mama,” Daniela yelled excitedly as she jumped off the bus, “I’m invited to Mindy’s birthday party. Look.” She smiled as she pushed the envelope into her mother’s hands. Mrs. Domenica opened the envelope. The party, three days away, would fall on the first Friday of Lent. She looked into her daughter’s eyes but then turned away. “Can we go shopping tonight to buy her present?” “Yes, tesoro, let’s do that,” Mrs. Domenica replied. After dinner that evening Daniela was playing in her room. Mr. Domenica approached his wife, who was washing the dishes. “Daniela told me about Mindy’s party.” “Yes.” “What are you going to do?” “Tony, you know I can’t let her go.” “Yes.” He understood. The Domenica family never ate meat on Fridays, especially during Lent. That evening they bought Mindy a birthday Barbie. “It’s so beautiful,” Daniela squealed. When Daniela got off the bus on Thursday Daniela’s mom sat her down at the kitchen table. “Tesoro, do you know what day tomorrow is?” “Yes, Mama. It’s Mindy’s party.” “Yes, but it’s also the first Friday of Lent,” she continued. “And Mindy’s party is a cookout. There will be hot dogs, hamburgers, and sausages at the party.” Daniela looked up at her mom. “I’m so sorry, Daniela. We just can’t go.” She looked down at her hands and repeated, “I’m sorry, tesoro.” “Okay,” Daniela whispered. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Daniela’s eyes brightened. “Why don’t we go out for ice cream tomorrow night. Okay?” “But what about her Barbie?” “How about if we drop it off to her tomorrow after school?” “Okay,” Daniela agreed. *** It was Friday. While Mrs. Domenica washed the dinner dishes Daniela snuck into the backyard and peered through the fence slats to watch as all of her little classmates arrived for the birthday party next door. There were pink and red balloons and she could smell the lighter fluid burn off the charcoal. “Hey.” Daniela looked behind her. Brian was peeking through the fence on the other side of her yard. “Come here.” He motioned. She walked toward him. “What are you doing?” she inquired. “Nothing.” “No, I mean, what are you doing peering through the fence? You scared me.” “Sorry. I was just bored.” “Yeah. Me, too.” “Hey, look,” he said as he pushed the loose wooden fence slat aside. “You shouldn’t do that,” she scolded. He pushed it back in place. “I’ve got to go.” She ran into the house. *** “Basta, Daniela,” Mrs. Domenica said. “Go on now, and get ready for school.” This was Mrs. Domenica’s third request of her unusually rambunctious daughter the Monday morning following the party. If she had truly the choice, Daniela would spend the morning in the music room singing “silly nonsense songs.” She couldn’t help it. Everything was a song with a rhythm. Mrs. Domenica finished frying up a...