by Blake Pierce
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
After the children had eaten, Cassie prepared a tray of food for Nonna and took it upstairs. She tapped on the bedroom door, dreading the moment when she would have to walk inside. Her mouth felt dry and her stomach was tight with tension.
If Nonna was awake, and seemed coherent, and asked where her daughter was, then Cassie would have to stall her until the police arrived to break the news.
She realized that Nonna’s mental condition made her movements unpredictable. She’d walked into a different room last night without anyone noticing. Cassie hoped that she would be safely in bed, and would not have had any difficulties during the night. Imagine if the old lady had climbed out of bed during a delusional episode and injured herself.
Cassie was glad that this was the last day she would spend in charge here. From tonight, when the girls’ father arrived, the old lady’s welfare would be his responsibility and no longer rest on her shoulders.
When she opened the door, she saw Nonna was sitting up in bed and seemed bright-eyed and alert.
“Buongiorno,” Cassie greeted her, trying to sound cheerful.
Even though this woman was probably an abusive mother herself, family was still family, and blood was blood. If Nonna asked anything about her daughter, would Cassie be able to evade the questions without giving anything away, or even breaking down completely?
As she set the tray on the bedside table, Cassie wondered how much physical and psychological damage Ms. Rossi had endured at her mother’s hands, and if this had helped to turn her into the violent and domineering mother she’d become.
“Nonna, would you like some breakfast? I have brought you toast and tea, and some slices of sausage.”
Nonna nodded. Even though her body was a frail husk, her limbs emaciated and quivering, she seemed to be coherent this morning. Staring at Cassie, she whispered something softly.
Cassie leaned forward.
“What did you say? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“I saw everything.” Nonna’s eyes were vague now, but her voice was sharp. “I saw what you did last night.”
Cassie froze, staring in panic at the old woman. Nonna’s eyes, dark and irascible, were fixed on her now.
“I—I don’t understand,” she whispered, praying that Nonna meant something else, and that she wasn’t implying what Cassie dreaded.
“I saw you fighting last night,” Nonna husked, and Cassie found herself leaning forward, drawn in by those flat, dark eyes.
“You fought with my daughter. I watched you attack her. It was your fault, all your fault. You were like a madwoman. You started the fight and then you finished it. You took your hands like this.”
Nonna raised her trembling limbs. Even though her hands were claw-like with arthritis, Cassie saw to her horror she was mimicking the way that she’d held her fists out in front of her; the one clear memory she’d had after the violent confusion of the fight.
“And you pushed her. All the way down the stairs. She fell. I think you killed her, didn’t you? You, young girl, are a murderess. Assassina.”
She jabbed her quivering index finger in Cassie’s direction.
Horror erupted inside Cassie. Frail she might be, but this elderly woman was speaking with perfect clarity. In her voice and her words, she could sense the brutal, domineering mother that Nonna had once been.
“You’re wrong,” she whispered. “It didn’t happen that way. Not at all.”
“Oh, yes. It did. I saw everything, con i miei occhi.” Nonna pointed to her eyes.
“No. Ottavia attacked me. She was abusing Nina and went crazy when I tried to stop her. Everything else was self-defense. I didn’t mean to push her. She was trying to kill me, and I was fighting her off. The fall was an accident,” Cassie pleaded.
She had no idea whether Nonna’s dementia was causing her to remember inaccurately, or if she was purposely exaggerating what had happened in order to point the blame at Cassie.
Or, worst of all, a third option occurred to her. What if she herself was the one whose memory was at fault, and Nonna’s version was the full truth?
Cassie looked down. She couldn’t meet the old woman’s bright, beady gaze. Guilt crushed her all over again as she wondered how much she had misremembered, and how events had played out during those chaotic moments.
No matter how much of it was the truth, she knew Nonna’s account would destroy her. If the police heard it, along with the other circumstantial evidence, it would be enough to tip the balance.
“Murderess. Assassina,” Nonna repeated.
Cassie was horrified by the way that the old woman seemed almost to be taunting her with the knowledge. Instinctively, she clutched at a pillow. She wanted to clap it over her mouth to smother the awful words—or even to smother her.
She was elderly, frail, who would know? She couldn’t struggle or resist and the downy pillow would muffle her cries. In just a few moments, she would be dead, and the only eyewitness to this terrible act would be removed.
Cassie’s grasp on the pillow tightened. A few moments, and some resolve, would be all it would take. It would silence the breathy croaks, the whispered taunts that were still filling the room.
“Sei colpevole.”
Cassie stared at her blankly, unable to work out what the words meant, although the accusation in Nonna’s tone was unmistakable.
“Yes, you are guilty,” Nonna continued, as if she’d sensed Cassie’s confusion and was switching to English to make sure she understood. “How did it feel to do that? Did you think you would get away with it? You’re a killer, now. Ottavia was only trying to defend herself against your attack. You’re going to suffer for the rest of your life for this, in prison.”
“Stop it!” Cassie hissed back, and the old woman gave a croak of demented laughter.
The pillow felt soft and heavy in Cassie’s hand. She lifted it, cupped her other hand behind the old woman’s head. This was the only course of action left if she wanted to save herself. No matter whether Nonna’s version was true or exaggerated, it would bury Cassie forever.
Now, in one short minute, Cassie could bury her.
Taking a deep breath, she raised the pillow, blood pounding in her ears.
Then she realized that she couldn’t do it.
Cassie was shaking all over as she slowly let out the breath again.
She was not that person. Even to save herself, doing this act deliberately was impossible. The thought had offered her a moment’s temptation, but reality was different. This was not who she was. Not at all. Even if Nonna’s eyewitness account would guarantee her murder conviction, then so be it. She would be convicted.
Cassie arranged the pillow behind Nonna’s head, pushing it into place so that the old woman was comfortably propped up. As she did so, she felt a strange relief in knowing that she could not smother another human being, even one who was old and weak and taunting her with knowledge that would destroy her. She was not a cold-blooded killer, no matter the circumstances.
As she thought that, while Nonna was still cackling with shrill, taunting laughter, Cassie heard the front door open.
Falcone had arrived at the worst possible time.
Cassie rushed out of the room, hoping she could manage to deflect the detective’s attention, although she had no clear idea how to go about it. If Falcone followed through with the plans she’d shared yesterday, Cassie’s actions were going to be exposed in minutes, by a frail but vindictive woman who’d had a window of clarity at exactly the wrong time.
“Good morning,” Falcone greeted her.
Her keen gaze was drilling right through Cassie’s pathetic efforts at calmness, all the way into her terrified, guilty heart.
“Good morning,” she replied, wondering if Falcone could hear how fast her heart was hammering.
“How are the children doing?” Falcone asked.
“They’re fine. They seem calm, and had a restful night. Would you like to speak to
them? Is there anything else you need to ask?”
Cassie doubted if her attempt to delay the moment would work, as there was no reason for the detective to conduct a second interview with the children. She knew that her face was aflame with stress and that Falcone was bound to notice.
“Is Nonna awake?”
Cassie felt her stomach flip-flop with dread. Feeling as if she was speaking her last words, she replied, “She’s awake. I’ve just taken a tray to her.”
“Good. I’ll go straight to her room and interview her then.”
Without further pleasantries, the detective headed purposefully up the marble stairs.
Cassie felt as if the old woman’s taunting words would still hang in the air, and that Falcone would sense them the moment she walked in. Nonna would be only too glad to have a new audience to share her observations with. Cassie was sure it would be a very short, and very productive, interview. It would be followed by her immediate arrest.
Cassie suddenly realized she couldn’t bear to wait for the hammer blow to descend, for the dreadful thoroughness of the process that would follow. There would be another interview at the police station—by then she would have broken down into the hysterics that she could already feel were building. Her passport would be seized, and this would mean third time unlucky for her.
Cassie thought about the trip to the police headquarters. The panic, the isolation, the humiliation of being searched and having her fingerprints taken, knowing that she’d been their prime suspect all along. And that now, they had the evidence to convict her.
She couldn’t do it. There was time to make another plan. She was going to run. She could be out of the house, out of the area, before the detective realized she’d gone. She could drive to the Swiss border. It surely wouldn’t take more than a few hours to leave Italy. She’d be able to cross the border before the police put the word out.
Then she’d get on the first plane back to the States and run, back to safety, far away from the catastrophe that her travels had become.
Cassie walked, quickly and quietly, to her room. The main challenge would be getting her bag out without the detective noticing. Hopefully she would interview Nonna with the door closed, to give the elderly woman more privacy and time.
Cassie tore through her room, grabbing her possessions and stuffing them into her bag. She cleared the few shelves she’d unpacked, and at the very last minute, remembered all her tablets, stashed at the back of the drawer. She’d be in even more trouble if she left her meds behind. She gathered the bottles and shoved them into the zipper compartment of her bag.
A noise at the door made her jump and she looked round.
Nina and Venetia were standing there, watching her.
“Why are you packing, Cassie?” Nina asked.
Cassie tried a brittle smile. It felt forced and fake.
“I need to get going. You girls will be all right now. Your papa will be here later this evening.”
As she said the words, trying to reassure the girls, Cassie realized that by leaving now, she would be abandoning them when they were most vulnerable. They would be forced to spend a lonely and uncertain day in the house, unsupervised and uncared for.
Venetia’s face fell.
“Oh, Cassie, please don’t go! I thought you were spending today with us. We are both so excited. We came to find you, to ask what we could do now, as we have ideas for some games and activities.”
“You mustn’t leave,” Nina added. “I can see you’re scared after what happened, but we are scared of being left alone, too. Please stay with us till Papa comes.”
Cassie stared at them, torn by indecision.
Every moment she spent here with the girls meant that the window of opportunity for escape grew narrower.
And yet, was there even a window at all? This detective was efficient and she planned ahead. With Cassie’s luck, they’d have roadblocks in place before she could even get to the highway, and if she did reach the border, she’d find herself and her passport seized.
Worse still, the children would never understand why she had gone.
Of course, if she was arrested, she’d also leave suddenly—but then they would know why. If it happened that way, she could make sure that Falcone called someone else to stay with the girls and Nonna. That would be the responsible thing to do.
If she up and ran, she wouldn’t be able to make sure of anything.
Cassie blinked back tears as she thought how callous and selfish it would be to shoulder her bag and push her way past these two confused children, and walk out of their lives forever.
“No, sillies,” she said. “I’m not leaving now. I’m just getting my bags ready for when your papa gets here. Why don’t we go and play catch outside? It’s not too cold, and the clouds have cleared.”
Nina ran to fetch their big, colorful ball, and the three of them headed downstairs and out into the garden. As she stepped outside, Cassie realized this might be the last time she saw the sun, and felt the wind, for a long while.
The girls seemed thrilled to burn off their pent-up energy, and Cassie was sure that moving and running were helping them to release the tension that they had lived with for many months now. They played for a breathless twenty minutes, with Cassie doing her best to forget her terror and be fully present with the children.
“Throw to me, Cassie! Throw to me!” Nina shouted.
Cassie threw the ball high in the air, so that Nina had to scamper after it, screaming and giggling and leaping to catch it before it hit the ground. She tossed it to Venetia, who caught it one-handed, yelling with delight at her own brilliance.
Cassie forced herself to try and live in the moment, to suppress the sick anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her. She reminded herself that everything was possible and that good outcomes, and even miracles, could happen. Fearing the worst would mean living inside a prison before she was even there, she told herself sternly.
Cassie had never been good at setting her fears aside. She guessed it was partly the abuse she’d endure as a child that had shaped her response. When all the power was in the hands of a caretaker who used it unpredictably and irresponsibly, there was no choice but to accept that bad would happen.
As she leaped to catch the ball, breathing in the fresh, cold air and feeling the low sun warm on her skin, Cassie reminded herself that only she was capable of changing her own attitude to life. Nobody else could do it for her.
Panicking wouldn’t help her now. Her fate had already been sealed. But if she was able to remain calm when the bombshell landed, perhaps there would be a chance to discuss her options. She must not panic. She must not despair.
Cassie flung the ball as far as she could, sending Venetia racing after it with a squeal, wishing that it was as easy to put distance between herself and her problems.
Despite her resolutions to be cool and controlled, when the front door opened, Cassie felt her stomach twist so hard that she almost threw up.
Detective Falcone called out, her voice stern.
“I will have to interrupt your game, Cassie. Please come inside. I need to speak to you in private.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
With Falcone’s words, Cassie knew the hammer blow had fallen. This was the moment she’d dreaded.
She wanted to collapse in tears, right there on the neatly trimmed grass. It took all her strength to smile at the children and pretend that everything was all right.
Her legs were shaking with fear as she walked into the house, but she managed to keep her chin high and not break down into petrified sobs.
Falcone looked surprised by her demeanor, as if it didn’t fit with the picture of Cassie she’d had so far, or what she’d thought her likely reaction would be.
“Shall we talk in the living room?”
Once there, the detective took her time opening up her briefcase and going through her notes. She set a glass of water on the coffee table and placed the tape recorder next to it. Cassie perche
d on a wingback chair, with nausea roiling inside her. She knew that all she could hope for would be to somehow negotiate a small victory in her favor.
Even though it hadn’t been done in cold blood, and she hadn’t realized what she was doing until the last moment, of course she would have to pay for causing the loss of another life. That was how the law worked. The law wouldn’t care that Ms. Rossi had been systemically abusing her children and that they were glad to be freed from her. The issue here was whether Cassie’s actions had caused Ms. Rossi’s death, and Falcone now had an eyewitness account that proved it.
Perhaps, if she remained calm and cooperative, the police would agree for her to call Mirabella’s boutique one last time from their landline and try to find out the truth about her sister, before she was taken into custody. If she explained her situation to Mirabella, maybe the boutique owner would relent and pass on a message to Jacqui, if she was still alive.
One phone call. Surely that would be allowed? The detective didn’t seem aggressive, although she wasn’t certain what her rights were and how the process worked. Cassie decided this would be the favor she would bargain or even beg for, as it would be her last chance to complete the quest she had embarked on.
Detective Falcone finished setting out her notes and looked up.
Cassie forced herself to meet the other woman’s intense gaze, staring into her dark brown eyes.
“I had an interesting talk with Nonna,” she said. “We were hoping for an eyewitness account of what occurred.”
Cassie managed a faint nod. Her stomach was churning audibly.
“I would like to hear your version again, and this time as true and accurate as you can make it. Please don’t keep lying to me, as it will count against you. In a criminal court, the judge will often give a reduced sentence to people who make an honest confession, and believe me when I tell you that this is your best course of action now.”
A reduced sentence. Cassie knew Nonna’s words had sealed her guilt. This had gone beyond suspicion and into the territory of serious crime.
How much of a lesser sentence would a confession earn? It wouldn’t exonerate her completely. Would it mean only a few months off the prison term, or would her jail time be significantly reduced? Cassie didn’t think the detective would tell her if she asked. Perhaps she didn’t know herself.
