by Fiona Grace
Spectacular, if a little … dangerous. She only took a few steps before she started to get vertigo, because past a low stone wall was a steep, precipitous drop that made her insides wobble.
She studied the red brick patio. No work had been done out here, that was for sure. The weeds had grown into a hopeless tangle that a machete wouldn’t cut through. And no Ernesto.
Audrey was about to spin and head back the way she came when she noticed something stuck among the brown brambles bordering the stone wall.
A boot. A man’s large, heavy work boot.
A queasy feeling planted itself in Audrey’s stomach. Forgetting the olive oil in her hands, she rushed to the stone wall. She picked up the boot and peered down over the edge of the cliffside, fighting her wooziness.
There, on a stone outcropping about forty feet below, was the sprawled body of Biceps himself, a halo of black blood around his head.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
At first, she thought she was seeing things. Maybe those sleepless nights were catching up with her. She blinked and looked closer. The image didn’t change.
“Oh God,” she said aloud, stifling a scream. Her skin prickled with heat, despite the chill in the air. The vertigo threatened to take over. “Oh God oh God oh God.”
Still holding the boot and staring at the grisly sight in front of her, sure it would be tattooed on her brain for the rest of her life, she reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her cell phone. Instinctively, she dialed 911, then listened dumbly for about thirty seconds to the sound of nothingness.
You’re not in America, remember? some still-sane part of her brain reminded her. Right. Maria had given her a bunch of pamphlets with helpful information, and she’d paged through them, but she’d never actually believed she’d be calling emergency. There was a one in the number. Maybe two of them. And a … three?
Frantically, she tried all different combinations of the numbers, each failed attempt eliciting a cry of frustration. She was just about to give up when she poked in 113 and someone answered with, “Qual è la sua emergenza?”
Emergency. She gripped the phone tighter. “English? Please tell me you speak English? There’s a dead guy here. At least I think he’s dead. He fell from the side of the cliff.”
There was a pause. Then the operator said, “Cosa è successo?”
Audrey let out a cry of frustration. “I can’t understand you!”
She peered over the side of the cliff for barely a blink, hoping that the sight would prove to be only a figment of her imagination. Wrong. The more she looked, the more nauseated she became. The bitter taste of the coffee bubbled in the back of her throat, threatening to make a reappearance. Meanwhile, the woman on the other end of the phone continued to speak Italian, so fast, Audrey’s head spun.
“I don’t understand,” she moaned, backing away. “Piazza Due. Ambulance-o. Por favor. Gracias.”
Suddenly, a shadow descended over her and the phone was scooped out of her hand. Audrey whirled in alarm, sure she was about to be pushed, and saw Nessa there, barely winded and basking in a healthy runner’s glow. She hopped onto the top of the stone wall and glanced over, fearless, then spoke Italian into the phone. Then she ended the call gave Audrey a superior smile. “Sicily,” she said, pointing. “Spain’s a little ways that way.”
She tossed the phone back to Audrey. Still shaking and holding Ernesto’s boot, Audrey fumbled to catch it and realized she’d dropped the cask of olive oil on the ground. It’d shattered, spilling oil and shards of glass all over the reddish stone.
Nessa looked down at the boot in Audrey’s trembling hand, then met her eyes. “Soooo, friend … what have you been up to?”
*
The Polizia arrived shortly afterward, lights flashing and sirens wailing. Until that moment, Audrey hadn’t even known that Mussomeli had much of a police force. Several uniformed men swarmed the area, speaking urgently in Italian.
Numb, her head now pounding with a migraine, Audrey tried to skirt away from the chaos that had descended upon the small house on the cliffside, but a large officer blocked the narrow passage. He started shouting directives to her, making her head throb more. “What? I’m sorry. I don’t speak Italian.”
He said, “Another American, eh?” and rolled his eyes. “You discovered the body, yes?”
She nodded.
“Then you need to stay right here. The detective in charge, Eduardo DiNardo, will want to question you.”
“Uh. Okay.”
She shrunk backward, trying to get out of the way of the many officers, but everywhere she tried to plant herself, she found more of them. She pinballed around until she finally located a spot among the weeds, in a safe place away from the cliff where she wouldn’t meet the same fate as Ernesto.
Meanwhile, Nessa stood in the center of the patio, like a sun with all the policemen her orbiting planets. She spoke in a fluid Italian to her audience, looking more like a celebrity giving a guest lecture than a witness being questioned about an accident. As she spoke, she kept gesticulating toward Audrey and saying, assassina.
Audrey didn’t take more than a few seconds to make the translation on her own. It wasn’t hard, considering the way the police had begun looking at her like gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe. Either she’s calling me an ass, which … fine, I’d actually prefer, right now … or … she’s telling them that I’m… I’m a …
Audrey straightened and approached the fray. “Wait, wait, wait … what is she saying?”
One of the men broke through to her. Unlike the others, he was wearing a suit and tie and looked more like an investment banker than a police officer, except for the unmistakable bulge of a gun under his blazer. “What is your name, please?”
“Audrey. Audrey Smart. I live across the street.” She hugged herself tightly. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”
“I’m Detective DiNardo. Can I ask you some questions?” he said, in fairly good English.
She nodded. “Yes, but I don’t understand. Isn’t this some horrible accident?”
“It’s possible, signorina.”
“Doctor, actually.”
He eyed her doubtfully. “Doctor. But the fact is that the boot is suspicious, and there are scuffs in the dirt near the wall that suggest a possible struggle. We’ll know more, of course, when we get a look at the body.” He tilted his head and paged through a little notebook. “You discovered the body, is that right?”
She nodded, wringing her hands together. “Um, yes. It’s … you see … my first dead body.” She started to hyperventilate.
The detective ignored her distress. “And Signorina Goodroe said that she found you, holding the boot?”
“Well, yes. I picked it up when I saw it, but …” Her blood went cold. She shook her head. “I didn’t push him, if that’s what you’re … uh, oh God. Whatever she’s saying and you’re thinking is wrong. I’m not a … I have no reason to …” She waved a hand in front of her face, trying to suck air into her lungs, but it felt like they were closing up on her.
Still oblivious to her impending fainting spell, he gave Audrey a doubtful look. “You live across the street. And what inspired you to come over here so early?”
“Well, I um, was looking for the foreman. Ernesto. I just wanted to talk to him.”
He scribbled something down in his pad. “About?”
“We’d gotten into an argument last night, and …” Audrey trailed off and bit her tongue. The last thing she needed was to give him more reason to suspect her.
Too late to backpedal. “Argument, hmm? About what?”
“Nothing, really. They were noisy and messy, and they’d left trash on my front stoop. I wanted to smooth things over with him. That was all. I swear.”
“Smooth things over?” he repeated.
Maybe he hadn’t been eyeing her with doubt, maybe it was normal for police officers to be suspicious of everything everyone told them, but Audrey couldn’t get it out of her hea
d that he wanted to see her rot away in an Italian prison for the rest of her life.
God, this was so surreal, she was having trouble believing this wasn’t the continuation of that vivid dream she’d had earlier, of her dad.
“Yes! And not by pushing him off the side of a cliff. Who would do that? I actually wanted to thank him for cleaning it up.” He didn’t say anything in response, since he was too busy scribbling on his notepad, so she felt the need to fill the silence. “I mean, really. I, um, called the police, didn’t I? I stayed here until you guys came. If I’d pushed him, wouldn’t I get away from here, as quick as I could?”
“You may have been trying to,” Nessa’s voice called from across the patio. Audrey and every other person turned to look at Nessa, who was lounging on the edge of the stone wall, like she was trying to get a suntan. Apparently, when she spoke, everyone listened. “She was backing toward the exit. Maybe it was only because I got there that she couldn’t run. I came back for my sunglasses, that’s why. I caught her red-handed. Still holding the boot.”
Audrey’s jaw dropped. “What? No, that’s—”
“The truth is that the body hasn’t been there that long,” DiNardo explained. “We’ll know more, obviously, when we get the coroner’s report. Did you happen to see anyone else while you were outside? Anyone behaving suspiciously?”
Audrey wished she had. But she’d seen absolutely no one. For a moment, she wondered if she could lie, create some phantom figure in black, just to take the heat off herself, but then she decided she was already in enough trouble as it was. “No. No one.”
“Me neither!” Nessa called. “Not a soul.”
Audrey glared at her.
“I’ll need your passport,” DiNardo said.
“It’s back at my house,” she explained lamely, every hair on her body standing at attention. When he moved aside to let her through, indicating that he’d go with her, like she was some prisoner that he couldn’t let out of his sight, she repeated, “I’m not in trouble, am I?”
She was hoping for of course not, you’re clearly innocent! But he simply said, “Just following procedures, signorina.”
All the officers watched her as she made her way down the narrow passage and across to her house, DiNardo on her heels. Oh, God, I am in trouble. Italian prison, here I come.
She paused with her hand on the door of her home, when a thought suddenly occurred to her. Nick. They’re going to arrest me for harboring a wild animal, and keep me in prison while they build their murder case against me. I am so screwed.
But suddenly, Nessa burst out of the gate, shouting and waving her arms wildly. “I don’t care! You’re serious about this? Really? Shutting down my renovations? That’s BS!”
DiNardo turned to defuse the situation, hands up. “Just until we can conclude our investigations. This is a crime scene.”
“Well, how long will that take?” Nessa snapped.
Making no sudden moves, Audrey quickly pushed open the door. Sure enough, Nick stuck its muzzle out. She nudged him back gently, grabbed her purse from the hook near the front door, and appeared back on the stoop in a matter of seconds, even before DiNardo could notice she’d been gone.
She rummaged through her purse and pulled out the little blue booklet with the single Italian stamp inside. “Here it is!”
DiNardo took it from her. “It goes without saying that until our investigation is complete, you’re not to go anywhere.”
She nodded. “I understand. No leaving the country.”
“No. No leaving Mussomeli.”
“Oh. Okay.” She found it hard to breathe, as if the walls of this town were caving in on her. Across the street, Nessa scowled at her and mouthed, Great job, assassina.
Never had Audrey wanted to flip someone off more. Upset about a delay in renovations? Nice first world problem to have. But this was Audrey’s life hanging in the balance. Her career. Her family. Her entire freaking life.
Now, even if Audrey desperately wanted to go home … she couldn’t. She couldn’t even go on a drive outside the city. She was a prisoner.
But as she fielded suspicious glances from all sides, she knew that was far from the worst thing she could be.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I’m sorry, who is this?” Audrey asked, clutching the phone to her ear as she scampered around the house, peering out whatever window she could for shreds of evidence to how the investigation was proceeding.
A very accented voice said, “I have a goat who is sick. My friend Francisco, he say you help?”
Oh. A house call. Yes. This was probably just what she needed to get her mind off the investigation. Even if she didn’t technically have her license, she could still help a sick goat. “Yes. I can. What seems to be the problem?”
“Goat, he no eat. He very old.”
“All right. Well, I can come right away,” she said. It was better than slowly being driven insane, doing circles around her house. “What street are you on?”
“No street. I’m in Polizzelo. You come?”
“Sure. If I can find the …” She trailed off as it dawned on her. “Wait. Where is that … is that another … another town?”
“Si. Not far from Mussomeli. You come?”
She frowned, remembering DiNardo’s words. “Actually. I don’t think I can. I … don’t have any way of getting there.” At least, it sounded better than I’m the main suspect in a murder investigation. “I’m sorry.”
She ended the call and sighed. It was probably better that she stayed on the straight and narrow, anyway. She didn’t want to give the police any more reasons to suspect her.
Her eyes went to Nick. She’d probably have to get rid of him, too.
If only he wasn’t so dang cute. She’d sooner saw her own arm off than just let him go. With that little limp of his, he’d probably be devoured by a hawk the second she let him out.
So she spent most of the afternoon slowly going insane, spying on the police investigation.
Maybe it was that feeling of claustrophobia, but Audrey couldn’t stay in her house a second longer. The minute the last police car pulled away, she rocketed out of her front door and practically ran to La Mela Verde. She told herself she wanted a cup of G’s ciambotta, but really, she just wanted to be able to breathe normally again.
But the face behind the counter didn’t belong to G. It was a young woman with hoop earrings and a pink stripe in her hair. Maybe it was Audrey’s imagination, but when the woman looked at her, she could’ve sworn she saw the same suspicion that the police officers had given her.
Turning out of the place, she wandered randomly to the only other person she could think of.
Unfortunately, that was Are you looking at my butt, I hate animals Mason.
He smirked as if she was paying him a booty call when she arrived like a lost lamb on his front stoop. “Couldn’t keep away, could you, Boston?”
She scowled at him.
He checked behind her. “Where’s your oh-so-cute sidekick? Don’t tell me you got rid of him?”
“I have bigger things to worry about.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What? Your father told you that you had to outsource the plumbing, too?”
“Just let me in,” she muttered, pushing past him and into his house.
He turned on her. “No sexual favors required. Just tell me what you need. A new sink?”
“Don’t even go there.” She shot him a grossed-out look and scanned the place. It lacked a woman’s touch, but everything was new. The rooms were bigger. Nicer. Better situated. To top it all off, he had a darn garden. Something so shallow shouldn’t have bothered her, considering La Polizia wanted her head on a platter, but somehow, it only made her feel worse. “Do you have something to drink?”
“Yep.” He went to the tiny fridge under the counter. “Water? San Pellegrino? Orange jui—”
“You have anything stronger?”
He closed the fridge, pushed aside a curtain to reveal
a stocked pantry, and pulled out a cask of red wine, possibly something he might have pressed himself. She didn’t care. She needed something to take the edge off. He poured a little—too little, in Audrey’s eyes—into two stemless wine glasses and handed one to her.
She sucked it down before he finished saying, “Salud.”
The empty glass quivered in her hand. He eyed her with much of the same suspicion the police officers had. He didn’t offer her more. Instead, he pointed her to a small chair in his kitchen. She slumped into it.
“So … what’s the deal, Boston? You been spending too much time talking to that possessed shower of yours?”
She shook her head miserably. “The thing is, I think I’m suspect numero uno in a murder investigation.”
His eyes flooded with interest, but it wasn’t the kind she was hoping for. She wanted compassion. She wanted concern. She wanted Perry Mason to swoop down and tell her everything would be all right. But this Mason, the Mason she was stuck with, simply leaned forward like a highway rubbernecker at a grisly pile-up. “You don’t say. Who’d you off?”
Her scowl deepened.
He held out two hands in surrender. “Sorry. Just kidding.” He drained his own glass and smirked, showing two adorable dimples, which made it impossible to hate him. “But sincerely, now, girl … who died, and why would they think a little thing like you is responsible?”
She wasn’t sure that was a compliment. Knowing the little she did of him, she didn’t think so. Was it possible for him to compliment anything other than his reflection? “The foreman who was working on the house across the street. He fell off the cliff at the back of the house, and he died.”
“Yeah? Was there a lot of blood?”
She ignored the question, because yes, there was a lot of blood, but if she thought about it too much she was bound to get queasy again. “I was arguing with him the night before, because he was making all this noise and leaving a bunch of crap in front of my house, so I’d had it. I tore into him, and everyone on the street saw. So I have motive. And then I went out back to have a talk with him, and I found the body. Supposedly he’d only died a few minutes before I got there. So I don’t have an alibi. Motive plus no alibi? Boom. Instant suspect.” She slumped in the chair, feeling worse.
