Zero Day (John Puller, #1)(97)

“No, I think it’s a cop thing. My little sister is the same way.”

“Saw your hubby was back in town. He joining us for lunch?”

Her radiant smile diminished a few watts. “No. He won’t. You ready?”

He looked at her fine clothes and then down at his own work ones.

“Fancy place? Not sure I’m dressed for the occasion.”

“You look just fine.”

She drove the country roads with an expert’s touch, hitting the turns and accelerating at just the right moment so the big Mercedes engine was at optimal rpm on the straightaways.

“You ever think of signing up for NASCAR?” he said.

She smiled and punched the gas on a particularly long stretch of road, winding the car up to eighty. “I’ve thought about a lot of things.”

“So why lunch with me, really?”

“Got some questions, hope you have some answers.”

“I doubt it. Remember the tight-lipped thing.”

“Then your opinion. How about that?”

“We’ll find out, I guess.”

Ten miles later they crossed into another county, and two miles farther down the road she pulled onto a tree-lined asphalt driveway. Around two curves the land opened up as the trees receded and Puller eyed the sprawling two-story stucco and stone building. It looked like it had been dropped, intact, from Tuscany. There were two aged fountains out front and nearby a small stream with a waterwheel slowly turning. There was an outdoor tiled eating area in an adjacent courtyard. A weathered wooden pergola strung with flowering vines provided a ceiling for this dining space.

Puller looked at the sign hanging over the front door. “Vera Felicita? True happiness?”

“You speak Italian?” she asked.

“Some. You?”

“Some. I’ve been there many times. Love it. I’m thinking of moving there one day.”

“People always say that when they visit Italy. But then they come back home and realize it’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“Maybe.”

Puller looked around at the expensive cars sitting in the cobblestone parking area. Most of the outdoor tables were filled with people as nicely dressed as Jean Trent. They were drinking wine and forking and spooning into elaborate-looking dishes.

“Popular place,” he said.

“Yes, it is.”

“How’d you come to find it?”

“I own it.”

CHAPTER

68


JEAN TRENT CLIMBED out of the car and Puller fell into step behind her as she headed to the front entrance. She stopped and turned to him.

“We’re also a B-and-B. Four rooms. And I’m thinking about adding a spa. I brought in a CIA chef, and a professional team to run everything. We’re hoping to get our first Michelin star this year. We were cash flow positive after eighteen months. Our reputation has really grown. People come from Tennessee, Ohio, Kentucky, and North Carolina.”

“And no coal mines around?”

“This is one of the few counties in West Virginia that has no coal.” She looked around. “What you do have is unspoiled land. Mountains, rivers. I spent a long time looking for just the perfect location and this is it. I did business plans and demographic and marketing studies. I wanted to fill a need. That’s the best way to build something that’s lasting.”

“I didn’t know you were a businesswoman.”

“Probably lots of things about me you don’t know. You want to find out more?”

“Why not?”

They went inside and were shown to a private book-lined room where a table for two had been laid out. Puller knew little about decorating, but he saw that the interiors had been put together with an experienced eye. Everything was good quality, comfortable, nothing overdone. He had been to Italy many times, and this was probably about as close as one could come to it in West Virginia.

The server was dressed in a white jacket and black bow tie and attended to them with quiet professionalism. They scanned their menus, but Puller finally let Jean order for him. The bottle of white came first and two glasses were poured out.

She said, “I know you’re technically on duty, but I’m especially proud of this Italian Chardonnay and I’d like you to try it.”

He took a sip and let it go down slow. “Has significantly more body than one associates with an Italian white.”

She clinked her glass against his. “It’s called Jermann Dreams, 2007. But an Army man who knows his wines. How did that happen?”

“My father took my brother and me overseas a lot when we were younger. Had my first taste of wine in Paris when I was nine.”

“Paris when you were nine,” she said enviously. “I was in my late twenties before I even left the country one time.”

“Some people never get to go.”

“That’s true. Now I go every year, months at a time. I love it. Sometimes I almost don’t come back.”

“So why do you? Come back, I mean?”

She took a sip of wine and dabbed her mouth. “This is my home, I suppose.”

“Any place can be your home.”

“That’s true. But my family is here.”

He looked around. “Is Roger a partner in this?”