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?”

Elle shrugged her thin shoulders. “I guess. Why?”

“I’m just wondering.”

They started walking again. Elle took a left at the top of a pass, toward a sign for a rifugio, a small hut along the trail that served food to hikers, four kilometers ahead.

“It’s funny,” Elle said, “my most vivid memories of my mother are from simple times. Wrapping Christmas gifts together. Or baking bread. Despite being an actress, my mom was a good cook. She liked homey things. Decorating. Canning.” Elle glanced at Allison. “Does that surprise you?”

Allison didn’t know much about Elle’s actress mother, at least nothing other than what was published in the media. Fawn Langley had been beautiful. She’d starred in half a dozen lesser-known films, and had one or two bigger roles during her career. Her romance with rock star Sam Norton had been fodder for the tabloids. When the coupling produced Elle, sleazier news outlets questioned whether Sam was really Elle’s father. Fawn had been vehement about protecting her daughter. She’d also been vehement about her right to party. She was found dead at thirty-six with a needle still sticking out of her emaciated arm. Hard to reconcile that image with a woman who baked bread and canned beets.

“Tell me more,” Allison said. They’d rounded a bend and ahead was a steep upward climb toward a series of boulders just sprinkled with sparse vegetation. Allison stared at the path, dreading the climb. She kept going.

“There’s not much more to tell. I know people thought of my mom as a wild child, some glamourous starlet whose life ended way too soon. To me she was just Mom.” Elle paused, looking at Allison. “I really think she loved me.”

Elle’s hopeful tone tugged at Allison’s heart. “It sounds like you were everything to her.”

Elle nodded. They climbed for a few minutes in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and labored breathing. Where the path had split, they’d entered public park land, and Allison could see another duo heading their way, descending from the top of the trail.

“My father was never the same,” Elle said when the couple—octogenarians, by the look of them—passed. “After that, he drank away his grief.”

“Did you see much of him?”

“Not really. I mean I lived with him, but mostly I stayed with a series of nannies, each one younger and more limber than the next.” Elle smiled, but there was no mirth there. “As you can imagine, Sam bedded most of them. Two even became my stepmothers. For a short while, anyway.” She turned, her face shadowed by an imposing boulder. “At one point, he had two so-called nannies living with us. I walked in on them.” She made a face. “Not something you want to see when you’re a teenager.”

Or at any age, Allison thought. Something Elle had said gave Allison pause. “Michael is younger than you, right?”

“Nine years.”

“And his mother is Clarice McCue?”

Elle nodded. “That’s my understanding.”

“Was Clarice one of these so-called nannies?”

Elle laughed. “No, no. Clarice wasn’t a caretaker.”

“How did Clarice and your father meet?”

“Clarice was an unlikely choice for my father. Unlike my mother, the young groupies he slept with, or the nannies he screwed—” Elle looked pointedly at Allison, “and make no mistake, it was just sex—Clarice was kind of normal. She kept his books.”

“She was an accountant?”

“Bizarre, right? But yes, Clarice was one of his accountants.”

They’d reached the top of the incline, and Allison needed a rest. She climbed onto one of the boulders and pulled her camera out of her bag. The vista was amazing. From her perch on the rock, she could see the largest peaks in the distance, capped by dolomite and shrouded in clouds. Green pastures, Swiss-style chalets, and clusters of trees dotted the landscape in between. She snapped a few pictures, mulling over what Elle had told her.

“So Clarice had access to the foundation’s finances?”

Elle was climbing up onto the boulder next to Allison. She gulped some water before answering. “No,” she said finally between gasps for air. “Pay It Forward didn’t exist yet. Clarice was an accountant for my dad.”

“So she knew his net worth?”

“I would assume.”

“Was she still working with him before her death?”

Elle shook her head. “No way. Dad fired her soon after they divorced. He always felt guilty about that.”

“Why?”

“They’d had a prenup. She got almost nothing. And she hated him for it.”

“Did he leave her?”

Elle stretched her legs out in front of her on the boulder, face up to the sun. “No, she left him. After finding him with one of my nannies.”

“And still she got nothing?”

Elle’s mouth twisted into a biting smile. “Dad was smart. The prenup said if she left him, with or without cause, she received nothing.”

“So Michael was already born?”

“He came after the divorce.”

“And still she left your dad, knowing she was pregnant?”

“Couldn’t take it, I guess. The other women, that is. I think she loved my father, and it tore her apart. Clarice wanted Dad to herself. To him, she was just a novelty—a smart girl for a change. Turned him on, at least for a little while. I don’t remember much. Clarice lived with us, but she was rarely home.” Elle’s face darkened. “Maybe I am like my dad after all. He always felt guilty about leaving Clarice. He didn’t know she was pregnant. When Clarice died and Michael came forward, his acceptance of Michael was a way to make amends, I think.”

“Did your dad ever question Michael’s paternity?”

Elle straightened up. “Sam had a paternity test done. Why?”

“Doesn’t it seem odd that Clarice never told Sam about the baby? She may have received nothing for herself under the prenup, but a baby? That would have gotten her child support surely.”

Elle was quiet. “I never thought about that. I’m not sure why Clarice never came forward. Maybe she hated my dad that much. Or maybe she didn’t want to share Michael.” Elle hopped down off the boulder. “Ready to head back?”

Allison looked up, toward the path. It continued to climb toward the rifugio, which was just visible nestled in the hills ahead. “Sure,” she said.

Allison followed her client down the path toward the castle. While her sore legs trotted alongside Elle, her mind swirled with what she’d just learned. A scorned woman. A surprise offspring. Two dead people. Could they all be related?

She glanced at her companion. Elle looked lost in thought, her face a mask of deliberation. Finally, Elle said, “Do you believe in ghosts, Allison?”

“Not really.”

“I didn’t either.”

“But you do now?”

Elle stared straight ahead toward the tree line below. Her voice, however, wavered. “Someone has been watching me. At first I thought it was Michael. But the presence feels feminine. Now I’m thinking that maybe it’s my mother.” She stole a glance at Allison. “You think I’m crazy?”

“No, Elle, I don’t.” But I do think you could be in danger, Allison thought. And it’s time to talk to Balzan myself.