by Wendy Tyson
Vaughn was quiet. Allison wondered if he’d been hoping the trip, his and Mia’s travel together, would bring them together again. His next words dispelled that notion.
“I don’t think Mia and I should stay together. Maybe I can stay at the castle with you?”
“Oh, brilliant. I would love that.” Once again Allison felt relief and gratitude flood through her. With Grace out of harm’s way and Vaughn at her side, she could work with Elle, honor their agreement, and continue her own unofficial inquiries. And maybe, just maybe, Vaughn could have some space to move beyond his mourning of his relationship with Mia. Fresh air and a murder investigation could do wonders for perspective.
Mood improved, Allison thanked Vaughn and hung up.
Allison thought of someone else who might offer insight into Pay It Forward. After some searching, she found Mazy Coyne at her cottage on the other side of the path, past where the trail turned off toward the pools. The author was sitting on her back garden patio, lounging in a wooded chair with her swollen feet up on a small wooden table. Her body was wrapped in a white terry cloth robe, and her hair, a nest of wiry graying curls on a good day, was beset with a hodgepodge of curlers, clips, and barrettes. A cigarette dangled from yellowed fingers.
“Well, well,” she muttered, barely looking up. She took a long draw on the cigarette before tapping the ashes into a floral teacup on her lap. “What brings you here?”
“Mind if I sit?”
Mazy shrugged. “Just toss the crap onto the ground. But not near the flowers. I don’t want ants in my pants.” She laughed too hard for too long.
Allison picked up the sweatpants and towel that sat on the other chair and placed them over the rail of the porch. She sat down, absorbing the scene before her. Like her own cottage, this one was small and darling. The small patio faced the pool area and the mountains beyond. About a hundred feet from the tangle of geraniums and wildflowers that bordered the garden patio was another low stone wall that marked the boundary between the goat enclosure and the house. The baby goat munching on flowers near the patio made it clear that a low stone wall was no deterrent. The goat had its eye on the veranda, and Allison could understand why. It would be heaven for a curious goat. Clothes strewn about on the stone wall, newspapers, empty cigarette packages, and overflowing ashtrays on the table and the arm of the chair—so much fodder for mischief.
“He comes every day, little bugger,” Mazy said. She pointed to the goat. “Eats anything and everything, including my slippers.” She wiggled bare toes, nails painted a garish orange. “But he’s kind of cute, don’t you think?”
Allison, who until relatively recently had been afraid of anything with more than two legs, had to agree. Looking at the goat made her think of her own animals, which in turn made her think of Mia—and Grace. And home.
Allison said, “It’s been quite a few weeks here.”
“If you’re referring to the drama with Shirin and yesterday’s game of Where in the World is Sam Norton, you have that right.”
“Is it always this eventful?”
Mazy crushed her cigarette into the teacup. She stared at Allison for a moment before laughing. Again, her pitch was too high, her volume too loud. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“About?”
“You’re digging for information.” Mazy put her feet on the ground and placed the teacup/ashtray on the table. She smiled. “I’m as intrigued as anyone, but if you think I had something to do with what’s been going on here, you’re way off base.”
“I never said that—”
“You didn’t have to, Nancy Drew. You’re talking to a pro, or have you forgotten? Writers observe. And my observation is that you’re trying to piece together what’s happening here so you can hightail it out of Dodge with your hot boyfriend and that cute little girl.” She grinned. “Am I right?”
“Partly. I do want to know what happened. And I’m concerned for our safety.”
Mazy made a “pffft” sound with her lips. She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a pack of Marboro Lights. After offering one to Allison, she lit a cigarette and shoved the pack back in her robe.
“No need to be concerned,” Mazy said between puffs. She waved her hand at the smoke as though she were annoyed that it was blowing in her face. “Damn cigarettes.” She coughed. “Look, Elle and her family are your typical Hollywood types. No real sense of self, so they fill up on attention—negative or positive, doesn’t matter. That means they surround themselves with others who crave drama. Like the Aldens. You saw that little scene at the big house just like I did. Drama, drama, drama.”
“And writers love drama,” Allison said.
“We love to observe it. The best rations for feeding the imagination. But there’s a difference between observing and causing.” Mazy sat back. “It’s doubtful we’re in real danger. I think the police are digging around the wrong boulder, if you catch my meaning.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
Mazy regarded Allison with a cool stare. “Drugs. I think Damien was stoned when he fell. Shirin was upset—you saw what happened—and it wouldn’t surprise me if she went back to her cottage and took a little something before setting out on her pity party walk.”
Allison considered this. “What about Sam?”
Mazy smiled. “Do you have any idea how much LSD that man has done in his lifetime?” She made a circular motion with one finger next to her head. “Unhinged as a Kansas barn door in a tornado.” She looked at Allison over her readers. “And I grew up in Kansas, so I should know.”
“So you think Sam is simply—”
“Fried. Yep.”
Mazy didn’t know about the bolt, nor about Elle’s theory that Michael was still on the property. Allison considered her next words. She decided on candor. Mazy was clearly used to ferreting out bullshit.
“You dated Sam.”
This time, Mazy was caught off guard. With an amused smirk, she said, “You really did do your homework.”
“Someone told me.”
This caused Mazy to frown. “That was a long time ago. Sam and I haven’t been intimate—or friends, really—for years. Many years.”
“But you know him. The family.”
When Mazy didn’t respond, Allison said, “Just humor me. Say for a moment you’re not correct, that there are more than drugs at work here.”
Mazy made no attempt to hide her skepticism. “Yeah?”
“You know the family, you know Jeremy. Who might have motive to go after Shirin?”
“That’s obvious. Douglas.”
“Wouldn’t that be risky? Everyone saw what happened that night. Everyone knew about the affair. Why would he take the risk of hurting his wife when fingers would swing in his direction first?”
“Wasn’t thinking straight? Maybe it was an accident. They walked on the path to talk, they fought, she stumbled and fell. Things like that happen all the time.”
“Then why hide it?”
Mazy smiled. “Really, you have to ask that? No one wants to get involved with the police, especially in a foreign country. And Douglas is a UK citizen. Obviously he would be trying to avoid scrutiny.”
Nothing Allison hadn’t thought of. It just seemed too easy. “What do you know about Sam’s foundation, Pay It Forward?”
“I know they give money away. It’s a grant-type organization. People apply for funds for whatever reason—family hardship, health issues, a business idea, kooky invention—and the foundation gives it.”
“They grant wishes?”
“Basically.”
Allison absorbed this. It was basically what Elle had told her. Could the killer be someone who applied and didn’t receive money? But if so, why Shirin?
“Why do you ask?”
Allison ignored the question. “Was Shirin part of the foundation i
n any way?”
“Not that I know of.” Mazy yawned. “Look, I’m getting tired of talking about this, and I need to do my hair before it gets too set in its ways.” She tossed her head back, and the curlers bobbed against her forehead.
Allison nodded, stood. “Okay—”
“My advice, Allison? Don’t think about all of this. Enjoy the sun and the fresh air, eat some wonderful food, screw that handsome man of yours, and stop fretting. The police will dig around for a few days, we’ll all be inconvenienced, and then they’ll leave empty-handed.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Mazy laughed that crazy laugh again. “Oh, I’ve seen it all before. I’m a novelist, remember? And when they say reality is stranger than fiction, it’s because it’s true.”
TWENTY-ONE
The next several days passed without incident, giving Allison hope that any true danger existed only in their collective imagination. Elle cooperated with Allison’s sessions, focusing on an array of self-awareness tests and self-improvement sessions, her mood unusually light. Balzan’s people passed through, asking questions and setting up camp inside the castle and on the path by the river. Jason and Grace went for walks and lounged by the pool, enjoying some rare time together. And Hilda all but disappeared, concentrating, it seemed, on caring for Sam since his disappearance. The rhythm at the castle was slow and melodic, punctuated by sensuous meals, carafes of rich Italian wine, and the occasional glass of grappa. Only the police and Shirin’s empty seat at the dinner table, plus Douglas’s conspicuous absence, reminded them that someone had died. Where was Douglas? Grieving? Surely he was a suspect—and as bound to the castle as the rest of them.
By Wednesday Mia arrived, and Grace met her at the cottage door with a glowing smile and a prattle of greetings in German.
Mia clapped, glancing at Allison. “Someone has been picking things up quickly.”
Indeed, Grace was like a different child. Besides her speedy grasp of two new languages, German and Italian, she’d let go of some of her old behaviors. The bed-wetting and night terrors had long since gone, and her tendency to hoard food, something Allison assumed she’d developed when consistent meals had been an anomaly in her life, had also dissipated. Her skin glowed a healthy bronze, her hair was bleached creamy caramel from the sun, but best of all was her infectious laugh, which she bestowed upon Mia now.
“Aunt Mia,”—what she called Jason’s mother—“please come to the pool. Please, please, please. And I will show you the lambs, and Bianca, a baby goat. She eats my clothes.” Grace laughed, and no one could resist laughing with her.
Jason grabbed Grace’s hand. “Let’s let Aunt Mia take a rest. She had a long flight.”
Mia said, “Nonsense. I can’t wait to see the pool and the lambs and the goats. And I want to eat some of those fabulous dumplings I’ve been hearing so much about.” She leaned down so she was eye-level with Grace. “Can you arrange that with the chef?”
Grace’s face darkened, but only for a moment. “Perhaps Hilda can, Aunt Mia. But I haven’t seen her today.”
Nor yesterday, nor the day before, Allison thought.
“We’ll request it,” Allison said. “And some of those delicious Italian cookies for you, Grace.”
Grace nodded. She gave Mia a shy smile. “The pool?”
Mia laughed. “Grace, there is nowhere on earth I would rather go right now. Let me change, then you can show me the way.”
Allison slid into the saltwater pool across from Mia. Grace and Jason were on the lawn, playing with the goats, and aside from Mazy Coyne sitting at a table under the shade of the spa awning, the pool area was empty.
Mia looked around, her eyes bright. “The scenery here is truly amazing.”
“It really is.”
“You look troubled.”
Allison studied Grace, now happily chasing one of the baby goats into the meadow. “I think she’ll be upset to leave.”
“Well, she may not have to get upset yet.”
Allison turned her attention to Mia. “But you’re taking her into town.”
“You do realize ‘town’ consists of a handful of inns and so-called family resorts. And this is a festival weekend, so I’m afraid they’re all full right now.” Mia pulled her sunglasses off her head, tugged her unruly gray curls into a bun, and replaced her glasses. “I got the first reservation I could. At a little mom and pop hotel.”
“When is that for?”
“Sunday. Everything is booked until then.”
Allison tensed. She had been counting on getting Grace out of the castle, and then following her into Bidero as soon as she could. She wanted a few days alone to work with Elle and break the news of her departure without having to worry about her niece. Jason was returning to Innsbruck on Saturday morning for the remainder of his orientation, so at least they could all be together for a few days. And Vaughn was arriving on Friday.
Mia put her head back against the pool tiles, contentedly soaking in the afternoon sun. “We had planned to stay here, Allison, at the castle, so everything was last minute.” She picked her head up. “I’m sure it will be fine. It certainly doesn’t feel threatening.” She glanced around. “At least not in the light of a beautiful day.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Allison pulled herself out of the pool. She grabbed a bathrobe from a nearby chair and slipped it on. Looking at Grace, she said, “I have to meet with Elle in thirty minutes, so I’m going to change.”
Mia nodded. She looked up sharply and Allison followed her stare. There, talking with Mazy, was Douglas Alden. He looked clean shaven and alert, not quite the grieving widower—or murder suspect—she’d expected to see. Mazy, her damp hair wrapped in a white terry cloth turban, was listening raptly to whatever it was Douglas had to say.
“Who is that?” Mia whispered.
“The husband of the woman who died.”
Mia studied him, her sharp focus on Douglas and Mazy. “You say he’s British?”
Allison nodded. “Why?”
“He looks familiar.” Mia leaned forward, adjusting her angle. “Although I can’t say why.”
“I think he’s just a businessman.”
“Hmm. Perhaps he just looks like someone I know.” Mia sat back, sinking deeper into the warm water, her eyes closed. “I’ll let my mind search sideways and see if I can make the connection.” She smiled. “Relaxing often jogs the memory.”
“It’s a festival week, Allison. The locals celebrate their patron saint, and their relatives from all over Italy come for the party.” Elle reached down and grasped her ankles, stretching. They were outside on the stone wall near the front entrance of the castle. Elle had insisted they walk and talk today—a departure from her usual refusal to enter the woods. She said she wanted to be away from prying ears. “You should take Grace into town. The Mass itself is something to behold. Or so I hear.”
“So they can stay here?”
“Of course. I don’t understand why your family would want to go into town anyway when we have plenty of space.” Elle twisted herself into Downward Dog. “Just let Dominic know what you need.”
“And Vaughn, my business manager, is arriving Friday.”
“Is he staying with Jason’s mother?”
Allison pictured the fireworks that would cause. “No.”
Elle stood, reaching toward the sky with her long, skinny arms. “Well, that’s a bit of a pickle if you want a cottage. There are no more.” She rubbed her hands together, her face scrunched in concentration. “Tell you what, he can stay in the castle. There’s plenty of space in the north wing. I’ll have Dominic set up his rooms. They’ll be ready Friday.”
“If that’s not an inconvenience.”
“A single American man in his thirties?” Elle smiled. “No inconvenience at all.”
They were deep into the woods, not far from
the spot where Jason and Allison had come across Lara and Douglas, when Elle finally broached the subject she’d been hinting at their entire session.
“I think he’s still here. In the castle.”
Allison stopped walking to catch her breath. “Michael?”
Elle nodded. Despite her cigarettes and easy living, she was barely huffing. “I found some more things out of place in his rooms. And his computer was warm to the touch.”
Allison was surprised it was still there at all. “Why hasn’t Balzan confiscated the computer?”
Elle shrugged. “It’s still there. I don’t think the police have classified Shirin’s death as intentional yet.”
That seemed to conflict with what the inspector told Jason. Agitated, Allison said, “You did tell them about Michael? About your suspicion that he never left?”
“I tried. You were with me.”
“Clearly he didn’t understand you. You were supposed to fill him in with the translator present.”
The flush on Elle’s face turned crimson. “I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“You said you would—”
“I know, I know.” Elle backed up until her back was against a tree. She took a swig from her water bottle and leaned on her hiking pole. “I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of their reaction.”
“The police?”
“My father. The others. If they find out—”
Understanding dawned on Allison. “You will be crazy Elle, just like your father.”
Elle nodded.
“While I understand, you know that’s not a reason to withhold information from the police.”
“I know.” She sighed. “My whole life I’ve been compared to my mother. I so badly wanted to be like Daddy, wanted people to see him in me. Now I’m afraid of that comparison.”
Allison thought about this. It seemed like a critical admission for Elle to make—more insightful than Elle’s typical comments. “Were you close to your mother, Elle?”
