Chapter 42

All I wanted was sleep.

Alex had met me downstairs and insisted on seeing me to my room. It was probably a good idea. I was wobbling a bit. I give him credit; he didn’t ask a single question about how this had happened, who was responsible, or why—nothing. He accepted my promise that I would tell him everything at breakfast.

Paul had left me with only a request that I call him in the morning—or if I needed him for anything before then—and a light kiss on the cheek.

I dug my scarred but functional phone out of my tote bag and put it next to my bed, within easy reach. The display of the time showed 11:42 p.m. The written instructions from the nurse indicated I could have two more pain pills at midnight. Close enough. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, took the pills, managed to change into pajamas, and crawled into bed.

Maybe I thought the meds would knock me out and I would wake in the morning feeling, if not brand new, pretty good. I’d never had much experience with painkillers. It was a strange night. At times I felt I was sinking into a deep, black hole, and at other times bizarre scenes played in my mind that could have been actual or imagined. Once I thought I heard voices and I went to my door, opening it to see Varinia in the hall. I called to her, and she ran, and then I woke to the knowledge that I’d been in my bed the whole time. But it seemed so real!

All night, I kept being pulled in and out of that eerie dream world. The numbers on the face of my phone told me I was awake almost every hour, but it took several attempts for me to stay awake long enough to get myself up and across the hall to the bathroom, something I should have done before going to bed. And then, somehow, I found myself on the other end of the hall, in front of Sophie’s door. I don’t know how long I stood there before I realized that something else had invaded my dreams. I knew what had happened to Sophie. I had the solution to the locked door murder.

Stumbling like a drunk, I made my way back to my room, to my bed. A moment later I was sinking again into a troubled sleep, but, in what seemed like no time at all, my phone was jingling. I managed a hoarse answer. It was Alex, making sure I was all right, wondering if I was able to come down to breakfast. It was eight-thirty.

I told him I could be there a few minutes before nine, before the unsmiling woman would close the doors of the breakfast room. Dragging myself out of bed, I realized that recovery was going to take a while longer than I’d thought and tried to remember where I’d put my pain pills.

And then I had a flashback of something during the night, a dream, fully realized as I’d stood in the hall in front of Sophie’s room. There had been a moment when I knew how the murder was accomplished, had the solution right there in my grasp, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what I’d figured out.

* * * * *

The pickings were slim in the breakfast room, but I wasn’t all that hungry. I had toast and jam. Alex had the cereal that looked like a version of Rice Krispies, the only cereal option left. The fruit was gone. We both had coffee, and plenty of it. The Café Lungo had run out but Alex brought me something else that did the trick. The strong brew was as black as tar, and, after all, the caffeine was what mattered. He’d filled our cups to the brim.

The staff and the few guests that remained in the breakfast room at closing time looked at me with more curiosity than sympathy. Just one woman ventured to ask what had happened to me. I was sure that was what she asked, though she spoke Italian. I said, “Vespa,” and that apparently told the story. She nodded and said something else that I gathered, from her kind manner, was some expression of compassion. I said, “Grazie,” and it seemed to be the appropriate response.

Alex first asked about my injuries, and I assured him that although I probably looked terrible, I was mostly sore. He might have told me I didn’t look terrible, but I wouldn’t have believed him. More worrisome to me than my bruised hip and thigh was my arm, where it would take a while to get back that layer of skin. The thought of changing the bandages made me a little queasy, and I pushed back the plate with half a slice of toast on it.

“Maybe you aren’t ready to be up and about yet,” Alex said.

“I’ll go back to bed in a little while,” I said, “You’ve been patient. I have a lot to tell.”

And I told him. I spared nothing, not even Paul’s reaction when I’d identified Bella as the Vespa rider. Alex adjusted his glasses a couple of times, trying to be a good listener, but his brow furrowed, and I sensed he experienced, vicariously, the pain and fear I’d felt. I was reminded that my uncle was my advocate, always. My deep, noisy sigh signaled the end of my recitation, and even then, Alex didn’t speak, but he reached across the table with his palm up, inviting me to put my hand in his. I did, and he squeezed. It was like a shot of energy.

“I would never have accused Bella if I hadn’t been sure, absolutely, one-hundred percent certain. You know that, Alex. Didn’t Paul know that? No one else who owns a sapphire bracelet would have any reason to run me down!” I said, my voice wavering. I blinked and blinked again. I was not going to cry! “It’s just as well this way,” I declared. “I’m going home tomorrow.”

“Paul wouldn’t want to think his daughter was capable of such violence, but I expect he’ll come around,” Alex said, sounding more like a professor now than an affectionate uncle.

He withdrew his hand from mine and picked up his cup.

“Am I being ridiculous?” I asked. “I’ve tried to get past the stunts Bella pulled at the Moretti Villa, accusing me of making her fall on the construction site and then accusing me of stealing her precious bracelet. But this—this was an attempt on my life. I can’t just let it go.”

Alex, still holding his cup in both hands, gave a firm answer. “No, you are not being ridiculous.”

“But should I go to the police? I’d have to go to Fiesole today.”

Alex waited a moment before he said, “I would hope Paul will follow through.”

“I don’t think he will,” I said. I reached for my half-eaten toast and took another hearty bite. I wasn’t queasy anymore. My anger had restored my appetite.

We were silent for a moment, and Alex went back to refill our cups. Most everything but the coffee had been taken away. “These Vespas! Two incidents with motorscooters in one day,” Alex said, when he was back at the table. In one of their calls while I was getting medical attention in Fiesole, Paul had informed Alex about Eli’s collision with the wheelchair, about the jewels that spilled out, solving that crime, and about the revelation that Carlo and Varinia were Carlotta and Vicente. As we lingered over our coffee, we talked about the Moretti family, too. It seemed like a kind of “debriefing,” a way of winding up our time in Florence, trying to make sense of it all. But we still didn’t know how to make sense of Sophie’s death.

Alex and I were the last to leave the breakfast room. I was heading straight to my bed. Alex said he’d be working in his room, and I promised to call if I needed anything.

I was supposed to call Paul, too. I would, but I wanted my head to be clear when we spoke. I was feeling the effects of the meds I’d taken a little more than an hour ago. The caffeine I’d consumed had not served its purpose.

I fell into the same kind of drugged sleep as before. Varinia and Carlo took over my crazy dreams. I hadn’t yet incorporated the personae of Carlotta and Vicente into my consciousness. Carlo did wheelies with the wheelchair, and jewels spilled out, making a glittering river in our hallway. Varinia undressed, down to a sleeveless leotard and tights. Carlo jumped out of the chair and began to dance. Musicians paraded through the hall. Someone carried a paper lantern on a pole. A string of motorscooters frightened me, and I called for Paul, but he was nowhere to be found. And then I saw Varinia at Sophie’s door, standing with feet planted wide apart, arms braced against the door jamb, palms flat, shoulder muscles rippling. Carlo scampered like a monkey up Varinia’s back and tossed something through the open transom.

I bolted up in bed, let out a groan and grabbed my bandaged arm, which I’d swung about too freely. When the pain had subsided, I reached for my phone and called Paul.

* * * * *

“I’m glad to hear your voice, Jordan,” Paul said. Nice words but without the warmth I’d come to expect in his voice.

“Paul, I need your help. I know how Sophie was murdered,” I said.

“Mon Dieu! Tell me!” That was the Paul I knew, and I felt a rush of shame, knowing that even as I considered reporting his daughter to the Fiesole police, I had to call on him now, in this other matter. It was the only way, the only chance that I could get justice for Sophie.

“I need you to ask Chief Inspector de Rosa to come back to the convent,” I said.

The sound Paul made was something like Ha! “Do you think I can persuade her, in a decision about one of her cases? You give me too much credit, Jordan.”

“I know you can persuade her,” I said. “I would go to her, myself, and plead with her, but it wouldn’t work. She thinks I involve myself too much in things that aren’t my business.”

And maybe I do, I could have added, but no one else is trying to solve Sophie’s murder.

“You told her about the mechanical shaft,” Paul said. “You provided evidence.”

“Maybe she simply didn’t get a chance to say thank you,” I said.

I wasn’t sure Paul appreciated my sarcasm. He said, “I spoke with her just one time, yesterday. My statement, at the questura, was that of a tourist who saw the Vespa and wheelchair collide, and nothing more. Why would the Chief Inspector believe I can provide valuable information about activities in the convent, where I am not staying?”

“I know women, and I have a good sense of that particular woman,” I said. “She’ll listen to you.”

A moment’s hesitation, and then, “I want to help. I do, Jordan. You have a big heart, and you believe with your whole heart that Sophie was murdered. But what you are asking me to do—I will need to offer more than simply a pleasant request.”

“More than just charm. I know.” I was smiling now. “You can tell the Chief Inspector that I can show her forensics people where to check for fingerprints. I know how the key got into the locked room.”

“Are you sure?”

I couldn’t say I was positively sure. I couldn’t say that a dream had led me to the solution. This wasn’t the same as my absolute certainty that Bella was riding the Vespa and that she deliberately ran me down. I said, “Can’t you just trust me, Paul?”

“That is not the point,” he said, and then, with an air of formality, “I will do what I can.”

“Paul—thank you. This is for Sophie,” I said, but I think he was already gone.