Romancing the Crown Series

by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)

  "Who was murdered?" she asked, lowering her voice so Leo wouldn't overhear the conversation.

  After another sweeping, nervous scan of her surroundings, the woman leaned closer and whispered, "The victim was Desmond Caruso. The bastard nephew of the king. Bashed over the head quite brutally, I'm told. It was terrible."

  "And they haven't caught the killer yet? They don't even know who it was?"

  "No. At least I don't believe so. I look in the paper every day. He could be watching us right now, you know. Or she. It's horrid. Just terrible. I live alone, and I haven't been able to sleep a single wink since that awful night. And I only dared to venture out today after seeing you and the child out here, both of you looking so very brave and unconcerned."

  Sarah didn't feel so very brave and unconcerned anymore. Why hadn't anyone told her this before? Why did everyone seem to assume that because Leo was only five years old, he couldn't possibly be affected by such grisly events? Now, learning that a murder had accompanied the fire, Sarah was even more convinced that those events had something to do with Leo's silence.

  As soon as Nick returned from the hospital, she was going to be on him about this subject like white on rice. Not only as it related to Leo's condition, but because she mightily resented the fact that no one had thought it important to let her know that there was a murderer on the loose.

  Her benchmate was actually trembling now.

  "Oh, dear. I've come this far," the woman said, "but now I'm afraid to walk home all by myself. I wonder, young lady... Would you? Could you accompany me?"

  "Yes, of course."

  All of a sudden, now that she knew there was a murderer on the loose, Sarah wasn't all that crazy about being out here either. She called to Leo to get his shoes on.

  By the time she and Leo had walked the frightened Mrs. Ratigan back to her house adjacent to the palace grounds—Sarah had almost laughed out loud when the mousey little woman actually introduced herself by that name—and then retraced their steps back to the Chiara's residence, it was well into the afternoon.

  Sarah was starving. Poor Leo, she had to assume, was starving, as well. She wasn't exactly winning any awards in the nanny department, was she?

  While he disappeared into the bathroom, Sarah raced into his room to retrieve the doll hidden in the closet. She tossed it into her own room, closed the door, and then headed for the kitchen.

  She wasn't exactly winning any awards in the psychotherapist department either, she thought, as she washed her hands in the kitchen sink. Other than discovering that Leo had an intense reaction to the middle-size doll, she really hadn't learned anything else about his mutism, except possibly for Mrs.Ratigan's account of the nearby fire and murder.

  But who knew if that was even true? Maybe the woman made a habit of accosting people and scaring them with tales of murder and mayhem on the palace grounds. Maybe it was just her way of having a bit of fun with visitors to the palace. Who knew?

  It was interesting the way Leo had so closely scrutinized Mrs. Ratigan when she'd approached. Sarah recalled that they passed several men on their walk this morning, but Leo hadn't paid particular attention to any of them. There was definitely some female aspect to his problem that needed delving into.

  Right now, though, she needed to delve into their lunch. And before she did that, she was going to have to clean up the bread and marmalade that she'd dropped earlier before running to Lady Satherwaite's assistance. Sarah didn't know much about physics, but she did know it was an immutable law that bread always fell butter- or jelly-side down. What a mess.

  She picked up the partial sandwich, pitched it in the trash, then reached for a paper towel and bent down to swab up the sticky marmalade and crumbs. Just as she was making a second pass over the spot with the towel, Sarah felt something—a huge, hot hand—clamp on her backside. She was so startled she nearly went head first into the cabinet under the sink. Shrieking.

  She stood up and whirled around to confront her attacker.

  "Aiee. Scusa, signorina. Pardon me."

  The man who spoke looked even more startled than Sarah. He was young—in his early twenties. His dark brown hair was long and sun-streaked, and he wore a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt and a pair of ragged cutoffs. Surely not a murderer, she thought, much to her immediate relief. He looked more like a Montebellan surfer.

  "Who are you? How did you get in here?" she asked, not knowing whether he understood English or not.

  "Through the door," he answered in slow and careful English, pointing to the door that led to the terrace. "I am Bruno. I come to see Estella."

  "Estella? There's no one here by that name."

  "She is the nanny. Here." He gestured around the kitchen. "Estella is the nanny to the bambino who lives here. Leo."

  "Well, maybe she was," Sarah said. "But not anymore. I'm the new nanny."

  He looked incredibly disappointed, almost as if he were about to cry. "Is true?"

  "Yes. I'm afraid so. There's no Estella here."

  "Aiee."

  He pulled out a chair and sat, as if he were quite comfortable in the Chiara kitchen. As if he'd been here many times before. Sarah made a mental note to find out more about this Estella, the nanny who'd preceded her.

  "I was away," Bruno said rather mournfully. "I did not know Estella would not be here when I come back. Where did she go?"

  "I'm sorry. I don't know."

  He dug in the pocket of his cutoffs, coming up with a tiny box, which he carefully opened. "You see. I bring her this."

  Sarah gazed at the diamond ring, whose stone was hardly bigger than a flea. The poor guy. Even though he'd almost scared her to death, Sarah felt sympathetic.

  "I'm sorry," she said again. "I don't know where she is."

  "Aiee." He dragged his fingers through his hair. "Maybe the bambino knows where. Leo. Maybe we ask him. Tell him it is Bruno wanting to find Estella."

  "I'm sure he doesn't know," Sarah told him. Obviously the young man hadn't seen Leo since the boy had stopped speaking. "Perhaps I can ask Dr.Chiara or his aunt about Estella. They might know her address."

  His face brightened a bit as he stood up. "Yes, they might know address. You ask, please."

  "I'll ask them later this evening," she said.

  "Okay. Okay. I come back tomorrow, yes? You will have address for me?"

  "I'll do my best," she said.

  "Best. Yes." He extended his hand. "I am sorry about..." His dark gaze flicked in the direction of her backside. "You know. Sorry. But nice. Very nice."

  "That's quite all right," she said, stifling a grin.

  "See you tomorrow, signorina. Ciao."

  "Ciao."

  As soon as Bruno, the disappointed suitor, was out the door, Sarah closed it and threw the bolt. She didn't need any more surprises this afternoon.

  Sarah and Leo spent the rest of the afternoon playing. At least, Leo thought they were playing when she gave him a box of crayons and a sketchbook.

  There was nothing particularly distressing in his creations. The human figures he composed were fairly typical stick figures, most of them properly centered on the page and in proper proportion to one another.

  When she asked him to draw his father, Leo put a smile on the rounded face of the figure, which was a very good sign. When she asked him to draw his great aunt, Honoria, he did his five-year-old best to cloak her in a big purple gown, and he included a bright red smile on her face, too.

  As for himself, when she asked him to draw a self-portrait, Leo chose a straight line for his mouth, a fairly neutral expression. Up to this point, other than his reaction to the one doll, Sarah wasn't picking up on any pathology or emotional dysfunction in the child whatsoever. Leo Chiara seemed very well adjusted in spite of the fact that he chose not to speak.

  When Nick called from the hospital to report that his aunt was doing well and that he'd be home after he had the results of a few more tests, Sarah asked him if he'd have time for her to ask him some more questions a
bout the boy this evening.

  "Plenty of time," he replied.

  "Good. And I have a few questions for you about the recent murder, too."

  If he read her tone properly, he'd know just how much she resented being kept in the dark about the crime. And for some odd and inexplicable reason Sarah really wanted Nick Chiara to read her right.It seemed terribly important to her just then.

  He sighed softly at his end of the line and then said, "I didn't tell you about the murder, Sarah, because I don't think it has a thing to do with Leo, or with your safety. It was an isolated incident. Nothing more. But I apologize. You should have been told."

  He read her just right, Sarah thought, and she | found herself smiling into the receiver.

  "Apology accepted," she said. "I really would I like to know more about the incident."

  "I'll tell you everything I know. And tell my son I'll be home soon with hamburgers and French fries jfor our dinner. That should make him happy."

  "Mmm. That makes me happy, too."

  "Good. See you soon."

  After she hung up the phone, Sarah headed toward Leo's room to give him the good hamburger news. It seemed a shame to be in someplace as exotic as Montebello and still be scarfing down burgers and fries, but maybe tomorrow she and Leo could wander out and find a nice little restaurant.

  Just as she was passing through the living room, the front doorbell rang. After Bruno's unanticipated arrival in the kitchen, she didn't know whom to expect as she walked to the door. Maybe she shouldn't even open it, she thought, in light of the murderer still on the loose.

  "Who is it?" she called, deciding to play it safe, while her hand was still on the door knob.

  "It's the Davis-Finches," came the reply. "Leo's grandparents. We've come to take him on vacation with us."

  Ah. Another little detail they hadn't told her about.

  Sarah opened the door.

  "Oh, dear," the woman who was obviously Mrs. Davis-Finch exclaimed. "Why, you're not Estella."

  "No. I'm Sarah."

  "Where's Estella?" Mr. Davis-Finch inquired.

  Sarah sighed. "That seems to be the question of the day. Please, come in."

  Chapter 8

  At seven o'clock that evening, Nick walked along a quiet corridor on the sixth floor of King Augustus Hospital, and then turned into one of the spacious private rooms reserved for the Sebastiani family. There, he discovered his Aunt Honoria sitting up in bed, alert and looking just as healthy as all the tests had indicated.

  The EKG. The Woodwork. The X rays. The MRI. He'd done everything but put her on a treadmill. Every test he'd ordered had come back not just within normal ranges, but showing his elderly aunt to be in exceptionally good health for her weight and advanced age.

  "How do you feel, love?" he asked, plucking her chart from the foot of the bed before angling a hip onto the high mattress. "Are you comfortable?"

  "Quite," she said, keeping her gaze on the television screen overhead while she punched buttons on a remote device. "There aren't as many channels on this dratted thing as there are on our television set at home."

  "Probably not." Nick closed the chart and put it back. "But you won't have to put up with it for very long. I imagine you'll be coming home tomorrow."

  "Do you think so, dear?" She continued to glare at the ever changing screen at the foot of the bed.

  "All of your tests came back fine, Aunt Honoria. We'll just keep you here this evening for observation. Merely to be cautious. But I honestly don't see any reason at all for you to remain in hospital any longer than that."

  "If you say so, Nicky," she murmured.

  Nick studied her face, not as her physician now but as her nephew. Honoria Satherwaite seemed oddly calm and content for a woman who'd just been rushed to the emergency room. Other than her disappointment over the number of channels on the television, she didn't seem to have a care in the world, and that casual attitude of hers only served to increase Nick's suspicion that his aunt had faked her fall for some reason he couldn't begin to fathom.

  He'd suspected the fraud from the very beginning this afternoon, when he'd discovered her lying in a rather comfortable pose on the living-room floor, with her legs stretched out straight, her arms folded across her midsection, all of her necklaces in order, and her lavender gown smoothed out quite nicely all about her.

  An unexpected fall of a woman his aunt's size should have taken out a lamp or two, at the very least, if not a large piece of furniture. Although she claimed to have been dizzy before the fall, her pulse rate had been normal and her pupils both equal and reactive. But he hadn't wanted to take any chances so he'd called for an ambulance and admitted her to the hospital.

  Whatever the devil she'd intended to accomplish with her little ruse, other than nearly frightening him to death, he hoped she was satisfied now.

  "They should be bringing your dinner shortly," he told her.

  "I must say I'm looking forward to it," she said with a slightly sardonic roll of her eyes.

  "The food is quite good here, I'm told."

  She clucked her tongue. "That remains to be seen, doesn't it? Why don't you run along now, dear? Go home. I'm sure I'm in excellent hands here."

  Nick kissed her cheek. "Call me if you need anything. Promise."

  "I promise."

  "And don't run the nurses ragged."

  "No, darling. Of course I won't. Run along now.Off with you. Hug dear little Leo for me. And give my regards to the lovely Ms. Hunter, will you?"

  Half an hour later, juggling a warm sack of burgers and fries in one hand and two bottles of red wine in the other, Nick realized that the lovely Ms. Hunter had bolted the door from the terrace. Afraid of murderers, no doubt. He knocked once on the glass pane, then once again, a little bit louder, before he saw her sprinting through the kitchen toward him.

  "I'm glad you're back," she said when she opened the door to let him in. "How's Lady Satherwaite?"

  "Better. Fine, actually," he said, stepping into the kitchen. "We don't usually lock this door, Sarah. It really isn't necessary. You needn't be afraid of anyone breaking in."

  "Really? Well, then you've probably never met Bruno," she said with a laugh.

  "Who?"

  "Bruno. Estella's boyfriend. He was the first unexpected visitor this afternoon." She gestured over her shoulder toward the living room. "The second batch is in there."

  Nick didn't have a clue what she was talking about. Americans, in his experience, were generally straightforward. They said just what they meant. Sarah Hunter seemed to be speaking in some strange code. He wondered if that was because she was a psychologist.

  He put the bag of food and the bottle of wine on the table. "What visitors?" he asked.

  "Your in-laws, Sir Dominic. Mr. And Mrs. Davis-Finch. They've come to take Leo on holiday."

  "They've what?" He turned toward the door to the living room where he could now clearly hear his mother-in-law's voice. Edith Davis-Finch always trilled like a canary. Good God. "A holiday? I don't know anything about this."

  Sarah shrugged. "Apparently they worked out the details with Estella, the former nanny. They've been planning this trip for several months, I gather."

  "We'll see about that."

  Lara's parents doted on their only grandchild, and traveled from England at least three or four times a year to see him. Nick usually made himself scarce during those visits, because as much as they doted on Leo, the Davis-Finches regarded Leo's father as the incompetent monster who'd let their only daughter die.

  They were terrible snobs, neither one of whom had ever thought Sir Dominic Chiara was good enough for Lara Elizabeth Wellington Davis-Finch. Edith, his mother-in-law, had been reasonably civil to Nick over the years. Roger, on the other hand, was barely able to unclench his teeth enough to say a mere hello. After Lara died, both of her parents began to speak to Nick only when absolutely necessary. Aunt Honoria was usually the intermediary.

  Still, Edith and Roger Davis-
Finch were good to Leo, and in the long run, that was all that really mattered to Nick.

  Except for this unanticipated and rather highhanded attempt to spirit his son away to God knows where.

  "My son's not going anywhere," he snarled, turning toward the living room.

  "Well..."

  Sarah put a hand on his arm, restraining him.

  "Wait a minute, Nick. It might not be such a bad idea," she said. "I've been thinking about Leo and this trip for the past hour or so, and I think it's a good idea."

  Nick turned back to see her intensely serious expression. Gone was the lighthearted look he was accustomed to seeing on Sarah Hunter's pretty face. The playful glitter in her green eyes was gone. The upward tilt of her lips had flattened out to a somber line. She looked serious and utterly professional right now.

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "Leo was absolutely thrilled to see his grandparents this afternoon, Nick. And he's really excited about this trip to Disneyland in Paris. I mean, really excited. You should see him. The kid is bouncing around the house like a little rubber ball. A few minutes ago I swear he almost laughed out loud."

  "Really?"

  She nodded. "Really."

  Rather than storm into the other room to confront his in-laws, perhaps even ram his fist into Roger's implacable grimace, Nick slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.

  "In other words, you're telling me to let him go," he said. It wasn't a question, but a flat statement.

  "That's my professional opinion."

  "What about your therapy with him?"

  "It will keep," she said. "He'll only be gone for three or four days at the very most. And I honestly believe that getting away from here for a while is the best thing for Leo right now."

  "Why?"

  Her pretty face turned even more somber and her tone became almost grim. "Because I'm convinced that something happened here, on the palace grounds, something traumatic, that caused your son's silence, and that continues to prevent him from speaking."