by Wendy Tyson
“Of course not.” Allison placed the phone on speaker and poured bath salt into the tub. She lowered her aching body into the warm water and said, “He gets to play Santa Claus.”
“Santa Claus?” Vaughn said. “Or God?”
Later that day, Elle sent Karina down to Mia’s cottage to invite Allison and her family to the castle for dinner. Allison declined, preferring instead to eat a quiet meal in her cottage. When Karina suggested that Allison would be disappointing her host, Allison agreed to come—for a little while.
Now, after dressing once again in more formal clothes, she regretted her decision. But she knew Mia was anxious to see the interior of the historic castle, and to lay eyes on a former music idol—Sam Norton. As they entered the grand ballroom where Elle had ordered dinner be served, Allison watched Mia’s reaction, experiencing the castle as though for the first time through her mentor’s eyes.
Only before Mia could say a word, Elle was by her side, gushing over Grace and fawning over Mia. Her manner, laid back on a good day and nearly comatose on a bad day, seemed downright manic.
“Mia! I’ve heard so much about you. Please, come this way. I have a special seat for you right next to the charming Jeremy Kahn. You do know who Jeremy Kahn is, don’t you? I’m afraid his wife couldn’t be here tonight, but I’m sure you’ll find Jeremy to be a top-notch conversationalist.” Elle glanced over her shoulder, fixating on Jeremy, who was listening to Mazy, boredom etched on his face.
Elle lowered her voice. “Douglas is coming too. I told him not to, with Jeremy here and all, but he insisted. You’ll help me keep the peace, won’t you, Allison?”
Allison took Elle by the arm and led her into a corner, near the archway that opened up into a foyer. Mia seemed to take that as her cue and she took Grace deeper into the ballroom, near a table of appetizers that had been set out beneath an ornate chandelier. Jason lingered near Allison, his eyes on Jeremy Kahn.
“Are you okay?” Allison hissed.
“Yes, of course. Why?” Elle teetered, then stumbled against a wall.
“Because you don’t seem yourself.” Allison peered into Elle’s eyes. “Did you take something?”
Elle had the decency to look ashamed. “Hilda gave me something. To calm my nerves.”
“A tranquilizer? Give me your wrist.” Allison took Elle’s arm and felt her pulse, which was racing. “Where is Hilda? I think you may need to lay down.”
Elle’s eyes widened in alarm. “No. Don’t make me go upstairs. I’m fine. Really. See?” Elle stepped away from the wall. She twirled around, letting her red swing dress billow around her narrow hips. “Perfectly fine.”
“Where is Hilda?”
“With my dad.”
“I’d like to talk with her.”
Elle glanced toward the arched entryway. Douglas was just walking into the room and both women watched as he strolled coolly past Jeremy Kahn.
“Bastard,” Elle muttered. To Allison, she said, “I can’t take you upstairs now that he’s here. Why don’t you go alone? Sam’s rooms are down the hall from mine. Hilda is there with him.” She smiled, and Allison saw another flash of mania. “Go, go. Or you’ll miss dinner. Tonight, we feast.”
Allison watched her host fumble her way across the vast room on tangerine stilettos. She walked straight toward Douglas, who, for his part, seemed relieved to see her.
Before Allison could leave, Jason was by her side.
“I guess you heard everything?” When Jason nodded, Allison said, “Mia doesn’t know any of these people. Why don’t you go hang out with your mother, and I’ll find Hilda.”
“I’d rather go with you. My mom can handle herself.”
Allison’s gaze darted to Mia, who was standing in a corner next to Grace. Each held a small plate of crudités.
“I don’t know. She looks a little lost. Besides, it will be less conspicuous if you remain.”
Jason nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Don’t be long or I’ll come looking for you.”
By now, Allison knew her way around parts of the castle. Her heels clicked on marble floors as she walked alone through the long corridor and up the wide staircase. At the top of the second floor, she turned right, toward the south wing of the main building, where Elle and Sam had their apartments. Night was closing in, and the interior lights, hung high overhead, seemed unable to make up for lost daylight. Allison walked briskly, avoiding the shadows.
She counted doors until she arrived at what she believed to be Sam’s rooms. She knocked. When no one answered, she walked to the next door and lingered there for a moment, listening. No sounds from within. She knocked anyway. Again, all was quiet. She turned the handle. Locked.
Allison was certain she had the right rooms. Elle had said they were near her own, and no one else stayed in the south wing.
She was about to try the other set of doors again when the one in front of her slammed open. Hilda stood before her. She clutched a book to her breast.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
Allison looked past her into the room. She could see a gold brocade couch, a writing desk, and not much else. “I wanted to speak with you about what you gave Elle. For her nerves.”
“Ah.” Hilda stepped back. “Sam is sleeping,” she said in her accented English. “Finally.”
“I don’t want to wake him.”
Hilda didn’t respond, but her body language—rigid shoulders, hands still clutching that book across her chest—told Allison she no more wanted company than she wanted a needle inserted in her eye.
“Elle said you gave her a sedative, but she seemed rather hyperactive downstairs. Running about, unsteady on her feet, eyes darting.” When Hilda continued standing there, Allison said, “What did you give her?”
Hilda lowered the book, which Allison could see now had a German title. “It was just Diphenhydramine HCl.” When Allison looked at her blankly, she said, “Benadryl.”
“Why would you give Elle Benadryl?”
“Because it usually makes people slightly, ah, how do you say, groggy. Calmer. Without any addiction issues. But at times it can have the opposite effect. Perhaps it had the opposite effect on Elle.”
“How much did you give her?”
“Just one dose.”
Allison considered this. She’d given Benadryl to Grace before to fight allergies. Grace had fallen asleep within a half hour. But the doctor had said it could make children hyper. Adults too? Allison didn’t think groggy was the calm Elle was looking for. But if Elle had a history of addiction, and Hilda knew that, perhaps the choice made sense.
A sharp sound behind Hilda startled the frail woman and she jumped.
“Karina!” Sam called. “Karina?”
“Karina’s not here,” Hilda said. She turned to Allison. “I must go.”
“He’s awake then?”
“So it would seem.”
Hilda stepped back and started to close the door. Something fell from her arms.
Allison watched it hit the carpet. She bent down and picked it up. As she said, “Your book,” Allison saw a figure flash behind Hilda. Long blonde braids, a white t-shirt. White pants. Karina.
Before Allison could say another word, Hilda closed the door. Allison was left standing alone in the hallway, wondering what Karina was doing in Sam’s bedroom. And why Hilda lied about being alone with Sam.
Allison texted Jason and let him know she’d be a few more minutes. She didn’t want him worrying or coming upstairs to look for her. Not now.
She made her way back through the south wing, toward the upper entrance hall, and crossed over into the north wing. The two wings were mirrors of each other, although the north wing was used less frequently—and it showed. Cobwebs hid in dusty corners. Bulbs in the crystal chandeliers were burned out or missing. The wing had a musty, damp smel
l, from water damage or disuse, Allison wasn’t sure. But this was where Michael stayed, and it was where Vaughn would be. If anyone asked, Vaughn was her handy excuse. She wanted to see his rooms ahead of time.
The first set of doors was unlocked. She opened them and entered a series of small rooms: a living room area, a bathroom with a claw foot tub and a modern shower, toilet and bidet, and a spacious bedroom. The bed sat unmade, but the rooms looked as though they’d been recently cleaned. The scent of disinfectant was strong. The floors—stone underneath a Persian rug—seemed dust-free, as did the Italianate furniture. Vaughn’s rooms—or so Allison assumed.
She backed out of the apartment and closed the door softly. Another set of doors was visible down the hall. Again, her heels clicked on marble, and this time the sound echoed loudly, feeding her nerves and causing her pulse to race. She unstrapped her sandals and slipped them off, her aching feet a ready excuse should anyone ask. She skulked down the hall, too aware of the sound of her own breathing.
She twisted the knob of the first set of doors. They were locked.
She walked to the next door. Around her, the air was still and stale. She felt trapped in time, closed off from the merry-makers downstairs. She twisted the knob—also locked. She placed her ear against the ornate wood but heard no sounds coming from the other side. She pressed harder. The door gave way. It had been locked, but the latch never caught.
The sudden motion made her fall forward, into the dark.
It took Allison a moment to right herself. Breath coming hard now, she waited while her eyes adjusted to the dim light flowing in from the hall. She felt along the wall for a switch. Bingo. Light flooded the room.
Allison’s hand flew to her mouth. She bit down, stifling a moan.
The room was torn apart. Couch cushions had been sliced open, and their stuffing littered the carpeted floor. The writing desk sat askew, its drawers torn out and thrown on the floor. Beyond the living area, the bedroom was a mess. Clothes lay strewn all over the furniture, books and papers had been scattered across the bed, a tangle of rope and climbing gear sat on a dresser top.
Someone had been in here, searching through Michael’s belongings.
Someone who could still be in here now.
Allison glanced around, tingles running haywire down her spine and across her shoulders. She crept backwards toward the main entrance, her senses on high alert. At the threshold, she froze. A door closed in the distance, then a sound like clicking reverberated on the marble hallway floor.
She remained there, quiet, until the sound had passed.
Who had been in the rooms next door?
And who might be watching her now?
TWENTY-THREE
Balzan arrived an hour later without a translator. He and his people cordoned off the north wing and stayed at the castle until well after midnight. They found nothing—only evidence that someone had ransacked Michael’s rooms. They questioned each of the guests—at least those who spoke some German or Italian. Which meant they questioned everyone except Allison.
Without the translator, Allison felt uncomfortable sharing her own concerns. Karina offered to translate, but given what Allison experienced in Sam’s rooms, she was not about to trust her worries to Karina. Suddenly, no one at the castle seemed reliable, including her host. Could Elle have done it while high on the drug Hilda had given her? Anything seemed possible.
Jason held Allison’s hand on the way back to the cottage. “This just cements it,” he whispered. “You need to get out.”
Allison nodded. Tomorrow she’d speak with Balzan. Friday Vaughn was coming in, and by Sunday Mia and Grace would leave.
Allison knew Jason was thinking of his own job, of the wedding they’d planned to have in three weeks’ time. She knew he didn’t want to leave his family there alone. She sought words to comfort him, but all she could come up with was a reminder that she’d looked after herself in much worse situations.
“Not abroad,” he said. “And not with a child.”
“Michael’s room being torn apart doesn’t make things worse,” Allison reasoned. “To the contrary. It means this is not random. This relates to Elle’s family—or the foundation.”
Jason stopped walking. He looked at her under the milky light of a full moon and a billion brilliant stars. “Amazing,” he murmured. He glanced at Allison. “And how is that better?”
Grace and Mia were up ahead, also marveling at the clarity of the night sky. Death and disorder were surely far from Grace’s thoughts, and for that Allison was grateful. She turned to Jason, her heart swelling with love—despite the night’s events. She felt lucky to have him. To have Grace and Mia and Vaughn in her life. Jason was right. Personal or not, she’d see to it that they left, and she’d stick with her plan to be right behind them.
“Thank you for being here,” Allison said. “I love you.” The words made her ache. He was her rock. Childless or not, she wanted Jason. She wanted to marry him and be a family. A makeshift family was just fine.
“I love you too, Al,” he said. He leaned in and hugged her. “But I think we should postpone the wedding.”
Allison nodded. He was right, of course. Even if this mess was to get cleared up sooner rather than later, she had made no headway with her plans. There’d been no time. And Shirin’s death and the oddball antics of the castle’s inhabitants would leave an indelible mark on what was to be a happy day. No, the wedding should be postponed. It didn’t distill their love for one another. It didn’t change Allison’s sense of commitment.
Still, she was happy for the darkness that hid her tears.
Just as Julia had described, the police station was on the outskirts of the main town road, up from the young fruit seller who seemed to spend his days hawking produce from a truck parked by the side of the road. Allison and Jason followed the music—an outdoor concert was taking place in the town square, by the river—and passed the stores and inns that made up the bulk of the village. Inspector Balzan was late for their meeting, however, and the couple sat outside on a stone bench watching the festivities from their perch. Allison felt removed from it all, as though watching the colorful parade while in a trance.
Jason squeezed her hand and nodded toward the doorway. Balzan was standing there, waiting. He motioned them inside.
Today there was a breach in the inspector’s normal cool confidence. His handsome features looked bruised and shadowed, his sculpted hair slightly tousled. He led them through a small waiting area and into a tiny office. It smelled of stale cigarette smoke and onions, but the desk—like a matching set of shelves and a bookcase—was orderly. Allison’s eyes were drawn to a photo of a striking brunette holding an infant. Balzan’s family, she assumed. Although the inspector wore no wedding ring.
Balzan proffered two rickety chairs. They all sat, and silence permeated the room until Julia joined them. The translator was dressed entirely in red today.
“For the festival,” she said by way of explanation. Her gaze lingered on Jason. She smiled and leaned against a credenza, her ample bottom swathed in crimson satin. “Shall we get started?”
Allison explained her concerns as concisely as she could. She started with her own version of what had transpired the night before: her visit to Sam’s rooms, the Benadryl, and her walk to the north wing.
“And what brought you there?” Balzan asked through Julia. “To the northern wing of the castle?”
“Curiosity.” Allison told the inspector about Vaughn’s impending arrival. “But also to see if Elle was being completely truthful.”
The inspector looked surprised. “About?”
“About the laptop.”
“And what laptop is that?”
“The one Elle Rose told you about. Her half-brother, Michael, left it behind.” Allison was certain confusion showed on her face. Elle had said again she would tell the inspector about h
er concerns. Surely she’d shared them last night when questioned by the polizia.
But the inspector seemed equally as confused. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Campbell. No one mentioned a laptop.”
“Did you find one in Michael’s rooms?” Jason asked.
The inspector hesitated. Finally he said, “No. There was no laptop in the rooms when we searched.”
Allison and Jason glanced at one another. When Allison looked back at the inspector, he was combing through notes, presumably notes his officers had taken the night before.
“No,” he said again in English. “No laptop.”
The room’s occupants stayed silent. The sounds of trombones and trumpets could be heard through the station walls, and the thunderous percussion instruments seemed to beat in time with Allison’s heart. No laptop. That meant either the person who ransacked the rooms found what they had been looking for. Or Elle stole the laptop—which would explain why she never mentioned it to the police.
“Elle believes Michael is still on the premises,” Allison said. “Hiding.”
The inspector’s eyebrows shot up. “For what purpose?”
“To mess with their minds, make people believe Sam is crazy. She thinks perhaps he wants his inheritance—before the Pay It Forward Foundation gives it all away.”
“Wouldn’t there be easier ways to get that done than pretending to leave and staying behind? That sounds like a crazy notion.”
Allison explained her client’s discovery of the laptop and the reasons she believed her half-brother was lurking in the shadows.
The inspector looked unconvinced. He said something in Italian that took Julia a moment to translate.
“Inspector Balzan says perhaps the American is mentally unstable. Or ingesting drugs.”
Allison stared at the inspector, Elle’s words ringing in her head. “Perhaps. But she also said she felt someone watching her. What if…what if Michael is there? And Elle is in danger.” When neither Julia nor Balzan spoke, Allison took it a step further. “Inspector, have you given more thought to the death of Elle’s husband, Damien? Could the recent events at the castle and Damien’s death be linked?”
