Chocolate Tiramisu Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 9 Page 5

  Verdi stared at her for a long time. She tapped her fingernails on the ends of the arms of her chair, blinking slowly. “What did you want to talk to me about, Heather?”

  “I know Gia has been antagonistic with you,” Heather replied, crumpling the scarf in her lap. “But Gia has been hanging around the hotel and trying desperately to get into her father’s room.”

  “Yes, she mentioned she wanted to get his cross. It was a trinket he usually carried with him for good luck, and she wanted to have him buried with it.” Verdi replied, shifting in her seat.

  She glanced towards the door and back at Heather. Then she leaned in, and whispered, “I don’t know why I trust you, but I have a good feeling about you. I didn’t want to talk to the police about my problem, but if you’ve gone out of your way to look out for Gino, and find his killer, then perhaps I can tell you about it.”

  “A problem?” Heather asked. “What is it?” She hid the sigh of relief by whistling it out through her nostrils. For a second there, she’d been sure Verdi was about to ask her to leave.

  Verdi pressed her lips together. “I have your confidence in this matter?”

  “Of course,” Heather said, and edged forward. The plot had definitely thickened from the consistency of sugary glaze to donut mixture.

  Verdi rose, swept her skirts elegantly, and then hurried over to an armoire in the corner. She opened the left cupboard, reached in and drew out a handful of papers.

  “What are they?” Heather wondered out loud.

  “Threats,” Verdi replied. She strode back to her chair, then lowered herself into it and placed the papers on the coffee table between them.

  Newspaper clippings, pictures of Verdi and letters which consisted of pasted together magazine letters. It was Stalker 101.

  “May I?” Heather asked.

  Verdi gestured with one hand, bracelets rattling. “Please.”

  Heather lifted the letter close to her and read the line.

  You think you’re better than me. You will be punished, and so will he.

  All of it in those alternating magazine letters in different colors and sizes.

  “Do you have any idea who they might be from?” Heather asked, lifting one of the clippings. The sender had circled Verdi’s name and spelled out some pretty horrible words and names for her.

  “No,” Verdi said. “At first, I thought they were from Gino, but they’re still arriving, even after his death.”

  “Why haven’t you gone to the police?” Heather asked, picking up a Polaroid of Verdi next, clearly in the middle of a discussion with an assistant. “And who they mean by ‘him’?”

  “I didn’t want the police to think I had something to do with Gino’s death at first. This is among one of the many reasons they might suspect me, even though I didn’t do it.” Verdi sighed and brushed off her dress. “I thought Gino was just being jealous. I am constantly surrounded by men, whether they are actors or assistants, and my ex-boyfriend had the tendency to assume the worst of every situation.”

  “I see.”

  “Yes, but as I said. The letters have continued after his death.” Verdi picked up one of the clippings, and her expression darkened. “They aren’t posted to me. They’re slipped under the door to my trailer, every time it happens. Often at night, so I find them the next morning.”

  “I’m sorry, that must be terrifying,” Heather replied. Her cogs had gone into sleuthing mode. Yes, she had an idea who might send this to Verdi. And it wasn’t a man.

  “It’s embarrassing. I have to get to my trailer first and hide these notes and images before my assistant see them.” Verdi shook her head. “I just want this to end.”

  “I know who it could be,” Heather said.

  Verdi Salsa’s eyebrows leaped upwards. “You do?”

  “Yes.” Heather lifted another of the clippings, examined it, and then nodded. “Where can I find Gia Ginelli?”

  Chapter 13

  It made perfect sense. Gia was furious with Verdi and had been for a long time, if their discussion in the lobby was anything to go by.

  Yes, Gia Ginelli wanted Verdi out of the way, and she’d wanted her father’s money. Probably enough to do something drastic.

  Heather tapped her foot on the cobbles and looked up at Gia’s double story house, which was bordered by one of Venice’s canals. Gondolier slapped the water with their paddles, sailing by, their gondolas carrying happy couples.

  All their gondoliers wore smiles.

  Heather touched her pocket, which held the newspaper clippings, then check her watch. She had exactly one hour before she was due to meet Ryan at their newest discovery, the Café Florian.

  Heather sucked her bottom lip and wriggled her nose.

  She rapped her knuckles on the ornate, dark wood door, then pressed the pearly white button beside it. A shrill ring echoed in the entrance hall beyond.

  Minutes of silence followed, and Heather stepped back and glanced up at the windows on the second floor. A balcony looked out on the canals and buildings, and the glass doors which led out onto it were thrown open.

  “She has to be home,” Heather said, to herself.

  She pressed the button again, three times in rapid succession.

  “Si! I am coming,” Gia yelled from somewhere. Indistinct grumbles in Italian followed, growing in intensity until they reached the front. The scrape of a lock and then the door swung inwards.

  Gia stared at her. She wore another of her fine pants suits, this one in navy blue with a fuchsia silk blouse peeking out beneath it. The color combination was jarring, to say the least.

  “Oh,” Gia said, “What do you want?”

  “I want to speak to you in private,” Heather replied. She didn’t have all the evidence she needed, but if she could get to Gia to confess to something, anything, she’d have what she needed.

  Gia was explosive, the chances that she’d admit to taunting Verdi with pictures were high.

  With that evidence, the Italian police would have no choice but to take a closer look at her as the possible murderer.

  Gia tapped her foot impatiently, which was bare for a change. The lack of the stiletto’s ticking noise was different, kinda nice actually.

  “I have nothing to say to you. You’re the snooping woman. The one who asked me questions and wouldn’t help me get into father’s room.”

  “While I love the nickname, ‘snooping woman,' I’d like it even more if you called me Heather.” Another of her brand jokes.

  Gia appreciated them about as much as everyone else did. She rolled her eyes. “What do you want to talk about? Make it quick.” Tap, tap, tap, went the barefoot.

  “May I come in?” Heather asked, looking up and down the tiny avenue which ran alongside the canal.

  “No,” Gia replied. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it from where you’re standing.” Ginelli slid the door closed a little.

  Heather didn’t put her palm on it – boy, that’d be a sure fire way to irritate Gia even more. “All right.” Heather drew one of the clippings from her pocket, along with a threatening letter and a photo of Verdi. She foisted it all at Gia.

  Gia didn’t take the papers, but stuck her neck out and squinted at was on the page. Her eyes scanned the pasted letters and she snorted. “What’s this?”

  “I’d hoped you could tell me,” Heather replied, smoothly and tucked it all back into the pocket of her jeans. “I know you don’t like Verdi Salsa. I overheard you talking to her about the will.”

  Gia puffed out her chest. Already her cheeks had gone the approximate shade of red velvet cake mix.

  Three, two, one…

  “How dare you!”

  “Calm down, Gia, I just wanted to find out why you were so angry with Verdi.”

  “How dareeeee you!” Gia yelled a second time, shoving her fist out of the crack in the door and shaking it at Heather. “You think I did this? You dare come here and accuse me of this?”

  “Who else would have a
motive?” Heather asked, reasonably. “I understand that you were angry with Verdi and your father. I just wanted to give you a chance to confess to this, before I take it to the police.”

  Gia’s eyes went round as silver bowls. “I – I –” She stammered.

  Heather wasn’t used to accusing people of this kinda thing. Usually, she’d leave that part to the police. She took a step back and breathed in and out, slowly, to calm herself.

  Gia slammed out of the front door and bore down on her, her thin finger sticking out in the distance between them, tipped by a black painted fingernail. “I hated Verdi! I still hate her. She manipulated my father for his money, she wanted all of it, and now she’s using some lies, some false papers to pretend I am the killer.”

  “Gia, I wasn’t saying –”

  “I don’t care what you were saying! You want to find the killer? Go back to the woman who gave you these and ask her why she cheated on my father. Ask her that!” Gia growled. Then she turned on her heel and stormed back into her house.

  She slammed the door behind her, hard enough that the filmy curtains which hung over the entrance to the balcony fluttered from the change in pressure.

  Heather whistled beneath her breath. “That was a stupid idea.” She really should’ve checked her facts before she’d confronted Gia. What if she was right?

  What if Verdi had cheated on Gino and their fight had sprung from that? Verdi had then gotten angry, gotten the restraining order and decided to do away with Gino for good…

  But who had sent the notes and pictures? Unless it was Verdi, making up the entire story.

  Heather scratched at her temple, then turned back to the canal. She had to get to the Café Florian and speak to Ryan about this.

  She stopped and gave a sheepish grin.

  A gondola floated in the canal. The gondolier and the two passengers, a man and woman, honeymooners most likely, stared up at her with their jaws dropped.

  “Uh, family misunderstanding,” Heather said, then rushed off down the cobbled mini-street in search of a gondolier who hadn’t seen her ‘faux pas.'

  Chapter 14

  “You didn’t really do that,” Ryan said, holding her hand across the white ceramic table. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “I did,” Heather whispered. She settled back in the cushy red velvet upholstered chair and sighed. “I’ve become too personally involved in this case. I should’ve taken everything I had to that Inspector Jelly guy while I had the chance.”

  “Inspector Ajello,” Ryan said. He was exceptionally good with names. “I take it you’ve learned your lesson from this.”

  “Yes, I have. I’m going to turn in all the evidence I have to the police, though they probably already know about it all, and just enjoy the rest of your honeymoon,” Heather replied.

  Another couple entered the Café Florian and seated themselves at the table opposite. The woman held a thin newspaper and flipped through the pages at leisure.

  “I’m sorry I was late, by the way,” Heather said, after their coffees – 22 euros for two! – had arrived. She slurped hers and sighed. “I couldn’t find a gondolier. And the one I did find just happened to be the grumpy guts guy we got a ride with the other day.”

  “No,” Ryan said.

  “Yeah, exactly. To say that ride was so and unpleasant is an understatement,” Heather replied, then chuckled. “What can you do though?”

  “Not confront the daughter of a murder victim?” Ryan suggested, helpfully. She swatted him on the forearm and he chuckled. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

  Heather took another sip of the deliciously rich coffee and looked around at the décor. The dark wood panels, the ornate ceiling lights. Apparently the Café Florian was one of the oldest in Venice, which would explain the incredible coffee prices.

  The place was huge, inside and out.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to give up on your investigation,” Ryan said, and summoned a waiter with a wave.

  “I’m not giving up, I’m just washing my hands of the affair. I’m causing way more trouble than I should by doing this.” Heather replied.

  The waiter arrived and rammed his fists on his hips. “Si? What do you want?” He asked, glaring at Heather.

  “Better service would be a good start,” Ryan snapped. “You can bring us the check. Now.”

  The waiter actually rolled his eyes, then turned on his heel and marched off into the adjoining bar area.

  “What was his problem?” Heather asked. “He stared right at me. That was so weird.”

  “I don’t know what his problem is now, but it’s going to be me in a moment. It’s like everyone in Venice is determined to make our honeymoon an unpleasant experience.”

  Heather stroked his arm. “As long as we have each other, we’re fine.” Her gaze travelled from his face to the woman at the table opposite theirs. The lady had her newspaper up, just enough to cover the bottom portion of her face.

  She peered at Heather above the paper line and frowned.

  Heather nudged Ryan with her toe under the table. “Look at this woman.”

  He turned and glanced at her, but she flinched and hid her face behind the newspaper instead.

  Heather gasped.

  A picture of Gia Ginellia was splashed across the front page, and she wasn’t the only one in the photo. Heather was with her. The two were a few feet apart, staring daggers at each other.

  The background showed the lobby of the Hotel Venezia, but the title of the article was in Italian.

  “What? How?”

  Ryan trembled at the table, his knee banging against the central pillar and wobbling the empty cups on the table. “We need to find out what that says.”

  “Your phone,” Heather hissed.

  Ryan slipped it out of his pocket and placed it on the table between them, then unlocked it and summoned up his ‘officer of the law’ skills. In other words, he googled it, and googled again until they found a translated version of the tabloid article.

  Mystery Woman Accuses Gia Ginelli of Murdering Her Father

  “That’s a stretch,” Heather grumbled. “I didn’t actually accuse her of anything, and definitely not of murdering her father.”

  “Shush,” Ryan said, and they bumped foreheads reading the content of the article.

  A one Heather Jake spent the afternoon accusing the daughter of the deceased actor, Gino Ginelli, of murder. That’s right, a foreigner thinks they know better than the Italian police!

  “They got your name wrong,” Ryan replied. “You’re Mrs. Shepherd now.”

  “I love you, honey, but I don’t think that’s our biggest problem, right now,” Heather said, spreading two fingers on the screen to zoom in on the text.

  Miss Janke was spotted accosting Gia Ginelli in the lobby of the Hotel Venezia, just a few days ago, and our sources tell us that it’s not the end for her. She’s determined to get Gia behind bars.

  “I don’t understand why she hates me,” Gia said, to our correspondent. “I don’t even know her. Perhaps she’s jealous of my father’s legacy and is taking it out on me.” Gia broke down into tears shortly after the interview and was unavailable for further comments.

  “That doesn’t sound like anything Gia would say.” Heather said, but quieted to continue reading the utter drivel.

  Sources close to this reporter have revealed that Miss Heather Janke had a fight with Gino Ginelli the very night of his murder. Time will only tell as to who the murderer was in this case, but the evidence seems to be pointing firmly in one direction.

  By Leonardo ‘The Gab’ Digabbrio

  “I knew that man was up to no good,” Ryan said, and sat back in the chair.

  The waiter appeared and shoved the check at him. Ryan ignored his rudeness, simply accepting it without reading the lines of print on the paper.

  “This is going to ruin our honeymoon, isn’t it?” Heather asked, glancing around the room.

  The patrons all glare
d at her. They thought she was insensitive, that she’d accosted a woman after her father was murdered.

  “I can’t believe I’ve done this,” Heather said. “This is all my fault.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she swallowed. “I’m so sorry, Ryan.”

  “No, no. Stop it. This is not your fault. You got a bit enthusiastic, yes, broke a few rules, but you haven’t ruined anything. It’s going to be all right, Heather. Let’s just get back to the hotel and relax. All right?”

  “All right,” she replied. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t relax.

  This was her fault, no matter what her loving husband said, and she didn’t have a clue how to fix it.

  Chapter 15

  Heather had her feet up on the ottoman, resting her tired bones on the love seat. Ryan was on the phone calling downstairs for room service.

  There was good news, and there was bad news.

  Inspector Ajello – she kept thinking jelly every time she heard his name – had officially cleared them as suspects for Gino’s murder, thanks to… well, she didn’t know why, just that there wasn’t enough evidence to involve them and the cops had a different lead.

  The bad news was that the entirety of Venice, apart from those few souls who didn’t read tabloids, despised Heather. And Heather was more than happy to hide out in their hotel room.

  But it did mean that their Honeymoon would have to come to a short and exceptionally romance free end.

  “So,” Ryan said, appearing in front of her with the TV remote and a broad smiled.

  “So?”

  “I’ve ordered a bottle of champagne, a tray of chocolate coated strawberries and a tub of popcorn. We’re going to sit together, feast and binge watch trashy Italian TV until you fall asleep. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds,” Heather said, drawing in a deep breath, “like one of the reasons I married you.” She swiped at a tear, which had got caught in the bottom row of her lashes.

  “Hey,” Ryan said and lowered himself to the sofa beside her. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, lightly. “Hey, I know this has been rough, and maybe a bit of a wake-up call, but it’s almost over. I’m here for you, honey. I always will be. For the rest of our days.”