Peril at the Pellicano Hotel

by Adriana Licio

  “I don’t think it’s that arcane.” Giò smiled. “But it’s true – even Guido, for all his confidence, seems to be rather taken with her.”

  “They had a sort of relationship during our first retreat. Or maybe ‘relationship’ isn’t the right word.”

  “Oh,” said Giò, disappointed. “I thought he’d be stronger than that.”

  “Well at least he wasn’t falling at her feet. Maybe he felt attracted to her, but he soon realised what she was really made of and has not been pining after her, as I’ve seen other men doing.”

  The main door opened and Vittoria dragged her sister in from the hotel terrace. They were clearly not aware of the two friends sitting on the sofa in the dim light of the corridor.

  “You’re drenched!” Vittoria was saying. “I thought you had gone back to our room…”

  “I did, but I was too angry and restless to stay. I hate that woman and I’m going to kill her if she is still here tomorrow.”

  Vittoria pushed the lift button. As they waited, she whispered, “I’d kill her too if I thought I could get away with it.”

  As the sisters left, Annika sighed. “It’s going to be hard to hold a retreat in these conditions. I feel responsible…”

  “We all know it’s not your fault. Do you think she went on your website and read when and where we were going to meet?”

  “Isn’t that what she said in the restaurant? She moved her supposed engagement to coincide with our retreat. I would have just written personal emails to all of you with the details if I’d suspected what she was up to. But for marketing new courses and classes, it’s good for people to see I organise retreats, and I love putting the ‘sold-out’ tag on them. I confess, it’s my best marketing tool.”

  “Of course, I understand.”

  Two figures came out from the restaurant, one of them upset.

  “It’s not the first time she’s told me to my face what an awful writer I am. Frankly, I believe it’s true.”

  “Come on, man, your readers have a very different opinion of both you and your books. I wouldn’t give a damn about what that woman says…”

  “My poor Simone,” Annika whispered, her heart tightening in tenderness.

  “Let’s have a drink at the bar and forget about it,” Alberto added, leading Simone in that direction. “Erminia was right – I wouldn’t be surprised if Margherita ended up stabbed in the back. She’s done enough of that – metaphorically, of course – to other people.”

  “I can’t believe Guido decided to stay and chat with her,” said Simone. “I could no longer bear to be near her.”

  “I think he’s just teasing her, and she is too full of herself to realise it.” Alberto smiled. “He’s got good reason to take his revenge on her.”

  6

  Affinities And Beyond

  Giò awoke early the next morning. Looking outside, she was greatly disappointed to see the weather was as bad as it had been the day before. The beach was still obscured by the waves, the sea stopping just below the wall separating it from the hotel terrace. The wind was howling through the trees next to the car park. At least the rain had stopped for the time being, which was good news as she needed a walk before breakfast.

  “Hello, aren’t you staying for the yoga class?” A voice stopped her as she reached the threshold of the hotel. Guido was sitting on one of the sofas in the hall, his laptop on and a number of papers spread on the table in front of him.

  “Not really a yoga person, I’m afraid. I prefer a little fresh air. Are you already at work?” she asked, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes.

  “I need to move fast this week to get as much done as possible.”

  “Frankly, I thought you were at risk of a hangover, after seeing you neck back all those Sambucas last night.”

  “I love them,” he laughed guiltily, “but they shouldn’t interfere with my work. Would you like a companion on your walk? I need a break.”

  “Of course.”

  “I will leave my laptop at reception; I think I can leave all these papers here.”

  They walked along the road that ran above the coastline, stopping quite a few times to admire the tumbling sea and the view of the gulf.

  “That’s the road you were on yesterday,” said Giò, pointing to the rocky mountains above and beyond the hotel. “That’s the Acquafredda rock tunnel,” she pointed to a spot where the grey line of the road was eaten up by the mountain.

  “That’s an impressive road, a real marvel. I stopped my car quite a few times, despite the pouring rain,” he replied, following her gaze. “An awesome place, thanks for inviting us here.”

  “Well you should thank Annika, really.”

  “That woman knows how to organise things.”

  Giò smiled. He’d just given her the perfect opening.

  “No matter how good an organiser you are, there’s always the chance someone may turn up and ruin all your efforts.”

  He nodded. “Margherita is a pain…”

  “You seemed quite happy to see her last night.”

  “You were all running away. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of believing we were all affected by her power.”

  “Her power?”

  “Yes, her power to ruin our meeting, to hint at things, to dredge up ghosts of the past, as she did with Valentina, Francesco and Simone. I don’t like the woman, but I want her to know she’s got no power over me.”

  “Annika told me you enjoyed her company on the first retreat.”

  He laughed. “You’re quite well informed, aren’t you? I could see you and Annika chattering last night.”

  Giò flushed, but kept looking at him. “So?”

  “So I did. She attracted me and I didn’t turn her down. I agree, I was a little foolish. At times I can still behave like an adolescent who wants to show the world how strong and gallant he is. But in the end, it was just an innocent fling.”

  “Innocent?”

  “I’m a free man, she’s a free woman – or at least, that’s what she told me. Why not?”

  “Is this going to be how you behave this week too?”

  He looked along the horizon, all the way to the clouded shape of Mount Bulgheria on the other side of the gulf, then slowly shook his head.

  “No, I don’t think so. I don’t like her. It just happened last time. As I said, at times I am too eager to accept all sorts of challenges. But frankly, I don’t care about her, and I’ve got my project to work at.”

  He spoke with simplicity; there was no bragging in his words. But as usual, Giò wanted to go deeper now she’d started digging.

  Assuming a casual tone, she asked, “Why did you stay on with her in the restaurant after dinner?”

  “We just had a couple of drinks together. As I said, I wanted to show her I’m my own master.” He laughed at himself. “Then I left as I wanted an early start this morning. And in fact, you did find me up and working, didn’t you?”

  His humour was infectious. Giò found herself not only laughing at his ways with Margherita, but also trusting he had told her nothing but the truth.

  A seagull left one of the rocks where a crowd of birds were chattering and flew low above the water level, as if challenging the waves to catch him.

  “He’s the only one flying!”

  “He must be a free spirit.”

  “We’ve found our Jonathan,” said Giò, thinking of Jonathan Livingston Seagull, a book that had always inspired her.

  “Yes, must be him. He’s doing what the others dare not,” Guido murmured. Then from the horizon, his eyes turned back to Giò. “So you’re going to write a travel memoir about Scotland. Why did you choose that country?”

  “I lived there for five years, it’s my second home. I’ve been hiking there, getting on trains to the middle of nowhere, met the most incredible people, shared a flat with two Scottish girls in Springburn, Glasgow. If I could live in two places, Maratea and Glasgow would be my choices.”

 
“Glasgow is a bit on the rough side, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe it’s not as charming as Edinburgh; you’ve got to dig deep to understand what a warm heart it has. But I felt welcome there from the first moment I arrived. It’s a sincere city. It has had its ups and downs, but its wish to improve has always been there. There’s such a special energy, an openness to foreigners I rarely found anywhere else.” She stopped, almost out of breath. “Do you feel the same about Iran?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. It’s a country I love, but I wouldn’t call it my second home. I’ve got many favourite places around the globe, and it’s my current love. But I’m afraid I’m not as faithful as you are, and this is why I want to finish this project as soon as possible so that I can jump on to the next one. But I will return to Iran; you can never have enough of its colours, its light. I’ll show you a few more photos and videos, if you wish. Yesterday I didn’t want to take too much time with my presentation so I only shared a small selection.”

  “Yes, I’d be glad to see more.”

  “We’ll do that, then. And I hope the weather will clear up; it looks as if Maratea is an amazing place filled with treasures to discover.”

  They had arrived at the end of the road and Guido was pointing at a path stretching amongst the rocks, emerging only when the waves retreated back to the sea.

  “Yes, there’s a path connecting this beach with a much smaller one in the southern part of Acquafredda. In the next few days, if it’s not been damaged by the storm, we could walk there. It leads to Villa Nitti, a beautiful villa from the 19th century that rests on the rocks above our heads. You would hardly guess it’s there. But I’m afraid it’s time for our breakfast, so let’s return to join the others.”

  Guido’s eyes followed the seagull, now high in the sky. Wings stretched to ride the wild winds, the bird was gliding above the sea in large circles. Guido paused to take it all in before turning back to follow Giò.

  The hotel was bustling with excitement when they returned. Some of the group had completed their first writing session and were enthusing about it, while others had gone to practise yoga with Annika. Chattering as they made their way along the corridor, the writers moved towards the restaurant for their well-earned breakfast.

  Once inside the large restaurant, they again stopped to look from the arched windows at the view of the waves hitting the walls and flying high just under their noses.

  “Thanks so much, Giò, you’ve brought us to an amazing place,” Simone said.

  Giò smiled at him, and then moved towards the other side of the room to have a look from the most exposed corner of the restaurant. Their table was already laid out, but Giò ignored it. She had stopped suddenly with a puzzled expression on her face.

  “What’s up?” asked Guido, following her.

  Giò shook her head, smiled. “Nothing, really. Sometimes my imagination runs away with me.”

  She shook her head once more and looked towards the window. Her face fell. She rubbed her eyes, looked some more, and finally cried out.

  “It can’t be!”

  “What?” Guido was now beside her and followed her gaze. “My goodness!” He kneeled down by the figure lying on the floor, touched her wrist to feel her pulse, but as he’d suspected from the body’s unnatural position, he was too late.

  “She’s dead,” he said incredulously.

  Margherita was no longer going to make any trouble for the group.

  7

  Every Question Has An Answer… Or Two

  “The police?” Erminia asked, her face turning white as a few figures in black uniforms crossed the hotel terrace to enter the restaurant via the outside door. “What are the police doing here? I thought the woman had died of natural causes.”

  “It’s the carabinieri.” Giò warned her that the new arrivals wouldn’t appreciate being called ‘police’ at all.

  “It’s a sudden death in a public place,” Annika explained. “They have to make sure it’s nothing suspicious.”

  They were all sitting on the sofas and armchairs around a low table in the hotel hall.

  “What kind of illness could have killed her? I wonder. She seemed to be brimming with good health,” Giò thought aloud.

  “Do you think so?” Vittoria said, plunging on to the sofa beside Valentina. “She looked very pale to me, and… I don’t know how to put it… rather… rather…”

  “Rather off colour, I’d say,” Erminia agreed, nodding.

  “It seemed as if she was aware she wasn’t well,” Alberto added quietly.

  Giò looked at them in surprise. To her, the woman had looked happy to be there last night, playing her part in disrupting the writers’ retreat. She had never thought for a moment that Margherita might have known she had something wrong with her, as the others were hinting. But then again, they had shared a whole week away with the woman only a few months earlier, so surely they knew her better than Giò did.

  As if reading her thoughts, Valentina looked up at Alberto.

  “Did you really feel there was something wrong with her last night?”

  “Yes, she looked like someone who was merely pretending to be well. It was just an impression that popped into my brain, but I couldn’t shake the feeling.”

  “I agree,” Erminia said. “That sums it up exactly. She was only pretending to be her usual self, but there was something wrong with her…”

  A carabiniere came forward. Not too tall, he was slightly chubby with frank hazel eyes and a pleasant voice that could gain him instant empathy. He nodded to Giò. In a small town such as Maratea, most people knew each other, but in their case, they had also done a fair bit of sleuthing together in the not-so-distant past.

  “Good morning, I’m Brigadiere Rossi of the Maratea Carabinieri. As you’re guests of the hotel, I hope you won’t mind if I ask a few questions of you.”

  They all nodded.

  “As I understand, you’re here for a writing retreat.”

  “We are,” Annika confirmed. “I’m the organiser, and this is my group of authors.”

  “Are you the whole group, or is someone missing?”

  “No, there are nine of us, and we’re all here. Do you want the names of each of us?”

  “I will need to take statements from you all individually later, but let’s see what Dr Siringa, the pathologist, says first. And yes, if you have a list of names, that would help.”

  While Annika took out her notepad and pen and started to write the list of names, Brigadiere Rossi continued.

  “For the moment, I want to ask a few generic questions. Did any of you know the woman who passed away?”

  The writers looked at each other with such guilty expressions on their faces that Giò felt quite alarmed, but Paolo didn’t seem to take any notice and waited patiently.

  “Well,” Annika stopped writing and drummed the tip of her pen against the notebook page, “we all knew her. You see, she participated in our previous retreat.”

  Paolo looked puzzled. “You mean she was part of your group?”

  “Not any longer. She only participated in the first retreat, and was here accidentally this time.”

  Paolo’s brows shot up to his hairline.

  “Accidentally?”

  “Coincidentally, I mean.”

  Paolo let the silence that followed stretch on until it became uncomfortable, and Annika found herself explaining that things had not worked out well at the previous writers’ retreat.

  “If that’s so, how come you met up again here in Maratea?”

  “As I said, it was just an acc… a coincidence.”

  The others nodded in silent approval.

  “You didn’t know she was coming?”

  “None of us knew. It was quite a shock when she turned up.”

  “In the woman’s bag, we found two EpiPens to counteract anaphylactic shock. Were any of you aware she suffered from some form of allergy?”

  Again, all heads nodded in unison.

  �
��During our first retreat, she told us many times.” Vittoria spoke for all. “She suffered from a fish and crustacean allergy, a rather severe form, so wherever she went, she made sure that people knew. Especially people in hotels and restaurants.”

  “Do you have any idea if she informed the staff of the Pellicano Hotel too?”

  Alberto told him how the waiter had reassured Margherita that all the staff knew about her condition. By now, Brigadiere Rossi had taken a chair and was making notes, asking whoever was speaking to introduce themselves.

  He must have realised that he can get more spontaneous answers right now than in the official statements later, Giò said to herself.

  “Did you notice her tasting anything that might have contained fish or crustaceans?”

  “You should ask the kitchen staff,” Alberto suggested. “I take it you suspect she died of anaphylactic shock…”

  The second Alberto mentioned the words ‘anaphylactic shock’, both Vittoria and Erminia sighed softly and, possibly unaware of their own reactions, sat back against the sofa pillows, looking far more relaxed than they had a few seconds earlier.

  “That’s for the pathologist to say. We’re trying to understand the dynamics in the meantime. And yes, we will question the kitchen staff too, but I happen to know you were passing around trays of antipasto. Any chance the victim might have picked up something from the wrong tray?”

  “Absolutely not,” Annika said, her voice typically firm. “Margherita was extremely mindful of her allergy. She used to say that even the smell of fish made her sick, which was why she picked a chair at the head of the table, further away from the rest of us.”

  “Any chance the waiter may have inadvertently dropped a bit of the wrong food in her dish while serving?”

  “No, all her dishes came covered by a plate. As for the antipasto, we were circulating the trays, not the waiter. We never passed them anywhere near her. And you can be sure she would have screamed at us if we did.”