“That would be true for quite a few fathers and yet, they have not found themselves killed.” His voice was dry.
Mona Lisa shook her head. “You check into her. I'm sure I'm right.” She straightened and slipped forward on her chair. “I have told you all I know. I have to go.”
“One moment, please.” He held up his hand.
Her eyes widened in fear. “You said I could trust you.”
“I'm not arresting you.” He made sure he kept his distance, so she wouldn't be scared into flight. “Why are you coming to me now, in the middle of the night, at--” He checked his watch, “At ten thirty? You say you went to Temptation in the morning. Why didn't you come to see me right away?”
She squared her shoulders. “I didn't want to come. I thought you wouldn't believe me. But when it got dark, and when I was at home, waiting once again, waiting for you to come and arrest me, waiting until I thought I would go out of my mind, I realized it would make a better impression if I came of my own free will.”
“You were right.” He searched her face. Was she telling the truth? Here was a suspect, serving herself on a golden platter, with a perfect motive, the murder weapon newly purchased, and no alibi for the time in question. He was a fool if he let her go. “Do you still have the nylons?”
“I do.” She opened her handbag and pulled out the tights. The soft material shimmered in the harsh light of the interrogation room.
That doesn't prove anything. She can have purchased another pair at any later point of time. Garini nodded. “Thank you. May I keep them for the time being?” He wanted Carlina to inspect them and to confirm that it was the right model. “I'll give you a receipt.”
She looked at him without blinking. “I can give them to you, but I don't want a receipt. I won't tell you my name.”
He held her gaze. “I promise I'll check out every detail, and I do appreciate that you came here and told me what you think. But how can I get in touch with you if I need to ask anything else?”
“You won't.” She got up. “That's it. I will go home now and sleep for the first time in days. You do your job and arrest the daughter.”
He let her go. Cervi would have his head if he ever knew about it, but that didn't matter. He had to see Ricciarda. His heart stopped. She was with Carlina at the Christmas Fair. He checked his watch once again. They would be busy pulling down the booth. A feeling of fear pooled deep down in his stomach. What if Mona Lisa was right? Carlina all on her own with Ricciarda, Ricciarda who, if she was the murderer, would have no hesitation at all to defend herself with drastic measures if Carlina should stumble upon the truth.
Nonsense, a calm voice inside him said. They are working together peacefully, and you can still interrogate Ricciarda tomorrow. Even if she is the American's daughter, it doesn't automatically follow that she killed him.
Garini clenched his fist. Before he had taken a conscious decision, he had already grabbed his coat and pocketed the gun he didn't often take. His body seemed to act with a life of its own even while his mind still grappled with the thought. She'll laugh at you. He shook his head and grabbed the Christmas gift he had planned to give to Carlina tomorrow at Temptation. Ha. You think you need an excuse to see her? The voice inside him sneered. Without noticing it, he started to run.
Chapter 17
Carlina stared without blinking at the gun in Ricciarda's hand. Everything inside her froze in shock.
“I'm sorry I have to kill you.” Ricciarda's voice sounded normal, as if they were discussing which bra to put on display this evening. “I really enjoyed working with you.”
“Ricciarda.” Carlina cleared her throat. “I . . . I don't believe this. You killed Trevor? You? But why? How . . . ?”
Ricciarda's face changed into a mask of hate.
Carlina had trouble recognizing her. A feeling of horror swamped her.
“He was my father.” Ricciarda's hand shook as she spat out the words. “My father. Who left my mother for another woman before I was one year old.”
“Your father?” Carlina couldn't take it in. “But--”
“What?” Ricciarda snapped.
“I . . . I can't believe it.” The look on Riccidarda's face frightened her. She looked like another person, someone she had never seen before.
“It's true, though.” Ricicarda's voice was bitter. “Though he doesn't deserve to be called my father. He left us as soon as he could.”
Carlina glanced down the street. Nobody. It was as if they were all alone in the world and not in the middle of Florence. Make her talk. “That wasn't your fault.” She tried to make her voice sound soothing in spite of its being pressed down by fear.
“No, it wasn't my fault.” Ricciarda agreed without emotion. “But it was my responsibility to make him pay.”
“Nonsense.”
“Don't you say nonsense to me!” Ricciarda's voice rose. “My mother told me to bring him to justice. When she died, she said I should do it.”
Carlina shook her head. “That's crazy.”
“I'm not crazy!” Ricciarda narrowed her eyes. “He had it coming.” She sounded almost hysterical now.
“But . . . but you were at Temptation when Trevor was killed. The waiter gave you an alibi for the full time!”
“I wasn't at Temptation,” Ricciarda said with disdain. “I'd never left the store unattended before, but I felt the need to pray, to clean myself, so--”
Carlina thought she'd misunderstood. “To clean yourself?”
“Yes.” Ricciarda pressed her lips together. “I had met my father,” again, she spat out the word as if it was an insult, “for the first time that morning. He tried to flirt with me.” Her face twisted. “With me.”
Like a flash, Carlina recalled Trevor and Ricciarda, laughing together at Temptation, before Ricciarda knew who he was. She had thought they looked like an advertisement for family shampoo. No wonder. They had the same blue eyes, the same black hair, even the same way of looking over their shoulders. How could I have been so blind?
“He flirted with me, with his own daughter. It shocked me.” For an instant, Ricciarda's eyes wavered aside, as if looking for direction.
Carlina held her breath. Would she dare to jump at her? No, she was too far away. Better make her talk. “He didn't know you were his daughter.”
“Of course not!” Ricciarda's face was distorted by hate. “He didn't even recognize his own daughter, instead, he planned to add me to his harem. How sick is that?”
Carlina bit her lip. She didn't recognize her calm assistant anymore - the woman in front of her was ravaged by emotions. Helpless, she glanced at the empty street. The snow muffled all sound. Maybe someone would come before Ricciarda worked herself up to pull the trigger. But would that change the situation? What would happen if an innocent citizen should really come up the street and discover Ricciarda with her gun deep within the shadow of the arch? It would not help at all - Ricciarda was safe underneath the arch, with plenty of time to kill anybody coming closer from the street. Damn.
Ricciarda focused again on Carlina. “He was Satan.”
“What?” It sounded like a croak. Icy tendrils of fear sneaked up and down Carlina's back.
“He seemed like the angel of light, oh, so charming, so delightful, but he was all black underneath.”
“And that's why you killed him?” Carlina shook her head in utter disbelief. She had never seen it coming, had never suspected the boiling feelings beneath Ricciarda's cool surface. She had never met the real Ricciarda.
“I didn't plan to kill him.” Ricciarda's face twisted. “But when I came to church, to my church, my sanctuary, to pray, to find peace for my troubled mind, just five minutes, not more,” the words were tumbling over each other now, and her chest was heaving “There he was, right in front of me, praying!” Her voice rose. “Praying! Satan, praying inside my church. He was soiling it.” She looked at her hands. “I had to do it. It wasn't right.” She lifted her head. “You should agree. He was bus
y destroying your cousin.”
Carlina gasped. “You can't kill people because they destroy others!”
Ricciarda was unmoved. “An eye for an eye. The scripture says so.”
She's crazy. Carlina had trouble with her breathing.
“I bought another pair of stockings that looked very much like ours – though it could get runs, of course - and wore them instead, so you wouldn't notice that mine were missing.”
Carlina wasn't interested in the stockings. “What about Sabrina?”
“Sabrina took him away from my mother. When I got your call--”
“My call?” Carlina frowned. “What call?”
“You called me last night, during the reception at her house.”
Carlina's knees went weak as she recalled how she had fumbled with the phone in her pocket, trying to reach Garini. “You mean I called you when--?”
“You didn't say anything, and I was about to hang up when I heard your voice, and then Sabrina's. The things she said . . . ,” again, the gun made an erratic turn, “. . . they made me see red. She stole him from my mother and me, and she had the gall to say it was his own, free will.” She pressed her lips together. “She deserved to be shot.”
Carlina's head turned. “Ricciarda, please listen to me. I think it's time we both go to Garini and discuss this with him.”
Ricciarda's harsh laughter interrupted her. “No way. He'll lock me up.”
“He'll find out anyway.” Carlina hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt. “And it'll be much better if you talk to him before that happens.”
“Nonsense.” Ricciarda shook her head. “Now stop talking and--”
Before she could finish her sentence, a white blanket dropped from above over her head, following by something heavy and dark. With a muffled cry, Ricciarda fell down.
Carlina threw herself aside.
The gun went off with a soft sound. A silencer. Carlina crawled on her knees through the thin layer of snow to find a bit of cover behind one of the green metal poles. She could make out some movements in the dark, a shadowed person shuffling around, but not enough to understand what was happening. Did she have enough time to run away before Ricciarda fired her gun again?
“Are you all right, Carlina?”
Garini! Carlina's heart skipped a beat. She peeked around the pole.
“Come here and help me.” His voice sounded different, not quite as cool and ironic as usual. “There's no danger anymore.”
She went forward with care, hunched over, a watchful eye on the unmoving bulk next to Garini.
He sat on the ground as if he was having a picnic, a white blanket underneath him. “I handcuffed her,” he said. “On hands and feet. She's unconscious right now. It seems I landed right on top of her.” He made a move with his chin to the side. “Would you pick up the gun and hand it to me? Just use your fingertips, will you?”
Carlina blinked. Her gaze followed the direction he had indicated and came to rest on the gun, lying in the deepest shadow of the arch like a toy. Without a word, she picked it up and handed it to him.
He placed the gun inside his jacket, then turned to her. “Look at me.” He lifted his eyebrows, then patted the white blanket. “Sit down.”
Carlina didn't move. “What on earth--?“
“It's your Christmas gift. The quilt you admired at Lisa's booth.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I hope it's not ruined, but I had nothing else on hand to soften the fall.”
His smile warmed something inside her. “Garini.”
“I would really appreciate if you could sit down.” He sounded amused. “At this distance, I can't judge the exact shade of green of your face, and I feel an urge to do that.”
She held out her hand. “Why don't you get up?”
“Some slight problem with my leg,” he said. “I'd rather sit.”
Carlina lowered herself onto the blanket next to him. It felt good not to depend on her trembling knees anymore, but everything still felt surreal. The snow continued to come down in tiny whirls, innocent, white, as if the world was a pure place.
They sat in the shadow of the arch without moving. Slowly, the world stopped shaking.
When she lifted her gaze to his face, the tenderness in it made her breathless. To hide her feelings, she looked up at the trapdoor gaping open above them. “A true Deus-Ex-Machina maneuver, Garini.” She made sure her voice sounded light and ironic. “Quite impressive, this drop from the sky.”
He smiled, understanding deep in his eyes. “I'd hoped you would appreciate it.”
“I do.” She managed a wobbly smile. “How did you manage to arrive so spot-on?”
“Long story. I'll tell you later.” He pressed his lips together. “I was almost too late. When I came through the back door into the building, the exhibition room was empty. I thought I'd missed you, then I heard your voices downstairs. The second I opened the side door, I saw Ricciarda with the gun. Thank God she was so intent on you that she didn't notice me. I had no clue how to get close enough to her without putting you in danger.”
Carlina shivered. “You could only have stopped her with a gun.”
“I had a gun.” His voice was calm. “But if I had shot at such a close distance, the bullet would have ricocheted off the stone walls, beyond my control. Then I remembered the trap door and rushed upstairs. It took ages to open it.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I was almost too late.”
Carlina relaxed against his shoulder. For some reason, she wanted to cry.
He put his finger underneath her chin until she had to lift her face to him. “It's over, Carlina.”
She started to tremble.
His lips brushed hers.
They were cold and yet, a sudden flash of heat soared through her.
A car turned with squealing tires around the corner and raced down the street. It slid through the snow, and while it was still moving, the doors opened and several people tumbled out, landing right in front of them.
“Carlina!” Fabbiola surged forward, her golden jacket glittering underneath the street-lamp. “Are you all right?”
Carlina blinked. “Hi, Mama. Where are you springing from?”
Uncle Teo advanced with care through the snow, closely followed by Leopold Morin who slithered forward on his slippery leather shoes. “We were worried about you.” Uncle Teo winked at Garini. “But it seems that wasn't necessary.”
“Why are you huddling against the Commissario like that?” Fabbiola's tone implied she didn't approve. “Couldn't you find a more romantic place than a freezing arch?”
“We didn't have much choice.” Garini's voice shook with suppressed laughter. His arm tightened around Carlina's shoulder.
A smile spread across her face. It felt strange, as if she had forgotten how to smile properly and had to start learning it again from scratch, but it was a beginning.
“What's that?” The Frenchman pointed a trembling finger at Ricciarda, still lying without moving on the ground. His thin face quivered.
“It's Ricciarda Fazzolari.”
“What?” Fabbiola started forward. “Is she dead?”
“No,” Garini said. “She's unconscious. She's also the murderer of Trevor Accanto.” His voice was sober.
“. . . and of Sabrina. She shot her.” Carlina's voice shook. “She told me so herself.”
For once, her mother was robbed of speech.
With his free hand, Garini flipped open his cell phone and pressed a few buttons.
“Who are you calling?” Fabbiola sounded accusing.
“Reinforcements,” Garini said. “I have to tie up this case, and Ricciarda and my leg both need to see a doctor before we freeze into permanent position here.”
Fabbiola narrowed her eyes. “How come she's unconscious? What did you do to her?”
“Oh, it was nothing.” Carlina replied for Garini who had started to speak into his phone. “He just jumped down several meters from the trapdoor up
there,” she pointed at the arch above them, “because otherwise, Ricciarda would have added me to her list of victims.”
Fabbiola looked stunned. “I didn't see that in the cards.” She shook her head in dismay. “How is that possible?”
Chapter 18
Fabbiola nestled a slip and matching bra into the small folding box Carlina had ordered in bulk for the first time this Christmas. It opened up into a tiny box all by itself if you pulled at one end, and it was the quickest way to create a charming gift package.
Carlina watched her mother from the corner of her eye and gave a silent prayer of thanks that she had decided to order the boxes in spite of the cost. She would not have made it through today, short one staff member, if her mother hadn't jumped in to do the gift packaging, and to watch her mother wrestle with scotch tape and slippery wrapping paper would have stretched her taut nerves beyond a point she could endure.
Carlina glanced at her watch. Ten more minutes, and she could close the doors of Temptation. The high Christmas turnover was a boost that helped her to go on, but this year, she felt more tired than ever before. Well, no wonder. She still couldn't take it in that Ricciarda had been the killer, Ricciarda, who had worked next to her for months.
Garini had sent her a text message this morning, telling her that he had sprained his ankle and torn a ligament. He had also noted that Ricciarda was physically well and that he would be in touch later on. His last sentence had helped her through the day.
The store was packed full, and both Marianna and Annalisa were busy with customers. Carlina felt she never wanted to approach a customer again, but she forced herself to address an elderly man who stood in front of the display with his hands folded at his back, detached and cool, as if he was admiring a painting in the Uffizi gallery. “Can I help you with any advice?” She smiled at him from the side.
He turned and looked at her.
Her eyes widened. She knew those light eyes, the penetrating gaze. Garini's father! “You must be Signor Garini.” She held out her hand. “I'm Carlina Ashley. I know your son.” She would never again overlook family traits. Never.
Charmer's Death (Temptation in Florence Book 2) Page 25