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

doesn't have anything to drink in the fridge."
    Carlina nodded at the window. "He drank one carafe of tap water each day. We all told him it wasn't enough, but he said he wasn't tall, so it would do." She smiled a bit at the memory. "He filled it each morning and drank it all through the day."
    Garini went to the window. The carafe stood on the sideboard, a glass stopper on top. "Is that where he always kept it?"
    "Yes."
    Garini looked at the liquid. "Did anybody touch it on Sunday?"
    She shrugged. "I don't know. There was so much coming and going."
    The Commissario's eyes went from the window to the side board. "Did he sometimes leave the window open?"
    "Yes." As the Commissario didn't seem to approve of her answer, she added, "But it wasn't dangerous; nobody can get in because of the iron bars."
    "I know." Garini shook his head. "But you can easily reach through the bars and drop something into the carafe."
    Carlina caught her breath. "Is that how it was done?"
    "I don't know." Garini looked at her. "It seems a hazardous way to kill someone. After all, anybody might drink from that carafe."
    Carlina shook her head. "No. It was Grandpa's alone. He said he had to know that he drank his minimum each day, and if anybody else wanted a drink, he gave them fresh water."
    Garini's eyes narrowed. "Then somebody knew him well enough to use that knowledge."
    Carlina felt as if something hard pressed against her chest. Someone from my family. No. Please not.
    "Can you find a plastic bag and a towel inside this kitchen? I have to take the carafe to the police station."
    "Yes." Her voice sounded flat.
    When she had unearthed the plastic bag and the towel from a drawer, he wrapped the carafe with care and stowed it in an old wine box.
    Then he opened another cupboard and lifted his eyebrows. "You said your grandfather ate peppermint drops?"
    "Yes. All the time."
    "That would explain the five packages I found in the cupboard."
    Carlina grinned. "Yes."
    "What happened to your grandfather's cat?"
    "Grandpa didn't have a cat."
    His eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"
    "Yes, of course."
    He pointed at the top shelf of the cupboard. A cardboard box, open at the side, sat on the very edge of the shelf. The picture of a fluffy kitten looked at them from the cover. The box was filled with dry cat foot.
    "Oh." Carlina's heart sank. Why did he have to find that? I don't want to tell him.
    "Can you explain why he keeps cat food?"
    "It's a snack." She closed her mouth with a snap.
    "For which cat, if he doesn't own one?"
    "Um." Carlina could feel her ears turning hot. "It's not for a cat."
    "Signorina Ashley." He sounded patient now, too patient. "Will you tell me who ate that cat food or do you want me to keep guessing for another hour? Did he feed a rat?"
    "No." Carlina swallowed. "He . . . he ate them himself. As a snack between meals."
    His eyes bulged.
    "You see, they are very healthy." She pointed at the box. "They contain loads of calcium, and vitamin B, and --"
    "And they create silky fur."
    "Em. Yes."
    "Did your grandfather have silky hair?" A muscle twitched in a corner of his mouth.
    She bit her lip. "I don't think I need to answer that."
    He put his head to one side. "Did you ever try them?"
    "Yes, when I was a kid. He fed us all with them." She bit back a smile. "We loved them."
    "Did you, now?" He sounded thoughtful, as if he was already wondering which institute with extra secure bars would have room for the whole family.
    "They're crunchy, salty outside, and soft in the middle."
    "You make them sound delicious."
    She grinned. "You can try one."
    He lifted one eyebrow. "My hair is silky enough."
    "Do you want to take them with you?"
    "No. We know the morphine was given to your grandfather in liquid form."
    "Oh." She swallowed.
    He picked up the wine box. "I'd like to continue with your Aunt Maria's bathroom now."
    They went to the hall, but before they could knock on the bright red door, Aunt Maria came out, dressed in a white coat made of a