The last thing I wanted to do was stare at a corpse for the next twenty minutes, all alone, but it was the right thing to do. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Just hurry, please.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. “I promise.”
Moments later, I heard Brittany sobbing uncontrollably, her pitiful screams echoing throughout the valley. I was thankful that Carter had offered to break the news to her. He must have somehow convinced her that she’d be better off not seeing her husband in the state he was in - which was dead.
Chapter 7
In all my fantasies about visiting Tuscany, not one of them included the possibility of hanging out with a corpse.
It wasn’t hard to imagine the scenario. He could have lost his balance on one of these slippery rocks, smacked his head, passed out and drowned.
Not that I didn’t feel badly for the guy. As much as I disliked him, he didn’t deserve to die like this. Of course, I didn’t know him well enough to make that kind of determination. Maybe he did deserve it after seeing the bruise on his wife’s cheek.
In my life, I’ve known several women who have chosen, for better or worse, to stay with abusive husbands. They all had their reasons and who am I to judge them? I’ve never been able to understand how you can love someone who hurts you, physically or emotionally. Then again, love means something different to everyone.
If I were to analyze Brittany’s reaction to her husband’s death, I would say she truly loved him. Of all the nightmare scenarios you could imagine, this topped the charts. The honeymoon of her dreams turned into tragedy.
My butt was getting numb from sitting on the rock. I got to my feet and stretched my legs. Twelve minutes since Carter and Brittany left.
I could only imagine what was going on up at the resort. Poor Eduardo, I could picture him trying to keep this unfortunate event under wraps. When the cops and the ambulance made their appearance, however, eventually the guests would find out what happened. What a mess.
Minutes later, I heard the sound of footsteps on wet earth. I looked up and over toward the trail. Four young men were trotting toward me with a stretcher. Carter was behind them, talking to a uniformed police officer. I let out a sigh of relief and moved to the side to get out of their way.
The young men were wearing tall plastic boots that went up past their knees and they didn’t hesitate to get right in the water to collect Dick. It took a little doing but they got him on the stretcher and carried him up to dry land. Now lying supine, I could clearly see Dick’s bloated face and the nasty looking contusion north of his temple. They covered him with a sheet and headed back up the trail.
Carter introduced me to the police officer who spoke perfect English. He asked me a few questions but seemed pretty laid back about the incident overall.
“Can’t remember the last time someone drowned in this town,” he said. “Must be five or six years, at least. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Sure,” I said. “But I doubt I’ll be much help.”
He took out a small notebook and pen from inside his uniform jacket as he scanned the area. “Have you seen anyone else down here this morning?”
“Not since we got here about half an hour ago,” I said.
He took a few steps toward the water and peered into one of the pools, as if looking for clues. “How well did you know the deceased?”
“Not well. We sat next to he and his wife at dinner the first night we arrived. Last night, we invited his wife to join us for coffee after dinner. She was concerned when he didn’t show up.”
“And yet, she didn’t contact the authorities that he was missing?”
“Well, I don’t think she wanted to jump the gun. I don’t know about Italy, but back in the states we have to wait 24 hours to report a missing person.”
The officer nodded and scribbled in his notebook. “What was her reaction when she found out her husband was dead?”
Carter cleared his throat. “I was the one who told her. She was pretty upset.”
“Upset? You mean, sobbing?”
“Yes,” Carter said. “She was visibly shaken and sobbing hysterically.”
“Okay,” he said with a tight smile. “I guess that’s all I need for now.”
Chapter 8
The presence of the police and paramedics had drawn quite a crowd at the resort. Brittany had left with the officer we spoke to.
I wasn’t sure what to do at this point. “Do we wait around to see if we’re needed?” I asked Carter. “Or can we go back to our apartment? I really need to use the bathroom.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll wait here and find out if there’s anything else we can do.”
“Thanks. Just call me if you need me to come back.”
He kissed my cheek. “You did great, by the way. I’m proud of you. Must have been kind of creepy down there with a dead body.”
“No big deal, really,” I said, although my nerves begged to differ.
I got back to the room, relieved myself and grabbed a granola bar I had stashed in my suitcase. No wonder I was starving, it was almost ten o’clock.
When I heard the knocking, I opened the door to find the Canadian woman standing there with an expectant look on her face. She was probably in her late fifties, with a perfectly coiffed bob hairdo. Self-confidence oozed out of her.
“We haven’t been formally introduced yet,” she said. “I’m Hope Dillard.”
“Sarah,” I replied, shaking her hand. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Well, I couldn’t help but notice all the commotion around here this morning. I saw you walking up from the trail with the police. Did someone die?”
No point in denying it. “I’m afraid so.”
Her eyes lit up. “It’s the husband, isn’t it? The rude man at dinner who’s always on his cell phone.”
I nodded.
“I saw his poor wife talking to the officer. Can you tell me what happened?”
I paused, wondering why this woman had the gall to show up at my apartment and question me. How did she even know where to find me? I decided to answer her question so she’d leave me alone. “He appears to have drowned.”
“Drowned?” she said, full of appalled curiosity. “In the hot springs?”
I nodded again. “Look, that’s all I know. If you need more details, maybe Eduardo can help you.”
She seemed slightly surprised at my curtness, so I softened my tone and offered a smile. “Sorry, it’s been a long morning. I’m a bit on edge.”
“No need to apologize.”
And yet, she didn’t seem eager to leave. Why was this woman so obsessed with Dick’s death? Then I remembered the sisters telling me that Hope was a famous journalist/writer of crime novels. It all started to click. She was looking for fodder.
“Did you discover his body?” she asked and I almost expected her to whip out a pen and paper and start taking notes. “How long do think he’s been dead?”
“Look, Hope. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m feeling tired and I need to lie down.”
“Oh sure,” she said, waving a hand. “I understand. Do you mind if I speak to you about this later? I’ll buy you lunch.”
“I don’t think so.”
Her terse expression told me she wasn’t used to being turned down. “I see, well, thanks for your time. If you change your mind, you know where you can find me.”
“Yes, I do.”
I retreated to the bedroom and opened my laptop. After logging into the internet, I did a search for a famous crime author from Canada named Hope Dillard. The photo had to be at least ten years old, but it made her look smart and glamorous at the same time. According to her website, her career began when she worked for some big newspaper in Toronto. Then she graduated to writing novels— over twenty of them. From what I could tell, she hadn’t had a book released since 2005, almost ten years. I imagined she had probably made a decent income and was now enjoying her nest egg by traveling w
ith her husband. Or maybe she was running out of money and needed to find an idea for a new book.
When Carter returned, he brought with him a shopping bag. “Eduardo gave this to me to bring back to you. Pastries, fruit and a bottle of wine. He appreciates our patience and help with the events this morning.”
“Are the police gone?”
Carter grabbed an orange from the bag and took a seat at the table. “Yes. Dick is on his way to the coroner. If they confirm there’s been no foul play, I imagine the case will be closed.”
“They don’t suspect Brittany of anything, do they?”
“I don’t think so.”
I sunk into the chair and shook my head. “I can’t even imagine how hard it must be. What will she do now? Have Dick’s body shipped back to the states?”
“No idea. Probably depends on the coroner’s exam.”
Carter opened the bottle of wine Eduardo gave him. “I know it’s not even lunch time, but I need a drink.”
“By the way, guess who stopped by to pay me a visit?”
“Who?”
“Hope Dillard, the Canadian author. She was asking questions about Dick and Brittany.”
He chuckled as he went looking for a corkscrew. “I saw her lingering around Eduardo’s office, too. What did you tell her?”
“Very little,” I said. “Just enough to get her off my back.”
“Good. The less said the better. We’re assuming Dick died from an accidental drowning, but that might not be the case at all.”
“Well, the guy didn’t make any friends since he’s been here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pissed someone off.”
Chapter 9
Later that afternoon, Carter and I decided to pay Brittany a visit.
She invited us into her apartment and I immediately noticed how calm she seemed. I soon understood why. There was an empty bottle of wine and her breath reeked of alcohol.
“I’m glad you stopped by,” she said, slurring her words. “I wanted to thank you both.”
I didn’t blame her for drinking away the pain. I’d probably do the same thing. “How are you holding up?” I asked, and immediately regretted it. What a stupid question.
“Can I offer you a drink?” She went to the cabinet and retrieved two more wine glasses then filled them each without waiting for a reply. How could we say no? We were in Tuscany, after all.
“Thanks,” Carter said, accepting the glass. “Were you able to get through to your family back home?”
“Not much family to call. Just Dick’s brother.” She pulled out a chair and tried to sit down, almost falling over. I leaned over, took her arm and helped guide her back into her seat.
“Have you had anything to eat?” I asked her.
She seemed to ponder the question. Finally, she shook her head. “Nope. I’m not hungry, anyway.”
“You need to put something in your belly.” I went to her fridge and looked inside. I didn’t expect much so I was surprised to find a platter of cheese and crackers, cut fruit, and cold cuts. “Has someone else been by to visit you?”
“Yes, the sisters next door, Lauren and Jamie. They came by to offer their condolences and brought some food. Like I said, though. I’m not hungry.”
I barely knew Brittany, but I know what it’s like to lose a loved one. You forget to eat and sometimes forget to breathe. I didn’t want to force myself on her, but I could see she was heading down a dangerous path with the alcohol. I prepared a small plate of food, brought it to the table and convinced her to take a few bites.
“Have you heard anything from the coroner’s office?” Carter asked.
She shook her head slowly. “Not yet.”
“I know you mentioned that you contacted Dick’s brother, but what about your own family? You should have someone here for support.”
“I only have a sister but we’re not very close. She hated Dick, so she’s really not all that sympathetic right now. She didn’t even offer to help me make funeral arrangements.”
“Jeesh,” I said. “Why don’t you get Dick’s brother to help out?”
“I’m sure he will. In fact, he’s on a plane right now. He’ll be here sometime tonight.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Will he be staying here with you?”
“I offered for him to stay with me but he insisted on getting his own room.”
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Calvin. He’s Dick’s only sibling. Parents are gone.”
Brittany was starting to sway in her chair and I thought she might slide right onto the floor. “Oh God,” she said, holding her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Carter and I helped her to the bathroom, where she proceeded to throw up into the toilet. I gathered her hair and tied it back into a pony tail, just like my girlfriends and I did for each other back in college. Carter wet a hand towel and placed it on the back of her neck. Then we left the room, giving her privacy.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have forced her to eat,” I said.
“It’s not your fault. You were just trying to help.” He picked up the empty wine bottle. “This is what’s making her sick. Alcohol on an empty stomach is never a good idea.”
“We shouldn’t leave her alone like this,” I said.
“What she needs is sleep. A few hours to forget about her shitty reality.”
Shitty, indeed.
Glancing around the villa, I noted how sparse the place was in terms of personal items. I’m always curious to know what people bring from home on vacation. Some people feel the need to pack half of their belongings, only to use half of what they brought.
“Are you looking for something?” Carter asked.
I was a little embarrassed to admit that I was wondering about the gold nugget. I’d never seen a raw piece before and wanted to hold it in my hand, to feel its weight. “I’m wondering what happened to the gold Dick found yesterday.”
Carter gave me an amused look. “Why, you want to steal it?”
“Yes,” I said, keeping a straight face.
Carter knew my sense of humor and thankfully didn’t take me seriously. I have a knack for cracking inappropriate jokes in tense situations.
When Brittany emerged from the bathroom, her skin was pasty white. She practically fell onto the bed and closed her eyes. “I ruined your vacation, didn’t I?”
“No,” I said, covering her with a blanket. “You didn’t ruin our vacation. Just try to get some sleep, okay?”
She closed her eyes and Carter signaled to me. “Let’s leave her be.”
Chapter 10
After Brittany fell asleep, Carter and I left her apartment and headed over to the main building. It was almost five o’clock and the sun was just setting in the valley.
“Look at that,” Carter said, pointing to the trail sign that led to the hot springs. There was a sign posted in English and Italian, closed for maintenance.”
“Maintenance?” I chuckled. “Interesting word choice.”
Eduardo was behind the counter, talking to someone on the phone. When he looked over and saw us, he made a gesture that he’d be with us in a moment.
The dining room was empty of guests. Maria the waitress was setting the tables for dinner. She was humming a tune to herself, engrossed in her work.
Once Eduardo placed the phone on the receiver, he apologized for making us wait. “I’ve been getting calls all afternoon,” he said. “This horrible news about the drowning has travelled fast. I’m not sure what to tell everyone.”
“Accidents happen,” Carter said. “That’s what you tell them.”
“In Italy, people are very superstitious. We don’t believe in accidents.”
Carter and I glanced at each other, confused. “Okay,” I said, turning back to Eduardo. “Then what do you think happened?”
He crossed himself, a solemn expression on his face. He looked directly into my eyes. “Have you ever heard of the malocchio?”
“No, but mal means bad
, right?”
He nodded. “That’s correct. Malocchio means The Evil Eye. If someone gives this to you, you will have misfortune.”
I was beginning to understand. “So you think Dick drowned because someone put some kind of curse on him?”
“Si, exactly,” Eduardo said with conviction. “In Italy we say: ‘Non e vero ci credo,’ meaning, ‘It’s not true, but I still believe it.’”
“I understand,” I said. “Kind of like voodoo. Has anyone actually ever gone to jail for giving someone the evil eye?”
“Of course not.” Eduardo tried to laugh it off, making light of the conversation, but I could tell he truly believed that Dick’s death was the direct result of malocchio.
Carter chuckled and shook his head. “I can’t believe we are actually having this conversation.”
Carter is the least superstitious person around. He purposely walks under ladders just to prove a point.
“Look,” I said to Eduardo, eager to end the topic of black magic. “We just came by to see if you’ve heard anything from the coroner’s office about Dick.”
Eduardo sighed and shook his head. “Not yet. I don’t expect to know anything until tomorrow.”
“Brittany mentioned to us that Dick’s brother is arriving tonight. Has he booked a villa here for himself?”
“Si. He’ll be checking in around seven o’clock.”
“We noticed a sign on the trail to the hot springs,” Carter said. “No one is allowed to go down there?”
Eduardo paused, as if needing a moment to come up with the right explanation. “The police insisted that I put a sign up. Just for a day or so until the manner of death has been confirmed, that’s all.”
“So they’re unsure his death is accidental?” I asked.
“Murder?” Eduardo lowered his voice. “No, I’m positive there was no murder. An accident, like you say.”
“But you don’t believe in accidents,” I reminded him.
He shrugged and smiled wearily. “Forgive me, but I would like to ask a favor. I would be grateful if you would not say that word. You go talking about murders and the next thing you know, those nasty journalists from Rome or Florence come hound me.”
A Death In Tuscany (Sarah Woods Mystery Book 13) Page 4
