by Wendy Tyson
“I guess he’s a necessary evil. Like root canals. Or acts of war.”
As luck would have it, Allison ran into Shirin and Douglas later that afternoon on the trail by the north side of the castle. Allison and Grace were taking a walk before the afternoon storms set in, and Grace was practicing her German by counting the sheep they saw along the way.
“That’s quite good,” Allison said to her niece after they passed sheep number dreizhen. Grace looked up at her, round eyes wide and pleased. For a moment, Allison recalled the little girl who had come to live with her months before. A little girl who woke up with night terrors and often wet the bed. A little girl who asked every day when her mother was taking her to the shelter. Allison knelt down to hug her niece, and when she stood back up Shirin and Douglas were heading toward them.
Shirin wore tiny black shorts and a tight black and brown printed tank. A gold belt cinched her waist. She’d slung a black leather bag over one shoulder, and she carried a large straw beach bag on the other. Douglas had a thick blue and white climbing rope coiled around one of his shoulders, and a chalk bag and climbing shoes dangled from a harness around his waist. He looked like he was ready to go mountaineering; his wife looked ready to attend a fashion show.
Allison acknowledged them, but she tried to keep walking.
Shirin stopped her. “We haven’t seen you at dinner.”
“Grace goes to bed early, so we haven’t been able to make late meals.”
Douglas, Allison noticed, focused his attention on Grace, the nearby sheep, the clouds gathering over the horizon. Anywhere but on Allison’s face. Allison felt herself getting angry. She didn’t particularly care for Shirin, but no woman—no person—deserved to be betrayed that way.
“Going for a jaunt in the woods?” Allison asked Douglas.
It was Shirin who answered. “Not me. Douglas was just out climbing. He loves the mountains.” She looked at her husband. “Right, darling?”
Douglas shifted his feet, picked at a thread on his nylon shirt. “Yes, yes, of course.”
“I made use of the pool.” Shirin lifted the beach bag from which a bottle of sunscreen and a novel protruded. “While Douglas played in the woods.” She nudged her husband’s foot with her toe.
“Good the weather held out,” Allison said, quickly shifting her gaze.
“Indeed.” Shirin elbowed her husband. “Bollocks, Douglas, you are being quite a bore today. No wonder Allison hasn’t joined us for dinner. Do show her you’re more of a conversationalist than this.”
Douglas managed a wan smile. “I’m afraid I’m a bit tired. From the climbing.”
Allison yawned. “I’m a bit tired myself, and this one—” she raised Grace’s hand “—really wants a walk to see the goats before dinner.”
Shirin asked, “Will we see you tonight then? It would be nice for you to get out. I’m sure the nurse can watch the girl.”
Allison bristled at the use of “girl.” “Her name is Grace, and she is my niece. But yes, if we get back in time, I’ll be there.”
The truth was, she would be at dinner that night. She’d promised Elle she’d go, and Hilda had promised Grace a girls’ night of movies, hamburgers, and American-style popcorn, which the castle chef was preparing. But Allison didn’t feel like admitting it to the Aldens. She’d rather watch movies with Grace than party with the grown-ups, but as a paid consultant, she needed to appease her client on occasion.
Douglas started back up the path toward their cottage without saying goodbye. Shirin lingered for another moment. She seemed about to say something else, but followed in her husband’s direction without another word.
Jason called while Allison was getting ready for dinner. She’d just zipped up her littlest black dress when the phone rang.
“Miss me yet?”
“Mmm,” she said. “Tons.”
“Any traction with Elle?”
“I guess.” Allison sat on the bed to strap on her sandals. They were new and red and Jimmy Choo, and she’d been waiting for a chance to show them off. “Can’t decide if this is Act Two or the real deal.”
“Does it matter?”
Allison paused. “I’d like to think it does.”
They chit-chatted a moment about Grace and the outings she and Allison had been on. “Any progress on the wedding?”
“Not really. Between Elle, my book, and Grace, I haven’t done much. Elle offered to have the reception here—”
“No.”
Allison laughed. “I figured you’d say that. I told her no. We have the restaurant reserved anyway.”
“That’s partly why I called. My mom is delayed. She will be a few days later than anticipated.”
“Oh,” Allison managed. She’d been counting on Mia’s help with Grace and to organize the wedding, as simple as it would be. Plus, she’d love her thoughts on Damien’s death—and the crazy family that surrounded her.
“Are you okay with that?”
“Of course.” She finished buckling her sandal and stood to find her jewelry. “Besides, what choice to do I have. What’s the holdup?”
“She didn’t say. I’m assuming it’s the farm.” Mia had moved to a small bungalow in the countryside outside Philadelphia after the tragic death of her daughter years ago. Since then, the sophisticated image consultant had become a nature buff. She grew vegetables, raised chickens, and adopted dogs…none of which she’d shown the least bit of interest in before her life fell apart. But the lifestyle suited her, even if it made leaving harder. So many things to tie her down.
“Without Vaughn,” Jason said, “everything’s a little tougher for my mother.”
“For them both,” Allison answered, thinking of Vaughn’s chronically depressed tone. Vaughn and Mia had been seeing each other for years, much of that time in secret. Their July-October relationship ended last fall. Neither had been the same since.
“How are things going there?” Allison asked. “Meet the CEO, Lara’s uncle?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. He looks nothing like his niece.” They both laughed. “It’s fine. A lot to learn. And while corporate life has its perks, I’d forgotten how different it is from the public sector.”
“Are you regretting your decision?”
Jason was silent for a long minute. “I wanted flexibility with my job. For when…in case…if, you know.”
If we have a child. Allison did know. She felt that familiar stab of longing and regret.
“This will be more work,” Jason continued. “But I think the change is good.”
More work. More time away from home. We’re still a family, Allison wanted to say. Even without a baby, we still need you. I still need you. Grace needs you. But she knew her fiancé was trying to deal with the fact that his body had failed him, and without the prospect of progeny, he was looking for new ways to define himself. She wished he felt differently, but pushing him would get them nowhere.
So instead of saying any of the things she was feeling, she said, “You’ll be incredible.”
She hoped her reticence to intervene wouldn’t come back to bite them both later.
THIRTEEN
“I don’t see why we need to go veg just because Elle has gone veg.”
Mazy stabbed a piece of zucchini with the tines of her fork, glared at it, and dropped the utensil and the vegetable back on her white china plate. “Zucchini squash crepes? Why ruin a perfectly good dish with a vegetable that grows like a weed?”
“I rather like courgettes,” Shirin said. “I grow tired of all the heavy South Tyrolean food.” She looked at Douglas, who was seated to her right. “Don’t you agree, darling?”
“I’m with the writer. I prefer meat.”
Mazy continued to stare sullenly at the food on her plate. They were seated at the long dining table in the interior dining room. Like most of the ca
stle, it had marble floors and high, arched ceilings. Frescoes had been replaced by intricate scroll work, and paintings of Austrian nobility graced the walls. The party around the table had dwindled since the previous week. Sam’s attorney was not dining with them that evening, and Michael was gone. The Aldens, Mazy Coyne, Lara, Jeremy, and Elle sat around the middle of the table. Karina was there at the outset of dinner, but by the middle of the first course, she had disappeared—presumably to tend to Sam.
“My father’s not feeling well again,” Elle said, addressing a question no one had asked. “He’ll be dining in his rooms.”
Jeremy frowned. “Again.”
Elle shot him a pained look.
“What the hell are these doctors doing for him?” Jeremy asked.
“They’re trying. But he doesn’t always cooperate. You know, Jeremy. Some days are worse than others.”
“This goddamn country. He needs to go back to the States.”
“He won’t listen—”
Jeremy stood abruptly and walked to the door.
Elle watched him go. She glanced at Allison, sighed, and rose to follow the director.
By ten o’clock, dinner had been finished and the remaining guests gathered in the parlor for drinks. Neither Elle nor Jeremy had returned, leaving those left—Mazy, Shirin, Douglas, Lara, and Allison—to chat about nonsense for the next hour. Once the drinks started flowing, conversation followed. Allison, caught by the bar by a tipsy Mazy, listened while the author droned on and on about the plot of her next novel. By midnight, Allison was feeling sleepy. She was waiting for Mazy to take a breath so she could politely excuse herself when there was a sudden crash and the sound of glass shattering.
Allison looked up just as Mazy did the same.
“Oh,” Mazy exclaimed. She slapped her hand across her mouth.
Shirin had dropped her wine glass. More precisely, she’d squeezed the glass until it shattered. Blood ran down her hand and dripped from her fingers, mingling with the deep red wine now pooling on the marble floors. Shirin stared at her hand, then at the floor, before fixing her stare to her husband.
“That will stain,” Mazy murmured. “Marble stains.”
Allison grabbed napkins from the bar and began her way over to Shirin. Before she could help the other woman, Douglas reached his wife.
“Shirin, stop.” His tone was threatening. He held her wrist. “Stop.”
“That’s the scent, Douglas. That’s the fucking scent.”
“Not here.”
“That’s the scent.”
Shirin was staring at Lara who, until a few moments ago, had been sitting next to her on an ivory settee.
Shirin put a hand to her mouth. Blood trailed down her arm, painting abstract flower patterns on the sheer white toile of her dress. “Bastard.”
Douglas shook her other arm. Allison could see white indentations where his fingers had found soft flesh. She thought of the bruises on Shirin’s wrists. The plum-colored circles on Elle.
“Let her go,” Allison said.
The sound of Allison’s voice seemed to be a call to action. Douglas dropped his wife’s arm. Lara, who had been silent until that moment, groaned. Mazy started wiping wine from the mottled marble floor.
Shirin dashed toward the entrance to the parlor. She slowed when she passed Lara. “You see, I don’t wear Chanel. Ever.” Her voice was suddenly calm and steady. “You can have him.”
She left, her last steps a run.
No one spoke for a millennium. Finally, Mazy looked at Douglas and said, “She finally figured you two out? Took long enough.” She threw the wine-soiled napkins on the bar. “May want to ask your girlfriend not to wear perfume in the future. Women always know.”
With a backward glance at Allison, Mazy left.
Allison felt some responsibility to tell Elle what had happened. But where was she?
“Please don’t say anything to Jeremy,” Lara said to Allison. It was the first she had spoken to her since the incident in the forest. “Things are complicated between us. It’s not what it seems.”
Douglas gave her a derisive snort. “Denial much?”
“You should talk. Aren’t you at least going to go after your wife? She left bleeding and angry.”
Allison’s attention ping-ponged between the two lovers as their argument went on and on. She didn’t care about them. She couldn’t say she was fond of Shirin, either. But she didn’t like to see anyone get hurt.
Allison’s eye caught movement. She looked up quickly to see someone retreating from the arched doorways. A chill ran through her. Who had been watching?
She pulled her cell phone from her purse and called Elle. When she didn’t answer, she tried Dominic and Karina. Right to voicemail. She sent her client a detailed text and left. Tomorrow would come too soon. And with it, she was sure, more drama.
FOURTEEN
Karina’s voice roused Allison from a deep sleep. It was morning, and the sun shone bright through the shutters, throwing shadow slats across the bed and dresser. Allison rolled over, blinked twice, and focused on the figure in front of her. Karina looked terrible. Her hair had been pulled into a messy ponytail, purplish, discolored skin ringed her eyes, and her complexion, normally a sun-tinted bronze, looked like the result of a zombie makeover.
“Why are you here?” As Allison asked the question, she realized Karina would only be in her cottage for one reason: trouble. Her first thought was for Jason. Had something happened? But she realized it would be Mia calling her, not Karina arriving uninvited like a thief. No, something else had happened.
Through a tired fog, Allison thought about the night before. She came to a conclusion just as Karina said, “It’s Shirin.”
Allison felt relief, then dread. “What happened?”
“She’s gone.” Karina sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “Dead.”
Allison replayed the scene from the night before. The broken glass, Douglas’s calm rebuke. Alarmed, she said, “Did she take her own life?”
Karina shook her head. “No.” She hesitated. “Well, maybe. We don’t really know. She fell.”
“Fell?”
“From the cliffs. In the forest.”
Karina stood there for a long time. She clenched and unclenched her hand, pushed an invisible hair from her face.
“Was it an accident?” Allison repeated.
“The polizia think so.” She blinked. “At least that’s their initial thought.”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
Karina shook her head. “Ich bin nicht.” When Allison’s expression signaled her lack of comprehension, Karina repeated in English, “I’m not.”
“I tried knocking, but you sleep like the dead.” Karina took a sip of the coffee Allison had offered. She was sitting cross-legged on the couch, one hand cradling her head. “The police will want to talk with you.”
“Have they requested to see me?”
“Not specifically, but they have asked that everyone who is staying on the property be told to remain.” She frowned. “In other words, you can’t leave.”
Allison considered this. She wasn’t surprised. Even if Shirin’s death was an accident, the police should question everyone present in order to complete an accurate report.
“Do you have more details about what happened to Shirin?” Allison asked. She sat opposite Karina, a cup of coffee clutched between her hands.
“I only know what I was told. You know the path between the house and the cottages?”
Allison nodded. It was the walk they did every day. Meadows, pastures, the quaint row of cottages with their colorful gardens, and the view of the great mountains on the horizon. No cliffs, no drop-offs. The only place a person could fall was over the stone wall that separated the path from the sheep in the meadow.
“She fell there? It’s har
dly a cliff. She had been drinking, but not that much.”
“No, no. She left the path. Instead of going past the cottages toward the ruins, she went the other way, down toward the river.”
Allison wasn’t familiar with that trail and she said so.
“It follows the western side of the old stone wall, then crosses over the wall and meets an alpine trail. The trail is rocky on one side, sheer, and the river is below. On the other side are trees. If you follow that path south, it meets the river. North, you climb the peak—eventually.”
“And she was headed in the direction of the river?”
Karina nodded.
Allison heard a sound coming from Grace’s room. She stopped to listen. Satisfied that her niece was still sleeping, she asked, “And that’s where she fell?”
“Yes. There is a particularly narrow portion a few hundred feet down the trail. It looks like she slipped.” Karina sighed. “She fell to the bottom of the ravine next to the water where they found…where they found her body.”
“So she didn’t drown?”
“No, no. The river is close to the shoreline there, but she landed before hitting the water. The police say she must have died instantly.” Karina made a motion with her head demonstrating that Shirin had broken her neck.
“How horrible.” Allison considered all of this. She couldn’t help but hear echoes of Damien’s death, and she was certain Karina—everyone, really—was thinking the same thing. She said, “Are the police certain Shirin didn’t take her own life? She was upset and had been drinking. It’s possible she jumped.”
Karina put the coffee cup down on the glass table beside the couch. Allison could hear the whir of helicopter propellers outside, likely the authorities there to take away Shirin’s body. Karina looked up, comprehending the sound.
After a moment, Karina said, “I don’t think she jumped. There are marks in the gravel. Skid marks. As though Shirin had been trying to stop herself but could not.” Karina paused. “I saw them myself.”
“She was still wearing her evening clothes?” Allison pictured the shoes Shirin had been wearing: high and spiked.