Delayed Death (Temptation in Florence Book 1)

by boeker, beate

  Annalisa shook her head. "He probably taunted her once too often. She just flipped, you know. Besides, she tried real hard to make Marco sign the death certificate, though it was plain to see he had doubts."

  "I see." Stefano forced himself to ask his next question. It didn't happen often that a load of filth got to him, but this one did. "Any other stories to share?"

  Annalisa laid back against the cushion of the armchair. "I'm not one to tell tales."

  "Of course not." Stop sounding so ironic, Stefano.

  As soon as the door had closed behind her, Piedro led out a deep breath. He sounded like a collapsing balloon. "You were very hard on her."

  Stefano turned around. "Do you know why?"

  "No!" Piedro shook his head. "I think the police should always treat everybody in a polite way."

  "Particularly young and good-looking women?" Garini's voice was hard.

  "Well . . . I didn't say that . . . but . . . " his voice petered out.

  "We're trying to find a killer, Piedro. I like that you've spoken up for her, but I would have liked it even more if you had done so for a less attractive suspect. Someone felt threatened enough to kill Nico, and we won't get him or her by being polite and friendly. We need to get to the core of these people. We need to find out what makes them tick, and we can only do so by understanding what they value most. If we don't, we'll never catch the killer." Garini scrutinized his assistant. "Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

  Piedro looked puzzled, but he nodded.

  "Good. Then try to remember it."

  II

  Ernesto perched on the edge of the armchair, his hands clasped together on his knees. "The others said you want to hear about the bad past stories."

  "That's right."

  Ernesto lifted his pale face. "My Grandpa knew I often went out late at night by way of the balcony, but I never did any harm."

  Stefano regarded him. "What did you do?"

  Ernesto swallowed so hard, his Adam's apple moved in a jerk. "I go to an Internet Café."

  "An Internet-Café?" Stefano had expected a lot of answers, but not this one.

  "Yes. You see, I have a computer at home, but I play with friends at the Internet Café."

  "Just what do you play?"

  Ernesto flushed. "We play Monster IV." He bent forward until he threatened to fall off his chair. "We're organized in Guilds, and we fight against each other. It's so cool, because you have several lives, and you can create several characters. I'm a barbarian and a druid and an archer, and each can do different things. When you fight the Master Spider, you enter another level, and then --"

  Stefano held up his hand. "Do I take it your mother doesn't approve?"

  Ernesto's enthusiasm wilted like a spring flower in frost. "She hates it."

  "Why?"

  Ernesto shrugged. "Just because of a bit of blood and the noise." He looked at Stefano through his tumbled red hair. "I mean the fighting noise and the cries when we die." He grinned. "That's half the fun, though."

  "Would you give me the address of your Internet Café?"

  Ernesto's eyes lit up. "It's on Via Taddeo Alderotti. Do you want to come?"

  Stefano bit back a smile. "I might have a look." But I won't join in the game, and I do hope for your sake this Internet Café doesn't sell anything else. "Do you remember any other bad past stories from your grandfather?"

  Ernesto shook his head. "No. I don't think he meant them seriously anyway. I never pay much attention to what they say."

  "They?"

  Ernesto shrugged. "My mother, my aunt, my sister, my grandfather. It's better if you don't react."

  I bet.

  III

  When Carlina finally crawled into bed that night, she was so tired, her bones felt too heavy to carry around anymore. She snuggled deep underneath the fake leopard fur bed cover and closed her eyes with a sigh. They burned as if someone had rubbed sand into them. I can't believe this is happening. Oh, Grandpa. If I had known . . . if only I had only known. For Emma, I'm glad we concealed your death. She had the perfect wedding she wanted, and now she has the perfect honeymoon. But for everything else . . . oh, Madonna.

  Carlina turned to the other side. Who could have done it? Who had hated grandpa enough to kill him? Was it really because of some bad past story or other? Nothing he had said had been new. He had only pulled up old scandals and dished them out again. Okay, so it wasn't nice, and nobody had enjoyed hearing their own scandal fresh and embellished. But murder? I can't believe it.

  Maybe it wasn't a bad past story. Maybe it was something quite different, something nobody knew anything about. Something outside the family. Her mood lightened. She tried to think up something outside the family, but nothing came to mind. She sighed.

  The Commissario seems to be very efficient. Efficient, ruthless, and bent on finding the truth. Very exhausting type of guy and difficult to dodge.

  Carlina turned again and freed her leg from the twisted sheet. Now she felt hot. Do I want to dodge him? Don't I want him to find the killer? She bit her lips. What if it's Mama? Cold fear grabbed her gut. Never. A thought seared through her, and she jumped out of bed. The photo. She had to hide her father's photos. She went to the wall where his picture hung and lifted it from its nail. "Sorry, Dad." She looked into his light-brown eyes. “I don't want the Commissario to see your eye-color and dig up loads of misleading information about recessive genes.” Something inside her crumbled. He was my father. I believe it, and so did he. That's enough.

  She placed the frame upside down inside the drawer of her bathroom. Garini had already searched this drawer. It wasn't likely that he would go through it again.

  Her feet felt cold as she crawled back into bed. Did mama cheat on dad before I was born? The thought chilled her. Even if it was true, would it have been reason enough for mama to kill her own father? Carlina shook her head. Impossible. After all, dad died years ago. It can't hurt him anymore. She rubbed her cold foot against her calf. But it hurts me, and she would know that. The thought came out of nowhere. Had mama killed granddad to protect me? If yes, she would never have talked about it in front of me, instead she would have insisted on a private interview. Or would she? Carlina started to nibble on her index finger. Maybe it was a sort of double bluff. Oh, God, this is too difficult to fathom. Carlina turned around and pulled the cover higher. It wasn't mama. I know her, and that counts more than a million proofs.

  She tossed around again. But if it wasn't mama, who could have poisoned grandpa? Uncle Teo? Had he killed his twin in cold-blooded murder? They had been in eternal competition; I said so myself. But life will be without zest now for Uncle Teo, with nobody to compare himself to. He knows that. No, I can't imagine that Uncle Teo poisoned his twin.

  How about Benedetta? She is a devoted mother. Of course, she has to have things exactly her way, and she nags a lot, but on the other hand, she is so generous and always works hard. No way would she have poisoned her father. After all, he presented no threat to her.

  Carlina gave up. I can't imagine anybody in my family killing grandpa. She sighed. Unfortunately, the Commissario can, and he seems to be doing it with growing enthusiasm. I have to talk to them. I have to find out more. Somebody did it, and I know my family best.

  Carlina pulled the sheet higher around her shoulders. Tomorrow. She would talk to them tomorrow.

  Chapter 9

  I

  "Mama?" Carlina pushed open the door to her mother's apartment and stood for an instant, blinded by the morning sun.

  "Is that you, Carlina?" Fabbiola's voice came from the kitchen. She sounded cheery and upbeat.

  With a sinking heart, Carlina went through the kitchen door. Unlike her sister Benedetta, her mother was the world's worst cook, but she made up for it by buying every electrical kitchen appliance available on the market.

  Fabbiola stood hunched over a steaming coffee machine that looked like a miniature space ship. "Is everything all right?" Fabbiola turned to
her daughter, then checked the huge digital clock above the door. It had been designed for a cooking contest and measured not only the humidity of the room but could also be set into four different alarm modes by remote control. "You're late for Temptation." Fabbiola poured a cup of coffee and held it out to Carlina.

  "Elena is standing in for me." Carlina accepted the cup. "Thank you."

  "Why do you look so gloomy, then?"

  Carlina sat on a modern chair made of purple plastic. It had been the winner in a restaurant contest for most unusual furniture. "I need to ask you something."

  Fabbiola's eyes darted to her trusted cushion, reposing on the purple chair next to Carlina, as if seeking guidance. She picked it up, fluffed it against the back of the chair, and sat down, her eyes apprehensive. "What is it?"

  "The Commissario . . . " Carlina had difficulty forming the words.

  Fabbiola sat up straight. "What? What did he do to you? Did you talk to him on your own? I told you it's dangerous."

  Carlina took a deep breath, but the heavy weight on her chest didn't budge. "Why did you say dad had blue eyes?"

  Fabbiola jumped. She averted her eyes from her daughter and pulled the cushion from behind her back with a hectic move. "Did I say so?"

  Carlina closed her eyes. "You know you did."

  "But he had blue eyes." Fabbiola stared at her daughter with an unwavering gaze.

  It reminded Carlina of her niece Lilly whenever she was asked if she had brushed her teeth. "Dad had light-brown eyes, and you know it." The words sounded brutal.

  Fabbiola flinched. "Oh, really? I must have forgotten." She waved her hand. "It's such a long time ago, you know . . . "

  "Mama." Carlina bent forward. "The Commissario isn't stupid. We have pictures of dad all over the house, and they show his brown eyes." She swallowed. "Why did you lie to Garini?"

  Now Fabbiola fluttered both her hands. "I didn't lie to him. I just misremembered."

  Carlina winced. She could imagine Garini's face when Fabiola dished out that she had "misremembered" her husband's eye color. She wouldn't last a second.

  Carlina tried another track. "Why did grandpa say dad wasn't my father?"

  Fabbiola shook her head. "I don't know, darling. Honestly, I have no clue." She jumped up. "And I don't think it's nice of you to grill me. I'm your mother, and I think you should show some respect."

  Carlina clenched her teeth. "Mama, I--"

  Fabbiola interrupted her with a hiss. "Did that Commissario put you up to it?" She bent forward and stared at her daughter, a nervous hand plucking at the cushion. "Is that why?"

  "No!" Carlina wanted to shake her. "But you shouldn't underestimate him, Mama. If you have something to hide, he will ferret it out."

  Her mother sniffed with disdain. "There's nothing to find out."

  "Nothing but who killed grandpa." Carlina's voice sounded flat.

  "He's wasting his time." Fabbiola shook her head. "Nobody in our family would kill."

  Carlina looked at her mother. "Nobody? Would you guarantee that you would never, ever kill someone, no matter the provocation?"

  Her mother lifted her eyebrows. "Of course I wouldn't kill anybody. I wasn't raised in a jungle." Her eyes narrowed. "And neither were you."

  If only it was so easy. Carlina bit her lips. If she looked at herself, she knew the rules ingrained into her were strong. They felt insurmountable. But what if she felt her life was threatened or if she needed to protect someone? I'm not so sure of myself. Carlina sighed and looked at her mother who concentrated on picking invisible bits of dust from her cushion. You would kill, Mama. You would kill for us. The thought chilled her. She took a deep breath to fight the feeling of being sick. "Did you have a boyfriend before you went out with dad?" The minute the words were out of her mouth, she knew she shouldn't have said them.

  Her mother flashed her a look full of anger and jumped up, still clutching her cushion. "You are impertinent, Caroline Arabella."

  Carlina got up. "I'm sorry."

  Fabbiola lifted her hand in a regal gesture. "I wish you would think before you speak. It's easy to say you're sorry, but you can't take back the words."

  Carlina sighed. "I have to go."

  She hurried from her mother's apartment and went upstairs. It wasn't until she felt the smooth wood of the railing underneath her fingers that she realized her mother had done it again. By making her feel inadequate, Fabbiola had skilfully turned the limelight away from her. Damn.

  The bells of Santa Croce chimed the half hour. From downstairs, Carlina heard Aunt Maria's voice. She was saying good-bye to Uncle Teo.

  Uncle Teo. Carlina stopped in her tracks. I could talk to him. She waited until Aunt Maria had left the house, then she clattered down the stairs.

  Uncle Teo still stood in the door. "Good morning, Carlina." He smiled at her, his face a maze of wrinkles. "You're late today for your store."

  "My assistant is minding Temptation this morning," Carlina said. "Can I come in and talk to you for a moment, Uncle Teo?"

  His eyes assessed her in one sharp glance. "Of course. Come right in."

  Carlina followed him to the sitting room with a hideous brown sofa. The window to the street stood wide open, and a reflected beam of sunshine shone through the iron bars. Carlina crossed the room and closed the window.

  Uncle Teo raised his bushy eyebrows. "Sit down, dear." He lifted his pleated trousers at the knees with his thumb and index finger before seating himself. "What's troubling you?"

  "Grandpa said my dad wasn't my father." She didn't care how confused it sounded.

  "Hmm." Uncle Teo's eyes narrowed. "And you're asking me if it's true?"

  "Yes." To her dismay, Carlina felt tears pressing against her eyes.

  "You should ask your mother."

  Carlina snorted. "She won't say anything. She's all offended dignity, and I can't get a single sensible word out of her."

  Her great-uncle nodded. "I see."

  Carlina bent forward. "Will you tell me the truth?"

  Uncle Teo regarded her for an instant. "You're a true Mantoni, girl. You have nothing to worry about."

  Carlina frowned. "Of course I am. After all, nobody questions my mother. It's dad I'm wondering about."

  He frowned. "Why do you have doubts? After all, Nico invented plenty of things." He chuckled. "He even said I had an affair with Electra."

  Carlina pressed her lips together. "His stories all held a grain of truth."

  Uncle Teo sat up straight. "Nonsense."

  "Oh, yes." Carlina nodded. "I don't mean the story about Electra, but everything else I've heard . . . he always mashed up some facts and embellished them with loads of rubbish all around, until nobody believed a word anymore."

  Uncle Teo's eyebrows descended.

  "And that's why I want to know more." Carlina gave him a belligerent stare. "Tell me. You know more. I know it. Don't tell me you don't."

  Uncle Teo shook his head. "Carlina, I--"

  "Please. It makes me crazy, not knowing what to believe. Mama even told the Commissario dad's eyes were blue, while all around him the walls were plastered with pictures that showed dad's brown eyes." A hysterical giggle escaped her. "I hid all pictures last night. It made me feel so awful."

  Uncle Teo's nose flared, and he pressed his lips together. "So that's why," he murmured.

  "What?" Carlina bent forward. "What do you mean?"

  Uncle Teo shook his head. "The Commissario was here early this morning, just as Benedetta was leaving for work. He asked her if she could give him some pictures of Nico, and he also took some of the wedding, and one of your father."

  Carlina could feel the blood draining from her face. "Oh, no. What will he think now?"

  Uncle Teo shrugged. "It doesn't matter what he thinks. He's here to catch the murderer. All other scandals are of no interest to him."

  Carlina dropped her head into her hands. "But it's of interest to me!" Her voice broke. "I want to know if dad was my father!" She didn
't say it, but the thought that her dad might not have been her natural father made her feel as if the floor underneath her shifted. "What made grandpa tell that story? I can't believe he came up with it out of the blue."

  Uncle Teo sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. "You were born seven months after the marriage of your parents."

  Carlina lifted her head and stared at him. "I know. I was a premature infant."

  Uncle Teo shrugged.

  Carlina narrowed her eyes. "You mean I . . . I wasn't? You know more, don't you?"

  Her great-uncle blinked, his face devoid of feelings. For an instant, he looked like a turtle - inscrutable and wise.

  Carlina bent forward until she almost slid from her seat. "You're hiding something from me. What is it?"

  Uncle Teo sighed. "It's nothing."

  Carlina wanted to shake him. "So tell me about this nothing."

  He sighed. "You should talk to your mother."

  "She doesn't tell me anything!"

  Uncle Teo shrugged. "It's her story to tell." He lifted his head and smiled at her, a warm smile, a smile that would have touched her if she hadn't been so angry. "Carlina, it doesn't matter if he wasn't your real father. True family isn't always about flesh and blood."

  She jumped up. "You want me to believe that? You, of all people?"

  His bushy eyebrows pulled together. "What do you mean?"

  Carlina bent forward until her face almost touched his. "You are the most committed patriarch I've ever known. If things went your way, you would have every Mantoni living on this very street."

  "That's not quite true." A smile appeared on his wrinkled face. "I'm quite glad your aunt Alberta lives in Fiesole, for example. I disliked her way of dropping nasty remarks even when she was a child."

  Carlina's jaw dropped.

  Uncle Teo winked, leaned back in the chair, and folded his hands in front of his stomach.

  Carlina's anger evaporated like spilled wine under the Tuscany sun. She burst out laughing, bent forward and kissed his cheek. "You're incredible. I'm going now. I have to recover from my family."