temptation in florence 05 - seaside in death (24 page)

“
Madonna
, no!” The idea of Carlina investigating his case secretly made his blood run cold. He wiped the sweat from his brow and jumped up. “I'll talk to her.”

Half an hour later, Stefano met Carlina at the foot of the
Fortino
, the fort from 1788 that had given Forte dei Marmi its name. When he saw the building, he forgot his worries for an instant. “Well,” he said, “this isn't what I'd imagined. It looks like a regular house with a super-sized balcony attached to one side.”

Carlina smiled. “That's why it's called
Il Fortino
, the little fort. Cute, isn't it? The balcony looks as if it wanted to become a big, impressive fort but gave up before it could get there. There's a museum for caricatures inside.”

By now, Stefano had recalled his mission and looked at her with an uncomfortable smile.

“Why do you look at me like that?” Carlina pushed her hand through her short curls. “Is anything wrong with my hair?”

“Oh, no, nothing at all.” He took her by the elbow and steered her to the closest trattoria across the street. “Let's have a glass of wine somewhere in the shade, and something to eat.” He needed all the help he could get.

Carlina hung back. “But it's too early for dinner--” she interrupted herself and looked again at the tables that stood on the sidewalk of the street, right in front of the little trattoria. Most of them were occupied by people who were enjoying their dinner. “Oh, I forgot. The German tourists are early. I can't understand why they insist on eating by six or seven, when it's still way too hot to eat. Can you?”

Stefano wasn't interested in the Germans. He was grateful that the town had catered to tourists for decades, with the result that the restaurants were used to the strange times of the Northern Europeans and opened early. They could sit down between all the tourists and have their discussion without any Italians listening in. Perfect.

He steered her to a place in the shade and ordered a decanter of her favorite white wine, made from
Friulano
grapes.

Carlina lifted an eyebrow. “What's up?”

Darn
. She knew him much too well. He decided to pave the way by admitting his faults first. “I spent all the afternoon at the police station, going through the files with Lampone.”

She took his hand. “Gosh, I'm sorry. What a dreadful way to spend a summer day.”

How nice it was to be petted. He should enjoy it while it lasted. “Yes, particularly as his office chokes in dust. Do I have cobwebs in my hair?”

She ruffled her hand through his hair. “Nope. Not even a little cloud.”

“Good.” He caught her hand and held it. “Listen, I have to apologize. When I discussed
Signora
Rosari's midnight activity with Lampone, he said that we should believe Agatha's statement. He knows Agatha and believes that she wouldn't adapt her memory for the sake of anybody, not even the Mantoni family. I'm sorry I doubted you.”

Carlina gave him a look he couldn't interpret. “It's funny that you should say that because I've also been wanting to talk to you about that. I wanted to apologize.”

“What for?”

She looked at the table and drew a circle with her fingertip onto the smooth surface. “Well, I happened to overhear
Mamma
talking to Benedetta. She said she was glad that they had managed to help Agatha remember how she had seen Rosari's wife on the night of the murder.” She made a wry face. “I couldn't believe it.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “So we're back to square one.”

Carlina nodded. “It drives me wild, but I don't know what to believe anymore, of anybody.”

“Welcome to the club.” Stefano pushed his chair closer to Carlina's and lowered his voice. “That's why we need your help.”

She perked up. “Yes?”

The waiter chose that moment to bring the wine. It was perfectly chilled. Stefano took a reviving sip and enjoyed the tangy taste in his mouth. It lifted his mood considerably. With the fewest possible words, he explained their suspicion of Pucci.

Carlina's eyes grew round. “Of course,” she breathed. “It makes a lot of sense.”

“Yes, but obviously, we can't simply go up to him and ask him about his whereabouts at the time of the murder. We thought about approaching his wife, who's got a hair salon on Via Vittorio Veneto. And that's where you come in.”

Her jaw dropped. “You want me to be involved in your case? That has never happened before!”

“It wasn't my idea,” Stefano admitted “Lampone suggested it.”

“What did you have to say to that?”

He looked into her cat-like eyes and decided to be honest. “I fought against it with teeth and claws, but I couldn't get out of it.”

Her mouth drooped. “Don't you like to work with me?”

“I do.” He covered her hand. “But I hate to see you in danger.”

“I'm not afraid of that stupid Pucci!”

“I wouldn't underestimate him.” Stefano's voice was dry. “Besides, we don't know yet if he's the murderer. Would you be willing to go the hair salon and do some small talk with the owner? We're interested in everything – her back story, how she's getting along in Forte dei Marmi – they only moved here about a year ago – how she found the financing for her store, and most of all, if she was with her husband at the time of the murder.”

“All right,” Carlina said. “But if you want all that information, I need more than a simple cut.”

“What do you mean?”

“A normal cut takes fifteen minutes at most because my hair is already quite short. I'd need to get some highlights in my hair. Those take ages, and while she's doing them, we can really talk.”

“Anything you want,” Stefano said. “As long as you're careful.” He pushed a piece of paper toward her. “Here's the phone number, so you can book an appointment.”

Carlina fished her cell phone out of her handbag and dialed the number. Two minutes and a short conversation later, she gave him an insouciant smile. “Done. I've got an appointment for tomorrow at ten. I was lucky. Someone else just canceled.” Her smile deepened into a grin. “I have to say, I enjoy working with you,
Commissario
.”

But when she called him the next morning shortly before ten, all traces of fun were gone. “Stefano?” Her voice was near to panic.

His heart stopped for a painful moment, then it started to race. He jumped up. “What is it?”

Chapter 16

Carlina made an effort to control her voice. “Had you seen this salon before you told me to book it?”

“No, I--”

“You should have done that! Do you know what they specialize in?”

“No, I--”

“Tattoos!”

“Tattoos? But hair salons don't usually do tattoos, do they?”

Carlina stamped her foot. “Oh, they cut hair as well, though I doubt that they do it much. Hair-extensions in wild colors, like neon pink or bright green seem more their thing. They also specialize in dreadlocks.” She broke off.

He didn't say anything.

“Stefano? Are you still there?”

“I am.” His voice sounded strangled. “I'm just picturing you with pink dreadlocks and a brand-new tattoo.”

“Exactly!” Carlina gave a hysterical laugh. “I had no idea what I was letting myself in for when I agreed to do this!”

“You don't have to go through with it,” Stefano said. “Are you already inside the shop?”

“No, I'm still in front of the shop window.” Carlina squinted through the glass door. “Gosh. You know what – it's all black and gold inside! And the windows are tinted! I can hardly see a thing.”

“You still have my number on speed dial, don't you?”

“Yep.” Carlina nodded, though he couldn't see it. “You're right at the top. Aaawful Inspector.”

“What? You haven't changed that?”

She giggled. “Nope. It reminds me of our first days together.”

“Just great.” He sighed. “Keep your phone unlocked in your pocket and press the button whenever you feel threatened.”

“I feel threatened now.”

“Why? Who's there?”

“Nobody. But this hair salon is a threat to my natural beauty and sanity.”

“Carlina.” His voice was patient. “Are you scared or are you making fun of me?”

“A bit of both, I think. But don't worry. I'm going in now. Still have to make up my mind if I'll take a tiger tattoo on my butt or a swallow on my neck. That'll be a tough one.
Ciao,
my love.” She hung up, dropped the phone into her handbag, squared her shoulders, and walked in. An icy draft of air welcomed her inside the hair salon. This was air conditioning at its best – or worst, depending on what you liked. Carlina shivered. She hadn't brought a sweater.

“Buongiorno.”
The lady behind the reception gave her a broad smile.

Carlina blinked. This woman had at least fifty teeth, and they all showed when she smiled. One front tooth had a little diamond set inside. Even if you didn't consider the amazing number and size of her teeth, this lady was formidable in every sense of the word. Her hair was cut in a rigorous short style and gelled into attention. It was also bright yellow, a tone that was taken up by her t-shirt and wide trousers. She had long fingernails painted in black with a bright yellow spider painted onto every nail.

Carlina couldn't wrap her mind around the idea that this lady was married to the sloppily dressed Pucci. “Are you Pamela?” she asked.

Again, the threatening teeth were put on display. “Yes, I am. You're here for the ten o'clock appointment, right?”

“Right.” Carlina's throat was dry.

“Let's go over there.” Pamela led Carlina into the back of the store.

Carlina looked around. It was a bit like delving into a cave, a black cave with golden decorations. The walls, tables, and chairs were all uniformly black. They soaked up what little light there was. The gloomy effect was only mitigated by huge mirrors in elaborate golden frames on the walls and small spotlights from the ceiling that reflected off the golden taps. “It's quiet here this morning.” She forced herself to speak in a chatty voice even while a sense of unease crawled down her back.

“Yes, our customers usually come later. We're open until ten at night, and by then, it's packed.”

“Wow, that makes a long work day. Do you work shifts?”

“I don't. My staff does, though.” Pamela shrugged. “But it's only during the season.”

Carlina lowered herself into the black leather chair Pamela indicated to her. It squeaked, and a chemical smell emanated from it. “It must be difficult to combine with family life.” She held her breath. Hopefully, Pamela would start to talk with that little prompting. She wasn't wearing a ring.

Pamela threw back her head in a yellow flash and showed her scary teeth again.

I wish she would stop smiling.
Carlina averted her gaze.

“My husband is working shifts, too, so we often don't see each other for days on end.” Pamela looked at Carlina in a considering way. “So what can I do for you today? I see that my colleague put you down for two hours. A hair-extension? A tattoo?”

Carlina gulped. “I . . . I don't think a tattoo would be right. I'm scared of needles.”

“Ah, that's a shame.” Pamela pushed up the sleeve of her yellow shirt and showed a giant spider tattooed on her shoulder. “Now, what do you say to this beauty? Isn't it amazing? Do you see the little hairs on the legs? Quite lifelike, isn't it? We're real artists here. You needn't worry that anything would go wrong.”

“No, thank you.” Carlina averted her gaze from the way too realistic spider and fixed it on Pamela's face. She was quickly running out of options where to look, but maybe Pamela would refrain from showing her tombstone teeth in the next minutes.

“An extension? I can very well imagine you with long hair. We could try a red shade.”

“I . . . no. You see, I don't have the time to deal with long hair, and it would be way too hot now in summer.”

“All right. What did you have in mind, then?” Pamela smiled.

I wish she would stop doing that! She reminds me of a crocodile.
“I thought a little color would be in order. My hair is sort of . . . bleached out from the sun.” Desperate, she pulled at one of her brown curls.

“Sure. How about some nice black? That's always a great statement.”

Carlina's eyes widened. She rather liked her natural brown and thought that it looked nice combined with her blue-green eyes. Black would make her look way too pale, besides, a Gothic look would scare her customers at Temptation. It was a luxurious lingerie store, not a hot spot for fashion urbanistas. “Um- no. No. Maybe some . . . some highlights.”

“Yeah, highlights are always a great option.” One hand with five miniature spiders on the nails parted her hair and pulled it expertly to the side. “Let me see. Hmm . . . yes. You've got great hair. Strong and healthy. What about a nice green as a highlight? It would be something different and would bring out the color of your eyes.”

Nobody would even notice my eyes if I started to run around with green stripes in my hair!
Carlina gripped the broad armrests of the chair. “No. I . . . I don't think so.”

“Well, what did you have in mind, then?”

Carlina's mind went blank. “I . . . I thought a little cut. Not too much. Just the tips.”

Pamela nodded. “All right. And then?”

“Different . . . different shades of brown.”

Pamela's eyebrows climbed. “That would hardly show. The sun has already created different shades of brown.”

“Oh.” Carlina started to nibble at her index finger, a habit she'd thought she'd managed to lose. “I hadn't thought of that. How about . . . a bit of blond?” She couldn't go that wrong with blond.

“Blond?” Pamela's eyes lit up. “Yes, I can imagine that. It would certainly help you to stand out from the crowd.”

“Oh, I didn't mean peroxide blond,” Carlina hasted to correct. “Not like Marilyn Monroe, you know.”

“Not like Marilyn Monroe . . .?” Pamela's voice trailed out. “But where do you want the blond, then?”

Carlina felt sweat breaking out on her brow in spite of the glacial air inside the shop. She had run out of options now. Gosh, Stefano owed her. He wouldn't even recognize her once she came out of here. If she ever did manage to get out. Maybe the spider lady would keep her hostage. “I would like the very tips to be blond. Just the tips,” she repeated. “And let's omit the cut.”
I'll cut them afterward.