temptation in florence 03 - bankers death

by boeker, beate

  “But I can continue to be polite to him, can't I?”

  “By all means.” Carlina smiled at Ernesto. “That'll be highly professional.” . . . even if it'll surprise the rest of the family. “Em.” She cleared her throat. “What about the bungee-jumping?”

  Ernesto sighed. “I should probably return the voucher.”

  Carlina looked at him. “I'll tell you what. Talk to your mother and use it.”

  Ernesto frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You can start by telling her that you wish to study chemistry and that it's less risky than bungee-jumping. Tell her you'll forgo the bungee-jumping, provided she promises not to harp on and on about your choice of studies.”

  Ernesto put his head to one side and eyed her with dawning respect. “I say . . . you're wicked.”

  Carlina grinned. “I'm the least dangerous in the family, believe me.”

  His dark eyes sparkled. “I don't agree, Carlina.” He jammed on his sunglasses, gave her a friendly punch in the shoulder and rushed from the shop with ducked head.

  Carlina laughed, but the laughter got stuck in her throat the second the telephone rang. Again. I bet it's Emma, telling me she found the perfect way to flatten Valentino by accident with a large stone. Now she'll ask my help to throw his body, bound to the same stone, into the Arno river. She gave herself a mental shake and picked up the receiver. “Temptation. Buona sera.”

  “Carlina.”

  Her heart felt as if it had done a bit of bungee-jumping by the side. “Stefano.” Her throat went dry.

  “How are you?” He sounded alert.

  “Em.” Carlina knew this wasn't a polite question. He wanted to know. She cleared her throat. “I'm fine.” What a lie.

  As usual, he picked up on her every nuance.

  She could tell he was hesitating, but he let it go. Probably waiting for a better moment. If only he didn't know her so well.

  “I happen to have some unexpected time off tonight,” he said. “Do you want to have dinner with me?”

  Her heart slammed in her throat. They had so little time together. Yes! She already opened her mouth to agree when she realized that she could not spend a whole evening with Stefano, wondering at the same time if her family was busy getting rid of a body. “I'm . . . I'm sorry, I can't.” She sounded wretched. “There's . . . some family emergency . . . “ Damn. She had not wanted to say that. She really should get more used to lying.

  “A family emergency? Is Benedetta still expecting you to solve the bungee-jumping problem?”

  Thank God he had come up with a reason. “Yes!” She gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “That's it. I have to talk to Ernesto and soothe Benedetta, and--”

  “Do you think it would help if I came?”

  Oh, God, no. They would all wind around his legs like cats, giving him meaningful looks, and in Mama's case, she would probably try to find out the extent of his loyalty toward the Mantoni family with a ton of laden questions. “Thank you, that's very kind of you, but . . . ” Carlina searched for words. “I just . . . em . . . I think it would . . . not be such a good idea.”

  “I see.” He sounded disappointed.

  Carlina bit her lips. Damn the family!

  “Is this cousin of yours keeping in line?”

  “Who? Valentino?” Another artificial laugh. God, she sounded as if she had taken crack. “Yes, yes, everything's fine.” This was killing her. She couldn't lie to Stefano. “Listen, I'm so sorry, but I have customers here.”

  “I'm sorry. Have a good evening.” He hung up.

  Carlina stood frozen, the deep buzz of the interrupted line in her ear. I'm missing you.

  Chapter 4

  I

  The front door of her home slammed closed behind her.

  Carlina took a deep breath of the familiar scent - a combination of dust and beeswax. She loved this house. She had grown up here, ever since she came over from the States as a confused and sad thirteen-year old, right after the death of her father. It had sheltered her and had provided a bolting place when she needed time for herself. She loved the painted front doors of the two apartments on the ground floor, red and green, the colors of Italy. She loved the wooden staircase, spiraling up, its smooth banister glistening. She loved the ornamental, round window above the heavy front door, with the sunlight glowing through the colored panes, throwing globs of orange and yellow and blue shadow onto the tiled entrance area. She loved to hear the muted sound of the bells of Santa Croce, filling the house with their melodious sound.

  All over.

  Sadness swamped her.

  The door to her left opened, and Uncle Teo peeped out. “Buona sera, Carlina.”

  “Ciao, Uncle Teo.”

  He looked smaller every day.

  Her heart sank.

  “Did you have a good day?” He gave her a smile that showed how much effort it cost.

  “It was all right.” If you don't count certain phone calls.

  “Much to do?”

  Carlina opened her mouth to reply when a scream rang through the house. It was high-pitched and strong and went on and on and on, like a soul being tortured.

  The hairs on Carlina's arms stood up. She had never heard such an anguished scream.

  Uncle Teo paled. “Who is that?”

  “I don't know.”

  The sound came from upstairs. Carlina raced upward, taking two steps at a time. On the first landing, she almost collided with Emma who exploded from her apartment, her eyes wide with fear. “What is this?”

  “I don't know.” Carlina ran on. Mama? Is it Mama who's screaming like this? The sound went on as if the person who was screaming never needed to take a breath. On the second landing, she found the door to her mother's apartment wide open, but the scream didn't come from inside.

  “It's in your apartment!” Emma, close on Carlina's heels, gasped. “Madre mia, who can scream like this?”

  With rasping breath, Carlina ran on. In my apartment? Horror seeped through her, stiffening her muscles. She didn't want to go inside, afraid of what she might find.

  The scream still didn't stop. It was now so loud that it filled her ears until she thought they would split. She faltered on the last step.

  Emma overtook her and charged through the open door. Her scream was short and high-pitched, then she burst through the door onto the landing again, her face white, her hand pressed against her mouth.

  “What is it?” Carlina couldn't bear to go inside her apartment. She shook her cousin. “Tell me!”

  Emma took a shuddering breath. “Simonetta.”

  Carlina had trouble understanding her cousin because the terrible screaming still hadn't stopped. “What happened to Simonetta?”

  Emma hugged herself and closed her eyes. “She's the one who's screaming.”

  “Why?”

  Emma curled into a ball and hid her face in her lap while shaking her head.

  Carlina gave up on her. She clenched her teeth and slid though the half-opened door into her apartment.

  Then she froze.

  Next to her favorite armchair, Valentino was lying with a large knife stuck in his chest. His wide open eyes stared at the ceiling, and he was naked with the exception of a pair of silk boxer shorts, dark gray. Carlina recognized them immediately. Next to his head stood a champagne cooler with a bottle sticking out. It was covered with blood spatters. Underneath Valentino, she could see a large red puddle, dark at the edges, lighter in the middle.

  Her stomach turned over.

  Simonetta stood a few inches to her left, frozen, both hands lifted as if warding off a blow, her mouth wide open. She screamed as if she could never stop.

  Carlina grabbed her arm.

  Simonetta's scream cut off.

  The sudden silence rang loud in Carlina's ears. She pulled Simonetta out onto the landing.

  Simonetta followed without resistance.

  Carlina could hear herself breathing, a dreadful, rasping sound, as if every breath was t
orture.

  Uncle Teo came huffing up the steps, his face blue. “Children . . . “

  Carlina pointed at the door. “In there.” Her voice broke.

  She collapsed onto the top step, pulling Simonetta with her, then put one arm around Simonetta and the other around Emma. Both were shivering. Carlina's mind was numb; just one thought kept running in circles through her brain, like a hamster in panic. So they did it after all. She'd not have thought it possible, in spite of all their discussions about it.

  She heard the heavy front door below open and close. The staircase of the house had better acoustics than the opera house La Scala in Milano - anything you said in a whisper carried well through the different levels, up to Carlina's roof apartment.

  Two people came up the steps, talking. “I still believe it's unhealthy to eat all the stuff you prepare,” Benedetta said. “Anything radical is unhealthy.”

  “You're just too set in your old ways,” Fabbiola replied. “If you'd only . . . “

  Carlina lifted her head. “Mama.”

  Fabbiola craned her neck over the banister. “Carlina? Are you up there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you sitting on the steps like that? Is that Simonetta with you?”

  “Yes. And Emma. Valentino was murdered.”

  Fabbiola went still. “Indeed?”

  Benedetta's head appeared next to her sister's. “Say that again.” She frowned.

  “Someone stabbed Valentino in my apartment.”

  The sisters exchanged a look.

  “In your apartment? Is that clever?” Fabbiola shook her head. “I'm not sure if the Commissario will like that, and we really need his cooperation.”

  I don't believe this. Carlina heard a slight movement behind her and looked over her shoulder.

  Uncle Teo emerged, now looking green instead of blue.

  She slid down two steps to make room for him. “Sit down, Uncle Teo.”

  “What, is Teo there as well?” Fabbiola hurried upstairs, with Benedetta in tow.

  They stopped when they came to the huddled group on the landing.

  Fabbiola put her hands on her hips. “Will someone please explain what

  happened?”

  Nobody answered.

  Carlina heard a dove cooing on the roof outside her apartment. In the sudden silence, the sound was loud enough to spook her.

  “Is he still up there?” Benedetta pointed at Carlina's door.

  Carlina pulled herself together. “Yes, but I don't advise you to have a look. It's not pretty.” She could have spared herself the words. The sisters squeezed past the group and stormed into the apartment.

  An indignant cry came through the door, followed by Fabbiola, red in the face. “Who did this?” Her eyes flashed in anger. “How can anyone be so stupid to set it up like this? If he's jealous, he won't help us at all!”

  Carlina closed her eyes. She had no trouble to identify the man her mother referred to. Garini. She had to tell Garini that her cousin had been stabbed in her apartment, only dressed in the most expensive underwear, and with a bottle of champagne next to him. A shudder ran down her back. Do I have enough time to book a flight out of the country before he learns about it?

  Benedetta followed Fabbiola, wringing her hands. “I don't understand,” she said. “This is not clever at all.” She sounded disapproving, as if a child had schlepped sand into a freshly polished apartment.

  Emma lifted her head. “Well, at least he's dead. That's a start. Now we can stay where we belong.”

  Carlina glanced at her from the side. Obviously, her cousin had gotten over her weak moment. “With one exception,” she made sure her voice sounded cold. “One of us will have to move to prison.”

  “We have to call the police.” Uncle Teo clung to the banister so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

  All eyes turned to Carlina.

  “You do it,” Emma said.

  Fabbiola frowned. “Maybe I should do it. I could explain the circumstances in a way that wouldn't make it sound quite so bad. I could say that Valentino often did this kind of thing in one apartment or other while the others were out. With . . . with ladies we didn't know.“

  Emma gave a cry. “Under no circumstances can you say such a thing! You know what Lucio is like - he'll jump to strange conclusions because he's so jealous, and he'll immediately want to know if Valentino ever did it in our bedroom!”

  Fabbiola frowned, then nodded. “Yes, I see your point. We'll have to find something else to make it plausible. How about he had a secret meeting with someone else, as he knew that Carlina would only return home late from work?”

  Carlina gasped. “Mama. Are you crazy?” With a sudden rush of heat, she remembered her words to Garini that evening. She had rejected a dinner invitation, claiming she had something to do with the family. Would Garini believe her that the “something” wasn't a secret meeting with her cousin who was found dead in a most compromising situation in her apartment? Not likely. Her head started to swim. Oh, Madonna.

  Simonetta, who had not made another sound ever since she had stopped screaming, lifted her head. “I won't do it.”

  “What?” Carlina stared at her.

  “I won't tell the police that I had a secret meeting with Valentino in your apartment.” She swallowed visibly.

  “But why do you think we would ask you to do that?” Carlina asked.

  Simonetta pressed her lips together. “Because I'm the only one who's not living here permanently, and so I have less of a motive than anybody else.”

  Fabbiola put her head to the side and considered her as if she was judging the quality of a new horse, shown into the ring. “In the first place, you'll have to tell the Commissario why you went into Carlina's apartment.”

  Simonetta's eyes widened. “I went because you told me so!”

  “What?” Fabbiola stared at her. “I never said anything of that kind!”

  “Yes, you did!” Simonetta stood up and now towered over Fabbiola. She really was a formidable woman, with a back as broad as a man's.

  No wonder her scream filled the whole house, Carlina thought, feeling suddenly detached from the whole proceedings. You can't beat a trained opera singer in a panic.

  Simonetta placed her hands on her hips, taking up even more space on the crowded landing. “You said I should go upstairs and check if Carlina has any cake pans, so we could make more bread.”

  Fabbiola shrugged. “Oh, that. But that was a long time ago.”

  “I didn't manage to do it right away.” Simonetta's beautiful voice rang through the stairway.

  Fabbiola frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the way things were developing. “Maybe we should move the body.”

  “No way!” Carlina jumped up. “I'll call Garini.” She was not going to move a body ever again. She had done it once, and it had not helped at all.

  Fabbiola grabbed her arm. “But what will you tell him? We have to make sure he'll stay loyal to the family. If he believes you were cheating on him, things might get out of control.”

  Carlina swallowed. She had no plan how to tell Stefano the truth, but anything was better than leaving him to her mother's mercy. “I'll manage.” She hurried downstairs, her hand already on the phone. She only wanted to get away from her apartment - the further, the better.

  As she burst out onto the street, she became aware that she never wanted to go inside again. The murderer had managed to kick her out of her home just like Valentino would have done - only faster. Her hand shook while she punched in Garini's number.

  He picked up the phone before the first ring. “Carlina?”

  “I need your help.”

  Instantly, he turned into the professional mode that didn't allow time for emotions or exclamations. “What happened?” His voice was sharp.

  She gulped for breath. “Valentino was killed.”

  The door behind her opened and her mother's head peeked out.

  Carlina turned her back to her mo
ther and hurried down the street. Thank God she was still wearing her jacket, but in spite of its warmth, she was shivering so hard that the phone threatened to slip from her fingers. She burst out onto the Largo Piero Bargellini and turned right, toward the Piazza di Santa Croce. The Piazza was big enough to allow her to survey the approach of any family member, intent on overhearing what she was saying.

  “Why are you running?” Stefano's voice was like a whip. “Are you in danger?”

  “No. I . . . I just need some distance.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the Piazza di Santa Croce.”

  “I'll be there in one minute. Don't move, love.” He hung up.

  With a sigh of relief, Carlina slipped the phone back into her pocket and walked to one of the stone benches that encircled the piazza. Garini would come. He would know how to deal with it. Then she did a double-take. Had he called her “love” or had she misheard him? He'd never done that before. She took a deep breath. “Calm down. Just calm down. All will be well.”

  A German tourist with white socks and sandals and an overstuffed backpack walked past. He looked at her with a curious expression.

  I'd better stop talking to myself. She dropped onto the stone bench at the far end of the piazza, hid her head in her hands, and tried to suppress the shudders that still shook her body. It seemed to take ages, but finally, the shivering subsided. She lifted her head and looked at the impressive facade of the cathedral of Santa Croce. It was so beautiful, so balanced with its three arches and the tiny turrets on top. Dusk was falling, and the white marble glowed in the artfully placed spotlights. How many people had stood on this Piazza already, fear in their hearts, afraid of the future? How many people had carried their worries inside the church, looking for reassurance, for help? Sometimes, it was easier to believe - at least you felt you weren't on your own.

  Carlina swallowed. She'd never felt like this - so torn in two. On the one hand, she wanted to be with Stefano, wanted to believe that he would help her, but on the other, she wanted to keep as much distance between them as possible, afraid of what might happen. Maybe she should run away, just leave him a text message that he'll find everything he needed to know at the house.