by Wendy Tyson
“So the authorities suspect foul play?”
“Yes.”
“What about you, your job?”
“I can go. Despite Elle’s allegations, they’re not considering Sam’s disappearance a crime. Not at this point. Shirin’s a different story.”
“Did you tell them?” She didn’t have to add “about the climbing bolt”—that was understood.
Jason took her elbow and led her gently into a side alcove. The plaster walls were cool to the touch and Allison leaned against them for support. She had slipped on a plain khaki sundress before coming to the castle, and goosebumps spread across her bare arms.
“I told Inspector Balzan. He asked that we not repeat that to anyone.”
“Had he noticed the bolt too?”
“No, actually, he hadn’t. At first he looked skeptical, like I was trying to throw attention elsewhere, but the longer we spoke, the more intrigued he seemed to be.”
“You told him about the peat and your theory of wet versus dry.”
Jason nodded. He’d sported a few days growth of beard and it accentuated his strong cheekbones and balanced chin. His eyes, usually sharp with intelligence, looked almost manic. He’d been an attorney for as long as Allison had known him, and he was used to puzzles and examining evidence. Make that evidence related to an area he felt passionate about—mountaineering in any fashion—and couple it with concern for his family, and the result was a recipe for compulsive attention.
Jason said, “Balzan had been thinking along the same lines. They have some reason to suspect foul play, something he wouldn’t share. He’s sending someone to check out the bolt. He said he’ll try to examine the spot where Damien fell too, although he had little hope they would find anything. In the meantime, you have to stay here, in town.”
“What about Grace? I’m not comfortable having her here, not if there’s a killer lurking about.” Nor do I want to leave her, she thought—especially now, when she’s thriving and we’re getting along so well.
“Grace doesn’t have to stay.” He grew more somber, his face taking on the expression she’d seen before, when her mother passed away. “My mother and Vaughn are coming anyway. We can ask them to take Grace home.”
“I think that would be wise.” Allison paused, looking around. “They can’t stay here in the interim, though. It wouldn’t be good. What if something else happens? No use tying them up at the castle.” And then there’s the wedding, Allison thought. She kept mum, hoping that somehow this would all be cleared up quickly and plans could move forward. Only that somber look in Jason’s eyes told her he didn’t share her hope.
“You could probably leave the castle, Allison. As long as you don’t leave Bidero. I’ll talk with Balzan.” He started back in the direction of the inspector’s makeshift office, and Allison held up her hand to stop him.
“No, don’t. Staying here is part of my agreement with Elle. Mia can take Grace, and then I will look for a hotel—if there are any. Besides, Jason, if this was intentional, it sure feels personal. I’ll remain for now.”
Jason regarded her with worry in his eyes. “For now,” he said grudgingly. “While I’m here to help look after Grace. But once my mother gets here and I need to return to Innsbruck, I’d feel more comfortable if you left the grounds.”
Allison nodded. Hopefully by then this would all be over. “Yesterday Balzan said I had to stay indefinitely. Did he give you a time frame?”
Jason shook his head. His eyes told her all she needed to know—until they know what’s going on, no one leaves the area.
Allison reflected on the meaning behind this. “Am I a suspect?”
Jason looked at the marble floor. “I’m afraid you’re all suspects.”
Allison’s first call was to Mia. Her former—and soon to be again—mother-in-law stayed silent for what felt like eons. She said eventually, “You can’t catch a break.”
“Trouble does seem to follow me.” She wanted to ask if she was regretting the fact her son was going to marry her again but decided it didn’t matter. “So, will you do it?”
“Of course I will.”
“Faye could watch her until I get back. But Faye won’t leave my father to travel here.” And she won’t leave the country, Allison thought, not without a damn good reason—and fetching her niece might not qualify.
Mia said, “You don’t need to explain.”
Mia’s voice was calm, reserved. Allison knew her former mentor well enough to know that tone was covering up some deeper emotion.
“Thank you.”
“I’m already booked on a flight, but I’ll see if I can move it up. And then I’ll find somewhere in Bidero to stay, so we can be close to you. When things get resolved, we can move forward with the wedding plans.”
Allison felt relief wash over her. She’d get to see Grace—from the safety of somewhere other than the castle. “Really, you’ll stay in town for a bit, stick around?”
At that, Mia laughed. “A murder investigation and a crazy family in the Italian Alps. Why not? You make it sound so inviting.”
Allison’s second call was to Vaughn.
“I need you to do some research on Sam Norton’s foundation.”
“What’s it called?”
“Pay It Forward.”
“We’ll see what we can dig up. We’re still working on the other stuff.” He paused. “Are you okay?”
“We’re fine.” She gave him a brief rundown of the last twenty-four hours. “So Mia is coming early to get Grace. Just to be safe.”
Vaughn was quiet. Allison wondered if he’d been hoping the trip, his and Mia’s travel together, would bring them together again. His next words dispelled that notion.
“I don’t think Mia and I should stay together. Maybe I can stay at the castle with you?”
“Oh, brilliant. I would love that.” Once again Allison felt relief and gratitude flood through her. With Grace out of harm’s way and Vaughn at her side, she could work with Elle, honor their agreement, and continue her own unofficial inquiries. And maybe, just maybe, Vaughn could have some space to move beyond his mourning of his relationship with Mia. Fresh air and a murder investigation could do wonders for perspective.
Mood improved, Allison thanked Vaughn and hung up.
Allison thought of someone else who might offer insight into Pay It Forward. After some searching, she found Mazy Coyne at her cottage on the other side of the path, past where the trail turned off toward the pools. The author was sitting on her back garden patio, lounging in a wooded chair with her swollen feet up on a small wooden table. Her body was wrapped in a white terry cloth robe, and her hair, a nest of wiry graying curls on a good day, was beset with a hodgepodge of curlers, clips, and barrettes. A cigarette dangled from yellowed fingers.
“Well, well,” she muttered, barely looking up. She took a long draw on the cigarette before tapping the ashes into a floral teacup on her lap. “What brings you here?”
“Mind if I sit?”
Mazy shrugged. “Just toss the crap onto the ground. But not near the flowers. I don’t want ants in my pants.” She laughed too hard for too long.
Allison picked up the sweatpants and towel that sat on the other chair and placed them over the rail of the porch. She sat down, absorbing the scene before her. Like her own cottage, this one was small and darling. The small patio faced the pool area and the mountains beyond. About a hundred feet from the tangle of geraniums and wildflowers that bordered the garden patio was another low stone wall that marked the boundary between the goat enclosure and the house. The baby goat munching on flowers near the patio made it clear that a low stone wall was no deterrent. The goat had its eye on the veranda, and Allison could understand why. It would be heaven for a curious goat. Clothes strewn about on the stone wall, newspapers, empty cigarette packages, and overflowing ashtrays on the table
and the arm of the chair—so much fodder for mischief.
“He comes every day, little bugger,” Mazy said. She pointed to the goat. “Eats anything and everything, including my slippers.” She wiggled bare toes, nails painted a garish orange. “But he’s kind of cute, don’t you think?”
Allison, who until relatively recently had been afraid of anything with more than two legs, had to agree. Looking at the goat made her think of her own animals, which in turn made her think of Mia—and Grace. And home.
Allison said, “It’s been quite a few weeks here.”
“If you’re referring to the drama with Shirin and yesterday’s game of Where in the World is Sam Norton, you have that right.”
“Is it always this eventful?”
Mazy crushed her cigarette into the teacup. She stared at Allison for a moment before laughing. Again, her pitch was too high, her volume too loud. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“About?”
“You’re digging for information.” Mazy put her feet on the ground and placed the teacup/ashtray on the table. She smiled. “I’m as intrigued as anyone, but if you think I had something to do with what’s been going on here, you’re way off base.”
“I never said that—”
“You didn’t have to, Nancy Drew. You’re talking to a pro, or have you forgotten? Writers observe. And my observation is that you’re trying to piece together what’s happening here so you can hightail it out of Dodge with your hot boyfriend and that cute little girl.” She grinned. “Am I right?”
“Partly. I do want to know what happened. And I’m concerned for our safety.”
Mazy made a “pffft” sound with her lips. She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a pack of Marboro Lights. After offering one to Allison, she lit a cigarette and shoved the pack back in her robe.
“No need to be concerned,” Mazy said between puffs. She waved her hand at the smoke as though she were annoyed that it was blowing in her face. “Damn cigarettes.” She coughed. “Look, Elle and her family are your typical Hollywood types. No real sense of self, so they fill up on attention—negative or positive, doesn’t matter. That means they surround themselves with others who crave drama. Like the Aldens. You saw that little scene at the big house just like I did. Drama, drama, drama.”
“And writers love drama,” Allison said.
“We love to observe it. The best rations for feeding the imagination. But there’s a difference between observing and causing.” Mazy sat back. “It’s doubtful we’re in real danger. I think the police are digging around the wrong boulder, if you catch my meaning.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
Mazy regarded Allison with a cool stare. “Drugs. I think Damien was stoned when he fell. Shirin was upset—you saw what happened—and it wouldn’t surprise me if she went back to her cottage and took a little something before setting out on her pity party walk.”
Allison considered this. “What about Sam?”
Mazy smiled. “Do you have any idea how much LSD that man has done in his lifetime?” She made a circular motion with one finger next to her head. “Unhinged as a Kansas barn door in a tornado.” She looked at Allison over her readers. “And I grew up in Kansas, so I should know.”
“So you think Sam is simply—”
“Fried. Yep.”
Mazy didn’t know about the bolt, nor about Elle’s theory that Michael was still on the property. Allison considered her next words. She decided on candor. Mazy was clearly used to ferreting out bullshit.
“You dated Sam.”
This time, Mazy was caught off guard. With an amused smirk, she said, “You really did do your homework.”
“Someone told me.”
This caused Mazy to frown. “That was a long time ago. Sam and I haven’t been intimate—or friends, really—for years. Many years.”
“But you know him. The family.”
When Mazy didn’t respond, Allison said, “Just humor me. Say for a moment you’re not correct, that there are more than drugs at work here.”
Mazy made no attempt to hide her skepticism. “Yeah?”
“You know the family, you know Jeremy. Who might have motive to go after Shirin?”
“That’s obvious. Douglas.”
“Wouldn’t that be risky? Everyone saw what happened that night. Everyone knew about the affair. Why would he take the risk of hurting his wife when fingers would swing in his direction first?”
“Wasn’t thinking straight? Maybe it was an accident. They walked on the path to talk, they fought, she stumbled and fell. Things like that happen all the time.”
“Then why hide it?”
Mazy smiled. “Really, you have to ask that? No one wants to get involved with the police, especially in a foreign country. And Douglas is a UK citizen. Obviously he would be trying to avoid scrutiny.”
Nothing Allison hadn’t thought of. It just seemed too easy. “What do you know about Sam’s foundation, Pay It Forward?”
“I know they give money away. It’s a grant-type organization. People apply for funds for whatever reason—family hardship, health issues, a business idea, kooky invention—and the foundation gives it.”
“They grant wishes?”
“Basically.”
Allison absorbed this. It was basically what Elle had told her. Could the killer be someone who applied and didn’t receive money? But if so, why Shirin?
“Why do you ask?”
Allison ignored the question. “Was Shirin part of the foundation in any way?”
“Not that I know of.” Mazy yawned. “Look, I’m getting tired of talking about this, and I need to do my hair before it gets too set in its ways.” She tossed her head back, and the curlers bobbed against her forehead.
Allison nodded, stood. “Okay—”
“My advice, Allison? Don’t think about all of this. Enjoy the sun and the fresh air, eat some wonderful food, screw that handsome man of yours, and stop fretting. The police will dig around for a few days, we’ll all be inconvenienced, and then they’ll leave empty-handed.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Mazy laughed that crazy laugh again. “Oh, I’ve seen it all before. I’m a novelist, remember? And when they say reality is stranger than fiction, it’s because it’s true.”
TWENTY-ONE
The next several days passed without incident, giving Allison hope that any true danger existed only in their collective imagination. Elle cooperated with Allison’s sessions, focusing on an array of self-awareness tests and self-improvement sessions, her mood unusually light. Balzan’s people passed through, asking questions and setting up camp inside the castle and on the path by the river. Jason and Grace went for walks and lounged by the pool, enjoying some rare time together. And Hilda all but disappeared, concentrating, it seemed, on caring for Sam since his disappearance. The rhythm at the castle was slow and melodic, punctuated by sensuous meals, carafes of rich Italian wine, and the occasional glass of grappa. Only the police and Shirin’s empty seat at the dinner table, plus Douglas’s conspicuous absence, reminded them that someone had died. Where was Douglas? Grieving? Surely he was a suspect—and as bound to the castle as the rest of them.
By Wednesday Mia arrived, and Grace met her at the cottage door with a glowing smile and a prattle of greetings in German.
Mia clapped, glancing at Allison. “Someone has been picking things up quickly.”
Indeed, Grace was like a different child. Besides her speedy grasp of two new languages, German and Italian, she’d let go of some of her old behaviors. The bed-wetting and night terrors had long since gone, and her tendency to hoard food, something Allison assumed she’d developed when consistent meals had been an anomaly in her life, had also dissipated. Her skin glowed a healthy bronze, her hair was bleached creamy caramel from the sun, but best of all was he
r infectious laugh, which she bestowed upon Mia now.
“Aunt Mia,”—what she called Jason’s mother—“please come to the pool. Please, please, please. And I will show you the lambs, and Bianca, a baby goat. She eats my clothes.” Grace laughed, and no one could resist laughing with her.
Jason grabbed Grace’s hand. “Let’s let Aunt Mia take a rest. She had a long flight.”
Mia said, “Nonsense. I can’t wait to see the pool and the lambs and the goats. And I want to eat some of those fabulous dumplings I’ve been hearing so much about.” She leaned down so she was eye-level with Grace. “Can you arrange that with the chef?”
Grace’s face darkened, but only for a moment. “Perhaps Hilda can, Aunt Mia. But I haven’t seen her today.”
Nor yesterday, nor the day before, Allison thought.
“We’ll request it,” Allison said. “And some of those delicious Italian cookies for you, Grace.”
Grace nodded. She gave Mia a shy smile. “The pool?”
Mia laughed. “Grace, there is nowhere on earth I would rather go right now. Let me change, then you can show me the way.”
Allison slid into the saltwater pool across from Mia. Grace and Jason were on the lawn, playing with the goats, and aside from Mazy Coyne sitting at a table under the shade of the spa awning, the pool area was empty.
Mia looked around, her eyes bright. “The scenery here is truly amazing.”
“It really is.”
“You look troubled.”
Allison studied Grace, now happily chasing one of the baby goats into the meadow. “I think she’ll be upset to leave.”
“Well, she may not have to get upset yet.”
Allison turned her attention to Mia. “But you’re taking her into town.”
“You do realize ‘town’ consists of a handful of inns and so-called family resorts. And this is a festival weekend, so I’m afraid they’re all full right now.” Mia pulled her sunglasses off her head, tugged her unruly gray curls into a bun, and replaced her glasses. “I got the first reservation I could. At a little mom and pop hotel.”