“Murderess. Assassina,” Nonna repeated.
Cassie was horrified by the way that the old woman seemed almost to be taunting her with the knowledge. Instinctively, she clutched at a pillow. She wanted to clap it over her mouth to smother the awful words—or even to smother her.
She was elderly, frail, who would know? She couldn’t struggle or resist and the downy pillow would muffle her cries. In just a few moments, she would be dead, and the only eyewitness to this terrible act would be removed.
Cassie’s grasp on the pillow tightened. A few moments, and some resolve, would be all it would take. It would silence the breathy croaks, the whispered taunts that were still filling the room.
“Sei colpevole.”
Cassie stared at her blankly, unable to work out what the words meant, although the accusation in Nonna’s tone was unmistakable.
“Yes, you are guilty,” Nonna continued, as if she’d sensed Cassie’s confusion and was switching to English to make sure she understood. “How did it feel to do that? Did you think you would get away with it? You’re a killer, now. Ottavia was only trying to defend herself against your attack. You’re going to suffer for the rest of your life for this, in prison.”
“Stop it!” Cassie hissed back, and the old woman gave a croak of demented laughter.
The pillow felt soft and heavy in Cassie’s hand. She lifted it, cupped her other hand behind the old woman’s head. This was the only course of action left if she wanted to save herself. No matter whether Nonna’s version was true or exaggerated, it would bury Cassie forever.
Now, in one short minute, Cassie could bury her.
Taking a deep breath, she raised the pillow, blood pounding in her ears.
Then she realized that she couldn’t do it.
Cassie was shaking all over as she slowly let out the breath again.
She was not that person. Even to save herself, doing this act deliberately was impossible. The thought had offered her a moment’s temptation, but reality was different. This was not who she was. Not at all. Even if Nonna’s eyewitness account would guarantee her murder conviction, then so be it. She would be convicted.
Cassie arranged the pillow behind Nonna’s head, pushing it into place so that the old woman was comfortably propped up. As she did so, she felt a strange relief in knowing that she could not smother another human being, even one who was old and weak and taunting her with knowledge that would destroy her. She was not a cold-blooded killer, no matter the circumstances.
As she thought that, while Nonna was still cackling with shrill, taunting laughter, Cassie heard the front door open.
Falcone had arrived at the worst possible time.
Cassie rushed out of the room, hoping she could manage to deflect the detective’s attention, although she had no clear idea how to go about it. If Falcone followed through with the plans she’d shared yesterday, Cassie’s actions were going to be exposed in minutes, by a frail but vindictive woman who’d had a window of clarity at exactly the wrong time.
“Good morning,” Falcone greeted her.
Her keen gaze was drilling right through Cassie’s pathetic efforts at calmness, all the way into her terrified, guilty heart.
“Good morning,” she replied, wondering if Falcone could hear how fast her heart was hammering.
“How are the children doing?” Falcone asked.
“They’re fine. They seem calm, and had a restful night. Would you like to speak to them? Is there anything else you need to ask?”
Cassie doubted if her attempt to delay the moment would work, as there was no reason for the detective to conduct a second interview with the children. She knew that her face was aflame with stress and that Falcone was bound to notice.
“Is Nonna awake?”
Cassie felt her stomach flip-flop with dread. Feeling as if she was speaking her last words, she replied, “She’s awake. I’ve just taken a tray to her.”
“Good. I’ll go straight to her room and interview her then.”
Without further pleasantries, the detective headed purposefully up the marble stairs.
Cassie felt as if the old woman’s taunting words would still hang in the air, and that Falcone would sense them the moment she walked in. Nonna would be only too glad to have a new audience to share her observations with. Cassie was sure it would be a very short, and very productive, interview. It would be followed by her immediate arrest.
Cassie suddenly realized she couldn’t bear to wait for the hammer blow to descend, for the dreadful thoroughness of the process that would follow. There would be another interview at the police station—by then she would have broken down into the hysterics that she could already feel were building. Her passport would be seized, and this would mean third time unlucky for her.
Cassie thought about the trip to the police headquarters. The panic, the isolation, the humiliation of being searched and having her fingerprints taken, knowing that she’d been their prime suspect all along. And that now, they had the evidence to convict her.
She couldn’t do it. There was time to make another plan. She was going to run. She could be out of the house, out of the area, before the detective realized she’d gone. She could drive to the Swiss border. It surely wouldn’t take more than a few hours to leave Italy. She’d be able to cross the border before the police put the word out.
Then she’d get on the first plane back to the States and run, back to safety, far away from the catastrophe that her travels had become.
Cassie walked, quickly and quietly, to her room. The main challenge would be getting her bag out without the detective noticing. Hopefully she would interview Nonna with the door closed, to give the elderly woman more privacy and time.
Cassie tore through her room, grabbing her possessions and stuffing them into her bag. She cleared the few shelves she’d unpacked, and at the very last minute, remembered all her tablets,
