Fatal Facade

by Wendy Tyson

  FOURTEEN

  Karina’s voice roused Allison from a deep sleep. It was morning, and the sun shone bright through the shutters, throwing shadow slats across the bed and dresser. Allison rolled over, blinked twice, and focused on the figure in front of her. Karina looked terrible. Her hair had been pulled into a messy ponytail, purplish, discolored skin ringed her eyes, and her complexion, normally a sun-tinted bronze, looked like the result of a zombie makeover.

  “Why are you here?” As Allison asked the question, she realized Karina would only be in her cottage for one reason: trouble. Her first thought was for Jason. Had something happened? But she realized it would be Mia calling her, not Karina arriving uninvited like a thief. No, something else had happened.

  Through a tired fog, Allison thought about the night before. She came to a conclusion just as Karina said, “It’s Shirin.”

  Allison felt relief, then dread. “What happened?”

  “She’s gone.” Karina sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “Dead.”

  Allison replayed the scene from the night before. The broken glass, Douglas’s calm rebuke. Alarmed, she said, “Did she take her own life?”

  Karina shook her head. “No.” She hesitated. “Well, maybe. We don’t really know. She fell.”

  “Fell?”

  “From the cliffs. In the forest.”

  Karina stood there for a long time. She clenched and unclenched her hand, pushed an invisible hair from her face.

  “Was it an accident?” Allison repeated.

  “The polizia think so.” She blinked. “At least that’s their initial thought.”

  “You don’t sound so sure.”

  Karina shook her head. “Ich bin nicht.” When Allison’s expression signaled her lack of comprehension, Karina repeated in English, “I’m not.”

  “I tried knocking, but you sleep like the dead.” Karina took a sip of the coffee Allison had offered. She was sitting cross-legged on the couch, one hand cradling her head. “The police will want to talk with you.”

  “Have they requested to see me?”

  “Not specifically, but they have asked that everyone who is staying on the property be told to remain.” She frowned. “In other words, you can’t leave.”

  Allison considered this. She wasn’t surprised. Even if Shirin’s death was an accident, the police should question everyone present in order to complete an accurate report.

  “Do you have more details about what happened to Shirin?” Allison asked. She sat opposite Karina, a cup of coffee clutched between her hands.

  “I only know what I was told. You know the path between the house and the cottages?”

  Allison nodded. It was the walk they did every day. Meadows, pastures, the quaint row of cottages with their colorful gardens, and the view of the great mountains on the horizon. No cliffs, no drop-offs. The only place a person could fall was over the stone wall that separated the path from the sheep in the meadow.

  “She fell there? It’s hardly a cliff. She had been drinking, but not that much.”

  “No, no. She left the path. Instead of going past the cottages toward the ruins, she went the other way, down toward the river.”

  Allison wasn’t familiar with that trail and she said so.

  “It follows the western side of the old stone wall, then crosses over the wall and meets an alpine trail. The trail is rocky on one side, sheer, and the river is below. On the other side are trees. If you follow that path south, it meets the river. North, you climb the peak—eventually.”

  “And she was headed in the direction of the river?”

  Karina nodded.

  Allison heard a sound coming from Grace’s room. She stopped to listen. Satisfied that her niece was still sleeping, she asked, “And that’s where she fell?”

  “Yes. There is a particularly narrow portion a few hundred feet down the trail. It looks like she slipped.” Karina sighed. “She fell to the bottom of the ravine next to the water where they found…where they found her body.”

  “So she didn’t drown?”

  “No, no. The river is close to the shoreline there, but she landed before hitting the water. The police say she must have died instantly.” Karina made a motion with her head demonstrating that Shirin had broken her neck.

  “How horrible.” Allison considered all of this. She couldn’t help but hear echoes of Damien’s death, and she was certain Karina—everyone, really—was thinking the same thing. She said, “Are the police certain Shirin didn’t take her own life? She was upset and had been drinking. It’s possible she jumped.”

  Karina put the coffee cup down on the glass table beside the couch. Allison could hear the whir of helicopter propellers outside, likely the authorities there to take away Shirin’s body. Karina looked up, comprehending the sound.

  After a moment, Karina said, “I don’t think she jumped. There are marks in the gravel. Skid marks. As though Shirin had been trying to stop herself but could not.” Karina paused. “I saw them myself.”

  “She was still wearing her evening clothes?” Allison pictured the shoes Shirin had been wearing: high and spiked.

  “Yes.”

  “How could she walk in those shoes, much less on a trail at night?” Allison flashed back to Shirin’s tone moments before she left the castle. Angry but resolute, calm. “Karina, tell me why Shirin would be on that path alone? She didn’t leave the castle until close to midnight. It was dark and late. Surely she would have known better, even in the state she was in.”

  Karina wrapped her arms around her slender torso and sat with military bearing in her seat. “You’re right. There is no explanation. Shirin was not a brave woman. In fact, she disliked the outdoors very much. At least the more rugged aspects.”

  Unlike her husband. “Maybe she got lost.”

  “No, no, I don’t think so.” Karina stood, paced back and forth. She glanced out the window, toward the castle. “I should go. Elle will be waiting for me.”

  “Are the police saying anything?”

  Karina stepped away from the window and turned around. Her eyes looked red and watery. “The police believe it was an accident because of the skid marks and because Shirin had been carrying a flashlight.” She paused. “It was found with her, down by the river. Why would she carry a flashlight? That is intentional. You carry a flashlight if you intend to go into a dark space. Her cottage was lit, the walking path between the cottages has lights.” Karina shook her head. “She went to the path by the river on purpose.”

  Allison pictured the path. “Skid marks,” she repeated. “As though she was trying to stop herself.” Allison thought of the bruises on Shirin’s arm, of Douglas’s cold demeanor the night before when confronted by his wife. “Douglas?”

  Karina shrugged. “Shirin would never have ventured into the woods alone, much less on a secluded trail that leads to the river. And definitely not at night.” She paused for effect. “It’s possible someone else was there with Shirin.”

  “And Douglas is an accomplished hiker,” Allison said. She chewed on this. “But that’s why it doesn’t make sense,” she said. “Why would Douglas do something right after he’d had a very public fight with his wife? Wouldn’t that cast him as the lead suspect?”

  “Not if the police ruled it as an accident. Angry wife storms off and loses her way, that sort of thing. And from what I understand, Shirin was definitely angry.”

  Only Allison was no longer thinking of Shirin. She was considering another death, one that really could have been a perfect crime. Two falls, both at night. Could Damien’s death and Shirin’s be more than a coincidence? Could they be related?

  Karina opened the door, but she seemed reluctant to leave. The copter was overhead now, flying back to where it had come from, just a speck over trees.

  Allison asked, “Who found Shirin?”

  “W
hen she didn’t return last night, we were all out looking for her.”

  “But who found her body?”

  Karina hesitated, but only for a moment. “Douglas. Douglas found his wife.”

  The inspector was young. A handsome man in a fussy sort of way, he seemed neither overly-confident nor unduly nervous. And while he spoke fluent Italian and German, as did many in these parts, he did not speak a lick of English.

  “He will return with a translator,” Karina told her. They were in the main library of the castle, where the inspector had been meeting with each guest, one by one.

  As an American abroad, Allison needed to protect herself and her rights. She would provide information—after speaking with Jason—and the need for an impartial interpreter bought her time.

  Allison rose to leave. “If you don’t need me, I’ll return to the cottage.”

  “The inspector doesn’t need you, but Elle would like to see you, if you can spare a few moments.”

  The tone of her voice—firm but careful—said Allison’s presence had been demanded, not requested.

  “Of course.”

  Karina excused herself from the library, leaving the inspector alone with his notes and his thoughts while she walked Allison to Elle’s rooms on the second floor. Unlike the rest of the castle, Elle’s apartment had been decorated with a strong nod to modern design and clean lines. Art anchored the room, modern pieces with strong colors and subjects that spoke of place—cityscapes, mountains, vibrant doorways. It was a jarring contrast, and it said a lot about Elle’s sense of belonging and self.

  As did the clutter. Stacks of books, scripts, notebooks, and fashion magazines covered every flat surface. Dirty dishes and wine glasses littered the coffee table and the small bistro table in the corner.

  And then there were the clothes. Dresses, shirts, shorts, panties, and shoes had been tossed in such a way that it looked like a giant blower fan had been aimed at someone’s wardrobe and this was the result.

  “It’s always like this, I’m afraid,” Karina said.

  Allison flipped a switch and the room was flooded with light. “Better,” she said. “Where is Elle?”

  “Toilet most likely. Taking a bath. Let me get her.”

  Karina was back seconds later with a fully dressed Elle. She wore tight jeans and a gray racerback halter top. Her eyes were red, her lips cracked and dry.

  “You can go,” Elle said to Karina. “Tell Dominic to get my car ready.”

  “Where are you going?” Karina’s eyes widened.

  “Just tell him,” she repeated and walked away.

  “I want you to know what to expect. I’ve been through this before. Same inspector, same process.” Elle lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. When she exhaled, she coughed. “Don’t be intimidated by their foreign-ness.”

  “It’s hard not to be. We’re not on American soil. Our rights here aren’t the same.”

  Elle shrugged. “I feel awful, really awful.” She traced a figure eight on her thigh. “Terrible.”

  “Did you receive my text last night? I tried to call you too.”

  “I did.”

  “Shirin was upset. She’d put two and two together after placing Lara’s perfume.”

  “I know.”

  Elle continued with her invisible doodles. Her lack of focus was maddening. She looked up finally and said, “I haven’t been completely honest.”

  Allison waited, not surprised.

  “We can’t talk here.” She stood, grabbed her bag, and headed toward the door to her rooms.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Let’s go look at the church where you’re getting married. It will be quiet there.” She glanced around the empty rooms. “And free of other distractions.”

  FIFTEEN

  The Roman Catholic church consisted of three stone buildings clustered on a grassy hill, surrounded by a low stone wall. The ever-vigilant Dolomites stood watch in the background, their peaks casting shadows on the tallest of the buildings, the chapel tower. An ornate iron cross sat atop the tower, reaching to the heavens. The priest, a small, white-haired man with sallow skin and deep-set eyes, met Allison and Elle in the chapel. After showing them briefly around, he left them to wander on their own.

  Elle sat outside on a stone bench overlooking the countryside. Below them, on a steep that rolled to the horizon, cows grazed on a hillside meadow beside a deep-red barn. Two men wielded scythes against the tall meadow grasses, their bodies just miniature figures in the distance. The day was muggy and hot. Both women had brought large silk scarves to cover their shoulders in the chapel, out of respect for the local custom. Allison used the scarf to dab the sweat beading now on her brow. She wished for shade, but she was willing to trade the sun’s heat for the view from the bench. Breathtaking.

  Elle took her time settling in. Legs crisscrossed under her, she leaned forward on the bench and pulled a cigarette from the pocket of her jeans. She held it, unlit. “Shirin was Damien’s cousin.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It didn’t seem important.”

  “But now it does?”

  “Maybe.” Elle’s gaze followed the movement of the farmers who were starting on a new patch of field. “Douglas married Damien’s cousin. They—Damien, my dad, and Jeremy—go way back. Friends from when I was young. I met Damien through my dad. I became friendly with Shirin, and my dad took Douglas onboard the foundation partly as a favor to me.”

  Allison thought of Shirin’s words during that first dinner, and then later in the spa. She barely seemed to like Elle much less consider her a friend. Indeed, Allison had rarely seen them together.

  “For a cousin, you didn’t seem close.”

  “She was Damien’s cousin, not mine. And they weren’t particularly close.” She pulled out a cigarette. “Do you mind?”

  “I’d prefer you didn’t.”

  Elle nodded. She continued to hold the cigarette. “Anyway, I feel responsible.”

  That surprised Allison. “Why? What did you do?”

  “Don’t you get it? Had I not insisted that my father take Douglas on as a board member, none of this would have happened. Shirin would still be alive.”

  “These were adults. They made their own choices.”

  “I knew what kind of man Douglas was. A narcissist. A thrill-seeker. I thought maybe if he had something good to focus his energy on, he would settle down and be a better husband.” She grew quieter. “Shirin wanted children. Did you know that? I know she came across as self-centered and reserved, but, well, she wanted a baby in the worst way. Douglas didn’t.” She started to cry. “And now she’s dead.”

  Not to throw salt in an open wound, but Allison had to ask. “Why didn’t you tell Shirin about Douglas and Lara?”

  Elle waved the cigarette in the air. “To what end? He wouldn’t stop. I’m sure Lara wasn’t the only one. Shirin was blind when it came to Douglas. I was hoping he’d see the error of his ways and stop. My father was supposed to talk with him.”

  “Did he?”

  Elle stared at her feet, wiggled her toes. “Who knows? He says he did.” Another sob. “Too late now anyway.”

  Allison waited until the sobbing had run its course. She asked, “What do you think happened to Shirin?”

  Elle looked up, wiping her eyes. “She went for a walk and lost her footing. She was upset.”

  Allison asked gently, “An accident?”

  “I guess. Why?” Elle’s eyes widened. “You think Douglas did it?”

  “I didn’t say that. Did you see Douglas last night? After Shirin left?”

  Elle glanced away. “No, I was with my father. He had a tough night.”

  Something told Allison that Elle was lying, but she chose not to pursue it now. Instead, she sat quietly, thinking about lies, deceit, greed, and th
e consequences of a few bad choices. Here, in the shadow of a church older than her own country, it was easy to condemn a reckless, selfish man and his unfaithful lover. But Allison knew things were often more complicated than they seemed.

  Allison stood. “We should get back. The police inspector is supposed to return with a translator, and I don’t want to leave Grace with Hilda for too long.”

  As they passed the front of the chapel, Elle said, “You’re really going to do it? Get married, that is.”

  Surprised by the question, Allison nodded. “I am.”

  Elle’s smile was wistful. “It’s a show of faith, isn’t it? Loving someone enough to make that commitment.”

  “A show of faith in the relationship? Yes, it certainly is.”

  But Elle shook her head. “No, I mean a show of faith in the universe. In God. In whatever you think is in charge of this crazy world.” The sad smile widened. “A show of faith that what’s good in your life won’t be snatched away.”

  Allison, thinking of her mother, nodded. She assumed Elle was thinking of Damien. And like that, it hit Allison: two people from one family. Was that the connection?

  The idea plagued Allison. Through her afternoon play time at the pool with Grace, during her nutrition session with Elle, after her evening call with Jason, she considered the two deaths. Statistically, it seemed unlikely that two related people would die within six months of one another in the same accidental way. But they were in a rugged, rocky, dangerous corner of the world where the unwary or inexperienced could find themselves in trouble.

  Was Karina right? Had Shirin been the victim of foul play? Had someone else been with her, perhaps someone who hadn’t pushed her but witnessed the event? Douglas? And was it possible that Shirin’s death was no accident but Damien’s had been?

  The thought of murder made Allison’s blood run cold. She’d come here to escape. Instead, these things seemed to follow her.