Charmer's Death (Temptation in Florence Book 2)

by boeker, beate

  Carlina sighed and closed the window half-way, then turned around.

  Her mother threw the cushion aside and bent over the low wooden table where all her cards lay, spread out in an intricate pattern.

  She needs to re-do her roots. Carlina averted her gaze from her mother's bent head and looked at Garini. He was watching her mother with a patient expression, both hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. I wonder what he thinks.

  He looked up at that instant and gave her one of his rare smiles.

  She could feel her face going hot. I bet my ears are turning bright-red.

  Fabbiola frowned and shook her head. “There,” she said with all the panache of a sorcerer who had conjured up his first white rabbit. She made a wide move with her right arm. “Look at this.”

  “I can't read the cards,” Carlina said. “And I don't believe in them anyway.”

  Her mother pointed at something in the middle. “The black knight. The black knight means death.” She picked up another card to the right. “And this!” She waved it in the air. “Children.” The way she said it, she might just as well have said, “Cholera and pest”.

  Carlina rolled her eyes. “So what's bad about children?”

  “They're danger.” Her mother's voice turned sepulchral. “Great danger.” She lifted her head and fixed Carlina with a stare. “Beware of children.”

  Carlina started to laugh. “I will take care that no children will attack me. Anything else, Mama? Should I be careful of . . . broccoli, maybe?”

  “Broccoli? Why do you mention broccoli?” Her mother's eyes widened.

  Carlina shrugged. “It's harmless. As harmless as children. That's why I thought of broccoli. I could also have said cauliflower. Or brussel sprouts.”

  Stefano's mouth twisted.

  Fabbiola bent over the cards again. “It's funny that you mention it. I had one card here, one I couldn't quite interpret. The color green. Do you think . . . broccoli?” The next words got lost in a murmur.

  Carlina checked Stefano's face.

  His eyebrows had climbed up so high, they almost disappeared in his hairline.

  Carlina decided it was time to call it a night. She took a step forward. “Thank you for warning me, Mama. Now I think we'd better--”

  “Not only you.” Her mother didn't look up. “Him, too.”

  “You mean Stefano?”

  “Yes. There's danger. For both of you. Danger from the young.”

  “We'll keep it in mind.” Stefano turned to the door. “Good night, Mrs. Ashley-Mantoni.”

  “Buona notte, Mama.” Carlina gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek. “Don't worry. We'll heed your warning.”

  Her mother looked up and gave her a sudden smile. “Good. You do that. Good night.”

  She waved at them and turned back to her cards. The last they heard from her was a murmur. “Zucchini?”

  As they left the apartment, Carlina said under her voice. “Don't worry, it's only a phase.”

  “Good God,” Garini pushed a hand through his hair. “Don't tell me she has started on phases just like her father?”

  Carlina suppressed a smile. “I'm not sure. But this is pretty harmless, compared to some of the phases granddad went through.”

  “So far,” he said. “I shudder to think what might come next.” But he was smiling as he said it. He lifted one hand and touched her cheek, but before he could do anything else, a voice floated up from below.

  “Is that you, Carlina?” Emma poked her head over the staircase one floor down and craned it around to look up.

  “Yes.” Carlina suppressed a sigh. Note to self: Never try to kiss someone with family in the vicinity of ten kilometers.

  They went downstairs.

  Emma frowned at them. “What did you discuss with Fabbiola?”

  “Oh,” Carlina waved a hand. “This and that. Vegetables.”

  “Vegetables?” Emma's eyes threatened to fall out of her head.

  “Yes, broccoli.” Carlina lifted one eyebrow. “Anything else you need to know?”

  Emma sighed. “No. I just wondered when I heard your voices.” She turned to Garini. “Do you need to see the nylons again?”

  “No, thanks. Once was enough.”

  “Oh. Then what are you doing here?” Her limpid gaze took him in.

  Carlina cringed. Emma, please! “Stefano accompanied me home after the Florence Christmas Fair Meeting.” She gave her cousin a menacing stare.

  “Ah, I see.” Emma seemed to lose all interest in Stefano and took her cousin by the arm. “Carlina, you need to come and see what I bought today. I really--”

  “I was just going to say good-bye to Stefano.” Carlina hung back and clenched her teeth.

  “Well, you can do so now, can't you?” Emma opened the door of her apartment and went inside. “It won't take a minute, and then you can see what I bought. I'll be back in a minute.”

  “Neatly dismissed.” His voice was ironic. “Does she dislike me so much?”

  “I don't know.” Carlina was puzzled. “I didn't think she did.”

  “Never mind.” Stefano smiled. “Good night, Carlina.”

  “I'm sorry.” She felt miserable.

  “I'll see you soon.” He took her hand and lifted it briefly to his lips, then turned and went down the steps.

  “Carlina? Why are you standing on the landing like a sheep in a thunderstorm? Come in; it's damn cold on the staircase.”

  Carlina went into her cousin's apartment and closed the door behind her with care. “Can you tell me why you made a point of interrupting my date?”

  Emma rummaged through a glossy shopping bag and didn't look up. “Was that a date? Sorry, I thought he was just investigating that murder again.”

  “He wasn't.” Carlina made sure her voice showed how annoyed she felt. “And you knew that very well. So what's up?”

  Emma didn't reply. Her shiny hair had fallen forward and covered her face, and she was still busy pulling things out of the shopping bag and pushing them back in again.

  Carlina went to her cousin and took her by the shoulders. “Stop that; I know it was only an excuse to get Stefano out of the way. What's going on here?”

  Emma looked up and sighed. Her soft mouth pulled down at the corners. “I just don't like him.”

  Carlina narrowed her eyes. “I think you're hiding something. You're afraid of him.”

  Emma colored. “Absolutely not. I just don't like his manners. He's so . . . abrupt.”

  Carlina had to smile. Lucio,Emma's husband, and Stefano were as different as sugar and salt, but was that enough to make Emma feel antagonistic to that extent? So far, she had egged on Carlina, had encouraged her to get into a new relationship with every unsuitable man she could drag to the surface. “He isn't a soft-voiced Casanova, if that's what you mean.” Though giving her a hand-kiss had blown her away. It was an unusual gesture, outmoded, and yet, he had carried it off with ease and charm. She suppressed the need to lift her hand to her cheek.

  Emma frowned. “Why are you grinning like a kid in front of the Christmas tree?”

  Carlina wiped the smile from her face. “So you don't want to tell me?”

  “I have nothing to tell.” Emma closed her mouth with a snap. “But I give you a warning . . . make sure you keep your distance from that guy. You can't trust him.”

  Carlina lifted her eyebrows. “Noted.” Her voice dripped irony. She turned to the door. “Do you wish to add anything to that warning? Aren't you forgetting something?”

  “What?” Emma stemmed her hands on her hips and glared at her cousin.

  “Children.” Carlina opened the front door. “Don't forget they are extremely dangerous.” She shook her head. “Oh, these dangerous children. Vicious, I can tell you.” She slipped through the door. “Not to forget broccoli. Nasty stuff, that.”

  Just before she closed the door with a soft click behind her, she caught a last glimpse of her cousin, who stared at her, mouth slack, eyes alm
ost popping out of her head.

  Chapter 9

  I

  “American tourist strangled with unbreakable nylons!”

  The sunny morning eclipsed. Carlina froze in mid-movement and stared at the small booth on the corner of the street, where the newspaper hung, its headline screaming at passers-by. Not one newspaper, oh, no, dozens in crooked rows, hung like washing on a line. And every single one showed her frowning face, a blurred snapshot, with the distinctive Temptation logo in the background. They must have taken it yesterday when I left the store. She had never even noticed a photographer on the street. “She sold the murder weapon.” It said in black capitals below her picture.

  “Madonna.” Carlina forced herself to walk to the tiny newspaper booth in spite of her weak knees. “I'd like one of the Quotidiano, please.” She pointed at the blurred picture of her face.

  The old man plucked the Quotidiano from its position and handed it to her without looking up. Then he stretched out his other hand. The fingertips were blue from the cold. “One Euro thirty.”

  As she took the paper, she met his gaze.

  His eyes widened. “It's you.” He swallowed so hard, his Adam's apple visibly jumped up and down. His hand started to tremble. “It's you!”

  She tried a smile, but could feel it coming out as a frozen grimace. “I'm afraid so.”

  Every wrinkle on the old man's face stretched into a false smile. “Don't do anything to me.”

  “Of course not.” Carlina sounded more exasperated than soothing. “I didn't kill him.” She dropped the coins into his hand, but it was shaking so hard that a twenty cent piece dropped to the ground, behind the newspapers stacked in front of the salesman.

  The old man didn't seem to notice. His pale eyes remained fixed on her face, and he backed off one step. “Go away.”

  Carlina bit her lip. She nodded and whipped around, clutching the newspaper like a lifeline.

  At Temptation, she spread the paper onto the sales counter and read the whole lurid story. “A new lead has come up in the murder of the rich American Trevor V. Accanto. Until yesterday, we only knew that he had been strangled inside the Basilica di Santa Trìnita on December 18, but now our latest inside information reveals that the killer had a warped sense of humor: The American, who took a different lover in Florence on every Christmas vacation, was strangled with a pair of unbreakable nylons - one entanglement too much! The owner of the exclusive lingerie store Temptation, Carlina Ashley (see our picture to the right), sold the unusual murder weapon. She knew the victim but claims to have had no knowledge of the murder at the Basilica Santa Trìnita. The Italian police are closely cooperating with Switzerland, France, and the US in this murder as experts are investigating an international angle. Will the nylon-murderer continue, looking for unfaithful men all over Florence? Has she already picked out the next victim? Has your wife bought unbreakable nylons from Temptation on Via de' Tornabuoni? If yes, you'd better avoid dark places! Stay tuned . . . we'll keep you updated!”

  Carlina's hand covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide. This was worse than she'd thought.

  She lifted her head and stared unseeing at two teenage girls who were leaning against the shop window of Temptation, shadowing their faces right and left with their hands, peering inside. The second Carlina moved, they screamed and ran away. Oh, my God.

  Her cell phone rang.

  She checked the display and pounced on it like a cat. “Have you seen the Quotidiano?”

  “This minute.” Garini's voice was grim.

  “What should I do?” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch.

  “I assume you're not willing to close the shop, are you?” His voice remained calm.

  Carlina reared back. “Of course not! It's suicide to close a retail store three days before Christmas!”

  “I didn't expect any other answer.” He sounded resigned. “But you are aware that thousands of curious people will flock to your store and maybe even a nut-case or two?”

  Carlina swallowed heard. “I guess. But I can't close anyway.”

  Silence.

  She could not even hear him breathe.

  Ricciarda came through the door, looking wind-blown and lovely. She smiled at Carlina and went to the back to hang up her coat.

  Carlina forced herself to return the smile, then concentrated again on the phone. “Do you have any idea who leaked the information to the press, Stefano?”

  “I do.” He was quiet for a minute, then added. “Listen, I'll send you Piedro for the day.”

  “Piedro? Isn't that your assistant, the one who's a little slow?”

  He made a sound in his throat. “A little slow is the understatement of the year. Compared to him, a snail moves with lighting speed. He's the worst assistant I've ever had.”

  “Oh.”

  “I want him to stand in front of your window and check the people going in and out. I'll also tell him to keep an eye on everything that goes on inside the store. If you feel in any way threatened, just give him a sign, will you? I'm sorry I can't send anybody else.”

  “But he'll freeze to death, standing all day outside Temptation!”

  “If he does, I hope it'll hurt.” Stefano's voice remained calm. “He's the one who's responsible for all the crap in the Quotidiano.”

  Carlina gasped. “Piedro did that? But how? Why?”

  “Apparently, he met an old school friend yesterday; they had a bit of a good time, and in all innocence, or so he claims, he told him about the case. The good friend forgot to mention that he worked for the Quotidiano, though Piedro could have made some connection when he murmured something about being a free-lance journalist.”

  “Gosh.” Carlina pushed the newspaper toward Ricciarda who had come back from the storage area. “Read this,” she whispered and turned her back to her assistant, looking out of the window. Two men in business suits hurried past. One looked up at the name above the door, then dug the other in the ribs and pointed at the advertising sign for the nylons. “Mai più smagliature! No more runs!” Grinning, they both moved on.

  Something inside Carlina twisted. She remembered her pride when the logo of Temptation had been etched into the glass above the door, picturing it as a synonym for beauty and luxury. Now it was a synonym for murder.

  “Carlina?” Garini's voice sounded concerned. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Carlina pressed her lips together. “Did Piedro tell you all this voluntarily?” If he had done that, he was more courageous than she had ever suspected.

  “Let say I extracted it bit by bit.”

  “I see.” Carlina watched a woman stopping in front of the window. With her head hunched between her shoulders to protect herself from the cold, the woman looked at the advertising for nylons and narrowed her eyes, then shook her head and moved on.

  Carlina pressed her lips together. “You can send Piedro over right now. The second a madman tries to kill me, I'll push him forward, so he can take my place.”

  She hung up and turned around.

  Ricciarda looked up from the paper, her eyes huge. “Wow. What an accumulation of filth.”

  “Yes.” Carlina clenched her teeth. “And what rotten timing. Everybody with nothing to do will flock to Temptation today. To make it look as if they are serious buyers, they'll try on everything in sight or pretend to need extensive advice, when all they want to do is ogle me and the store.”

  Ricciarda frowned. “It's unfair.”

  “Yes.” Carlina lifted both shoulders. “We should convert Temptation to a souvenir-shop and sell buttons with a great slogan. Something like 'I was in the store where they sell unbreakable nylons as a murder weapon'. Then we could sell them for five Euros a piece.” She snorted. “I bet I'd be a millionaire tonight.”

  Ricciarda gave her an encouraging smile. “I'm sure it won't be as bad as that.”

  “Let's hope not. I--” Carlina broke off and stared into space. “But what am I saying? Of course!”

  R
icciarda blinked. “You'll make the buttons?”

  “Not the buttons!” Carlina grinned. “But we can take the Temptation cups instead. Do you remember them?”

  “The espresso cups with the golden Temptation logo? I thought you'd reserved them as gifts for good customers?”

  “Yes.” Carlina already reached for the telephone and started to dial. “But I had to order much more than I wanted in order to get the customized version. They're at my apartment, and thankfully, they're packed in small boxes, so they're not too heavy. I'll call Uncle Teo to bring them. We can build them into the decoration, and we'll sell them for fifteen Euros per piece.” She started to chant, speaking like a vegetable seller at the market. “Come here, Signore, Signori, we have the perfect souvenir from the murderous store in old-town Florence.” She stuck the phone between her shoulder and her ear while at the same time clearing some space on the sales counter for the cups. “Uncle Teo? It's Carlina. I need a favor from you - I wanted to ask if you could bring me the boxes with espresso cups from my apartment. You helped me to carry them upstairs some weeks ago, do you remember?”

  “I'm so sorry, Carlina, but I don't have time today.” Uncle Teo panted as if he had been running.

  In the background, Carlina could hear a familiar sounding ping. She frowned. She knew that sound. What was it? “Where are you, Uncle Teo?”

  “Oh, I'm on my way to see a friend.”

  Now she knew. The ping was the sound the bus made if you pulled the cable overhead to make it stop. “You're going by bus?” Carlina couldn't stop herself from sounding incredulous. Uncle Teo hated public transport.

  “Em. “ Uncle Teo cleared his throat. “I really have to go now, Carlina. I'm sorry I can't help today. Some other time, all right?”

  “I . . .”

  He hung up before she could finish the sentence.

  “Wow.” Carlina shook her head. “How odd.” Now that she came to think of it, Uncle Teo had seemed very busy yesterday, and there was an air of suppressed excitement about him, as if he knew a secret. She frowned. Maybe he was planning a special Christmas surprise? Heaven forbid.