Westerham Witches and a Venetian Vendetta by Dionne Lister (top rated books of all time TXT) 📕

But none of them were my friends. I sighed. I wasn’t desperate enough to have a drink by myself. Maybe I should text Liv or Imani and ask them to come join me.

I slid my phone out of my pocket, but before I could text anyone, a voice came from behind me. “Hello, Lily.”

I spun around. Isabella stood there, dark circles under her eyes but a smile on her face. A few errant hairs stuck out from her plait. I smiled. “Are you going to have a drink?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe one vino.” She shook her head. “But I’m tired. Would you like to have a quiet drink with me in the restaurant? Everyone has gone home for the night, so it will just be us.”

I took one look around the bar and decided it was noisy anyway, and who wanted to yell over the noise to be heard. “Okay. That sounds lovely.”

She smiled. “Maybe you try one of my desserts. Tiramisu. I made fresh this afternoon.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely. Thank you! But I must pay. This is your business.”

She threw her hands in the air. “No! This is my treat. You can help by recommending our ’otel to your friends.”

“Okay, then. It’s a deal.”

I followed her into the hallway and then into the dining room. The muffled quiet was rather soothing. The tables were already set for tomorrow’s breakfast, the buffet table clear and awaiting food. Isabella motioned me to a table near the kitchen. Her magic tickled my scalp, and a cake appeared on the table, as did two glasses of a dark red liquid. I sat and lifted a glass to my nose. “Is this a sweet wine?”

“Sì. From Umbria.”

I wasn’t much of a wine drinker. I’d have a glass sometimes, but I was just as happy to have a cocktail…. Okay, I would much rather have a cocktail, but dessert wine was the best of all the wines. “That cake looks delicious! You’re an incredible cook.”

She pulled her chair out and stood in front of it, placing her hands on the table to help lower herself into the chair. I would’ve offered to help, but I figured she wanted to do it herself, and if she needed it, she would’ve asked. I didn’t want to offend her or suggest she couldn’t do things for herself. She magicked a knife into her hand and cut the cake.

Just as she cut two slices, Francesco walked in through the main doors. “Nonna!” He said something else in Italian, but nonna was the only word I understood. It meant grandmother. They were related? I did my best impression of a poker face, which was more jump the other way than stay neutral. I smiled and pretended the fact that he must be Mr and Mrs Dal Lago’s son didn’t shock me. He could be a wealth of information if I did this right.

He came to the table and bent to kiss her cheek. She squeezed his cheek and smiled, love clear in her eyes. She looked at me. “This is one of our guests, Lily. Lily, this is my grandson, Francesco.”

He gave me a shy smile. “Ciao.”

I returned it, although mine wasn’t shy. “Ciao. Please, sit with us and have some cake. Your grandmother is a wonderful cook.” Isabella gave me a grateful look, although what else would I do? He’s her family, and she’s sharing free food with me. The least I could do is let her grandson have some. Plus, I wanted information. Maybe this would provide the break we needed… a small clue that would give us a direction.

“Thank you.” He walked around his grandmother’s chair and sat. “Are you and your friends enjoying your stay?”

Did he get the memo that Angelica was missing? Or did he know something, and he was as good at acting as I was? Whatever it was, it gave me a segue into what I wanted to talk about. “Sort of. The hotel is beautiful, and I love Venice, but my friend is missing—Angelica.”

I studied his face, hoping it would give something away. He was around here all the time. Maybe he’d seen something? Or maybe his mother confided in him, if it had been her in the first place. His brow wrinkled, and he pressed his lips together. That told me nothing.

Isabella magicked cake onto our plates. “Mangia, mangia.”

I didn’t know what she said, but context had me guessing. “Eat?”

“Yes. Very good, Lily. Eat, please.”

The first mouthful of cake had me stifling a groan of pleasure. This was the best tiramisu I’d ever had. So good. “This is the best, Isabella. Any chance I can come visit in the future and pick up a cake?”

Francesco looked at me. “You mean a piece of cake?”

I grinned. “No, a whole cake.”

Isabella chuckled. “Grazie. I would love to cook for you again. You are welcome any time.”

As we ate, Francesco stole glances at me, his face serious, almost to the point where I wasn’t sure if he was also angry. What had I done? Wanting a whole cake wasn’t offensive over here, was it? Maybe he was just upset because his father had been killed. Of course he was. How was I so dumb yet I managed to get to the ripe old age of twenty-five? I’d obviously reminded him that his dad was missing, and his mum was being investigated.

I gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

His eyes watered, and he blinked. Before he could answer, Isabella interrupted. “It is very sad, no? My daughter… she is very upset, and my grandson…. It’s ’orrible.” Francesco stared at his plate, briefly narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth. What was that all about? Isabella patted his hand, and he snatched it away. She said something in Italian to him, then turned to me. “We just want to find who did it. It was not my daughter. She would never do anything like that. She loved him.” Francesco shook