Genesis - Keith R. A. DeCandido [18]
Lisa, however, had made up her mind as soon as she spied one particular item on the menu.
"So, can I take your order or do you need a few minutes?"
Alice closed her menu. "That mushroom risotto special sounds wonderful."
"I want the veal parmigiano."
The server nodded, not bothering to write either order down. Lisa hoped that didn't mean she'd wind up with lasagne or something.
After the server took the menus and moved off, Alice gave Lisa a dubious look. "Veal parmigiano? This is a restaurant run by an Italian family. They came over here from Italy and opened this place. The food is cooked by a husband-and-wife team that made food for their family every Sunday back in Chieti. They've got salmon in mustard sauce. They've got risotto to die for. The penne in vodka sauce melts in your mouth. And you're ordering veal parmigiano? You can get that anywhere!"
Letting out a long sigh, Lisa said, "You don't understand."
"No, I don't." She fixed her with another look. "So explain it to me."
"When I was a kid growing up, we used to go to this place in the Bronx. I don't even remember the name of it—it closed down when I was nine or ten or so. They had the absolute best veal parmigiano I've ever had. We'd go there every Friday night and I'd always have it. I haven't had a decent veal parmigiano since. I keep trying, and I never ever find it. But you said that this place was really good, so I'm going to try it." She grinned. "I guess I'm trying to recapture my youth."
"We should all be so lucky."
Again, Lisa heard it—the odd tone. Something was up with Alice, but she wasn't sure what it was.
She didn't get any clues about it for the rest of the meal. They talked about everything and nothing. Alice, a midwestern native, had a ton of questions about living in New York, which Lisa answered as best she could. She even went so far as to talk about her marriage to Nick and its disastrous end.
The one subject she did not broach was Fadwa.
The initial bite of the veal parmigiano when it arrived exploded magnificently in Lisa's mouth. The breading had just the right blend of spice and dovetailed perfectly with the tenderness of the meat and the heat of the sauce.
For a brief moment, Lisa was nine years old again.
Matt was punching her in the arm for whatever arcane reasons brothers hit their sisters. Mom and Dad would talk about their day at work, interrupting periodically to unenthusiastically tell their children to stop fighting, fully aware that nothing would stop the endless dance between siblings.
Even as she swallowed, Matt suddenly got older. He was telling her all about the Umbrella Corporation and the things they did.
And she thought about Fadwa.
The rest of the veal didn't taste as good.
"Something wrong?" Alice asked.
"No," Lisa lied. More truthfully, she said, "This is great. Best I've had—"
"Since the Bronx?"
"Yes, since the Bronx. Something wrong with that, Ohio girl?"
"Not at all."
By the time they got to dessert—Lisa ordered tiramisu, Alice ordered tartufo—Lisa knew something was going on. This wasn't just a social visit. It had taken Lisa until dessert to realize that she had been sharing all kinds of stories about her life with Alice, but she hadn't learned a damn thing about Alice that she didn't already know.
Hell, Alice hadn't even confirmed whether or not she and Spence were sleeping together.
This, Lisa knew, was an interrogation.
Now she was getting nervous. Did Alice know what she was doing?
No, that was ridiculous. If she knew, she'd do something a bit more demonstrative than take her out to lunch.
But maybe she suspected. Suspicions wouldn't be enough for her to act on.
Or would it? Alice didn't work for the cops, after all, she just worked for the corporation that gleefully let Mahmoud die. Cops would need things like probable cause. Alice Abernathy didn't need anything. If Matt's suspicions were right