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“HELLO, LADIES.” SIGNOR Palombi waved to Cora and Mrs. Ardingley from the other side of the hallway.
Mrs. Ardingley frowned. “It’s that beastly Italian. And his dog.”
Archibald raced toward them, wagging his tail with much eagerness as he moved his legs. He stopped before the wheelchair.
“One of the few good qualities of this place was always the lack of a dog running about and spreading all manner of germs,” Mrs. Ardingley said, placing her hands on the wheels. “Go away! Shoo!”
Archibald’s tail did not cease wagging, and he sniffed about Mrs. Ardingley’s feet.
“Dogs are either terrified or delighted with my chair,” Mrs. Ardingley said, her voice strained. “I’m afraid Archibald belongs to the latter quality of beasts. Far too curious.”
“Archibald!” Signor Palombi said. “Come back.”
Archibald continued to lick Mrs. Ardingley’s legs, and for a moment, it seemed her leg moved.
Cora blinked.
That couldn’t be right.
“Well, I should be going.” Mrs. Ardingley put her hands on her wheels and rolled away quickly.
Cora stared after her. Was it possible Mrs. Ardingley had the use of her legs after all? But why would she be in a chair? She’d had the impression that Mrs. Ardingley was paralyzed.
“Miss Clarke,” Signor Palombi said. “I see you do not share Mrs. Ardingley’s unease with dogs.”
“She was tired.”
“I appreciate the attempt at a lie. The English can be trying, no?”
“But there are many people here who are not English,” Cora said.
“Yes, you are American,” Signor Palombi said.
“And you are Italian.”
Some expression Cora couldn’t place flitted across the man’s face, but he soon gave a cocky smile. “Certo. Though...” He paused, and Cora found herself leaning forward. “Archibald is English.”
The dog tilted his head upward, as if unsure about the veracity of the signor’s statement.
“He is adorable,” Cora said. “Amidst all this uncertainty.”
Signor Palombi’s eyes softened. “Would you like to hold him?”
“Oh, I suppose—”
Signor Palombi scooped Archibald up and placed him in Cora’s arms.
Cora stroked Archibald’s fur. The curly white locks felt silky beneath her touch, and Archibald gave her his paw.
Cora shook Archibald’s paw, noting the leathery texture.
“His nails need clipped,” Signor Palombi said apologetically. “I’ve been traveling.”
“A nice trip?” Cora asked.
“Indeed.”
“Which part of Italy are you from?” Cora asked.
“Are you very familiar with the country?”
“I’ve never been there.”
Though Pop is from there.
“I’m from the pretty part,” the Italian said. “Vineyards and ocean. Multo bellissimo.”
“Tuscany?” Cora ventured.
He beamed. “Exactimento.”
She blinked.
Her father always said esattamente or sometimes just esatto.
But perhaps the Italian language had simply changed since her father had last been there.
“I hope you were able to conduct some of your discussions with the duke before his death.”
“The trip was not entirely worthless.”
“What is the exact nature of your business?” Cora asked.
“Imports, exports.”
“Weapons?”
The word hung in the air, and Signor Palombi frowned. “What makes you ask that?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Those can be dangerous, young lady.”
“I was simply curious,” she said.
“Hmph. Death does make one contemplative.”
“It is horrible what happened.” She assessed the man’s face. Would she find a flicker of guilt?
But the man simply frowned and fixed a stern stare on Cora. “Any death is tragic. But it would be perhaps a mistake to assume that all deaths are equally tragic.”
“No one should die before their time.”
“I agree,” he said, his voice firmer than she would have imagined. He had not seemed to espouse a desire for justice for the late duke. “But accidents happen, do they not? I assume you’ve dropped something in the past. Even if you’re still very much in your youth.”
“Well—”
“Perhaps you’ve even heard something fall before, when no one dismantled it and crushed it into the space below.”
Cora’s cheeks flamed. “Naturally. Where were you when you heard the duke’s scream?”
“What a curious question.”
“We Americans aren’t known for being subtle,” she said.
Signor Palombi’s lips twitched. “No, you are not. I was in my room. You saw me when you came up the stairs, did you not?”
“Yes,” Cora said.
“I suppose you want to know if I killed him.”
“Did you?”
“That was meant to be a rhetorical question.” He shrugged. “You Americans really are not subtle.”
“I did warn you,” Cora said.
He smiled. “So you did. No, I did not kill the duke. I had only just met him.”
It was tempting to make an excuse to leave, but Cora refused to do so. Not when asking Signor Palombi questions might help Veronica.
“How was your business meeting with him?” she asked.
“We hadn’t had it yet.”
“Why were you in his library shortly before his murder?”
He was silent.
This time she did see a flicker of emotion cross his face.
It was of guilt and fear.
He raised his chin though. “I was going to meet him there.”
A door opened behind Cora, and Signor Palombi grabbed Archibald.
“I shouldn’t keep you.” Signor Palombi strolled away from Cora quickly. She turned around and saw him enter his room. Whoever had opened the door had disappeared, and Cora frowned.
Who except Signor Palombi would be in his room? The maid?
Cora hesitated for a moment, but no sound came from behind the thick wooden doors.
Not that I should be eavesdropping.
This wasn’t one of the Gal Detective films.
Cora wrapped her arms around herself.
The one thing she was certain of was that Signor Palombi was not what he seemed.