Almost Dead

by Blake Pierce

  “School starts at eight, and today we finish at two-thirty as we have a singing lesson. But we have a driver, Giuseppe, who takes and fetches us.”

  “Oh.”

  Cassie couldn’t hide her surprise. This setup was far more organized than she had expected. She felt as if her role was redundant and she worried that Ms. Rossi would realize she could do without her, and might not require her for the full three-month assignment. She needed to make herself useful. Hopefully when the children came back from school they would have homework that she could help them with.

  Mulling over her strategy, Cassie got up to make herself some coffee.

  When she turned around, she saw that the girls had finished their breakfast.

  Nina was stacking the plates and glasses into the dishwasher, and Venetia had pulled one of the kitchen stools over to the cupboard. As Cassie watched, she climbed onto it, and reached as high as she could to put the jam back where it had come from.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do that.”

  Venetia looked wobbly on the stool and Cassie hurried over, foreseeing that this could end in disaster.

  “I will do it.”

  Venetia clung to the jam jar tightly, refusing to let Cassie take it from her.

  “It’s no problem, Venetia. I’m taller.”

  “I need to do this.” The younger girl sounded intense. More than that, she seemed desperate to do it herself.

  On her tippy toes, with Cassie anxiously hovering behind her ready to grab her if the chair fell over, Venetia replaced the jam, pushing it carefully back into the exact spot where it had been before.

  “Well done,” Cassie praised her.

  She guessed this fierce independence must be part of the girl’s character and upbringing. It seemed unusual, but then she’d never worked for a high-caliber family like this before.

  She stood and watched while Venetia maneuvered the stool back into its precise position. By then, Nina had put the butter back in the fridge and the bread in the bin. The kitchen looked immaculate, as if breakfast had never been eaten there at all.

  “Giuseppe will be here soon,” Nina reminded her sister. “We must clean our teeth.”

  They left the kitchen and headed upstairs to their rooms, with Cassie watching in amazement. Five minutes later they returned, carrying their school bags and coats, and headed outside.

  Cassie followed them out, with thoughts of security still uppermost in her mind, but a white Mercedes was already driving toward the house. A few moments later, it stopped in the circular driveway, and the girls climbed in.

  “Goodbye,” Cassie called, waving, but they couldn’t have heard her, because neither child did so much as wave in response.

  When Cassie went back inside, she found that Ms. Rossi and Maurice had also left. No other household staff seemed to be on duty at that time.

  Cassie was entirely alone.

  “This is not what I expected,” she said to herself.

  The house was very quiet and being here alone felt unsettling. She’d assumed that she’d have far more to do, and much more involvement with the children. This whole setup felt weird, as if they genuinely didn’t need her at all.

  She reassured herself that it was early days, and she should be thankful for some time on her own. Probably this was the calm before the storm, and when the children got back home she’d be run off her feet.

  Cassie decided she would use the time to follow up on the lead she had received yesterday. The unexpected free morning she was enjoying now might be her only chance to find out where Jacqui was.

  She didn’t have much. The name of a town was not a lot.

  But it was all she had and she was determined that it would be enough.

  *

  Using the household’s Wi-Fi, Cassie spent an hour getting to know the town where Jacqui lived—or at any rate, where she’d told Tim the barman that she’d been living, a few weeks ago.

  In her favor was the fact that Bellagio was a small town, not an enormous place. A small town meant fewer hostels and hotels, and there was also a better chance of people knowing each other’s business, and that a beautiful American woman might be remembered.

  Another advantage was that it was a tourist destination—a scenic place bordering Lake Como that offered dramatic views, as well as numerous shops and restaurants.

  As she researched, she imagined what it must be like to live in that town. Quiet, scenic, bustling with tourists in the peak of summer. She imagined Jacqui staying in one of the small hotels or rental apartments—probably a small place, overlooking a cobbled street, accessible from a steep stone staircase, with a window box filled with colorful flowers.

  It took two hours before Cassie had properly familiarized herself with the place, and made a comprehensive list of the lodges and backpacker hostels, the numerous Airbnbs, and the rental agencies that let out apartments. She knew there were probably a few places she’d missed, but she hoped that the odds would be in her favor.

  Then it was time to start calling.

  Her mouth felt dry. Compiling the list had built up her hopes. Every name and number represented a new chance. Now she knew her hopes would be broken down again, as the list of places where Jacqui might be staying grew smaller and smaller.

  Cassie dialed the first number, a guesthouse in the town center.

  “Hello,” she said. “I am looking for a lady by the name of Jacqui Vale. She’s my sister; I lost my phone, and I can’t remember where she said she was staying. I’m in Italy now and want to meet up with her.”

  Although this wasn’t the truth, Cassie had decided it was a plausible reason for her phone calls. She didn’t want to embark on a long, complicated story as she feared that the guesthouse owners might grow impatient, or even suspicious.

  “She might have booked in under Jacqueline. It would have been within the past two months.”

  “Jacqueline?” There was a short silence and Cassie felt her heart accelerate.

  Then her hopes crash-landed as the woman said, “Nobody by that name has stayed here.”

  Cassie discovered this was a long, frustrating, and time-consuming task. Some of the guesthouses refused to help at all due to privacy concerns. Others were busy so she had to make a time to call them again.

  She worked her way down the list of options until she’d almost reached the end. Only three numbers were left, and after that she would have to admit defeat.

  She dialed the third-last number, feeling frustrated, as if Jacqui’s elusive presence was taunting her.

  “Posso aiutarti?” the man on the other side of the line asked.

  Cassie had learned this phrase meant “Can I help?” but the man didn’t sound helpful. He sounded impatient and stressed, as if he’d had a bad day. Cassie guessed he would be one of those who would tell her that he couldn’t disclose any details for confidentiality reasons. He’d say it just to get her off the line, because he had guests waiting, or was heading out himself.

  “I’m looking for a Jacqui Vale. She’s my sister. I planned to meet up with her while I was in Italy, but my phone was stolen yesterday and I can’t remember where she was staying.”

  Cassie had upped the drama level of her story, hoping for more sympathy.

  “I’m phoning around to try and trace her.”

  She heard the man tapping a keyboard.

  Then Cassie nearly fell off the chair as he said, “Yes, we did have a Jacqui Vale staying with us. She was here for about two weeks and then she moved out, into a shared apartment, I think, because she was working nearby.”

  Cassie’s heart leaped. This man knew her—had seen her, spoken to her. This was a huge breakthrough in her search.

  “I remember now, she had part-time work at the boutique around the corner, Mirabella’s. Would you like Mirabella’s number?”

  “This is amazing, I can’t believe I’m going to be able to find her,” Cassie gushed. “Thank you so much. Please give me the number.”

  He l
ooked it up for her, and she wrote it down. She felt giddy with excitement. Her search had resulted in success. She’d found the place her sister had recently worked. There was every chance that she might still be there.

  With trembling hands and feeling short of breath, she dialed the number he’d given her.

  It was answered by an older Italian woman, and Cassie felt a pang of disappointment that Jacqui herself hadn’t picked up, because that was what she’d been imagining would happen.

  “What can I do for you?” the woman asked in strongly accented English, as soon as she’d established that Cassie was not Italian.

  “Am I speaking to Mirabella?”

  “You are.”

  “Mirabella, my name’s Cassie Vale. I’m trying to contact my sister, Jacqui. I lost touch with her a while ago, but I found out that she has been working for you. Is she still there, by any chance? If not, could you pass on her number to me?”

  There was a pause.

  Cassie imagined Mirabella beckoning Jacqui over to the phone and she was disappointed when the woman herself spoke again.

  She sounded brief, regretful, and businesslike.

  “I am sorry, but Jacqui Vale is dead.”

  There was a click, as she disconnected the call.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cassie dropped the phone. Rather, it fell from her hand and clattered onto the desk. She didn’t even notice. She was paralyzed by the brutal shock of the words.

  The boutique owner had just told her Jacqui was dead.

  She’d said the words with harsh, bald certainty. No room for doubt or misunderstanding, no details or explanation. Just the cold hard facts, followed by a swift disconnection.

  Cassie felt sobs rising inside her, so deep and visceral that she was fearful of letting them out, because she knew her grief and guilt and self-blame could not be stopped.

  Her sister was no longer alive.

  What had happened? Confusion filled her as she remembered that she’d been alive just a few weeks ago. Both Tim, the friendly barman, and the hostel owner in Bellagio had confirmed it.

  Had she been sick, suffering from a deadly disease? Or had her death been accidental, a swift, unavoidable tragedy; her body mangled in a road wreck or suffocated in a gas leak or caught up in a mugging or robbery?

  Cassie clutched her forehead. Her temples were throbbing with stress. She’d been so close. She’d come within a hair’s breadth of finding her sister, only to discover that she was gone forever.

  “Oh, Jacqui,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I tried; I really did.”

  As the shock of the words sunk in, grief followed, and Cassie found herself wailing uncontrollably.

  She buried her head in her hands, and for a while, all she could do was endure the pain as she cried. The loss seemed unbearable. The agony of it was as sharp as a knife wound. The woman’s words had opened up raw edges of grief inside her that she feared would never be able to heal.

  It seemed like a long while later that Cassie raised her head again. She felt weak and drained, and for now, she had no more tears to cry.

  She went to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, and rubbed her eyes. Looking at her swollen-eyed reflection, she realized she had moved past the stage of shocked acceptance. Now, her mind was filled with questions.

  How recent was the death? Was there a funeral, had Jacqui been buried? Who had taken charge during this tragic event?

  Another important question—why had Mirabella slammed the phone down on her after delivering that devastating news? Why hadn’t she stayed on the line and talked to Cassie, and explained what had happened? After all, Cassie had introduced herself as Jacqui’s sister. Mirabella had known she was speaking to family.

  Now that Cassie had started thinking more clearly, she couldn’t come up with a valid reason for Mirabella’s behavior. It was irrational, confusing, and had been extremely cruel, too.

  With a surge of fright, Cassie wondered if she’d misremembered the conversation.

  What if the woman had actually explained what had happened to her sister, and in the stress of the moment, Cassie had suffered from a memory blank and had forgotten what had been said?

  That made sweat spring out on her palms, because she knew it was possible, it had happened to her before, and it was usually triggered by extreme stress.

  The kind of stress that a person might feel when told their sister had died.

  There was only one way to find out. She would have to call Mirabella again and ask for more details on her sister’s death.

  She picked up the phone again, feeling sick with dread, and dialed the number.

  To her confusion, Mirabella did not answer the call. It didn’t even go through to voicemail, but just rang and rang.

  She ended the call, wondering if there had been a faulty connection. While she redialed, she tried her best to gather her thoughts.

  She wasn’t going mad. She was sure she hadn’t misremembered the conversation. And she was convinced that her sister couldn’t be dead. Not in such a short timeframe, when she’d been alive and well so recently.

  Perhaps Mirabella was sick of people asking for Jacqui, perhaps Jacqui had a persistent ex-boyfriend who was driving everyone nuts, or maybe she’d left the boutique on bad terms, and in a fit of temper Mirabella had decided to say that dreadful thing.

  This gave Cassie a glimmer of hope, but the only problem was that she couldn’t confirm it. Yet again, the phone rang unanswered, and then the click and scrape of the front door opening told her that the children were home.

  After her lonely morning, and the shocking discovery she’d had to deal with, she was glad to see Nina and Venetia. She was grateful for their company, which provided a distraction from her frantic thoughts.

  “Did you have a good day at school?” she asked.

  They looked as neat and trim as they had when walking out the door. Cassie had vague memories of her own school days, where she’d arrived home in a state of disarray, having lost her hair tie or broken her bag or mislaid her jacket.

  “My day was good, thank you,” Nina said politely.

  Venetia was more talkative.

  “I did a math test and came first in my class,” she said, and that prompted Nina to speak again.

  “We have a spelling competition tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it, because our team won the last one.”

  “Well done for your math test, Venetia, and Nina, I’m sure your team will do well. I can help you practice later if you like. Now, have you both had lunch?”

  “Yes, we have,” Nina replied.

  “Then why don’t you change out of your school uniforms. And then, shall we find a fun activity to do for a while, before it gets dark?”

  The girls exchanged glances. It was something Cassie realized they did often, as if they needed to check in with each other before saying yes.

  “All right,” Nina said.

  As the girls filed obediently upstairs to get changed, Cassie felt perplexed by their overly formal behavior. She had expected that by now they would have relaxed into their normal personalities. It was as if the girls were constantly keeping her at arm’s length, and she was worried that they might resent her presence, although she didn’t know why.

  This also made it difficult to interact with them; it was as if they were two small, perfectly obedient robots. The only real conversation they had offered so far was to talk about schoolwork.

  There was only one person who could change the situation, and that was her. No doubt these children were not used to being looked after by ordinary people, who weren’t highly intelligent specialists or business leaders, but she could only be who she was.

  The thought of helping them with homework crossed her mind, but homework was a boring task, and in any case the girls seemed to prefer to do their chores independently and without help.

  How about playing a proper game with them, Cassie thought. That was what seemed to be missing in their overly serious, high-pow
ered lives. Brilliant and destined for success they might be, but they were still only eight and nine years old, and needed playtime.

  Pleased by having thought of an activity that they would enjoy, where she could contribute her own energy and imagination, she headed upstairs to put on her jacket.

  “It looks like it might rain soon, but it’s holding off for now, so shall we go and play in the garden?” she asked Nina.

  Nina looked up at her politely.

  “We don’t usually do that,” she said.

  Cassie’s heart sank. These children were pushing her away.

  Venetia appeared at Nina’s bedroom door.

  “I would like to play,” she said.

  Cassie saw that on the shelf above Nina’s bookcase, there were a few toys. They were too high up for the children to reach, but there was a beautiful doll which looked like an expensive collector’s item, rather than a toy, a puzzle in an unopened box, and a soft, colorful ball.

  “Shall we go and play catch outside?” she suggested, reaching for the ball.

  Again, the girls exchanged a glance, as if reaching a decision.

  “We are not allowed to play with those toys,” Nina said.

  In the frustration of the moment, Cassie almost lost her temper and screamed at the girls. She was emotionally shattered after the discovery of Jacqui’s death, and she was starting to feel that this stonewalling was a personal attack.

  On the point of exploding, she managed to grab a final tattered thread of self-control.

  “OK,” she said, injecting as much faux cheerfulness into her voice as she could muster. “You’re not allowed to play with those toys, but would you like to play a game anyway?”

  “Yes.” Nina nodded, showing some enthusiasm for the first time, and Venetia jumped up and down, beaming with excitement.

  Cassie was relieved she hadn’t snapped. Most probably they didn’t have anything against her personally, but were just shy, and extremely aware of their house rules.

  “Are there other toys anywhere? Or else we could play a game without toys.”

  “Let’s play without toys,” Nina said.