Elegant Death Page 22

Carlina felt sick.

  Patrizio went on with a frown. “But once the police were coming here, I knew I had to destroy that previous will.”

  “The will where she left everything to you.”

  “Yes.” His mouth drew back from his teeth, and his face became a mask of hate. “I read it, black on white. Everything to me. So simple. It would have been perfect. Instead, she managed to destroy all my plans and hopes. Again.” His gaze, brimming over with hate, turned to her. “And now she's forcing me to continue. I can't help it, and I'm even a bit sorry. You're not a bad sort.” He took a quick step forward.

  Carlina curled up and threw herself beneath the massage bed. She tried to scream for help but was so petrified that no sound came from between her dry lips.

  The door flew open, and Aunt Violetta rolled in at top speed, followed by Fabbiola. “There you are! I heard your voice and thought I'd join. Carlina, what are you doing down there on the floor? Get up, do, it's not hygienic.”

  Patrizio jumped to the side, looking from Carlina to Aunt Violetta. “What are you doing here?”

  Aunt Violetta stopped in the middle of the room, right before him. “I came to apologize. Fabbiola kept getting on my nerves –“

  Fabbiola, behind her, gave a hiss of annoyance.

  “I mean, she told me I'd insulted you with my job offer, and I just wanted to clarify that it was not meant as an insult at all.” The old lady lifted her chin. “I'd never have thought anybody could be so touchy.”

  While Aunt Violetta spoke, Carlina retreated even farther underneath the bed and slipped out on the other side. She knew Patrizio would notice her out of the corner of his eyes if she moved too fast, so she crept forward one inch at a time. While holding her breath, she managed to pick up the Buddha without making a sound. What now? She wasn't very good at throwing things, and if she missed Patrizio, she might accidentally lay out Aunt Violetta.

  However, she had to act now, while he was distracted. As soon as Patrizio could gather his wits, he would shepherd them all together and manage to kill them off. Yes, they were three to one, but one fragile, old lady, one distracted middle-aged one, and one shaking younger one were no match for this deadly bag of muscles.

  Carlina took another cautious step forward. She had to throw the Buddha. Now. Aim for his temple! She put all her strength into the throw, using her whole body force, and threw the Buddha at Patrizio's head.

  It didn't even touch him but flew in a wide arc past Aunt Violetta's nose and smashed one of the scented candles at the side.

  Aunt Violetta jumped out of her wheelchair. “Carlina! What do you think you're doing? He's super sensitive, and he won't take kindly to having things thrown at him! Look what happened when I made him a job offer!”

  Patrizio roared with anger and turned to them, both arms lifted, his hands extended like claws.

  Carlina grabbed Aunt Violetta and drew her against herself in the faint hope to delay him while choosing which neck to wring first.

  The door flew open, and Stefano burst through it. With one glance, he took in the situation, grabbed the empty wheelchair and rammed it with all his might against Patrizio's legs.

  Patrizio screamed with rage, even while his legs flew out from under him. He toppled over, his head hit the rim of the massage bed, and with a resounding thud, he fell to the floor.

  For an instant, there was no sound and no movement. Then Carlina cleared her throat. “Hand Stefano your bra, mamma,” she said. “Mine is too small to bind him up.”

  Epilogue

  Two days later, Carlina wriggled her bare feet and sighed with happiness. She wore her jeans and a thin sweater, but the afternoon sun in Sardinia was so warm she'd slipped off her shoes when she'd stretched out on the comfortable lounger sofa on the terrace of Enzo's island house. Filmy white terrace curtains billowed in the gentle wind that murmured through the pine trees in the garden. With the slight breeze, a scent of resin and salty sea air came to her.

  She lifted her head and looked at Stefano, stretched out at right angles to her on the sofa. His feet almost touched hers. Behind him, she could see the Thyrrenian Sea glittering in endless blue.

  He turned his head and moved his feet so they touched hers. “So, how does it feel to have a millionaire in the family?”

  She bent forward and tickled his toes. “Better than I thought. As the sister, you can profit from all the benefits without the responsibility. In fact, it's a great position.” She grinned. “So I advised him to keep some of the millions. As did the rest of the family.”

  He groaned. “Madonna. I can imagine.”

  “Why do you groan like that? You profit from it, as well.” She made a wide move with her arm, encompassing the private property and beach, complete with yacht, then wriggled her toes again and admired the golden nail polish she'd applied that morning.

  “I was just imagining the Mantoni clan unhampered by any financial restraints. No doubt Aunt Violetta has already started to pester Enzo to finance her brothel.”

  “No such thing. She is deeply discouraged and says she's given up on the project.”

  He lifted himself onto one elbow and stared at her. “That I won't believe. How come?”

  “It's a human resources problem. She says it's too hard to find the right personnel.” Carlina giggled. “But I have to warn you.”

  “What about?”

  “She blames it on the men. Says they were never meant to dominate the planet as they do, and now, she's taken her man-hating attitude to a whole new level. She says she could have tolerated them if they had made themselves useful by becoming some sort of fluffy play bunnies, but if they're not even able to cope with that, she believes that sperm banks can take their place.”

  He dropped back onto the lounger. “I think I'll forgo that next family meeting.”

  Carlina smiled. “Don't worry. By then, she'll have found another bone to pick.”

  “When is it?”

  “In two weeks. It's Emma's birthday.”

  He groaned again. “Well, at least, they'll have another topic. I've never seen any family discussing a pregnancy with such passion. As if they'd never had a baby before in the family.”

  Carlina smiled. “Well, it's been a long time. The youngest is Ernesto, and he's an adult now. Besides, the Mantonis don't do anything by half.”

  “No, they don't.” He sighed again, then lifted his head. “Was that a car? I thought Enzo would only come tomorrow.”

  “I haven't heard anything, and it wouldn't surprise me to hear he won't even make it tomorrow. He has to set up so many things.” She shuddered. “I wouldn't like to pick a board of directors to take over the job at Camicie Di Silva.”

  “He can hand that over to some headhunter or other.” Stefano dropped back onto the cushions.

  ”By the way, Enzo also decided to make Benito the Chief Marketing Officer of Camicie d'Oro.”

  “In that case, I can't wait to see the flamboyant shirts of the next season.”

  Carlina laughed. “And the men who dare to wear them. Benito was thrilled and bought himself a new Prada scarf to celebrate the occasion.”

  “What about the brand name? Will they change it?”

  “Enzo left that up to Benito. Enzo also dropped the charges against Alessandro Stellini because he was so relieved it was all over and he could now get rid of his inheritance. He said it's too exhausting to hold onto a grudge.”

  “Funny attitude.” Stefano frowned. “And does he really want to drop the whole fortune, not only the job? What about the rest, like the chalet in Switzerland and so on?”

  “He'll sell it. Too much hassle, he said. Not conductive for a serene frame of mind. He's become quite philosophical, my little brother.”

  “He's got a point there. But he'll keep this house?”

  “Oh, yes, he'll keep it, and he plans to spend most of his time here. Once the trial and everything is over and done with.” Carlina looked at the gently swaying pine tops. “I'm so glad the IT people
managed to rescue the old will from Belfiore's office. Otherwise, Cervi would surely have refused to believe our combined statements when Patrizio clammed up and claimed he was innocent. The gall he had, to say I had attacked him with the Buddha for no reason whatsoever! Hey, how dare you smile?”

  Stefano's smile became a grin. “I'm not smiling, and I'm sorry I missed that particular part of your performance. We'll have to train your throwing expertise sometime.”

  “Ha. At least the crash of the scented candle made sure you were prepared when you came through that door. I couldn't believe it when Patrizio presented me with an invoice for destroyed property. He claimed the Buddha had been his personal, much-loved possession.” Carlina shook her head, incensed. “It wasn't even sturdy enough to survive a small encounter with the wall.”

  “Well, once they'd found the pistol that shot Dorotea in his apartment, there was no doubt left about him being the murderer. And when they were able to trace the IT attack on the lawyer's office to Patrizio's brother, even Cervi couldn't complain about lack of evidence anymore.”

  Carlina sighed. “I didn't suspect Patrizio, though he even mentioned that brother to me once. But thank God, it's all over.” She looked around. “And now we're here, in the lap of luxury and beauty. Who'd ever have thought so three weeks ago?”

  “Three weeks ago, we weren't married.” Stefano sat up and gently pulled at Carlina's small toe. “Any regrets so far, signora Garini?” His hand slipped up her leg.

  A ripple of delight went through her. “Hmm, let me think . . .”

  He moved until he sat right next to her. His hand slid beneath her t-shirt onto the warm skin of her hip.

  Carlina smiled at him. “Well, with the exception of a little murder and so on, I think it was quite nice.”

  His hand traveled higher. “Quite nice, eh? Don't be too enthusiastic, my dear.”

  She smiled at him. “I'll reserve my enthusiasm for . . . something else.” She put both hands onto his cheeks and pulled down his head, but just when her lips brushed his, there came a shout from the garden gate.

  “Yooohhooooo, Carlina!” A procession of Mantonis came around the corner. “Where are you hiding?”

  Stefano pulled back from her with a sigh. “Why did we agree to come here instead of picking up what was left of our honeymoon plans on that lonely island in Germany?”

  Carlina sighed. “They'd given our place away.”

  “We should have insisted.”

  “Yoooohoooo, Carlina! Are you deaf or something?”

  Carlina didn't know if she should laugh or cry. “We'll reschedule. And we'll make sure to keep the address a secret.”

  He picked up her hand and gave it a kiss. “I'll hold you to that.”

  Now that you have finished Elegant Death, would you please consider writing a review?

  Reviews are the best way for readers to discover great new books.

  But before you do so . . . enjoy this sneak peek at another novel by Beate Boeker, where Stefano Garini makes a first appearance:

  A New Life (excerpt)

  An Italian Romance

  Copyright © 2012 Beate Boeker

  "No, I didn't kill him." Anne frowned at the sound of her voice. If only she knew how to say it in Italian.

  Then again, no. Anne shook her head.

  She didn't have to know it.

  Because nobody would ask.

  She had to remember it was all in the past.

  The loudspeaker spat out some Italian sentences. Anne tilted her head but didn't understand a word. Thank God the stewardess continued in English. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're now approaching Florence. Please fasten your seat belts, and put your seats in an upright position."

  Florence! Anne swallowed. How often had she dreamed of Florence? How often had she asked her mother to show her the pictures yet again, to speak of the light, of the beauty, of the Italian sun? Anne closed her eyes. She could hear her mother even now, her musical voice and her explosive laughter.

  She would never have believed that one day, she would be reluctant to see Florence.

  Anne clenched her teeth. She had to stop thinking about it. She had to concentrate on a dream come true, no matter the circumstances, no matter it felt like a nightmare.

  She angled her head to get a better view of Florence through the window, but the plane was surrounded by clouds. It looked as if they were cutting through a thick layer of gray cotton wool.

  Almost there. Anne's eyes burned as she fought back a wave of fear. How she wished she could go back to Seattle. But that wasn't an option.

  You'll be fine, she told herself and stared at the clouds. The red lights from the wings reflected in the towering gray masses before they cut into them. For an instant, Anne closed her eyes. Even if the whole of Europe should turn out to be gray, it had one big advantage.

  Nobody knew her here.

  That counted more than everything. She nodded to herself. Giorgio had promised she could avoid all Americans at the hotel. Maybe, for once, Giorgio had told the truth.

  She sighed. How she wished she didn't depend on their weak family connection.

  The plane dipped lower, and they emerged from the gray cotton wool. Anne's eyes widened. How close to the ground they were already! For an instant, she could make out a few scattered buildings before the rain streamed along the little oval window in horizontal lines and blurred her view. She might see more if she took off her huge sun-glasses, bought especially to hide as much of her face as possible, but she had kept them on all the way because they made her feel anonymous. She would soon have to face the world without them. All too soon.

  Half an hour later, she stared at a huge sign on the wall while waiting for her giant suitcase to arrive on the belt.

  Benvenuto a Firenze. Welcome to Florence. Willkommen in Florenz. Bienvenue à Florence. The words reverberated through her. Welcome. Would she be welcome? She doubted it. Anne grabbed her elephant suitcase, hefted it off the belt and dragged it to the exit. Her heart beat hard against her ribs.

  The airport was so small, you could walk in ten minutes from one end to the other. It had just one floor and a flat roof, and if you wanted to get lost here, you had a job to do. Somehow, the small size made it sympathetic and manageable. Then again, you could be seen and recognized in no time at all. Anne swallowed, hurried through the glass doors, and took a deep breath. Italy smelled of rain and dust.

  It wouldn't take long to get to the centro storico, the old city center. Half an hour or so, the guy at the travel agency had said. Anne's throat felt parched. She would have to face the manager of the Garibaldi Hotel soon. Peter Grant.

  Giorgio had told her Mr. Grant would not be a problem. He'd promised to discuss everything with him. He'd promised Mr. Grant would welcome her with open arms. He'd also promised Mr. Grant would be discreet.

  Anne bent her head to avoid the worst of the rain and turned to her left, following a sign that said 'Taxi'. The rain dropped into the small of her neck and ran down her back with chilly fingers. Until yesterday, her long hair had kept her warm. How she missed its familiar weight; how vulnerable she felt. What a stupid idea to cut her long hair only because it would make her look different from the girl on trial. Anne huddled deeper into her coat, but the wind cut through it and made her shudder. She splashed into a puddle, and immediately, water seeped through the seams of her shoes. Darn. You're so silly. Take off your sunglasses now. Do.

  But no. Not yet.

  Her thoughts turned back to Peter Grant. She wasn't so sure about the open-armed-welcome. From all she'd learned the last months, few people welcomed you with open arms if you've just been released from custody, and on a murder charge at that.

  She bit her lip and stopped next to the first taxi in line. With a forced smile, she bent forward and looked through a dirty window. The taxi driver opened it, his face impassive. Anne summoned up the sentence she had learned by heart. "Nel centro storico?"

  The taxi driver nodded. He scowled at h
er huge suitcase, then at the pouring rain, grunted something she didn't understand and heaved himself out of his Renault.

  For an instant, Anne wanted to say she was sorry to be a bother, then she shook herself. She wasn't responsible for the weather. Where had all her self esteem gone? Half a year ago, she would have made a joke about the rain. Now every little unpleasantness went straight to the core. She pressed her lips together and dived into the back of the taxi. It smelled of stale cigarettes.

  When the Renault started to drive with a rattle that told her the exhaust tube wasn't going to last much longer, she stared out of the window. Blinded by the rain and her sun-glasses, she didn't see much. A few trees, thin, straggling. Some low houses, with the typical roofs made of four equal triangular pieces, slanted to meet at the tip. Shutters with peeling paint, closed to keep out the sun that was nowhere to be seen and hard to imagine. Where was the Florence her mother had loved?

  Anne shook herself. She had to think positive. She had to take back her life, make it into something good, something clean. She sighed. Would it ever become possible to forget she'd been imprisoned on a murder charge? Would she be able to forget the accusing stare of Alec's friends, and let's face it, her own, who believed she had tampered with his car? Would life ever turn back into something sane, something to have confidence in?

  She'd been innocent. It hadn't helped.

  The houses got higher, and the streets narrowed until Anne wondered if she could open the door of the taxi without hitting it against a wall. It got darker by the minute. The rain pelted onto the roof with angry blows, deafening her. She felt as if she was sitting inside a clammy tin box. Anne hunched up her shoulders and curled her cold toes.

  When the taxi stopped, and her amiable driver indicated with a move of the head that she had reached her destiny, she fumbled out some unfamiliar Euro notes and pressed them into his hands. His fingers were red, like sausages. The sausages disappeared in a black zip-bag and reappeared with some change.