temptation in florence 05 - seaside in death

by boeker, beate

  “No. Remember that Aunt Violetta made us all change round? We swapped rooms with the tired couple, and I was able to get back to my usual number five.”

  Carlina stared at her cousin. “Do you like that room so much because it has a door that opens to the garden?”

  Ernesto swallowed visibly. “Maybe.”

  She frowned. “But you can come and go through the front door at any time.”

  He gave her a glance that spoke volumes. “But then I risk running into Mamma. It's safer if I come in through the garden. I can always say that I only wanted to get some fresh air for an instant.”

  “I see.” Carlina fell silent.

  Garini lifted his eyebrows. “Do you often go away at night when you're here during the summer?”

  Ernesto clenched his teeth so hard that the muscles at his jaw bulged. “Sometimes I do. I'm eighteen. I can do what I want, can't I?”

  “Yes, you can.” Garini gave him a smile. “I'm sorry. Just the policeman taking over.”

  Ernesto pursed his lips. “Are you telling me you're suspecting me, too?”

  “No.” Garini shook his head. “You see, I have an advantage over Commissario Pucci. I happen to know you.”

  Ernesto lowered his head and blushed again. “Thank you.”

  Carlina straightened. “I suggest we all go to bed. Tomorrow – I mean later today - won't be fun, I'm afraid.” She hesitated and looked at Ernesto. “Are you up to staying in your room on your own?”

  He nodded. “Sure. I'm better now. Thanks for your help.” He gave Carlina a quick hug and disappeared through the door.

  Carlina turned to Stefano, her eyes wide. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

  Stefano sighed. “He's hiding something.”

  “Yes.” Carlina pulled up her knees and hugged them close to her chest. “But what can it be? Do you think he's going to an Internet café?”

  “He wouldn't have to lie about that.”

  “That's right. We're used to that.” She stared straight ahead. “Or maybe . . . maybe he's started to gamble? Maybe that's what he did? I can imagine that he would refuse to admit that.”

  Stefano shrugged. “I don't know. We'll have to keep an eye on him.”

  “I have a really bad feeling about this, Stefano.” Carlina lifted her head. “Something is off, and I have an inkling that this is only the beginning.”

  Chapter 4

  “Someone was shot last night? Here in the hotel?” Benedetta's red mouth opened into a big O and her hand that held the plate with the morning brioche trembled.

  “Not in the hotel. At the pool.” Garini tried to sound calm and professional, but inside, he quailed. He had agreed with Carlina that it would be best to tell Benedetta about the situation personally, so they had gone down to the breakfast room early.

  Their plan had worked – Benedetta and her partner, the Frenchman Leopold Morin, were the only ones who were already at the buffet.

  Garini took Benedetta's arm and led her to a table by a window. “Let's sit down first.”

  Leopold gave him a quick glance, his intelligent brown eyes wide. “Is it something to do with us?”

  “I'm afraid so.”

  Benedetta gave a little scream. “Who was shot? It wasn't Ernesto, was it? Or Annalisa? Emma? Don't tell me that one of my children--”

  “No, no, they're all alive and well.” Garini pulled out a chair and pressed Benedetta into it. “Sit down, please.”

  “But tell me immediately! Who was shot?” Benedetta's voice rose.

  “The hotel manager, Alfonso Rosari.”

  Leopold blinked. “The hotel manager? But we hardly knew him. Why do you say then that it is something to do with us?”

  “Because Ernesto found him.” Garini made sure his voice sounded calm.

  Benedetta shot up again. “Oh, my poor baby! I have to go to him! He must be in shock! I'm so sorry; what a dreadful experience. My poor boy. He must be--”

  Carlina put her arm around Benedetta's shoulders. “Aunt Benedetta, please calm down first. He's still asleep. Let him rest.”

  Benedetta twisted around. “How do you know that? Maybe he was murdered, too, in his bed? We're not safe here! Nobody is safe in this hotel!”

  The young waitress Nora rushed up to their table. She was out of breath, and a few tendrils had escaped her thick braid of hair. “Good morning. I'm so sorry I'm late. Can I bring you a cup of coffee?”

  Benedetta stared at her. “Is it true that the hotel manager was shot?”

  Nora stiffened. “He--” She broke off and gulped. “What did you say?”

  “Rumor has it that the hotel manager was shot. I'm asking you if that's true.”

  Nora looked around as if searching for an answer. “I haven't seen him this morning.”

  “Who's the second in charge?” Garini asked.

  She stared at him. “The second in charge?”

  “Yes. Who's in charge of the hotel when he's on vacation, for example?”

  “Oh.” Nora swallowed visibly. “I don't know. I . . . he hasn't been on vacation yet. I . . . I think we have to tell the owner.”

  Carlina bent forward. “That sounds like a good idea. Do you know how to reach him?”

  Nora shook her head. “No. But I'll ask my colleagues.” The coffee forgotten, she rushed back to the kitchen.

  Benedetta jumped up. “I have to look after Ernesto. I'm going to his room now.”

  Carlina glanced at the door. “No need. He's already here.”

  Ernesto came to the table, his face so pale that some freckles on his nose showed. For once, his red hair wasn't gelled back to perfection. He looked at Stefano. “Can you please tell me that it was all a bad dream?”

  Stefano slowly shook his head.

  “Oh, Madonna.” Ernesto dropped onto a free chair and hid his face in his hands. “I hoped it was only a nightmare.”

  Benedetta threw herself over him until her petite frame had him covered. “My poor lamb! It must have been a dreadful experience. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” The word came out muffled from behind his hands.

  “I think you should,” Benedetta said to the top of his bowed head. “It'll free your mind. You'll be able to process everything, and to put it behind you.”

  Carlina put her hand on Benedetta's shoulder and gently pulled her back. “I think he needs a bit of time first, Aunt Benedetta. Give him a rest.”

  “He will not have any time for a rest,” a voice said behind them. “I need to talk to him immediately.”

  Benedetta straightened and stared at the sloppily dressed man in front of her. “Who are you?” Her tone was glacial.

  “I'm Commissario Pucci.” He puffed out his chest. His jacket was wrinkled, and the shirt he wore had an unmistakable coffee stain right at the point where his stomach strained against the material. “I'm in charge of this murder investigation, and at the moment, your son is our prime suspect.”

  Garini winced. From the corner of his eyes, he saw that Nora had reappeared from the kitchen. When she heard the Commissario's words, she pressed her hands against her mouth and stared at Ernesto as if he had suddenly grown two heads.

  Benedetta gave a shriek that was worthy of an attacking horde of monkeys. She placed both hands on her hips and turned in one nano second from a gentle woman into a tigress defending her cub. “Why do you say that my son is your prime suspect? You only have to look at him to see that you're wrong! Can't you see that he's much too gentle to even hurt a fly?”

  Pucci gave a fleeting glance at Ernesto who still didn't look up. “The most successful criminals look like angels.”

  “How dare you! My son isn't a criminal!” Benedetta turned to Garini in one furious move. “Tell him he can't do that, Stefano! You're an investigating officer at the homicide department, too! You know that he can't go around saying things like that! That's slander! Everyone is innocent until proven guilty! Isn't that true?”

  Pucci looked at Garini wi
th a strange expression on his face. “So you're a colleague?”

  Garini wished Benedetta had held her peace, but he gave Pucci a curt nod.

  Pucci frowned. “That explains it.”

  Carlina frowned. “That explains what?”

  “The way he acted yesterday.” Pucci scratched his scalp and eyed Garini contemplatively. “You got a lot of experience?”

  “So so.” Garini had an uneasy feeling about where this was leading. “But I'm biased. Your main suspect is my girlfriend's cousin.” Hopefully that would stop Pucci from roping him into the investigation.

  “Harrumph.” Pucci shrugged and changed the topic. “You contacted that lawyer already?”

  “What lawyer?” Benedetta's voice filled the room.

  “Last night, this Commissario here,” Pucci pointed with his chin at Garini, “said that he wanted to organize a lawyer for your son. Waste of time, if you ask me, but the law is the law.”

  Benedetta stared at Garini. “A lawyer? Why do you think Ernesto needs a lawyer? Can't you help him?”

  “I'm usually on the other side,” Garini said. “I won't be of much use to Ernesto.”

  “Oh, Madonna!” Benedetta stared at her son. “Is it really that bad?”

  With this fat Commissario here and his strange theories, it's absolutely necessary. Garini reined in his thoughts. “Do you know a lawyer?”

  Benedetta turned to her niece. “How about Salvatore?”

  Carlina shook her head. “He's a tax advisor, not a lawyer.”

  “Ah, that's true.” Benedetta frowned. “I can't think of a single lawyer in the family. That's a serious shortcoming, you know. Maybe we can get Annalisa to marry one. That would be a nice addition. Very useful, to have a lawyer in the family.” She sighed. “Besides, it's such a respectable profession.”

  Garini, who'd thought that he was used to the meandering minds of the Mantoni family by now, blinked. “I can call someone in Florence.” Domenico Rulo was one of the most-hated lawyers in the police force, but it was true that he usually managed to get his clients off, particularly the guilty ones.

  Pucci hitched up his trousers that had a tendency to slide down from his belly. “You'd better hurry. I'm not willing to waste my time any more than necessary.”

  Garini glared at him. “Oh, I don't think you'll be bored. After all, you still have to interview all the guests at the hotel, discuss the results of the autopsy, and check if the forensic people found anything interesting at the site.”

  Pucci shuddered and lifted a hand as if to ward off a blow. “Dreadful. Just dreadful. And here I was, hoping for a calm ferragosto. Most of my force has gone on vacation. I wish I had gone, too. Just my luck that this year, we have a murder.” He pulled his brows together and stared at Ernesto's bowed head. “Inconvenient, that's what it is. Very inconvenient. But I'll get to the bottom of this in no time. I want to enjoy my summer holiday.” He turned on his heels and said over his shoulder, “Remember, nobody leaves this hotel until I've talked to them.”

  Benedetta turned to Garini, her hands uplifted as if she wanted to pray. “You won't let this . . . this pudding take over, will you? You will make sure that nothing happens to my lamb Ernesto, won't you?” She went up to him, took him by the arms and shook him. “Promise me that, Stefano! Promise me!”

  Garini looked at her upturned face with the red, trembling mouth. He covered her hands with his. “I'll do what I can, Benedetta, but I can't promise to take over this investigation. It's not my home turf.”

  “But Ernesto isn't guilty, and this guy wants him to be the culprit! It's preposterous! Ernesto hardly knew the man!”

  “I know that, Benedetta,” Garini tried to sound more relaxed than he was. Of course Benedetta was right, but if he'd ever seen a lazy policeman who was going to look for the quickest solution to a case, no matter if it was the truth, it was Commissario Pucci. He suppressed a sigh. He had his work cut out for him.

  At that instant, a woman burst into the room. She had a toddler on her hip. The child had a round face and a runny nose. The woman's hair was thin and broken from too much bleaching, and her eyes were circled with dark eyeliner that didn't distract from the fact that the eyes were bloodshot and small from lack of sleep. “Is it true?” she asked to the room at large. Her voice was rough like a chain smoker's “Is he dead?”

  When nobody made a move, Carlina got up and went to meet her. “I'm afraid I don't know you, but--”

  “My name is Maria Rosari.”

  Benedetta hissed in her breath. “Rosari,” she whispered. “Is that his wife?”

  Maria Rosari seemed to have extraordinary good hearing because she turned to Benedetta with a quick move that made the toddler weave backward. “Yes, I'm his wife. Is it true? He's dead?”

  Carlina cleared her throat. “I'm afraid so.”

  Signora Rosari turned around again, upsetting the toddler's balance even more than before, and rushed up to her. “Tell me everything. How did it happen? Where?”

  Carlina gulped. “He . . . he was shot last night. By the pool. I'm sorry.”

  The woman made an impatient move with her hand. “Who did it?”

  Stefano exchanged a quick glance with Carlina and stepped forward. “The police are still investigating,” he said.

  Signora Rosari looked at the wall for an instant, her tired face shuttered, then she caressed the head of the toddler with her free hand. “God takes care of his own.” She turned on her heels and left the breakfast room with the same speed she had entered it.

  Benedetta's mouth gaped open. “Well, I never! Have you ever heard of a wife who reacts like this to the death of her husband? And in the presence of his child, too!”

  “We don't know if it is his child,” Leopold said in his gentle voice.

  Ernesto, who had lifted his head at the moment of Signora Rosari's entrance, said in a stunned voice, “What did she mean, 'God takes care of his own'?”

  “There's just one interpretation,” Benedetta crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “She's glad that her husband is dead, and she thinks that God arranged the murder.”

  Carlina gasped. “That's a bit drastic, Aunt Benedetta. There's also another interpretation: She might have worried about the future without a husband and the baby's father, and that's why she told herself that God would take care of her and the child. She might have said it to comfort herself.”

  “You're way too soft-hearted, Carlina,” Benedetta said. “She wasn't exactly heartbroken, you know. Her eyes were all dry.”

  Carlina shook her head. “Grief can take people in different ways.”

  “Well, I say the police should investigate her whereabouts last night. She's the main suspect, if you ask me, not Ernesto. Stefano, will you tell them?”

  Stefano nodded. “Of course I will.”

  The door to the breakfast room flew open and the rest of the family poured in as if they had first assembled in front of the door. Aunt Violetta was in front, resplendent in a summery ensemble with broad red and white stripes that made her look like a massive lighthouse. Her wheelchair was pushed by Omar who could have posed for the cover for a magazine with his tight white t-shirt that revealed his rippling muscles and dark arms. Behind them, Annalisa and Emma came in, bickering like only sisters could. They were followed by Carlina's mother, Fabbiola, in a flowing summer dress. She was busy explaining something to Emma's husband, Lucio, who suppressed a yawn.

  Uncle Teo came in last and looked at everyone with a benevolent smile. “It's good to be back here again,” he said. “Family vacations are the best.”

  “Well, this family vacation will be different,” Benedetta countered with unusual acerbity. “Come here, everyone. We need to put our forces together to help Ernesto.”

  “Mamma, please.” Ernesto buried his head again in his hands.

  “Why, what's the matter with Ernesto?” Uncle Teo advanced toward the table at a measured gait. “Is he ill?”

  “No,” Annalisa took a strand of
her red hair and twirled it around her index finger. “He found a body at midnight and now the police think he's the killer.”

  Emma gasped. “What? How come you know something like that about our brother and I don't?”

  Annalisa smirked. “Easy. Two maids were discussing the case while smoking near my window this morning. I happened to overhear their conversation.”

  “Could you say that again?” Aunt Violetta's voice boomed across the table. “Did you say Ernesto killed someone?”

  “No, he didn't!” Benedetta fired back in defense of her youngest child. “He didn't kill anybody. It's just the police who think so. A man like a pudding, and stupid beyond words!”

  Lucio looked at Garini. “Sorry, man. She's not usually like that, you know.”

  “Oh, of course I don't mean Stefano!” Benedetta frowned at her son-in-law. “I mean the local Commissario. You'll get to know him; his name is Pucci. He wants to pin the murder onto Ernesto, so he'll have a quiet ferragosto.”

  “Ferragosto is tomorrow,” Emma said. “He'd have to be super quick to solve the case before then. Who's dead, by the way?” She looked around the room. “We're all here, so it's none of us, right?”

  Carlina sighed. “No, it's none of us. The victim is Alfonso Rosari.”

  Fabbiola frowned. “Who's Alfonso Rosari?”

  “The unfriendly hotel manager.”

  “Oh, him.” Fabbiola leaned forward and looked at her daughter with interest. “Did you kill him, Carlina?”

  Carlina gasped. “Mamma!”

  Fabbiola lifted both hands in an apologetic gesture. “I'm sorry. It's just that you had so much trouble with him, and I thought . . .” Her voice trailed out.

  “What was the trouble?” Annalisa dropped her strand of hair and stared at her cousin. “I had no idea that you two had history.”

  “We didn't have history, as you call it,” Carlina had trouble keeping her voice even. “He was just a devious sales man who tried to force me to stock more underwear than I wanted, and when I refused, he actually dared to threaten me. But I knew the right people at headquarters, so I lodged an official complaint, and within two days, he was gone from the job.”