Read Online A Murder in Tuscany by Christobel Kent - Free Book Online Page B

and isolated. The bare hills around it, the narrow, empty country roads.
    ‘I’ll call him in the morning,’ said Sandro. ‘Did he leave a number?’
    ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘And I gave him yours – your mobile, I mean. He said he was in and out. Keep trying, he said.’
    ‘Right,’ said Sandro.
    His eyes had adjusted to the gloom by now, and he could distinguish the members of Carlotta’s little group. The boy Alberto lay with his head back, trance-like, and earphones in, just a slight rhythmic shifting of his head from side to side indicating that he was not asleep. Carlotta sitting up straight and eager: his heart sank, thinking that she did after all need his protection.
    ‘What do you make of them?’ His voice was a murmur. Giuli shrugged.
    ‘They’re stoned, but she isn’t, not yet. She wants to be one of them; I guess if she’s not doing drugs now, she will eventually.’
    Sandro chewed his lip, trying to work out what he would say to the Bellagamba family.
    ‘Saw Luisa on my way over,’ said Giuli. ‘Having lunch with the boss, it looked like.’
    ‘What?’ said Sandro.
    Her face flicked upwards. ‘Hi,’ she said, not to Sandro.
    Sandro looked around. A dark man in a grey leather jacket was smiling down at them without a trace of warmth. Sandro struggled to extract himself from the cushions and into a more dignified attitude, and failed.
    ‘Ciao,’ said the man in a thick accent and sat down beside Giuli, a hand immediately on her knee. He wasn’t North African, but something
else. Eastern European? Turkish? From somewhere where cultures met, and went to war. There was something in his other hand, something he was clicking and shifting, like worry beads: Sandro couldn’t see it. Giuli kept smiling.
    ‘New members?’ They nodded.
    ‘Where you from? You from the city? How come I never see you before?’
    ‘Tavarnuzze,’ said Giuli without missing a beat, and he winked at her, picking at his teeth with a long and dirty nail. ‘Country girl,’ he said, ‘I know the country girls.’ He flicked something to the floor.
    He thought Giuli was one of the prostitutes who worked the back roads out towards Siena. Not far from the mark; Giuli’s mother had done just that, though when Giuli had been a hooker she’d chosen a different pitch. It was a remark that might have made the old Giuli, the Giuli who didn’t care much if she lived or died, the Giuli just out of rehab and as tender and exposed as a clam, fly at the man, hissing and spitting.
    All she did was wag a finger at him, smiling.
    ‘OK, OK,’ he said. ‘Peace, peace. Live and let live.’ And suddenly he was on his feet and Sandro could see that the thing he was clicking and swinging in his left hand was a set of handcuffs. He saw Sandro unable to look away, and laughed again, loud, delighted. Then he was clattering down the stairs.
    Sandro gave her a nod. ‘You’re a cool customer, Giuli.’
    ‘You think?’ She shrugged. ‘You just have to tell yourself, there’s no right way to go. If they want to hurt you, they’ll hurt you.’
    Sandro laughed shortly. He took a deep breath.
    ‘You saw Luisa,’ he said roughly. ‘Having lunch.’
    Giuli eyed him curiously. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘In that bar next to her shop, you know. The fancy one.’
    OK, thought Sandro, trying to be casual. Standing at the bar, a quick bite. Fair enough.
    ‘Looked like they were having fun,’ Giuli went on. ‘Nice to see Luisa having fun again. And eating.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Sandro. ‘Eating a proper meal?’

    ‘ Scaloppina with mushrooms, it looked like to me,’ said Giuli wistfully. ‘Nice to have a boss who appreciates you, not just a tramezzino at the bar. Table with a tablecloth, glass of wine.’
    Despite himself, Sandro let out an explosive sound. Thinking of Luisa pushing away her glass at the table last night.
    ‘What?’ said Giuli. ‘What is up with you, Sandro?’
    He scratched his head, blinking down at his hands. It felt as