Charmer's Death (Temptation in Florence Book 2) (21 page)

Carlina nodded. She knew exactly what Emma was talking about.

“The rest you can imagine. He told me from the start it was only a Christmas fling. That's what he called it.” Emma's smile was wry. “I didn't believe him, but I kept him a secret from my family.” She took a deep breath. “Four weeks later, he left. His phone didn't work anymore, and I never had his address in the US.”

“
Did you try to find him?” Garini asked.

“
No.” Emma lifted her head. “I have my pride. Besides, I realized I had made a fool of myself. I don't like that feeling. Lucio deserves better.” She pressed her lips together. “Is that enough?”

“
Not quite.” Garini shook his head. “Can you tell us anything else about him, about his character?”

“
He was generous,” Emma said without hesitating. “He was great fun, but he had those fixed rules, and if you tried to get too close, he would clam up.” She frowned. “He hated the idea of being tied down.”

“
I can imagine.” Garini's voice was dry.

“
I got the impression that he once had a nasty experience, and that was why he made sure he played the game by his own rules.”

“
Can you be a bit more specific?”

“
No.” Emma shook her head and stared into space. “Oh, and he was a devout Catholic. He went to church at least once a week, and he sometimes stopped to pray, on a whim.”

Garini lifted his eyebrows. “A philandering Catholic?”

Emma shrugged. “It takes all sorts.”

“
Did you ever see him again?”

Emma nodded as if she didn't want to remember. “Once, last year. He was at a concert, together with another woman. I pretended I had not seen him.”

“What did you feel when you saw him?”

Emma gave him a look that spoke volumes. “Do you really need to know?”

“Yes.” He held her gaze.

“
I was embarrassed.” She balled her right fist. “I had just become engaged to Lucio, and I didn't want to remember how stupid I had been.”

Carlina felt sick. How Emma must have suffered . . . and she had never even known it.

Garini nodded. “What did you think when you heard that he was Annalisa's lover?”

“
I couldn't believe it. Of course I knew that Annalisa had a new love interest, but I had no idea that it was Trevor until Mama mentioned his name in passing. I dropped my fork on the floor and hid under the table to get my face under control.” Emma lifted her slim hand and pushed back her hair. “Next I heard he had been killed. I couldn't believe that, either. He had been so full of life.” She took a deep breath. “Then again, he had it coming.”

“
Did you suspect Annalisa?”

Carlina winced.

“Not for a minute.” Emma didn't hesitate.

His light eyes narrowed. “Is that the famous Mantoni loyalty or are you speaking the truth?”

“It's the truth.” Emma spat out the words. “Annalisa would never have killed him. She wanted to marry him. Delusional, of course, but I couldn't very well tell her that she could stop dreaming that particular dream.”

Garini pulled out a piece of paper he had prepared earlier. It showed all the unidentified women from Trevor Accanto's notebook next to each other - with Trevor's side cut off, and not in the order of their appearance inside the notebook. “Please look at these pictures and tell me if you know any of these women.”

Emma pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, but held out her hand with a bored motion. “Let me see.” She glanced at the pictures without interest. “I've never seen any of them.” Then she pointed at the blouse of snow-white. “What an awful top. This one could have done with professional help to get her outfit organized.”

Garini ignored her remark. “Are you quite sure you don't recognize anyone?”

“Yes, I am. I already told you!” Emma glared at him.

“
However, a few moments ago, you said you had met Trevor with another woman at a concert last year.”

Emma gave him an irritated glance. “So what?”

Carlina flinched. She knew Emma's aggressiveness came from feeling cornered. Would Garini understand? His face didn't give anything away.
I hope Emma speaks the truth in spite of her fears.

Garini looked unmoved, as if he didn't recognize aggressiveness even if it bit him. “Are you willing to swear that you have never seen any of these women? Try to picture them with another outfit, their hair done up, maybe?”

Emma bent over the paper again with an exaggerated sigh, made a show of examining each face, held up the paper against the light, put it down again, and finally said. “No. I don't know a single face.”

Carlina swallowed. Usually, Trevor had stuck to one woman per vacation. If that had been the case, Suzanne Morin would have been the woman with him during the concert one year ago, but Emma had not shown the slightest sign of recognizing her.

“Listen, Commissario,” Emma pressed her lips together. “At the concert, I only saw her for a fleeting moment. The light wasn't strong, and I admit I focused more on Trevor than on her at the time, so it's no wonder if I don't recognize her, even if she should be part of this odd gallery.” She made a contemptuous move with her hand toward the paper. “Where does it come from anyway?”

He fixed her with one of his immobile stares. “I can't tell you.”

Carlina closed her eyes. She knew he said it to protect her; after all, she had been part of the odd gallery, but she also knew how Emma would react to that statement.

Emma jumped up, her eyes flaring. “Fine. Do you need to know anything else, Commissario?”

“Not at the moment.” Garini got up too.

“
Good.” Emma took two swift steps toward the door. “Because I am extremely fed up with being interviewed.” Her head held high, she walked out of the apartment like a queen.

Behind her, the door closed with a bang.

A wave of tiredness swept over Carlina.

Stefano turned to her with a sigh. “That wasn't easy. Thank you for sticking to the rules.” He frowned. “You look pale. Do you need to eat something?”

With slow moves, she got up from the sofa. Her legs felt as if made of old rubber, mushy and brittle. “Actually, I think I need a hug.” To her horror, her voice broke.

Without a word, he opened his arms.

She ran into them.

He crushed her to his chest and held her tight.

Her head fitted right next to his shoulder, and her nose was pressed against his neck. She inhaled his scent and closed her eyes. Tears pricked behind her lids, tears of relief, of happiness, of exhaustion. She could feel his lips against her hair, and for an instant, life was perfect.

She couldn't tell how long she was in his arms, not moving, not wanting to be anywhere else, ever, but finally, he lifted his head.

“Carlina?”

“
Hmm?”

“
You've had a big scare today, and I think you're in shock. I want you to stay at home for the rest of the day.”

With regret she took a step back. “I can't, Stefano. It's only two days to Christmas. This is the most important time of the year. I can't put my feet on the sofa like any old Medici lady. I have a business to run.”

He hesitated, then bowed his head. “All right.”

Relief pulsed through her. He took her business seriously. He understood how important it was to her, even if it cost her something, even if she wasn't in the best of shape to cope with it. He took her seriously, treated her like an equal. She smiled.

He blinked. “What's that for?”

“
What?”

“
That thousand watt smile.”

She could feel her face going hot. “I . . . it's because you don't treat me like a weak lady.”

He shook his head. “You'd consider that an insult, hmm?”

“
Yes.”

He smiled. “I see. Would you accept it if I prepared something quick to eat while you stayed on the sofa? Once you've had lunch, I'll take you back to Temptation.”

“Willingly.” She dropped onto the sofa. Truth be told, she still felt rather wobbly.

He took her leopard spread and covered her with it, tucking in the ends around her.

It felt odd. She'd never seen Garini as a caretaker.

“
Now rest.”

She closed her eyes. “I doubt you'll find much to make lunch with.”

“I'll manage.”

She heard him walk to her kitchen. It was a tiny place, with the roof crooked above him, and she didn't think he would be able to find enough food, but he surprised her. Fifteen minutes later, he came back, carrying a tray with a large plate. On it, he had arranged some olives, toasted bread with butter and several slices of typical Florentine sausage, a bit of her favorite cheese - Marzolino di Lucardo - and for dessert, a bowl of yogurt with sugar, and a cup of coffee.

As they shared the meal, Carlina felt herself touching ground again. “I needed that,” she said in surprise.

“
I know.” Stefano dropped a bit of cheese into his mouth and looked around him. “Why do you have so many things with a leopard design?”

She smiled. “Because I like it.”

“I see.”

“
Don't you like it?”

He grinned. “No. It's too dramatic, too heavy for me.” He looked at her. “It suits you, though.”

“You mean I'm dramatic and heavy?”

“
No.” He took the empty tray and got up. “But you have many unexpected layers.”

She pushed the leopard cover away. “I'll help you.”

“Please don't.” He went to the kitchen. “I'd rather you rested a bit longer.”

“
But I--”

He looked over his shoulder, and his eyes smiled into hers. “Humor me.”

She dropped back. “Oh, all right.” She listened to him clattering around in the kitchen. It felt good, as if they belonged together. “Stefano?”

“
Yes?”

“
Where are we now?”

“
With the case, you mean?” He dropped something into the sink with a metallic sounding clang.

“
Yes.”

“
I've reached a state of almost total confusion,” he said. “There are way too many women about.”

She laughed. “I bet it's a man after all.”

“That's not very likely.” Another clang accompanied the words. “But I'll keep an open mind. Do you have anyone special in mind?”

“
Madonna, no.” Carlina laughed. “I still put my money on Mona Lisa.”

“
We've put her picture into the newspapers today. I hope someone will recognize her.” A cupboard door banged. “I also plan to show the pictures to Ricciarda this afternoon, when I drop you off. Maybe she'll know more about Mona Lisa.”

“
I doubt it.” Carlina frowned. “If I remember correctly, Mona Lisa only talked to me on the morning of the murder.” Then she shrugged. “But who knows, maybe Ricciarda can help anyway. Once you have Mona Lisa, you'll have your case solved, that much is sure.”

“
So you don't think it was Suzanne?”

Carlina hesitated. “I . . . no, I don't think so after all. She seemed completely around the bend, but her fixed idea was quite the opposite - she wanted revenge for the murder of Trevor. That doesn't tie in with the rest, does it?”

“Not really.” He came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a hand towel. “She will have to be treated, though, and it'll be a long time before she'll be out on the streets again.”

“
Poor Leopold.”

He gave her a sardonic look, “I'm not worried about him. The Mantoni clan will keep him busy until his wounds are healed.”

Carlina threw a cushion at his head.

He caught it and returned it to her. “Enough resting on the sofa, lady. You're fit to return to the world now.”

Carlina laughed and got up. “You know one thing? I wonder where my mother is. She should have been here long ago, checking on me.”

Stefano winked. “I asked Uncle Teo to keep her busy.”

“
I'm so glad you're back, Commissario!” Piedro, who had been sitting with drooping shoulders on a chair, jumped up with alacrity.

“
What a warm welcome.” Garini took off his thick jacket and hung it onto the peg behind the door. “What happened?”

“
That Frenchwoman, this . . . this Suzanne . . .” Piedro's voice petered out.

“
Yes? What of her?”

“
I think she's crazy.” Piedro opened his eyes wide. “I mean . . .” He made a move with his hand. “Mental.”

“
I think you might be right.”

“
She seemed all nice and friendly until the lawyer started to talk about Trevor Accanto's murder, and then, she suddenly turned into a sort of . . .”

“
Well?” Stefano lifted his eyebrows.

“
A monster.”

“
Oh?”

“
Yes!” Piedro took a deep breath. “She shouted and hissed and cried. It was real scary. They asked a psychologist to come, and he said she should go to a closed ward.”

“
Good.” Stefano nodded. “For the moment, that's the best place for her to be.”

Piedro looked at him with big eyes. “Is it true she attacked Carlina Ashley?”

“Yes.”

“
Wow. I mean, that must have made you angry.”

“
It did.” For once, Piedro had hit the nail on the head. Stefano closed his mouth with a snap. Were his feelings that obvious? His challenging gaze dared his subordinate to go on.

Piedro swallowed and had sense enough to change the topic. “I have not yet received any confirmation on the Japanese woman and the one who now lives in Rome, but they promised to send me the reports tomorrow at the latest.”

“Good.” Stefano frowned. “Please check when Suzanne Morin entered the country.”

Piedro nodded.

“You'd better make a note,” Garini said.

“
I can remember it.” Piedro looked at the floor.

“
Are you sure?”

“
Yes.”

“
All right.” Stefano didn't mention the previous times when Piedro had dropped several leads at once. Today, he had to remember only one thing.

“
Em.” Piedro shuffled his feet.

“
Yes?”

“
We got a report by special courier today, from America.”

Stefano lifted his eyebrows. “Where is it?”

Piedro pointed at the in-tray on Stefano's desk. “I put it there.”

Stefano reached for it. “Have you read it?”

“I tried to, but it's all in English.”

When Stefano opened the cardboard folder, a hint of a sweet smell wafted up to his nose. American paper.
It smells different than ours
. He wondered why. Did they mix anything special into the pulp?

“
Can I leave now, Commissario?” Piedro slid to the edge of his chair. “It's my mother's birthday tomorrow, and I still have to buy a gift for her.”

“
Her birthday, you say?” Garini looked up from the American report. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. “I thought it was your parent's wedding anniversary, or did I get that wrong?”

“
Oh, no.” Piedro shook his head, not suspecting anything. “My parent's wedding anniversary is in May, not in December.”

“
It'll be twenty-six years the next May, won't it?”

Piedro looked surprised. “No. They've been married twenty-three years.” He smiled. “I can remember because I'm twenty-two.”

“I must have mixed up something.” Garini returned the smile. “Yes, you can go.” When the door had closed behind Piedro, he narrowed his eyes. Twenty-three years. If he was lucky, the affair had taken place before the Cervi marriage. That would help. Hopefully. He had to tackle Marcella Cervi later today, but first, he wanted to read what the US had to tell him. The first document was covered with a decisive handwriting in black ink. Trevor Accanto's will.
Finally.

“
I, Trevor Vincent Accanto, am of sound mind as I write this, my last will. At first, I played with the idea of giving each of the wonderful women who have shared my life a piece of my fortune, but I imagine that some of them might find it difficult to explain the sudden riches to their current partners, and also, it would be an effort to find them all again, when I have so successfully lost them in the past years.”

Garini swallowed. Thank God the American hadn't gone through with that impulse. While it would have given him the name of every woman concerned, it would also have multiplied their motives for murder. He shuddered when he imagined Lucio learning about Emma's involvement with the rich American by way of an inheritance. What a mess this man had created. He turned back to the document. “So, instead I donate my whole fortune to a new-found institution that will support young women with children born out of wedlock. The Trevor V. Accanto foundation will be situated at my mansion in Boca Raton, Florida, and all the necessary details are already laid out in the corresponding Business Plan.”

The document ended with the signature Garini had already seen on the fly-leaf of the notebook.

Young women with children born out of wedlock.
Garini frowned. Could it be that Trevor Accanto had illegitimate children somewhere and knew about them? Apparently, he had not cared to help them directly and had preferred to found an institution.
Children -
Fabbiola's prophecy came out of nowhere into his mind.
Beware of children.
He shook himself.
What utter rubbish.

The police at Boca Raton had included a summary about the life of Trevor Accanto that sounded like the eulogy at a funeral - an astute business man, not only fair but also generous, generally liked, a pillar of the Catholic community, president of the country club, owner of countless first-class properties . . . Garini felt slightly sick. He did not suspect the US police of being bribed, which only left one conclusion - the millionaire had come to Italy to sin in style while leading a blameless life at home.

He shrugged. Well, why not? If only he hadn't managed to get himself killed in Florence. Still . . . something irked him. Something about this man was not right - he was too glib, too superficial. On an impulse, he pulled his phone closer and asked to be connected to the contact name given on the American report. He was put through without a hitch and soon found himself talking to the man who had put all the data together, Sergeant Dan Matador. He explained his situation, looking for words more often than he wanted, regretting his impulse.
I should have looked up some words beforehand.
But Sergeant Matador seemed to be a patient man, and when he started to speak, Garini gave a silent prayer of thanks that he spoke slowly, with pauses in between that left enough time for taking a quick note.

“
I see what you mean,” the sergeant said when Garini had finished his explanation. “You're looking for a more personal connection - for friends.”

“
Exactly.” Stefano was glad to have found someone who was quick on the uptake.

“
Well, I noted the same thing. Mr. Accanto was well-known in the community, of course. He often donated money at sponsorship events, and I remember that he briefly spoke at the inauguration of Boca Raton Plaza.”

“
The Boca Raton Plaza?”

“
A new shopping mall he purchased and re-vamped two years ago.” Dan Matador paused and added. “But he didn't have friends.”

“
No?”

“
No. I talked to the people he usually did business with, to his lawyer, his architect, his banker, the other members of the golf club. They were full of praise, but when I asked them if they would consider themselves to be close friends, they all said it had been a more superficial relationship.”

“
His housekeeper?”

“
His housekeeper has been with him for twenty-seven years. She said he traveled a lot, always to Florence in winter, but that he remained by himself when he was at home.”

“
Didn't he entertain?”

“
Oh, yes, he did entertain, but never less than twenty people at a time. He didn't have one or two special friends, nobody to share confidences with.”

Garini chewed on that piece of information for a moment.
What a lonely life.
“What do you think he did if he wanted advice?”

“
Then he got the best people in the industry, paid them handsomely, and remained in friendly contact forever.”

“
I meant personal advice.”

Now it was the Sergeant's turn to be quiet. “I don't know.”

“The report says he was never married. Did he have women friends?”

“
No.” The answer of the Sergeant was decisive. “Nothing like that.”

“
Family?”

“
He mentioned an uncle in Florence.”

Garini gave a snort. “This uncle was only an euphemism for an attractive woman - a different one each year.”

“So I gathered from your initial contact request.” Sergeant Matador sounded unconvinced. “But I find it hard to reconcile that with the man we knew.”

“
It seems he built up two separate worlds and never mixed them.”

“
Apparently.”

Garini frowned. If Accanto had managed to build up two separate worlds, what had stopped him from building up a third or fourth one? The American's passport had shown stamps from all over the world, with the only repeated entry being Italian immigration. However, the US was a huge country. Maybe Accanto had built another world within the US. “You said he traveled a lot. Do you happen to know if he went to other places within the US again and again, just like he did with Florence?”

“We checked that,” Sergeant Matador said in his slow way, “but we found nothing.”

Discouragement hit Garini. He had clung to his hope that the roots for the murder were far away from Florence, far away from Carlina and her family . . . but every clue led him to nothing, leaving him with a mess much too close to home. Why couldn't the rich American have a disgruntled wife, an heir with expensive hobbies and a furious business partner, cheated by a huge amount of money? That would have been some help. Instead, he had behaved like a universally loved saint when at home.

“How about his financial situation? Where did he get his money from?”

“
He was a very rich man - inherited the lot from his father when he was nineteen and continued to enlarge it with clever investments. He'd already retired years ago and lived on the interest. There's nothing wrong with his business. We looked into that very thoroughly, thinking he might have done himself in.”

Garini blinked. “The idea of strangling yourself with a pair of nylons inside a church seems a bit far-fetched.”

“We only learned about the details of his death later.” The Sergeant sounded hurt.

“
I see.” Garini suppressed a sigh, thanked the Sergeant, and hung up. While his hand was still on the receiver, someone knocked on the door. A head with black spectacles and hair that looked like overcooked spaghetti poked around and blinked into the weak afternoon light as if he had just emerged from eternal darkness.

“
Arturo. Come in.” Garini waved at the computer expert of the police station. Maybe he had found something of better value on Trevor Accanto's laptop. One could always hope. “Did you manage to crack the password?”

“
Yup.” Arturo nodded. “'Twas easy.”

Of course. Arturo found everything technical easy. Buying a loaf of ciabatta was a different matter. “What was it?”

“Carpe_Diem.”

Seize the day.
That fit. Trevor Vincent Accanto had understood the art of living in the present, with no thoughts about the past or the future. “Did it reveal anything else?”

“
Music.” Arturo didn't believe in wasting words.

“
Music? What kind of songs?”

“
Classics. And sweet stuff for ladies.”

Garini eyed Arturo's blue jeans that looked as if he had last taken them off in July. He hoped Arturo would not come any closer. “Anything else?”

“Nah.” Arturo shook his head. “Shame. Great hardware. Too good for a juke box.”

“
How about correspondence?” Garini felt desperate. Couldn't the victim have left any clue at all?

“
Some e-mails. Mostly orders for music.” Arturo shrugged. “Jewelry too. Expensive.”

“
But no other business correspondence?”

“
Nah.”

Of course not. That would have been too easy.
“Thank you, Arturo.” Garini waited until the door had closed, then got up and squared his shoulders. Now he had to tackle the next point on his agenda - the wife of his boss. Sometimes it was difficult to remember why on earth he had chosen this profession.