As a member of the John 3:16 Marketing Network, a group for Christian writers, I have the privilege of taking part in this month's Suspense Book Launch. Today I will be featuring an excerpt from Cheryl Colwell's book,
The Proof. I have personally read and can recommend Cheryl's book. In fact, if you missed my review on
The Proof, you can
check it out here. After that, scroll down to find out more about Cheryl and her book, to read an excerpt from her thrilling suspense novel, and to sign up for the chance to win a $100 Amazon gift card.
Part 9 of 10
The Proof by Cheryl Colwell
Siena, Italy
Only three days had passed, yet Gabe’s
mind reeled. His grandfather had filled him with many stories about
the family treasures housed in the 1,000-year-old structure.
Lingering after breakfast in the
rectangular, windowless dining room, Louis now pressed for the
details about Gabe’s late father, his family, and his life. Gabe
fingered the crystal water glass that remained on the table.
Translucent alabaster chandeliers provided soft illumination for a
hard subject.
“And what about Angelica? What is
your sister doing?”
Gabe glanced up in surprise. Surely,
his father had notified him of her death. But no, Gabe could see the
anticipation in his eyes. “I’m sorry, sir, Angelica has passed
from us also.”
Louis sank back in the tall chair, his
strong hands gripping the claws carved on the walnut arms. His face
held such pain that Gabe trained his attention on the red and gold
pattern of the carpet underfoot. He dreaded what would come next.
“How did she die?”
A simple question, but the answer held
so much torment. “It was an accident. She was lost in a mudslide
while we were hiking in the mountains.”
“How old was my granddaughter?”
“Twelve.”
An anguished gasp escaped the old man.
“So long ago, but no one told me. Am I that much of a monster that
my own son would stab my heart this way? Gabriel, am I?” His
breathing accelerated and his hand pressed against his chest.
Gabe called for Rinaldo and rose to get
help, but Louis motioned for him to sit. His grandfather waited for
an answer. Meeting the old man’s anxious eyes, he said, “No, you
are not a monster. This was a monstrous thing to be done to you.”
Gabe’s own resentment seeped into his words. His father had been
heartless, except where Angelica had been concerned.
Rinaldo appeared from his quarters
opposite the kitchen, took one look at his employer, and reached for
his medication from the sideboard.
When Louis had calmed down, he said, “I
need to go to my room.” Rinaldo and Gabe helped the distressed man
to his suite and helped him lie down on a black and tan upholstered
chaise next to his bed.
Gabe left and pulled the door closed,
wishing he could lock out the fear that hid in the shadows of his
mind. Craving the growing bond with his grandfather had made him
vulnerable. He had been close to revealing his darkest secret. But
with truth came consequences. Shaken, he escaped to the ballroom
where all the preparations to honor him were taking place.
Empty crates that had contained his
paintings lay in neat stacks. As soon as he had accepted the
invitation, Conte Dolcini had notified Serena Romano, a popular art
dealer, to make it happen. And it was happening.
Strain tugged at Serena’s face. She
carried a metal clipboard and ordered her crew to transform the
ballroom of the Palazzo Dolcini into a grand salon to exhibit Gabe’s
work. Thin and wiry, with her face pulled tight at the hand of a
surgeon, she looked anything but serene. A string of emotionally
charged Italian streamed out of her mouth, causing alarm in the eyes
of the young men who were not moving fast enough after lunch. They
had only four more days to finish the details.
When she explained the significance of
the night to Gabe, her self-importance seemed to cause her head to
rise to new heights. “Members of the old guard are anxious to see
the Dolcini collections again. Their children have only heard tales
about the palazzo. They are thrilled to be included on the
guest list to see you, the famous American painter.” She flashed a
wily smile. “Your Italian heritage only heightens the excitement.”
She was less forthcoming with other
information, but Gabe was able to pull a few facts together. Although
his grandfather carried on a vast array of business responsibilities,
the Palazzo Dolcini had not opened its doors for an event in four
decades, not since its mistress, Contessa Dolcini was murdered. Not
since Gabe’s father left for America.
He glanced around the fabulous
ballroom. His paintings rested on magnificent gilded easels placed
with artistic precision around the massive space. The second story
room was ablaze with light as Serena checked for shadows and glare
that might hinder the viewing of his pieces.
“These are magnifico,” she
complimented. Tilting her head to study him, she asked, “Are you
aware of the rare gift you possess?”
He judged her comment as sincere rather
than flattery. “It feels that way at times.”
She flashed a quick smile. “Conte
Dolcini will love these. He is so proud of you.”
He is for now. An ache in Gabe’s
chest limited his response to an appreciative nod with a murmured,
“Grazie.” He left the residence by the rear exit to escape
the commotion—and the unsolicited childhood memories.
##
While the inner soul of the palazzo
flaunted the masters’ paintings, the gardens outside boasted their
own treasures. Trees and vines shaded and caressed the master
sculptors’ marble and bronze figures. Today, however, Gabe’s mind
was too preoccupied to let the garden’s glory entice him. Today, he
longed for sanctuary. He needed to center—to remind himself of all
he had accomplished through diligence and hard work. Why could one
memory strip him bare so easily?
As he meandered along a wide path that
circled the large lawn, the beauty of the symmetry was nearly lost on
him. Overhead, the tips of the ancient olive trees intermingled,
providing a welcome respite from the unusual September heat. Statues
of Roman women holding fruit or vegetables seemed to pause along the
path. He had already bypassed most of them when the extended hand of
a magnificent bronze reached out to him.
A bearded Greek warrior stood elevated
on a round pedestal. The sculptor had wrought the realistic
musculature of the chest and body in great detail. Gabe studied the
rounded skull, certain it was once crowned with a helmet. He had seen
two such statues on the cover of an art magazine in Louis’ library.
Divers had discovered them off the coast of Riace, a village near the
toe of Italy’s boot-shaped landmass.
“The Riace Warriors,” he said aloud
and shook his head in amazement. What were the chances his
grandfather had purchased a third warrior, clandestinely rescued from
the shallow water?
“Hey, man.”
Gabe’s head swung around to meet the
wide grin of a red-haired man who looked vaguely familiar. “Do I
know you?”
“You forgot your cousin, did you?”
Gabe’s jaw dropped. “Ralph Witte?”
He scanned the bizarre, silver-studded black jeans that clung to the
man’s long, skinny legs. “I haven’t seen you since I was ten
and you spent the summer with us.” Raised without a father, or
discipline, Ralph had proved to be a challenge for Gabe’s parents.
A one-sided smile dimpled Gabe’s cheek. He had enjoyed the
distraction and his father’s frustration with someone other than
himself. Where Gabe refused to take part in adventures, Ralph created
one spectacular event after another. He even stole their neighbor’s
car and took out the trashcans instead of making the turn. A shadow
crossed over Gabe’s memory. His father had been less than gentle on
Ralph’s backside.
“Yeah, that was a good year, as I
remember it.” Ralph’s dull green eyes darkened below the stiff
spikes of natural red hair. “So, you still a good little chump?”
Gabe colored. Ralph had thrown that
insult at him all that summer. But he was thirty-four now. All grown
up. Ignoring the dig, he asked, “Do you still live in London?”
Ralph straightened. “Yeah mate, still
in London. I’m a rock star now, you know.”
Gabe looked at the wild hair and
clothes and grinned. “You look like a rock star.” A hard-life
rock star. “What instrument do you play?”
“A mean guitar, but not the lead. Not
like you, turnin’ out to be a great painter an’ all.” His
whitened teeth, too perfect to be real, sparkled from a narrow jaw.
But Gabe could hardly call it a smile.
“What brings you to Italy?” Gabe
asked.
“Got a gig. Then I finds out my cuz
is here to get all glorified. The ol’ man finally gets to hold up
his legitimate grandson for the world t’ see. It’s all
he’s ever wanted.”
Gabe recoiled. “I’ve just met him—I
had no idea.”
“That’s the sorry part, ain’t it?
My mom and your dad, ignoring the ol’ guy, but me growing up
without nothin’. She wouldn’t let me near him. And he wouldn’t
have nothin’ to do with us, just because she self-medicated.
Don’t quite seem right, does it?”
“I’m sorry to hear that. My father
cut us off from all of this.”
Ralph eyed him. “Not your
fault.” He shook Gabe’s hand. “I’m glad for you, with all
this fuss and all. You turned out good, in spite of Angelica’s
accident.”
Gabe’s smile faded.
“You ain’t past that?” Ralph
smirked at the revelation. “Does Louis know yet?”Working to hide
the sting, Gabe changed the subject. “Are you staying here while
you’re in town?”
“Right. My mum died and the ol’ man
let me stay here for awhile. Then kicked me out over a little
misunderstandin’.”
Gabe was silent. What could he say?
Ralph cocked his chin up. “Hey, just
wanted to stop by before the big event. I ain’t invited, but I’ll
see you around.” He started to leave but turned back. “He hasn’t
been feedin’ you any of that Templar lunacy has he?”
Puzzled, Gabe responded, “Haven’t
heard a thing.”
With that, Ralph nodded, slipped
through the iron gate, and vanished from sight.
Gabe stared after him. Strange guy.
A moment later, Rinaldo emerged from around a precisely carved hedge.
“Sir, would you give your grandfather a moment of your time?” He
stepped back inside through the solarium door.
Why did it always come back to
Angelica? Gabe was not interested in continuing the conversation. He
strolled the perimeter walk, stretching out the time and keeping a
lookout for more Greek bronzes. None showed themselves.
Arriving at a stone railing, he peered
over and was astonished. Below lay a large seating area arranged like
a small Roman amphitheater. A strong breeze blew up from the
half-circle stage below and teased his black curls away from his
eyes. He followed its direction and glanced back at the palazzo
where his grandfather waited.
What would his life have been like
without that fateful day?
The wind shifted. It was impossible to
tell from which direction it came or to where it journeyed. Could it
be that simple to change the direction of his life?
It was time. He trudged up the broad
steps to the side entrance. Inside, the house was quiet. Rinaldo led
him to the open door of a small chapel and left. Standing at the
entrance, Gabe realized it had been ages since he had entered a
chapel. The peculiar atmosphere here was different from anything he
had experienced before.
The aesthetics of the narrow room were
impressive. Its vaulted ceiling highlighted a magnificent glass
centerpiece set high on one of its stone walls. Sun filtered through
the five-foot rose window that displayed stained glass of every
color. The soft light danced its rainbow illumination over seven rows
of benches in the otherwise dusky room.
Gabe stood still. A gentle presence and
distant singing filled him, causing a slow swell in his heart. He
listened harder, but the song was not audible.
A movement in the front of the chapel
startled him. Louis changed his weight on the altar where he knelt,
head in hands. Gabe eased forward and heard his grandfather praying.
“Lord, my only son renounced me and
is dead. And now, Angelica. Only You know the depth of my agony.”
Louis wiped the tears that dripped into his beard. “I cannot undo
my willful actions, but please, deliver me from these spiteful
accusations fettered to my soul.” He pulled out a handkerchief and
blew his nose, then rose from where he knelt on the padded altar and
sat on the first bench.
Gabe grimaced at the grief his father’s
actions had caused this gentle man. He stepped forward and laid a
hand on Louis’ shoulder.
Startled, Louis turned. His face
solemn, he patted the bench. “Come sit. Tell me about Angelica."
His eyes probed for truth.
Gabe rubbed his forehead. The peace
vanished. He hid a nervous swallow and sat on the other end of the
smooth wooden bench, hesitating before beginning the story. “We
were hiking in the Sierras, close to King’s Canyon in California.
The terrain was rough and wild, but Angelica was a gazelle, skipping
from rock to rock, until a storm moved in without warning. Our father
rushed us down the mountain in the torrent that followed.” He
looked down, unable to meet his grandfather’s eyes and cleared his
throat.
“I was able to wade across a place
where the waterfall pooled, but when I looked back toward Angelica, a
mudslide hit the place where she clung to the mountain.” He sighed.
“We never found her.”
Gabe tried to shield himself from the
loss and pain the memory caused—the part where she had always
defended him from his father’s brutal ranting. And from his
schoolmate’s taunts of pretty girl because of his beautiful
features. He had returned her loyalty with treachery.
Shutting his eyes against the image,
Gabe straightened. “He never spoke more than a dozen civil words to
me after that.”
“Your father was always full of
blame,” Louis moaned, apparently lost in his recollections. “I
can see this was hard for you, but thank you for telling me. I need
to rest now.”
Back in his room, Gabe fell into the
blue overstuffed chair. He snatched his wallet from the end table and
fished through the dark pockets until his fingers touched the slick
edge of the small photo. It had been a long time since he brought
Angelica’s sixth-grade picture into the light.
As he studied her confidant face, a new
sensation grew inside his gut. Anger seized him, pushing out the
guilt. If she hadn’t been showing off—if she’d stayed with
them… Her decisions ruined his life.
Condemnation rushed back. Nice try.
Would he now blame her? He shrugged. No. There had been
enough blame. He refused to step into his father’s shoes.
Staring at nothing, he fought against
the certainty that if the courageous Conte Louis Dolcini—master
horseman and proud patron of his family—knew the rest of the story,
he would cancel the art exhibit and send him packing. Gabe would have
no way of paying his bills. His mother would be left homeless. His
stomach knotted against the threat that hovered just out of his
control.
