Chương 9
Elena looked at him. “I understand that you tried to erase it.”
“You cannot place twelve families at the mercy of a housekeeper.”
The words seemed to surprise even him after they came out.
Elena’s employment badge was still pinned to her cream blouse. Her black shoes ached. A faint line of dust marked the hem of her charcoal skirt from cleaning the western staircase.
She removed the badge and set it on the desk.
“Then you should have been more careful about which housekeeper’s husband you killed.”
Piero’s mouth twisted. “No one here killed him.”
“Someone did.”
“You want certainty because grief has made you simple.”
Alessandro stepped between them.
Piero raised both hands. “I’m speaking.”
“No,” Alessandro said. “You are trying to make her doubt what you fear.”
Piero looked toward the doors. “You cannot keep us here indefinitely.”
“Only until the Carabinieri arrive.”
The word struck the room harder than a shout.
Cesare stared at Alessandro. “You would invite them into this house?”
“I will invite a magistrate.”
“On what basis?”
“Unlawful detention, attempted destruction of evidence, financial fraud, conspiracy. They can choose.”
“You are named in the accounts.”
“I know.”
“Your companies will be searched.”
“I know.”
“Your board will remove you.”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you have any idea what follows?”
Alessandro looked through the closed doors toward the ballroom where the other families waited.
“Yes.”
For the first time that night, Cesare seemed afraid of him.
Not because Alessandro might strike him or order violence. Because he might refuse the rules that kept all of them safe.
Elena did not trust the decision. Men like Alessandro could offer sacrifice when they believed they controlled its shape. Authorities might arrive and find a room full of rehearsed statements. Evidence could disappear. A magistrate could be pressured. Elena could become a footnote beneath the downfall of richer people.
“I choose the lawyer,” she said.
Alessandro nodded.
“And I make the call.”
“Yes.”
“From a phone that belongs to me.”
Marco said, “Your phone is in the staff room.”
“I know where my phone is.”
“I’ll bring it.”
“No. I will go with you.”
Marco glanced at Alessandro.
Elena saw it and said, “Do not ask him.”
Marco looked back at her.
“All right.”
They crossed the corridor together. The ballroom doors had been opened, but guards stood at each exit. The twelve families were no longer arranged elegantly. Some argued in small groups. Others sat apart, using silence as a shield. A waiter had covered the broken glass with an empty silver tray so no one would step on it.
The juice stain remained.
Elena walked past the place where Vivian struck her.
No one looked directly at her, which meant everyone watched.
In the staff room, the housekeepers and servers sat around a long table. Someone had made coffee. The pot smelled burned. A young maid named Lucia stood when Elena entered.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
Lucia looked at her cheek and did not pretend to believe her.
Emma went to the bowl of wrapped biscuits on the counter. Elena let her take two. The employment rules prohibited staff from eating food intended for guests. The rule no longer seemed urgent.
Marco retrieved Elena’s phone from a locked box. He handed it to her without checking the screen.
She called Sofia Marin.
Daniel’s retired dispatcher lived forty minutes outside Milan and slept with her phone on silent, so the first call went unanswered. Elena called again. On the fourth attempt, a groggy voice said, “Who died?”
Elena sat down.
“Sofia, it’s Elena Bennett.”
A pause.
Then the older woman became fully awake.
“Where are you?”
“Villa Moretti.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Is Emma with you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you safe?”
Elena looked at Marco standing near the door, at the frightened staff, at Emma eating a biscuit beneath fluorescent lights.
“For the moment.”
Sofia exhaled. “Daniel told me you might call.”
“When?”
“A year ago.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“What did he give you?”
“Not over the phone.”
“He is dead, Sofia.”
“I know.”
“You came to the funeral.”
“I know.”
“You hugged me. You brought soup.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Anger rose so quickly that Elena stood.
“You say it.”
Marco turned his face away, offering privacy without leaving.
Sofia’s voice lowered. “He gave me an envelope and said if anyone asked for it before you did, I should burn it. He said the blue rabbit would tell you where to find me.”
“The rabbit told me nothing.”
“There is a number under the left foot.”
Elena took Blue from Emma and examined the paw. Beneath a patch she had sewn months earlier, Daniel’s original stitching formed six uneven lines. They were not random. They were Sofia’s old employee number.
Elena sat again.
“I covered it.”
“You didn’t know.”
“No. That seems to be the sentence everyone has for me tonight.”
Sofia was quiet.
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
“No.”
“Do you know what’s in the envelope?”
“Photocopies and a key. Daniel said the key opened a box that proved who followed him.”
“Where are you?”
Sofia gave her address.
“Do not open the door for anyone,” Elena said.
“I have lived alone for twenty-two years. I don’t open the door for God unless he calls first.”
Despite herself, Elena smiled.
Sofia heard it.
“There you are,” she said softly.
The tenderness nearly undid Elena again.
“I will come in the morning,” Elena said.
“Bring police.”
“I don’t know which police to trust.”
“Bring a loud lawyer, then. Daniel liked quiet people. Look how that ended.”
The call disconnected.
Elena found the number of an attorney named Marta DeLuca, whose name she had once copied from a notice at a women’s legal clinic. Elena had never met her. The clinic’s emergency line transferred her twice before a tired voice answered.
May you like
Marta listened without interrupting for nearly five minutes.
Then she said, “Tell me exactly whose villa you are in.”
