Peril at the Pellicano Hotel

by Adriana Licio

  “Talking of gentle men, there’s something I wanted to ask you, about Simone. Why did he make his life tough by saying that he’d seen Margherita alive at 2am, at least two hours after she’d died? That convinced Paolo that he’d had a role in the murder.”

  “That man is a disaster!” Annika shook her head in the most tender gesture of disapproval Giò had ever witnessed. “You know, he writes of parallel universes, and he convinced himself in one of those universes he might actually have killed Margherita.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “Please, try to understand. He spent most of that night wishing the woman was dead, and when he finally gathered the courage to go to see her… he found her dead. No weapon nearby, just struck down by some malevolent force. So he believed it was because of the things he’d been thinking. He then thought that if he kept pretending the woman was still alive, he could somehow reverse things, turn back time…”

  Giò was uncertain whether to laugh at that. It must have been torture for him.

  “That’s not too dissimilar to what Valentina said. She admitted that when she walked in the second time and found Margherita dead, she convinced herself she had done her in the previous time, and that her brain had wiped that traumatic memory. She couldn’t come up with any other explanation.”

  “The worst thing is that each of us had our own theory. I was lying to protect Simone, Alberto and Vittoria wanted to help Valentina, and I’ve a suspicion you covered for Guido…”

  This time, Giò did give a laugh – a guilty one.

  “Yes, I confess I kept some information from the carabinieri. I’d seen Guido in the corridor at 4am, just at the time Mrs Galli had passed away. I didn’t know whether it was a coincidence or not. Certainly the guy has a talent for making his life tougher than it needs to be.”

  “But how about Vittoria overhearing Mrs Galli blackmailing someone?” Annika asked. “You told me you thought she was blackmailing Margherita, didn’t you?”

  “That’s what I thought at the time, but now I think Margherita and Mrs Galli were simply ‘discussing’ their meeting with Mr Pecoriello, and Mrs Galli was trying to get a bigger cut of the money. But it was another false lead as for so long, I was concentrating on the mysterious blackmail…”

  The two gassosa they had ordered arrived, a slice of lemon curled around the rim of each glass. They clinked as if it was the best champagne, then Annika continued.

  “And finally, Erminia was lying to protect Francesco.”

  “Truth is, we were all so afraid that someone close to us was guilty, or could seem such, that we told plenty of lies and managed to confuse the carabinieri…”

  “To the point that they thought Erminia and Guido had lied when they reported they’d seen ‘the waiter’?”

  “Yes, the carabinieri thought it was a red herring to make them believe someone outside our group was involved…”

  “While that was possibly the only truth we ever told them.” Annika grinned. “How could we be this awful?”

  “I guess the only disappointed one will be Strazio. There was a conspiracy of sorts – a conspiracy of the innocent.”

  “Giò,” Annika put her empty glass on the table in front of her and looked frankly at her friend, “we writers are a bad lot. You’d better stay away from us and join someone else.”

  “Like who?” Giò asked in alarm.

  “A video maker, for example.” And Annika winked at Giò as Guido made his way towards them. “I’d better go and get ready to leave my room for my new temporary home.”

  “And you never suspected me?” Guido asked, the fly-away red hair on his forehead barely hiding the joyous sparkle in his hazel eyes.

  “No, I never suspected you,” Giò admitted.

  “And why was that? I’m not a respectable guy deserving your total trust.”

  “Let’s just say it wasn’t your type of murder.”

  Guido threw his head back and gave one of his loud laughs. “So you don’t think I’d never kill someone, only that I didn’t do it in this case?”

  “Not too sure about the first one, but definite about the second. You have such a temper…”

  “That’s true, Giò, but I don’t think I could kill someone. I can get very nasty at times, though.” He rose from the chair and invited her to join him by the terrace parapet to look at the only white sail on the horizon. “I do have a temper and I need to improve… Giò, would you help me?”

  “Are you asking me to be your therapist?” She laughed, but her lips were quivering all of a sudden.

  “Indeed.” He pulled her gently into his arms. “Have you made your decision, Giò? Will you come with me?”

  My goodness, am I really meant to resist this? Shouldn’t I be happy just kissing him? There was a side of her that couldn’t cope with too much tenderness. Again she felt like she was on the edge of an abyss – she loved the feeling and feared it at the same time. But this time, fear of the emptiness gave her the strength she needed.

  “I don’t think so, no.” She couldn’t believe she had said it.

  He was surprised. It was obvious he had expected a very different answer.

  “You don’t have to come with me for the whole trip, just join me wherever you can…”

  “No, I came over… ahem… to Maratea. I mean, to stay.” The speech she had rehearsed a thousand times in her mind was falling to pieces.

  “Maratea could become our home base when we’re not travelling.”

  “You don’t understand. I’ve lived ten years of my life trying to second guess Dorian’s ambitions as well as I could.”

  “Is that the man you were to marry?”

  “Exactly.”

  “The idiot!”

  “Maybe, but I’ve realised it wasn’t all his fault. There was also stupid me trying to comply with his wishes, putting my own aside.”

  “But we’re not all Dorians.”

  “Not at all,” but was she really that sure? No, but it was good to sound like a wise and forgiving woman. “But I need to do what I want. And frankly, I don’t fancy packing for a world tour right now. I want to finish my travel memoir…”

  “You’d have enough material for the next one, about Asia and the Silk Road.”

  “But that’s your trip, your dream, your adventure.” Was she being too dramatic? “Not mine.”

  “Really, Giò?”

  Why wouldn’t he get angry with her, say she was being selfish, so she could tell him to bugger off and have done with it? No, instead he had such an understanding expression. She felt her eyes getting watery and a thick sadness embracing her like a damp coat. Why wasn’t life as simple as Granny had said it was? You’d meet a guy, marry him in your twenties, settle into a house in your own village, have a few children and be happy. Why all these choices and complications? Why Guido? And mostly, why her?

  “Hey, what are you doing?” she said as his lips got closer to hers. But he wouldn’t stop, despite all her protests, and in seconds she was swept into the storm. She felt her stomach drop in the vertiginous fall; she tried to resist, then had to accept the battle was in vain.

  And when, thirty seconds later, he smiled at her, saying, “See you, Giò,” she just about managed to walk to the bench, sit there and look at the gulf. Her gulf: the solid mountains behind her, Mount Bulgheria ahead, and a seagull flying above her in large circles, its wings open as it effortlessly rode the air currents.

  Epilogue

  Angelica opened the cabinet in her bathroom, safe in her own home in Maratea, and found the red bottle of Alamut perfume she had purchased at Agnese’s.

  “That was all your fault,” she reproached it, pointing an accusing finger. Her hand reached for the bottle and she sprayed a couple of squirts on to her pulse. Then it all came back: the amazing landscape of the Alborz Mountains, the assassins’ legends, the crackling fire at night… the kidnapping. Yes, that too. By now it felt like nothing more than a thrilling adventure she’d read in a book.
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  Then she thought about the adrenaline of the final days in Isfahan. She had expected them to spend their days closeted in a hotel room, hardly going out, but instead Rolando had insisted they enjoy the city’s charms. The sense of adventure had taken them over and they had explored the amazing city, walking around the Imam Mosque at night, visiting its glittering mosaics and enrapturing over its architecture, its colourful dome during the daytime. They’d even enjoyed the noisy bazaars that stayed open till late.

  And she’d loved it all! Oh, as crazy as it sounded, she and Rolando couldn’t wait to return to the country the next year. After all, they owed their newfound happiness to Iran. And wasn’t happiness the only thing that mattered?

  After his shower, Rolando opened his cabinet. Voleur de Roses – such a good perfume, and it meant so much to him. Never in almost 60 years of life had he suspected that stealing a rose, as well as a little misleading, could mean so much to a woman. He sprayed some on and got dressed, appreciating the wonderful, velvety notes.

  Once in his study, Rolando browsed his email until he found the message he was looking for from Iran Cinematographic Adventures. Sajad had confirmed they had received the last chunk of Rolando’s payment and hoped he and Mrs Ariosto had fully appreciated their services. John H, aka Ivan Strogoff, aka Mean Eyes, had recovered from Mrs Ariosto’s blow to his head, but yes, the shovel had been padded just in case. Finally, would Mr Ariosto mind leaving them a review, even if under an alias?

  Of course, Rolando was only too pleased to do that. Adjusting his glasses on his nose, he typed:

  “Very reliable company. Iran Cinematographic Adventures will turn your visit into one to remember, taking you to remote and beautiful places all through the country. The actors are magnificent – a bit pricey, maybe, but totally worth it.

  The Roses Thief.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed this mystery. There are three more books available featuring Giò Brando, and new ones to come.

  In the meantime…

  Is there any way a reader may help an author? Yes! Please leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads and/or Bookbub. It doesn’t matter how long or short it is; even a single sentence can say all that needs to be said. We may live in a digital era, but this old world of ours still revolves around word of mouth. A review allows a book to leave the shadows of the unknown and introduces it to other passionate readers.

  Grazie :)

  More Books From Adriana Licio

  And Then There Were Bones, prequel to the An Italian Village Mystery series, is only available by signing up to www.adrianalicio.com/murderclub – You can unsubscribe any time you like, but of course, I hope you will stay.

  Murder on the Road is the first book in the series, and it lets you know how and why Giò Brando decided to come back to Maratea (and what else life has in store for her).

  A Fair Time for Death is a mystery set during the Autumn Chestnut Fair in Trecchina, a mountain village near Maratea, involving a perfume with a split personality, a disappearing corpse, a disturbing secret from the past and a mischievous goat.

  A Mystery Before Christmas A haunting Christmas song from a faraway land. A child with striking green eyes. A man with no past. A heartwarming mystery for those who want to breathe in the delicious scents and flavours of a Mediterranean December.

  They say that…

  Those well informed on Adriana’s movements say she is working at a new series that will take us through small villages all across Europe, starting from Castelmezzano in Basilicata. Let’s wish her luck with the Muse!

  Join The Maratea Murder Club

  You’ll get exclusive content:

  Book 0, And Then There Were Bones, the prequel to the An Italian Village Mystery series available nowhere else

  Giò Brando’s Maratea Album – photos of her favourite places and behind-the-scenes secrets

  A Maratea Map – including most places featured in the series

  Adriana Licio’s News – new releases, news from Maratea, but no spam – Giò would loathe it!

  Cosy Mystery Passion: a place to share favourite books, characters, tips and tropes

  Sign up to www.adrianalicio.com/murderclub

  And Then There Were Bones

  And Then There Were Bones, prequel to the An Italian Village Mystery series, is only available by signing up to www.adrianalicio.com/murderclub

  A Murder Mystery along the lines of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None.

  When feisty travel writer, Giò Brando, receives an invitation to join her long-time friend on an island in Calabria for a Murder Mystery weekend, she is excited by the prospect.

  To run away from the grey London weather for a while; to escape her stubborn fiancé – and even better, her mother-in-law-to-be – meet her family in her Italian hometown by the sea, and enjoy the Murder weekend with some celebrity guests sounds too good to be true.

  In fact, some of the guests are just as temperamental as you would expect from celebs. But when one mysteriously disappears, and strange things befall…

  Gosh, what’s happening?

  Is a madman trying to repeat the Ten Little Indians Saga or there’s a method to this madness?

  As the storm ravages the island, cutting it off from the mainland,

  Giò has very little time to find out what is going on and save herself as well as the surviving guests from certain death.

  Glossary

  ANTIPASTO – this is not properly considered a ‘course’, it’s just something that comes before (ANTI) the meal (PASTO). In fact, the first course (usually pasta or risotto) is called PRIMO PIATTO, then you have your SECONDO PIATTO (second course), and only after that can you enjoy your longed-for dessert. An ANTIPASTO can be CALDO (warm), which means small but numerous cooked dishes, or FREDDO (cold), as in a selection of local cheeses, cured meats, or a combination of both (ANTIPASTO MISTO).

  APERITIVO: this is a convivial social event, often in a bar with friends before heading home for the family lunch or dinner. Let’s say it’s a sort of appetiser before the real meal. It can be simple or lavish, merely a drink or a variety of finger food. In Italy, we also invite people home for an aperitivo, which is not as formal as a proper meal, but beware! Like Granny’s panzerotti, it can be delicious, moreish and very filling.

  BARLEY COFFEE – In Italy, this is an alternative to coffee that’s not coffee at all, nor does it contain caffeine. The drink was popular during the Second World War when the price of real coffee rocketed, with barley and chicory being cheaper local ingredients available in the countryside. In the case of barley, the tradition continued after the war as a healthy alternative where caffeine might cause problems. The beans are roasted and ground, and a Moka pot or bar machine is used to brew it like a regular espresso.

  BOCCONOTTO – plural bocconotti: a sweet typically made in Maratea, this fragrant pastry is filled with either sour cherries, sometimes with custard, or custard and chocolate. And in this at least, I agree with Giò – my favourite place to eat bocconotti is Panza in Angiporto Cavour 9.

  BRIGADIERE – plural brigadieri: this can be loosely compared to a detective sergeant. In the carabinieri ranks, a brigadiere operates below a maresciallo.

  CARABINIERE – plural carabinieri. In Italy, we don’t only have the polizia (much like the police in most countries), we also have the carabinieri. Essentially, this is another police force, but it’s part of the army and is governed by the Ministry of Defence, whereas the polizia depends on the Ministry of the Interior. The two are often in competition with one another (though they will never admit it), so never confuse one with the other (especially if you’re talking with Maresciallo Mangiaboschi, he is rather touchy). For me, the only difference between the two is that we have a number of cracking jokes about the carabinieri and none about the polizia. Don’t ask me why.

  In Maratea, there’s only the carabinieri and no polizia. But Paolo would have been a carabiniere and not a policeman in any case. By the way bei
ng a military corps carabinieri tend to wear their uniforms more than the police corps even when investigating crimes.

  CORNETTO – plural cornetti. This is the equivalent of a French croissant. I have to admit it was the French who invented them, but they’re very popular in Italy too.

  GASSOSA – a popular non-alcoholic lemon-scented soda used mainly in Southern Italy.

  HYPOBOLE – I’m sure many of you are wondering what hypobole is, and whether it’s not a typo for hyperbole. Well, it’s not, neither is it an Italian word. It’s a word so unusual, it doesn’t even appear in the Kindle Dictionary, meaning a rhetorical figure (another example of a rhetorical figure is a metaphor) where language is not used literally. In Granny’s case, she is anticipating Giò’s objections and refuting them one by one. I apologise for the weird word, but I could not find a better one.

  LINGUINE ALLO SCOGLIO – this is one of the best and most traditional dishes from Naples and Campania (though you will find it across the whole of the southern part of the country). Its name refers to the scoglio (or sea rock), which is where these fish that can be easily found in the Mediterranean. It typically contains clams, mussels, prawns and small squid. Granny would say, “No frozen fish”, but you’re free to do as Giò would and defrost something – just don’t tell the oldest member of the Brando family. You will need to respect the different cooking times of the fish, but they will all end up in a large frying pan with pachino tomatoes (small round tomatoes from Sicily), olive oil, garlic, and a touch of wine. Linguine is a flatter version of spaghetti, but not as large as tagliatelle.