Delayed Death (Temptation in Florence Book 1) by Beate Boeker Page A

lock of Nico's apartment door. The police seal broke as the door swung open. She stepped back with a motion for him to go through.
    "Please come with me," he said.
    "Why?"
    His cool eyes assessed her. "I'd rather have you near me."
    Great. Just great. "If you're trying to imply that I might tamper with the evidence while you're gone, you should remember I had plenty of time to do so already." The words rushed out before she could stop herself.
    "Not inside this apartment, you didn't. Don't forget to close the door."
    Carlina snapped her mouth shut and followed him without a word.
    Uncle Nico hadn't been vain. Above the sink, on a rickety cupboard with mirrored doors, they found some cheap shaving lotion, toothpaste, shampoo, a toothbrush crooked with age, and a simple bar of soap. Garini pressed a button on his infernal recorder and spoke into it, listing each item. Then he closed the small doors. "The mere basics." He turned around and looked at her, his face inscrutable. "Did you ever give him anything?"
    "Just an Aspirin, once or twice. He hated to take medicine."
    "Do you have access to morphine?" He made it sound casual, as if he had asked for a tissue.
    Carlina clenched her teeth. "No, I don't."
    "Do you know if anybody else gave him something to take?"
    Carlina hesitated. If you don't tell him, someone else will. "I know he once asked Aunt Maria for something against heartburn."
    Garini sighed. "Then I need to check her bathroom and yours," he said. "But before we do that, I'd like another look around the apartment."
    She nodded and followed him. He went into the bedroom first, his hands in his pockets, his eyes sharp and inquisitive, as if he was a tourist who was not allowed to touch anything but absorbed every atom of information.
    He stopped in the middle of the bedroom and looked around. Carlina stood next to him and tried to see the room through his eyes. On the wall, a row of pictures showed all her uncles and aunts and her grandmother. The pictures were yellow at the edges. The wardrobe was slim, a cheap thing made of pressed wood. Behind the wardrobe, the ceiling had a smudge. Carlina suppressed a smile. It dated back to Annalisa's early teens, when she had fallen asleep in the small tub while the water was still running. She had managed to inundate the whole bathroom before Benedetta came to wake her up.
    The chair in the corner was covered with green brocade, but it had scuffed armrests. The bed looked as if it came straight from 1950, but the bedspread was thick and bright green. Garini frowned. "Was your grandfather poor?"
    "He wasn't rich." Carlina said. "But most of all, he wasn't interested in decorating."
    "Who gave him the bedspread?"
    Carlina caught her breath. "I did. Green was his favorite color." She swallowed. "I assume you deduced that he would never have bought it himself?" God, how stilted I sound.
    A glimmer of a smile. "You assume correctly, Signorina Ashley."
    He went into the sitting room. "Your grandfather loved the arts." He looked at the reproduction of Botticelli's Birth of Venus above the sofa and the collection of glossy art books on the low table in front.
    "Yes." Carlina smiled. "He always wanted to drag me into museums."
    "I take it you don't like the arts?"
    Carlina shrugged. "I don't like the darkness and dreariness of the medieval paintings. I much prefer the impressionists with their light and warmth." She lifted her chin, waiting for a condescending remark, but none came.
    Garini wandered into the kitchen and looked around. Then he opened the fridge with the help of a handkerchief. For an instant, he looked at a bit of cheese, two eggs, and some butter. "Nothing much there."
    "He usually had dinner upstairs."
    "Does the whole family eat together every day?" He made it sound as if that was his personal nightmare.
    Carlina shrugged. "Benedetta works as a secretary for the town council and she always finishes early. She loves to cook, and so we often eat in her kitchen."
    "He