Charmer's Death (Temptation in Florence Book 2)

by boeker, beate

  “Thank you.” Garini nodded. “If you should later think of anything, just contact Mr. Grant, so he can get in touch with me.”

  “Fine.” Viola looked around the room. “What will happen to all the stuff?”

  “We'll lock it up until the heir comes to claim it.” Peter answered.

  “Even the women's clothes?”

  Garini and Peter exchanged a glance.

  “Probably not.” Garini answered. “Once we know the red-haired lady, we can ask her to collect it. Technically, these things belong to her.”

  When Viola was gone, Garini continued with the wardrobe and quickly worked his way through the female clothes. He found two pairs of nylons and placed them on the bed. “I'd like to take those with me,” he said.

  “Right.” Peter looked at them with a sober expression on his face.

  The next wardrobe was filled with Mr. Accanto's clothes, rows and rows of expensive suits. Even if someone had bound Stefano's eyes, he would still have been able to tell that he was touching the most expensive clothes men could make. The materials felt thick and smooth at the same time. He turned out the pockets and checked the deepest recesses of the wardrobe, but he did not find anything, not even a stub of paper. “Mr. Accanto must have been a very tidy man,” he said.

  “Yes, he was very organized,” Peter said. “I've never seen him out of his depth.”

  Garini closed the wardrobe. “Could you open the safe for me now?”

  “Sure.” Peter slid yet another wooden door aside and revealed a well-stocked bar. Next to the gleaming bottles was a metal box, set directly into the stone wall. He turned the key and pulled the door open. “It's empty.” His words sounded hollow.

  “Damn.” Garini clenched his teeth. He had hoped to find another lead, anything to give him a better indication about Trevor Accanto, his business, his interests, possible motives for murder, but all he had found was the confirmation that Mr. Accanto had been a regular customer at Temptation . . . and that was something he could well have done without.

  He finished the search by checking the bathroom, but it did not reveal any further secrets.

  Chapter 4

  Carlina pushed a strand of hair from her hot face as she handed yet another bag with the distinctive Temptation-Logo to a customer. What a successful day. And tonight, she would see Stefano. She smiled to herself and turned around, just to see him standing at the entrance to her tiny store.

  For one frozen instant, she wondered if her wishful thinking had conjured up an illusion, then she knew he was here in person. Tall, his lean face serious, but his eyes . . . had she ever thought his eyes cool? They looked at her in a way that made her feel as if she was the most beautiful woman on this planet. Her throat dried out.

  “Carlina.”

  “Ciao.” She went toward him on legs that felt too wobbly to be her own. “Did I miss the time? We said eight, didn't we? At my house?” She checked her wrist watch. It was a quarter past seven, much later than she had thought, but not late enough to make him come and look for her at Temptation.

  Now she stood directly in front of him, not knowing how to greet him. They had seen little of each other in the last weeks, but their phone calls had created an intimacy that suddenly made her shy. A little hesitant, she smiled up at him. For some reason, the small scar next to his mouth made him irresistible.

  When he bent forward, her heart stopped, but he only greeted her as if she was a good friend, briefly touching her cheeks with his. He smelled of leather and soap, his cheeks cool and a bit scratchy. She suppressed the urge to throw her arms around his neck.

  “You're not too late.” His voice always held a faint ironic trace. “I'm early. I wanted to consult with you on something, and I thought it might be easier at Temptation, but I see that you're busy. Should I come back later?”

  Carlina checked the room. The last customer was still in conversation with Ricciarda, but she could tell they would soon be done. “No. If you're willing to wait ten minutes, I can close the shop.”

  “Sounds good.” Garini leaned against the cash register, his hands deep in the pockets of his black jeans. He looked out of place, surrounded by all the feminine underwear, and yet, so sexy she found it hard to look away. With an effort, Carlina turned her back on him and started to tidy up the store, her hands flying. It looked as if a herd of buffaloes had trampled through it, but it had been worth the trouble. Her sales had exceeded her highest expectations. If the last customer would buy one pair, she would end up with fifty-two pairs of nylons sold, a record she wanted to celebrate in style tonight, with Stefano, even if she felt as if some of the buffaloes had trampled across her as well.

  “I take it the nylon promotion did well?” Stefano's gaze rested on the golden display next to the cash register that looked like an ice-cream cone. It was usually filled to the rim with special offers, but today only one limp bra remained inside.

  “Very well.” Carlina could feel a triumphant smile stretching to her ears. “I'll tell you all about it later.” She didn't want to brag with customers within earshot.

  Ricciarda came to the cash register with a curious look at Stefano. Wisps of hair had escaped her ponytail and her blouse looked crumpled, but she treated the customer in front of her with unchanging friendliness.

  She's a treasure. Carlina gave her an encouraging smile. When the last customer had left, she closed the door and leaned against it with a happy sigh. “What a success!” She handed Ricciarda the whole bag of Copate biscuits which they had never had the time to touch. “You won our bet. They're all yours.”

  Ricciarda smiled. It looked a bit exhausted, but sincere. “Thank you, but I think we can share them tomorrow. We both deserve them.”

  “I think you've never met,” Carlina turned to Garini. “This is Ricciarda Fazzolari, who has worked for me these last two months. Ricciarda, this is Stefano Garini.” She omitted his title and any other explanation because she did not know how to refer to him. A friend? Were they friends? It was hard to say.

  Garini took one sharp look at Ricciarda, but he didn't seem to be impressed with her clear skin and the deep-blue eyes. Then again, you could never tell what Garini thought.

  Carlina took one hundred Euros out of the cash box and put them into an envelope, then handed them to Ricciarda. “A bonus for the good work today. You did a great job.”

  Ricciarda's face lit up. “How nice. Thank you.” She fished her handbag from behind the cash register, opened it, and stored away the envelope. “Oh, I just remembered; your mother came to the store today while you were out for lunch. I'm sorry I forgot to mention it earlier.”

  Oh, no. From the corner of her eye, Carlina could see that Garini's mouth twitched in anticipation. She knew exactly what he thought of her family. “Did she say what she wanted?”

  Ricciarda frowned. “I admit I didn't quite get it, but then, I had a customer, and I may have been too distracted.”

  Garini's smile grew more pronounced.

  Carlina wanted to give him a hard nudge with her elbow but managed to control herself.

  “Oh, now I remember.” Ricciarda's frown cleared. “She said the cards spelled danger and money for you, and she wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “What cards?” Garini sounded as if he had to ask in spite of himself.

  Carlina suppressed a sigh. Sooner or later she had to tell him. “Mama took up fortune telling.”

  “Madonna.” He blinked.

  Carlina decided to overhear his remark. “It soothes her and gives her the feeling that the universe is following certain rules.”

  His ironic gaze came to rest on her. “Does this mean she has given up walking around with a cushion?”

  “No,” Carlina said. “She still carries around a cushion. But she has now decorated it with golden stars.”

  “Interesting.”

  Carlina felt she had to defend her mother. “A cushion has many practical uses.”

  “Yes, but not if you take i
t shopping.” Garini pushed his hand through his hair.

  “You have to see the cushion as a little idiosyncrasy.” Carlina said. “I mean, if you have to be a bit crazy, walking around with a cushion is at least a harmless form of craziness. It doesn't hurt anybody.”

  “Harmless?” Garini lifted his eyebrows.

  She met his incredulous gaze straight on. “Completely harmless.”

  He shook his head. “So now she tells fortunes? Whatever will she do next?”

  Carlina smiled. “It's quite entertaining, really. She told my cousin Ernesto that he would soon be baptized with fire, and when a friend at the Internet café dropped a cigarette onto his head, she claimed that had been exactly what she had foreseen.”

  “She could have made it clearer,” Garini said. “How did she learn it?”

  “She bought a book.” A giggle escaped Carlina. “It's called 'The future in ten days'. It took her twenty, but she says she's now on top of the game. I find it quite amusing.”

  “You would.” His gaze came to rest on her, and the expression in it made her catch her breath. “And now she has foreseen money and danger for you?”

  Ricciarda laughed. “Well, the money part at least is true.”

  Carlina jumped. She had forgotten Ricciarda's presence. “I'll clear this up tomorrow, Ricciarda.” She smiled at her assistant. “You can go home straight away. I won't stay long, either.”

  Ricciarda smiled. “Thank you.” She went to the door and opened it. Over her shoulder, she said, “I don't think you need to worry about that danger forecast from your mother. Didn't she foretell too, Carlina, that you would marry next year and have five sons? Quite a feat for twelve months.” She grinned and waved at them as she closed the door behind her. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

  Carlina could feel herself going bright red. Great. Just great. “Interesting enough,” she said with as much composure as she could muster, “destiny as predicted by my mother always coincides with her dearest wishes. For some reason, the cards don't dare to contradict.”

  He gave her one of his rare smiles. “How prudent of them.”

  “Hmm.” If he continues to look at me like that, I'll melt right in front of his eyes.

  “I came early because I need your professional advice,” Stefano said.

  Carlina blinked. Professional advice? What on earth could he mean? He didn't want to buy a bra, surely?

  He zipped open his heavy leather jacket and took out a pair of battered nylons. “Can you tell me anything about these nylons?”

  Carlina touched them with her fingertips, but one look had been enough. “Sure I can,” she said. “These are run-proof nylons. They are exclusively sold in Florence by yours truly, who started selling them this very morning with immense success.” She grinned at him, but when she saw the bleak expression in his face, the happy grin slid from her face, and a cold feeling of dread filtered into her heart. “What's the matter? Why do you look like that?”

  He closed his eyes for an instant. “Damn. I'd hoped there would be no direct connection.”

  “What do you mean?” Carlina wanted to shake him.

  Stefano pressed his lips together. “These nylons were used to strangle a man today.”

  That did it. Her knees, already wobbly from the way he had looked at her, decided to give in completely. She tumbled and would have fallen if he hadn't caught her arms with both hands. For an instant, she wondered if she should pretend to be weaker than she was, just to prolong the delicious feeling of being in his arms, when she heard his voice.

  “I'd forgotten that nasty habit of yours.”

  Carlina straightened with haste and gave him an indignant look. “It's not a nasty habit. I'm just not used to people shooting bad news at me without any consideration for my feelings.” She took a step back and straightened her skirt.

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you want more consideration for your feelings?”

  The question hung between them, and all at once, she knew they were not talking about a bit of friendliness, about being polite. He was asking if she wanted the truth, if she was prepared to be a partner on equal terms, discussing things the way he discussed everything, open, occasionally ruthless, but always honest. Carlina swallowed. She did not want to be wrapped in cotton wool, did not want to be treated like a weak female, or even worse, be protected from nasty things by being kept in ignorance, but she didn't dare to tell him right now. It was too . . . intimate. “Well.” She squared her shoulders. “For a start, it would help if you made sure I was seated the next time you spring something nasty at me.”

  “I think you should sit down now.”

  She blanched. “What? Is there worse to come?”

  He didn't reply.

  “Listen, Garini, I've had a long day, I'm tired and worn out and starving, and--” to her horror, her voice broke, “I've been looking forward to a relaxed evening, but it looks like that's not on the cards anymore.”

  His mouth twisted. “I'm afraid not.” He reached out his hand and caressed her cheek with one brief move of his thumb. “I'm sorry.”

  She turned away with an abrupt move, so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

  “Can you close up?” he asked. “I still think we should go somewhere and have dinner.”

  “Right.” In silence, she straightened the worst disorder and closed Temptation.

  The wind had calmed down, and now the rain fell as if it was a curtain, straight and clear, with a continuous pattering sound. “Nasty weather.” Carlina hunched her shoulders.

  “The car is over there.”

  “You have a car?” Carlina was surprised. “I've only ever seen you with a motorbike.”

  “I prefer the bike,” he said as he led her down Via Tornabuoni and opened the door of a medium-sized Fiat, “but the car was free, so I took it from the pool.”

  As she buckled up, he asked, “Do you wish to go home first, to freshen up?”

  She shook her head. The danger of running into her mother was too big, besides, all her happiness at seeing him had been smothered by a lump of dread. She wanted him to tell her the worst, but not before she'd had something sustaining to eat.

  They left Florence, and soon, the little car climbed the hills, but she didn't pay attention to where they were going. Her throat hurt with suppressed tears. She had been so much looking forward to this evening, and now Garini had retreated into his professional shell, hard and cynical, a shell she had hoped he wouldn't put on anymore when she was around. What on earth had he meant when he said there was a connection between her and the murder? Fifty-four women owned these nylons in Florence. No, maybe not that many, after all, some had bought two pairs, one even three. Did he want her to list the names of all her customers? Was that why he had come to her? She tried to push the thought from her mind. She was supposed to tell him something. What was it? Ah yes, now she remembered. “Uncle Teo wants me to remind you that you've promised him some sleuthing job.” She decided not to mention that his other mission had been to find out if she was really dating Stefano Garini tonight.

  “Oh.” Garini shifted the car into a lower gear as they mounted a hill. “Do you want me to do that?”

  Carlina sighed. “I'm not sure. On the one hand, the mere idea of him trailing someone happily and totally unprofessionally makes my blood run cold. On the other hand, he's very lonely.”

  “He is?”

  “Yes.” Carlina pressed her lips together. “I often wish I could offer him a job myself, but an old man like him in a lingerie-store . . . he would scare my customers away.”

  “I can imagine.” There was a smile in his voice.

  “However, at night, when I come home, he often waits for me, and he wants to know every single detail of my day, he's so bored. Also, it's the first Christmas without his brother and his wife, and that's so difficult. I'm sorry for him.”

  Garini glanced at her once again but didn't reply. “We're here.” He parked the car beneath a gnarled olive tree, its ar
ms bare of leaves, and got out.

  Carlina followed him, shivering in the cold wind. “Where are we?” She looked around. The building in front of her looked like a barn, but the door had been replaced by huge glass panes, and golden light spilled out, welcoming her in.

  “The restaurant is called Da Marco. Marco once helped me in one of my cases.” He smiled at her. “He only started up last week, so it's still a bit of a secret.”

  She had to return his smile in spite of her misgivings. “Secret enough not to be known to my family, you mean?”

  He grinned. “I didn't say that.”

  She couldn't suppress an answering smile. “At least admit you had it on your mind.”

  “Of course I had.” He shrugged. “After all, you once told me your mother had six brothers and sisters and just as many cousins, and now I expect members of your family to pop up at every corner of Florence.”

  “What a dreadful thought.” She laughed.

  He grinned and held open the door for her to go through.

  She ordered potato soup because she was too exhausted to chew, and because she needed something warm and comforting and easy. It came with thick slabs of fragrant bread, sweet butter, and tasted so aromatic, she licked off her spoon with a contented smile. “No wonder it's called vellutata di patata, velvet of potatoes. It's like a caress, only inside.” She lifted her head and met his gaze straight on. “Now tell me your worst. Do I gather that you need to trace fifty-four nylons all over Florence and the one who can't show hers is the murderer?”

  He frowned. “Why fifty-four?”

  “Because I sold fifty-four pairs today.”

  Stefano closed his eyes for an instant, his face set like a mask.

  “I'm sorry.” Carlina wanted to wipe away the expression on his face. “In fact, there are less because some women bought two. I could--”

  “Did you sell them early or late in the day?”