by Beate Boeker
“It was premeditated murder.” Sergio's voice was final.
“Premeditated? Not at all! I didn't know she would be there on the bed, presenting her back to me!”
“Then why did you take your knife along?”
Filippo blinked. “My knife? I … I guess I just forgot to put it down when I left.”
“You don’t forget to put down a knife large enough to slice pineapples,” Garini said.
“Well, I did.” Filippo tried another charming smile. “I was really distracted, you know.”
“And what about the knife in your pocket this evening?” Garini asked.
Filippo blushed. “That … that was only because I … I felt sort of insecure.”
Garini got up. “Oh, no, my friend, that won't wash. We'll bring you back to your cell now. There'll be further talks tomorrow.”
Epilogue
The next morning, Garini sat at his desk, writing the report on the case. When his phone rang, he didn't react at first but finished typing his sentence, then he picked up the receiver without looking up.
“Pronto!”
“Why does it take you so long to answer the phone?” His boss sounded irritated.
“I was in the middle of my report.”
“Oh, that. Well, glad you solved the thing, even though I could have done with less publicity. Now it looks as if a bunch of crazy people with show guinea pigs are more efficient than the police. But that's not what I want to talk about. Come to my office. We've got to talk.”
Garini lifted his eyebrows. He had a fair idea what this was going to be about, and though he didn't relish the idea of a confrontation over Piedro with Piedro's father, he knew he had to face it. He had already cleared with Carlina that he would not back down, no matter where the conversation would take him. With a lingering look at his desk, he went to the door. It was possible that he would only return to pick up his jacket and leave for good. He swallowed a lump in his throat and went to Cervi's office.
“There you are.” Cervi remained behind his huge desk as if it was a fortress, though he had an extra table with deep leather chairs in the room.
Stefano pulled up one of the chairs and dropped into it. He deliberately leaned back and crossed his feet as if he had all the time in the world. It wouldn't do to show Cervi he was not at ease.
“You know Piedro has called in sick, don't you?”
“Of course.”
“Do you also know why?”
“No. The measles?”
Cervi snorted. “My son doesn't have the measles. He's so unhappy at his job that he had to seek counseling, and the counselor told him to take a rest.”
Garini kept his face carefully neutral and waited.
“Well? What do you say?”
“I hope he'll feel better soon.”
Cervi jumped up and walked around the desk, then leaned against it, looking down at his subordinate. “Let's stop fencing, Garini. I believe Piedro has been working for you too long.”
“I quite agree.”
“I also think you've not made his life easy.”
“The same might be said of me.” Garini made sure his voice was mild, though his heart was beating hard.
“What?” Cervi's face darkened. “Are you insinuating my son isn't an easy employee?”
Garini looked at him and knew he had to try to stick to the facts, or soon, all logic would fly out the window. “I agree that Piedro and I have never really gotten along very well. I also believe he should be given another position. He's been an assistant for long enough. He should take over as commissario in his own right.”
“But I won't get the permission to employ another commissario, though I've often asked for it.”
“Maybe it's time for him to gather some experience elsewhere.” Sicily. Naples. Garini was careful not to say it out loud. “I suggest you find a smaller town than Florence, so he can learn to stand on his own feet.”
Cervi frowned. “His mother won't like that.”
“I think it would be quite beneficial for him. Every man has to live on his own for a while.”
Cervi didn't look as if this distinctly un-Italian statement resonated much with him.
“Possibly an international assignment might be a great opportunity, too.” Piedro's English was atrocious, and Garini shuddered to think what the foreign police would think of Italy's standards if they were forced to work with Piedro. It would smirch Italy's international reputation forever … but that didn't matter. He knew he could propose it without any risk to international peace because he could count on Piedro to fight a assignment abroad to the bitter end. His plan was to shock him with the idea of exile so much that another town an hour or two away would seem positively tame.
For an instant, Cervi looked as if he liked the idea of having an internationally active son, but then reality caught up with him. “I don't think that'll quite fit,” he murmured.
“In any case, he needs a new challenge,” Garini said. “It would be a crime to let his talents go to waste while he's tagging along at my side.” He eyed his boss. Was he ladling it on too strong? No, Cervi didn't smell a rat.
Instead, his boss gave a slow nod. “But you'd be without an assistant.”
“I know.” Garini tried to look suitably chagrined. “But I guess we could recruit someone new.”
Cervi frowned. “I'm not really sure you're good with young people.”
Garini blinked.
“Piedro told me you'd often made quite blistering comments that were not encouraging at all.”
But I kept most of them to myself. “Is that so?”
“Yes. So if we get you a new assistant, you'd better make sure he's happy. If you're not a good team player, we'd have to reconsider your position.”
Garini forced his face to remain unmoved, though he wanted to kick Piedro from here to Jericho. He got up. “When can we expect Piedro to return to work?”
“Not for several weeks, I'm afraid,” his father said. “And don't you talk about this development to anyone yet. I first have to ask around if there's a free position somewhere.”
“Sure.” Garini left the office with a spring in his step. And suddenly, he realized he had to take a break, get some distance from the office. He'd spent way too much time in here these last few days. He looked at his watch and decided to escape for a moment and visit Temptation.
Carlina's store looked almost back to normal, only the huge TV screen was still installed on the wall and showed videos of models in underwear.
Carlina rushed up to him and gave him a hug and a quick kiss. Her hair was mussed, and her face flushed. “How nice to see you, darling. You're lucky I've got a moment for you. You won't believe how many customers I've had!”
“Do they buy or do they only want to see the place where a guinea pig caught a murderer?”
She chuckled. “Both. And this is my current bestseller!” She made a move with her hand and pointed to a mannequin, prominently placed right next to the counter. It was dressed in a full set of bra, panties, and a flowing kimono, all printed with a merry collection of guinea pigs.
Garini blinked.
“I also have a special offer.” Carlina picked up a glossy cardboard box from an intricately stacked pile next to the model. “Three panties with different guinea pigs for just 29 Euros. They love it. I've already sold twenty of those.”
He smiled at her. “So Aunt Violetta's publicity stunt did help Temptation?”
She thought a moment. “It has definitely given it a certain notoriety, but we'll see if it lasts. I still don't think Temptation will be included anytime soon in the official tourist guide program, though.” She looked at the box in her hands. “And it has lowered the tone a bit. I mean, guinea pigs on underwear is not exactly the most luxurious lingerie idea ever.” She shrugged. “However, it's fun, and I do it as a sort of promo. Once the wave recedes, I'll stop doing guinea pigs. And who knows? People might like it and come back if they want to splurge a bit.”
“Oh, I already ordered a few sets as soon as Aunt Violetta sprang the idea on me. Luckily, I found a company who had them in their standard collection. And this morning, I called them and tripled my order, asking for express delivery.” She winked at him. “I think I got my acute business sense from Aunt Violetta.”
“Heaven forbid.” He pulled her closer. “How's your neck?”
Carlina had slung a silk scarf around her neck to hide the bandage. “Much better. It only itches a bit.”
“That's a sign it's healing.” He smiled at her. “There's one other thing I urgently need to know.”
“Yes?”
“Which guinea pig won the race?”
Carlina laughed. “Not a single one. Gracy toppled from her obstacle straight into Gustavo's racing course, where the two sat happily for a solid twenty minutes, and Kabuki fell asleep when they tried to tickle him into action.”
“Exactly what I expected. I should have placed a bet after all. I might be a millionaire right now.”
“Yeah, sure.” She grinned. “The crowd became a bit difficult to handle at that point. Some wanted their money back, others figured the show alone – with the added bonus of seeing a killer caught – was worth every price they paid.”
“So what did you do?”
“Oh, Aunt Violetta made a great speech, and they all dispersed. And it's in all the newspapers today. The family is delirious with joy. Besides, Aunt Violetta will probably soon order a statue made of Carrara marble for you. She claims you made the culprit confess by just one look from your deadly eyes. That's a quote.”
“Heaven forbid.”
She grinned. “And Emma's in seventh heaven. Lucio was home by eight in the morning.”
“I know. I dropped him off.”
“So he said. He hasn't stopped cuddling Emma and Zoe ever since.”
Garini took a deep breath. “I can't tell you how desperate I felt, and I'm not particularly proud of myself. It took me much too long to consider the brother.”
“But the private lead was buried so deep beneath the drug affair it's no wonder. It was a really unfortunate chain of events.”
“Yes. Poor Lucio. Now he's got to find a new job.”
“He wants to stay at home the next few weeks and consider his future, he said. He's had enough time to think about everything when he was in prison, and he says it all happened because he felt too dependent. That's why he's now considering setting up his own business. It seems he's lost faith in employers.”
“As far as I know, there's a highly lucrative position open to him. After all, Aunt Violetta will need a new Master of Ceremony for the races.”
Carlina laughed. “I don't think that kind of thing is what Lucio had in mind.” Then she looked at him. “When you walked through the door, I thought you looked happy. Is it the relief that the case is over?”
“It's more than that. I've come straight from a talk with Cervi.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“I managed to convince him that Piedro urgently needs to unfold his many talents in a different environment. I hope he sends him to the ends of the earth, but a distance of fifty kilometers would already suffice.”
“That's great! And will you get a new assistant?”
“I should think so.” He took a deep breath. “I can't tell you how relieved I am. I hope nothing will go wrong. You know, it must be hard for Cervi to have such a stupid son. Even he must see that it's virtually impossible for Piedro to ever get anywhere.”
“I doubt he realizes it. After all, Piedro is a product of his own genes and education. What do you expect? It was his influence that made Piedro pick this profession. I'm sure he'd be much better in a different environment.”
Garini nodded, then he deliberately said, “When we have a child, we'll make sure to give it the freedom to choose a profession that'll fit its character and talents.”
Carlina smiled. “Absolutely. When we have a child, we'll be super parents.” Her tone was ironic.
“The poor kid.” He caressed her cheek with one finger. “I think it'll be enough if we're just our normal selves.”
Her smile deepened. “Normal sounds good. I think I can wrap my head around that.”
THE END
I hope you enjoyed this new mystery with Carlina and Stefano! If you leave a review for Tricky Death, you'll give other people the chance to discover this series, too – and you would make me very happy. Reviews do make a lot of difference in the life of an author.
But before you do so . . . enjoy this sneak peek at another novel where Stefano Garini makes a first appearance:
A New Life (excerpt)
An Italian Romance
Copyright © 2012 by Beate Boeker
"No, I didn't kill him." Anne frowned at the sound of her voice. If only she knew how to say it in Italian.
Then again, no. Anne shook her head.
She didn't have to know it.
Because nobody would ask.
She had to remember it was all in the past.
The loudspeaker spat out some Italian sentences. Anne tilted her head but didn't understand a word. Thank God the stewardess continued in English. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're now approaching Florence. Please fasten your seat belts, and put your seats in an upright position."
Florence! Anne swallowed. How often had she dreamed of Florence? How often had she asked her mother to show her the pictures yet again, to speak of the light, of the beauty, of the Italian sun? Anne closed her eyes. She could hear her mother even now, her musical voice and her explosive laughter.
She would never have believed that one day, she would be reluctant to see Florence.
Anne clenched her teeth. She had to stop thinking about it. She had to concentrate on a dream come true, no matter the circumstances, no matter it felt like a nightmare.
She angled her head to get a better view of Florence through the window, but the plane was surrounded by clouds. It looked as if they were cutting through a thick layer of gray cotton wool.
Almost there. Anne's eyes burned as she fought back a wave of fear. How she wished she could go back to Seattle. But that wasn't an option.
You'll be fine, she told herself and stared at the clouds. The red lights from the wings reflected in the towering gray masses before they cut into them. For an instant, Anne closed her eyes. Even if the whole of Europe should turn out to be gray, it had one big advantage.
Nobody knew her here.
That counted more than everything. She nodded to herself. Giorgio had promised she could avoid all Americans at the hotel. Maybe, for once, Giorgio had told the truth.
She sighed. How she wished she didn't depend on their weak family connection.
The plane dipped lower, and they emerged from the gray cotton wool. Anne's eyes widened. How close to the ground they were already! For an instant, she could make out a few scattered buildings before the rain streamed along the little oval window in horizontal lines and blurred her view. She might see more if she took off her huge sun-glasses, bought especially to hide as much of her face as possible, but she had kept them on all the way because they made her feel anonymous. She would soon have to face the world without them. All too soon.
Half an hour later, she stared at a huge sign on the wall while waiting for her giant suitcase to arrive on the belt.
Benvenuto a Firenze. Welcome to Florence. Willkommen in Florenz. Bienvenue à Florence. The words reverberated through her. Welcome. Would she be welcome? She doubted it. Anne grabbed her elephant suitcase, hefted it off the belt and dragged it to the exit. Her heart beat hard against her ribs.
The airport was so small, you could walk in ten minutes from one end to the other. It had just one floor and a flat roof, and if you wanted to get lost here, you had a job to do. Somehow, the small size made it sympathetic and manageable. Then again, y
ou could be seen and recognized in no time at all. Anne swallowed, hurried through the glass doors, and took a deep breath. Italy smelled of rain and dust.
It wouldn't take long to get to the centro storico, the old city center. Half an hour or so, the guy at the travel agency had said. Anne's throat felt parched. She would have to face the manager of the Garibaldi Hotel soon. Peter Grant.
Giorgio had told her Mr. Grant would not be a problem. He'd promised to discuss everything with him. He'd promised Mr. Grant would welcome her with open arms. He'd also promised Mr. Grant would be discreet.
Anne bent her head to avoid the worst of the rain and turned to her left, following a sign that said 'Taxi'. The rain dropped into the small of her neck and ran down her back with chilly fingers. Until yesterday, her long hair had kept her warm. How she missed its familiar weight; how vulnerable she felt. What a stupid idea to cut her long hair only because it would make her look different from the girl on trial. Anne huddled deeper into her coat, but the wind cut through it and made her shudder. She splashed into a puddle, and immediately, water seeped through the seams of her shoes. Darn. You're so silly. Take off your sunglasses now. Do.
But no. Not yet.
Her thoughts turned back to Peter Grant. She wasn't so sure about the open-armed-welcome. From all she'd learned the last months, few people welcomed you with open arms if you've just been released from custody, and on a murder charge at that.
She bit her lip and stopped next to the first taxi in line. With a forced smile, she bent forward and looked through a dirty window. The taxi driver opened it, his face impassive. Anne summoned up the sentence she had learned by heart. "Nel centro storico?"
The taxi driver nodded. He scowled at her huge suitcase, then at the pouring rain, grunted something she didn't understand and heaved himself out of his Renault.
For an instant, Anne wanted to say she was sorry to be a bother, then she shook herself. She wasn't responsible for the weather. Where had all her self esteem gone? Half a year ago, she would have made a joke about the rain. Now every little unpleasantness went straight to the core. She pressed her lips together and dived into the back of the taxi. It smelled of stale cigarettes.