Charmer's Death (Temptation in Florence Book 2)

by boeker, beate

  “Stop.” Emma held out her hand. “You can stay.” With a sudden turn of temper, she dropped onto Carlina's comfortable sofa and stretched out her long legs. “So, what's the deal, Commissario?” She gave him a look underneath her long lashes. “I hope it's nothing too dreadful.” Her watchful eyes belied the playful tone.

  He took a piece of folded paper from his jacket and handed it to her. “It's this.” His gaze stayed on her face.

  “The incriminating document.” Emma's voice mocked while unfolding it. “Hand it over to the criminal, and she'll--” she choked and stared at the picture, then jumped up. “This is a Photoshop-job!”

  “I'm afraid not.” He stood like a tree, not an emotion visible.

  Carlina watched her cousin with a worried frown.

  “Where did you find this?” Emma held the paper away as if it was contagious.

  “In Trevor Accanto's papers. We know you had an affair with him three years ago.”

  Emma threw a scared glance at Carlina.

  Carlina looked at her, helpless. She opened her mouth, but a glance from Stefano made her close it again.

  Suddenly, the air seemed to be sucked out of Emma, and with a small moan, she dropped the paper and covered her face with her hands. “Don't tell Lucio.” The words were a whisper.

  He picked up the document and stored it away in his pocket. “I won't unless it's absolutely necessary.”

  Emma lifted her pale face to him. “Lucio won't understand.”

  “Could you tell us about it?”

  Emma shuddered. “I will, but only if you don't switch on that infernal tape recorder. And you're not taking any notes, either!”

  “In that case, you might have to repeat the information officially later.” Garini didn't budge an inch.

  Emma shrugged. “I don't care. Do you want to hear my story or not?”

  “I do.”

  Carlina couldn't stand it anymore. She sat next to her cousin and took her hand.

  Emma gave her a small smile, then turned to Stefano with an impatient move. “Oh, sit down, Garini. I don't want you to tower over me while I spill my guts.”

  Stefano sat on the chair with the leopard print cover and bent forward. “Please start.”

  “I met him at the mercato on the Piazza Lorenzo Ghiberti, a week before Christmas. Mama had sent me to buy some olives. You know, Carlina, Mama insists that Giulio's olives are the best because of his oak casks. As usual, Giulio asked me to test different olives, and suddenly, Trevor was standing next to me. We tested the olives together and compared them. It was fun. His Italian was perfect, and he was so . . . charming.”

  Carlina nodded. She knew exactly what Emma was talking about.

  “The rest you can imagine. He told me from the start it was only a Christmas fling. That's what he called it.” Emma's smile was wry. “I didn't believe him, but I kept him a secret from my family.” She took a deep breath. “Four weeks later, he left. His phone didn't work anymore, and I never had his address in the US.”

  “Did you try to find him?” Garini asked.

  “No.” Emma lifted her head. “I have my pride. Besides, I realized I had made a fool of myself. I don't like that feeling. Lucio deserves better.” She pressed her lips together. “Is that enough?”

  “Not quite.” Garini shook his head. “Can you tell us anything else about him, about his character?”

  “He was generous,” Emma said without hesitating. “He was great fun, but he had those fixed rules, and if you tried to get too close, he would clam up.” She frowned. “He hated the idea of being tied down.”

  “I can imagine.” Garini's voice was dry.

  “I got the impression that he once had a nasty experience, and that was why he made sure he played the game by his own rules.”

  “Can you be a bit more specific?”

  “No.” Emma shook her head and stared into space. “Oh, and he was a devout Catholic. He went to church at least once a week, and he sometimes stopped to pray, on a whim.”

  Garini lifted his eyebrows. “A philandering Catholic?”

  Emma shrugged. “It takes all sorts.”

  “Did you ever see him again?”

  Emma nodded as if she didn't want to remember. “Once, last year. He was at a concert, together with another woman. I pretended I had not seen him.”

  “What did you feel when you saw him?”

  Emma gave him a look that spoke volumes. “Do you really need to know?”

  “Yes.” He held her gaze.

  “I was embarrassed.” She balled her right fist. “I had just become engaged to Lucio, and I didn't want to remember how stupid I had been.”

  Carlina felt sick. How Emma must have suffered . . . and she had never even known it.

  Garini nodded. “What did you think when you heard that he was Annalisa's lover?”

  “I couldn't believe it. Of course I knew that Annalisa had a new love interest, but I had no idea that it was Trevor until Mama mentioned his name in passing. I dropped my fork on the floor and hid under the table to get my face under control.” Emma lifted her slim hand and pushed back her hair. “Next I heard he had been killed. I couldn't believe that, either. He had been so full of life.” She took a deep breath. “Then again, he had it coming.”

  “Did you suspect Annalisa?”

  Carlina winced.

  “Not for a minute.” Emma didn't hesitate.

  His light eyes narrowed. “Is that the famous Mantoni loyalty or are you speaking the truth?”

  “It's the truth.” Emma spat out the words. “Annalisa would never have killed him. She wanted to marry him. Delusional, of course, but I couldn't very well tell her that she could stop dreaming that particular dream.”

  Garini pulled out a piece of paper he had prepared earlier. It showed all the unidentified women from Trevor Accanto's notebook next to each other - with Trevor's side cut off, and not in the order of their appearance inside the notebook. “Please look at these pictures and tell me if you know any of these women.”

  Emma pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, but held out her hand with a bored motion. “Let me see.” She glanced at the pictures without interest. “I've never seen any of them.” Then she pointed at the blouse of snow-white. “What an awful top. This one could have done with professional help to get her outfit organized.”

  Garini ignored her remark. “Are you quite sure you don't recognize anyone?”

  “Yes, I am. I already told you!” Emma glared at him.

  “However, a few moments ago, you said you had met Trevor with another woman at a concert last year.”

  Emma gave him an irritated glance. “So what?”

  Carlina flinched. She knew Emma's aggressiveness came from feeling cornered. Would Garini understand? His face didn't give anything away. I hope Emma speaks the truth in spite of her fears.

  Garini looked unmoved, as if he didn't recognize aggressiveness even if it bit him. “Are you willing to swear that you have never seen any of these women? Try to picture them with another outfit, their hair done up, maybe?”

  Emma bent over the paper again with an exaggerated sigh, made a show of examining each face, held up the paper against the light, put it down again, and finally said. “No. I don't know a single face.”

  Carlina swallowed. Usually, Trevor had stuck to one woman per vacation. If that had been the case, Suzanne Morin would have been the woman with him during the concert one year ago, but Emma had not shown the slightest sign of recognizing her.

  “Listen, Commissario,” Emma pressed her lips together. “At the concert, I only saw her for a fleeting moment. The light wasn't strong, and I admit I focused more on Trevor than on her at the time, so it's no wonder if I don't recognize her, even if she should be part of this odd gallery.” She made a contemptuous move with her hand toward the paper. “Where does it come from anyway?”

  He fixed her with one of his immobile stares. “I can't tell you.”

  Carlina closed her eyes. Sh
e knew he said it to protect her; after all, she had been part of the odd gallery, but she also knew how Emma would react to that statement.

  Emma jumped up, her eyes flaring. “Fine. Do you need to know anything else, Commissario?”

  “Not at the moment.” Garini got up too.

  “Good.” Emma took two swift steps toward the door. “Because I am extremely fed up with being interviewed.” Her head held high, she walked out of the apartment like a queen.

  Behind her, the door closed with a bang.

  A wave of tiredness swept over Carlina.

  Stefano turned to her with a sigh. “That wasn't easy. Thank you for sticking to the rules.” He frowned. “You look pale. Do you need to eat something?”

  With slow moves, she got up from the sofa. Her legs felt as if made of old rubber, mushy and brittle. “Actually, I think I need a hug.” To her horror, her voice broke.

  Without a word, he opened his arms.

  She ran into them.

  He crushed her to his chest and held her tight.

  Her head fitted right next to his shoulder, and her nose was pressed against his neck. She inhaled his scent and closed her eyes. Tears pricked behind her lids, tears of relief, of happiness, of exhaustion. She could feel his lips against her hair, and for an instant, life was perfect.

  She couldn't tell how long she was in his arms, not moving, not wanting to be anywhere else, ever, but finally, he lifted his head.

  “Carlina?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You've had a big scare today, and I think you're in shock. I want you to stay at home for the rest of the day.”

  With regret she took a step back. “I can't, Stefano. It's only two days to Christmas. This is the most important time of the year. I can't put my feet on the sofa like any old Medici lady. I have a business to run.”

  He hesitated, then bowed his head. “All right.”

  Relief pulsed through her. He took her business seriously. He understood how important it was to her, even if it cost her something, even if she wasn't in the best of shape to cope with it. He took her seriously, treated her like an equal. She smiled.

  He blinked. “What's that for?”

  “What?”

  “That thousand watt smile.”

  She could feel her face going hot. “I . . . it's because you don't treat me like a weak lady.”

  He shook his head. “You'd consider that an insult, hmm?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled. “I see. Would you accept it if I prepared something quick to eat while you stayed on the sofa? Once you've had lunch, I'll take you back to Temptation.”

  “Willingly.” She dropped onto the sofa. Truth be told, she still felt rather wobbly.

  He took her leopard spread and covered her with it, tucking in the ends around her.

  It felt odd. She'd never seen Garini as a caretaker.

  “Now rest.”

  She closed her eyes. “I doubt you'll find much to make lunch with.”

  “I'll manage.”

  She heard him walk to her kitchen. It was a tiny place, with the roof crooked above him, and she didn't think he would be able to find enough food, but he surprised her. Fifteen minutes later, he came back, carrying a tray with a large plate. On it, he had arranged some olives, toasted bread with butter and several slices of typical Florentine sausage, a bit of her favorite cheese - Marzolino di Lucardo - and for dessert, a bowl of yogurt with sugar, and a cup of coffee.

  As they shared the meal, Carlina felt herself touching ground again. “I needed that,” she said in surprise.

  “I know.” Stefano dropped a bit of cheese into his mouth and looked around him. “Why do you have so many things with a leopard design?”

  She smiled. “Because I like it.”

  “I see.”

  “Don't you like it?”

  He grinned. “No. It's too dramatic, too heavy for me.” He looked at her. “It suits you, though.”

  “You mean I'm dramatic and heavy?”

  “No.” He took the empty tray and got up. “But you have many unexpected layers.”

  She pushed the leopard cover away. “I'll help you.”

  “Please don't.” He went to the kitchen. “I'd rather you rested a bit longer.”

  “But I--”

  He looked over his shoulder, and his eyes smiled into hers. “Humor me.”

  She dropped back. “Oh, all right.” She listened to him clattering around in the kitchen. It felt good, as if they belonged together. “Stefano?”

  “Yes?”

  “Where are we now?”

  “With the case, you mean?” He dropped something into the sink with a metallic sounding clang.

  “Yes.”

  “I've reached a state of almost total confusion,” he said. “There are way too many women about.”

  She laughed. “I bet it's a man after all.”

  “That's not very likely.” Another clang accompanied the words. “But I'll keep an open mind. Do you have anyone special in mind?”

  “Madonna, no.” Carlina laughed. “I still put my money on Mona Lisa.”

  “We've put her picture into the newspapers today. I hope someone will recognize her.” A cupboard door banged. “I also plan to show the pictures to Ricciarda this afternoon, when I drop you off. Maybe she'll know more about Mona Lisa.”

  “I doubt it.” Carlina frowned. “If I remember correctly, Mona Lisa only talked to me on the morning of the murder.” Then she shrugged. “But who knows, maybe Ricciarda can help anyway. Once you have Mona Lisa, you'll have your case solved, that much is sure.”

  “So you don't think it was Suzanne?”

  Carlina hesitated. “I . . . no, I don't think so after all. She seemed completely around the bend, but her fixed idea was quite the opposite - she wanted revenge for the murder of Trevor. That doesn't tie in with the rest, does it?”

  “Not really.” He came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a hand towel. “She will have to be treated, though, and it'll be a long time before she'll be out on the streets again.”

  “Poor Leopold.”

  He gave her a sardonic look, “I'm not worried about him. The Mantoni clan will keep him busy until his wounds are healed.”

  Carlina threw a cushion at his head.

  He caught it and returned it to her. “Enough resting on the sofa, lady. You're fit to return to the world now.”

  Carlina laughed and got up. “You know one thing? I wonder where my mother is. She should have been here long ago, checking on me.”

  Stefano winked. “I asked Uncle Teo to keep her busy.”

  Chapter 12

  “I'm so glad you're back, Commissario!” Piedro, who had been sitting with drooping shoulders on a chair, jumped up with alacrity.

  “What a warm welcome.” Garini took off his thick jacket and hung it onto the peg behind the door. “What happened?”

  “That Frenchwoman, this . . . this Suzanne . . .” Piedro's voice petered out.

  “Yes? What of her?”

  “I think she's crazy.” Piedro opened his eyes wide. “I mean . . .” He made a move with his hand. “Mental.”

  “I think you might be right.”

  “She seemed all nice and friendly until the lawyer started to talk about Trevor Accanto's murder, and then, she suddenly turned into a sort of . . .”

  “Well?” Stefano lifted his eyebrows.

  “A monster.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes!” Piedro took a deep breath. “She shouted and hissed and cried. It was real scary. They asked a psychologist to come, and he said she should go to a closed ward.”

  “Good.” Stefano nodded. “For the moment, that's the best place for her to be.”

  Piedro looked at him with big eyes. “Is it true she attacked Carlina Ashley?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. I mean, that must have made you angry.”

  “It did.” For once, Piedro had hit the nail on the head. Stefano closed his mouth
with a snap. Were his feelings that obvious? His challenging gaze dared his subordinate to go on.

  Piedro swallowed and had sense enough to change the topic. “I have not yet received any confirmation on the Japanese woman and the one who now lives in Rome, but they promised to send me the reports tomorrow at the latest.”

  “Good.” Stefano frowned. “Please check when Suzanne Morin entered the country.”

  Piedro nodded.

  “You'd better make a note,” Garini said.

  “I can remember it.” Piedro looked at the floor.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” Stefano didn't mention the previous times when Piedro had dropped several leads at once. Today, he had to remember only one thing.

  “Em.” Piedro shuffled his feet.

  “Yes?”

  “We got a report by special courier today, from America.”

  Stefano lifted his eyebrows. “Where is it?”

  Piedro pointed at the in-tray on Stefano's desk. “I put it there.”

  Stefano reached for it. “Have you read it?”

  “I tried to, but it's all in English.”

  When Stefano opened the cardboard folder, a hint of a sweet smell wafted up to his nose. American paper. It smells different than ours. He wondered why. Did they mix anything special into the pulp?

  “Can I leave now, Commissario?” Piedro slid to the edge of his chair. “It's my mother's birthday tomorrow, and I still have to buy a gift for her.”

  “Her birthday, you say?” Garini looked up from the American report. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. “I thought it was your parent's wedding anniversary, or did I get that wrong?”

  “Oh, no.” Piedro shook his head, not suspecting anything. “My parent's wedding anniversary is in May, not in December.”

  “It'll be twenty-six years the next May, won't it?”

  Piedro looked surprised. “No. They've been married twenty-three years.” He smiled. “I can remember because I'm twenty-two.”

  “I must have mixed up something.” Garini returned the smile. “Yes, you can go.” When the door had closed behind Piedro, he narrowed his eyes. Twenty-three years. If he was lucky, the affair had taken place before the Cervi marriage. That would help. Hopefully. He had to tackle Marcella Cervi later today, but first, he wanted to read what the US had to tell him. The first document was covered with a decisive handwriting in black ink. Trevor Accanto's will. Finally.