Sheila Connolly - Reunion with Death (10 page)

“Oh, right, yes. Let me make that call, and I’ll see what the police say. Thank you, Laura.”

Thank you for finding a dead body on your property?
I stifled a laugh: there was such a thing as taking courtesy too far. But I’d done my duty, so I took myself back down the stairs and stationed myself in a chair to block anyone from approaching from the lawn; I figured I’d hear anyone coming from the graveled drive above.

No one had appeared by the time I spotted an official car coming up the long driveway, without sirens or flashing lights. Now what? I realized that since I didn’t speak Italian, it might be challenging to explain what I had seen. I had no idea how good Barbara’s or Gerry’s Italian was. Which left Jane, the only one of our group who spoke conversational Italian. What the heck was the word for “dead”? I pulled out my cell phone and called up the translation app:
morto, defunto, deceduto, spento
.
Il professore è morto
. Who here would mourn him?

I stayed put while I heard tapping at the front door above, followed by the door opening and voices, one fast (the
polizia
) and one slower (Gerry). Then a female voice: Barbara must have joined the discussion. Then the sound of booted feet on the stone stairs. I rose and turned to face the newcomer, a tall fortyish man in a neatly pressed uniform, accompanied by Gerry and Barbara.

“Mi scusi, signora, ma posso parlare con te? Capisco che hai trovato il morto?”

I knew what he was saying, but I wasn’t going to take any chances about being misunderstood.
“Mi dispiace, signore.
Gerry, I think we need a translator.”

“Of course. Barbara, can you go find Jane? She’s the most fluent speaker here.”

“Right away, Gerry. I won’t be long.” She turned and hurried down a path. I realized I wasn’t even sure where all the others were housed, scattered as they were around the property.

So there we stood—me, my host, and a handsome Italian policeman in a nice uniform, and below us lay the broken body of Anthony Gilbert, professor emeritus and self-declared charmer. Not quite what I’d expected from this vacation.

Chapter 9

Barbara returned quickly with Jane in tow. Poor Jane—she didn’t deserve this. She and Jean had put so much effort into planning this event for us all, and I seriously doubted that there was a contingency plan for a dead guest speaker.

Apparently Barbara had briefed her on the basic outline of the situation, and Jane went straight to the senior official and erupted into quick Italian. I stayed where I was, assuming someone would want the details of how I found the body. The policeman, or whatever he was, was scrupulously polite to Jane. Well, why not? She was old enough to be his mother—as was I. Italian men were famously polite to their mothers. Would that help here?

After a few minutes of gesturing and pointing, Jane turned to me. “Can you tell me, him … us what happened?”

I ran through the brief story of my early rising, my stroll over to the pool to take pictures of the landscape, and my discovery of the body, while Jane translated quickly. No, I hadn’t seen anyone else, unless I counted the cat. No, I hadn’t seen any signs of a struggle or a fall—everything had seemed to be in place, although since I hadn’t visited the pool before, I couldn’t swear to whether anything had changed. I had recognized the body because I had met the man the day before. For the first time. And had spoken briefly to him after dinner, outside my door. And I had heard him—or someone wearing shoes—walking around in the room over my head after that. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes I had last seen him in.

Had he seemed despondent? the policeman asked. I shrugged. Since I didn’t know the man, I didn’t know what his usual frame of mind was, therefore I had no idea if he had strayed from that the night before. If I had to guess, I would say no. I did not voice my thought that in fact he had seemed to be in his element, surrounded by adoring women. Well, mostly adoring.

Had I heard any voices coming from above? For example, female? I shook my head. I hadn’t heard anything except the footsteps, and I had no idea how long they had lasted because I had fallen asleep very quickly. I had pointed the sounds out to my roommate, who had stayed awake longer—perhaps she had noticed something more? I was sorry that I couldn’t offer more help, but that was all I knew.

The policeman was looking at me oddly, and I wondered if my calm disturbed him somehow. Would he believe me if I had hysterics? Would that seem more authentic to him? But tears wouldn’t help either the professor or the investigators now.

While we had been talking another vehicle had arrived, this one unmarked, and I surmised it belonged to a coroner or medical examiner or whatever passed for one around here. Several men headed down the steep hill with a gurney; one came up the hill to speak with the policeman. I caught only a few words, but they weren’t hard to guess at:
collo
probably was neck, and
accidente
was self-evident. So this was already being classified as an accident. Jane started talking again, gesturing down the hill toward the dining hall, and I assumed she wanted to know what she could and should tell the rest of the group, who were even now gathering for breakfast, unaware of the drama unfolding up the hill. The policeman made reassuring noises, and I guessed that the gist of the conversation was that she could tell her friends that there had been an unfortunate accident and the poor professor was no more. And we were free to go on about our business, if a touch more sadly.

That suited me. It seemed a bit peremptory, to declare this death an accident without more detailed analysis, but I had no evidence to contradict their finding. I had to agree that the most likely story was that Professor Gilbert had gone for a walk to clear his head after a heavy dinner accompanied by much wine, and, being unfamiliar with the path, had slipped and fallen. Period.

I must have been drifting because I realized that Jane was standing in front of me with a hand on my arm. “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

I nodded. “I’m fine, Jane, really. After all, I didn’t know him, and I saw his body this morning only from a distance. I’m sorry that this had to happen to you—you’ve put so much into planning all this. What comes next?”

“The police will take him away. I’ll tell everyone at breakfast, but we’re all free to do what we’d planned. They’re calling it an accident. Is that all right, do you think? Are our friends going to want to spend a day in mourning or something?” She looked at me anxiously, waiting for an answer.

I was so the wrong person to ask, but she wanted guidance, or reinforcement. “I would say, tell them the bare outline, and say that we intend to continue with the schedule, but that if anyone wants to stay behind here, they’re welcome to.”

She nodded. “Good, good. I mean, it’s a shame, but it has nothing to do with us, really. Come on, let’s walk down the hill together. You don’t have to say anything about finding him unless you want to. I won’t mention it.”

I had never known Jane well, but I thought she was handling this unanticipated situation with grace. I would have granted her a moment or two to whine at the gods that had dumped this on her, in the midst of everything else. But I knew that we were all tough women, and we could take it. I was pretty sure some people might ask me questions, maybe later, like, what was it like to find a body? I’d deal with those when they came up, but I wasn’t about to volunteer the information. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

But I wasn’t going to deal with anything without coffee. Jane and I walked down the hill and let ourselves into the dining hall. Jane had a quick word with the staff, a couple of whom crossed themselves. Then they went on dishing out food. The big room was half filled, with more people arriving every minute. I helped myself to a cup of coffee and some tasty pastries left over from dessert the night before, and found Cynthia and one other person I barely knew sitting at one of the small round tables. Cynthia took one look at me and asked, “What’s up?”

I shook my head. “You’ll hear in a minute.” Then I focused on my breakfast. Cynthia didn’t press.

Jane conferred briefly with Jean, and it was interesting to watch their interaction without sound. Jean looked appropriately horrified, and then asked the logical question, now what? Jane rushed to reassure her, and Jean ended up nodding in agreement. The plan would go on.

When it looked as though the majority of women had arrived and were seated, Jane reluctantly went to the end of the room, and several people rapped on their glasses or cups until all eyes were on Jane. I sat up straighter in my seat. My table was well positioned to watch everyone’s face when Jane said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but there has been an unfortunate accident. Professor Gilbert was apparently taking a walk after dinner last night. He slipped on a path and fell to his death.”

I expected the collective gasp that rose from the group. What I was watching for were the flashes of expression on faces that suggested something other than grief—and there were a few, I noted. I wondered what those meant, and filed the names away for later.

Jane was still talking. “While I am sure we are all saddened by this news, we don’t need to let it interfere with our plans for today. If you would like to take a few moments to collect yourselves, we can delay our departure for, say, half an hour. There is also a small church up the hill, if you’d like to take advantage of that to remember the professor. And of course if you’d like to stay here, that’s your choice. Is everyone all right with that?”

People exchanged uncertain glances. Most probably had no template for something like this: an unscheduled half hour to mourn the passing of someone they might or might not have known, but had at least seen, very much alive, the night before.

Someone’s hand shot up. “Are the police investigating?”

Jean said quickly, “The police are here now, and they have called this an unfortunate accident. We are free to come and go as we like. Anything else?”

Cynthia looked at me and arched one expressive eyebrow in question. I mouthed “Later.”

Jane seemed relieved that nobody else had anything to say. “Then we’ll meet at the vans at nine thirty. I’m so sorry this had to happen while we’re here together, but I hope you won’t let it put a damper on your trip. Please, go ahead and finish your breakfast—there’s no rush.”

My plate was empty but I wanted more coffee. I stood up and walked through the crowd, back to the serving area, catching snippets of conversation along the way. “Think he was alone last night?” “Oh, the poor man.” “What a waste.” “He was probably drunk.” “I knew those paths were dangerous—we should all have been given flashlights.” It was a curious mix.

I carried my refilled cup of coffee carefully back to my table. As I walked, I was thinking: nobody knows I found him. Who knew which room he was in? I hadn’t, until we spoke after dinner.
Was
he alone, after? Did I really believe his fall was an accident? Did Cynthia hear anything after I fell asleep? How many people in the room had known him back in the day? And how many of those had unhappy memories of him?

I had reached our table, so I sat down. Diane, whom I vaguely recalled hearing say she was a doctor, said, “Isn’t it too bad about the professor? But I’m glad Jane and Jean are going ahead with the schedule. I’ve been looking forward to seeing the lemon garden at the Villa di Castello. I read that it was designed by Cosimo di Medici when he was quite young, and then improved by Vasari later.” I gave her a perfunctory smile.

Cynthia, after one more glance at me, chirped, “Oh, that’s right—you’re interested in plants, aren’t you, Diane? Can you tell me anything else about the garden we’ll be seeing?”

Their empty conversation carried me through the second cup of coffee, by which time the crowd had thinned. I stood up. “Cynthia, I’m going to go on up and get … my sweater.”

“I’ll come with you. Thanks, Diane, now I’ll know what to look for when we get to the villa.”

Cynthia and I walked out of the dining hall together, but we didn’t say anything until we were halfway up the hill—out of earshot of our classmates. “Okay, what’s going on?” Cynthia demanded.

“You were still asleep this morning, so I took a walk, over to the swimming pool. I found the body.”

Cynthia gave me a probing look and apparently decided I wasn’t emotionally devastated. She knew me well. “Was it awful?”

“No. He’d fallen down the hill, so I didn’t see anything up close. No blood or anything, but he was obviously dead.”

We’d reached our small patio and I stopped. It might be more private to talk inside, but I wanted to be able to see if there was anyone around who might overhear.

We sat at the small table and I began tentatively, “Cynthia, I told you that I spoke to him after dinner. He was staying in the room right over ours. I heard him, or someone, walking around after I got into bed. Did you hear anything?”

Cynthia was not stupid, and she got my drift immediately. “I heard those footsteps that you did. Are you asking if I think someone was with him? Not that I noticed. But if she—I’m assuming it would be a she—was barefoot, I don’t suppose she would have made any noise. Laura, what’s going on here? Are you thinking this was something other than an accident?”

I hedged. “It certainly looked like an accident. It was dark, the paths are slippery, and he didn’t know the place well. And yet he went out again, after we heard him upstairs. It was clear he’d been drinking—heck, we all saw him drinking—and when we talked for a moment after dinner, he was a bit unsteady. So what happened?”

Cynthia looked around: no one in sight. “You’ve already jumped right past the part about a nice little tryst followed by a walk to, uh, cool down, right?” Then her expression changed. “Wait—you’re guessing maybe he had a little help in falling off that path?”

I took a moment to reflect. I had known Cynthia since I was eighteen, and I’d lived with her for several years. But I hadn’t seen much of her in the past couple of decades. I had to decide right now: did I trust her? I had no reason to believe that she had any animus against the professor, but people lied. And people changed.