Page 36

J ulia hurried to Anna Mattia and Piero, standing with Bianco, in the vineyard. Piero had been digging for some time, and perspiration dotted his lined brow and shirt. His wispy white hair blew in the breeze like filaments on dandelion seeds.

Julia touched Anna Mattia’s arm. “I think he should stop what he’s doing and look around for any bones that might be buried, like a skeleton or a body—”

Anna Mattia recoiled, crossing herself.

“I know, but we have to admit it’s possible.

” Julia couldn’t leave a stone unturned, literally.

“If we don’t investigate here, no one else will.

The police aren’t going to do it, you heard.

I want to know and I’m not going to wait.

” Caterina wouldn’t , she thought but didn’t say.

“This is my villa, and it could be my family. I want to get to the bottom of what went on here. I want the truth.”

Anna Mattia bit her lip. “Okay.”

“Maybe you can start searching for cracks inside. I have to get ready to meet the investigator.”

“When you want Piero take you?”

“He should keep digging. I can drive myself but I need a car.”

“Signora ’ave.” Anna Mattia blinked. “She love ’er car. She love drive.”

“Really?” Julia asked, surprised. “I thought she never went anywhere.”

“No, she never go in town .”

“So where did she go?”

Anna Mattia shrugged. “She drive at night.”

What? “Was this before she got sick?”

“Yes.”

“Why did she drive around?”

Anna Mattia shrugged again.

“Did she drive around in the daytime?”

“No.”

Whoa. Julia felt her stomach turn over. “Anna Mattia, isn’t it strange that she drove around, only at night? What if she was up to no good?”

Anna Mattia grimaced.

“Show me the car.”

Julia followed Piero and Anna Mattia into an open bay under the carriage house, encompassing much of its ground floor.

He flicked on the lights, a line of bare bulbs that illuminated the stone walls and a floor of dirt, stone, and gravel.

The wooden frames of two old horse stalls were affixed to the wall by rough-hewn nails, and a stone trough ran along one wall.

Piero and Anna Mattia’s red Fiat Panda was parked on one side, and on the other was a car covered by a beige tarp, which rested on thick rubber mats.

He took the cover off with care, revealing a sleek black sedan with two doors.

Its side had a yellow plaque with a black prancing horse, which Julia recognized from the racetrack at Imola.

“Is that a Ferrari ?” she asked, surprised.

Piero’s eyes lit up. “ Sì , Ferrari FF. Bellissimo , no?”

“Rossi had a Ferrari? Why?”

Piero spread his palms, Why not?

“Wow.” Julia assumed she inherited a Ferrari. “Does it work?”

“ Perfetto .” Piero spoke to his wife in Italian, and Anna Mattia turned to Julia.

“’E take for service, ’e take very good care.”

“How old is the car? What year?”

Anna Mattia asked Piero, who answered, then she returned to Julia. “2012.”

“Where does Piero take it for service?”

“ Firenze . Signora ’ave already when we come. Piero drive, no ruggine , no rust.”

“He drives it so it doesn’t get rusty?”

“ Sì .” Piero dug in his baggy pockets and handed her the keys.

“Thanks.” Julia went to the driver’s side, unlocked the door, and sat in the cushy driver’s seat.

The interior had plush leather the color of butterscotch and matching rugs.

The dashboard was matte black, and the car had a radio and a small screen near the console.

The steering wheel was skinny and black, with the Ferrari plaque in the center of a red Start push button.

Julia asked Piero, “It has a push button and keys?”

“ Sì .” Piero mimed turning a key then pushing a button.

“It’s an automatic, right?”

“ Sì, automatico .”

“Where’s its title?” Julia assumed Rossi owned the car outright.

Anna Mattia answered, “Signora ’ave, gone. Burned.”

“Jeez.” Julia mulled it over, shaking her head. “She didn’t burn the car. Why?”

Anna Mattia shrugged. “She forget? She sick, she no drive.”

Julia was struck by a revolting thought, which made sense now that she’d found the underground cell.

Maybe Rossi had burned her things to destroy any evidence, like hair, fingerprints, or fibers.

She could’ve been trying to cover her tracks and ensure that nothing remained to trace her to any crimes.

Maybe she was eliminating traces of any victim’s DNA, too.

Julia hoped it wasn’t true. She scanned the interior for residual hair, fibers, or anything else, but it was immaculate. “This car is so clean.”

Piero nodded, puffing his chest.

Anna Mattia added, “Every two week, ’e clean, no dust, no dirt, no mouse. ’E worry they eat wires, so ’e keep clean.”

Arg. “Does he vacuum, too?”

“ Sì , Dyson!” Anna Mattia gestured to the console and side panels. “’E Dyson everywhere.”

Damn. Julia inserted the key in the ignition. The engine sprang to life with a throaty roar that filled the garage.

Piero grinned. Anna Mattia covered her ears.

Julia scanned the dials. The odometer read 56,000 kilometers. She cut the ignition. “This car is a 2012, and you guys came in 2013, is that right?”

They nodded.

“And she got sick in 2015. Did she drive much after she got sick?”

“No, not so much,” Anna Mattia answered.

“So in two years, she put fifty-six thousand kilometers on it? That’s a lot of driving for somebody who never goes anywhere.” Julia didn’t understand. “Does Piero drive it, other than for servicing?”

Anna Mattia shook her head, and so did Piero.

“How far is the trip to Florence? It’s not that far, is it?”

“About forty kilometers.”

“Do you think she drove every week?”

Anna Mattia shrugged. “More.”

“How many times a week?”

“Many. She go late, I don’ see sometimes.”

“But your apartment is above. Wouldn’t you hear?”

“No, she park at villa.”

Julia put it together. Rossi went driving at night, but why? For company? For protection? For a lure ? Was Rossi driving routinely, hunting for victims to kidnap? Julia had no answers, only suspicions.

“Well, I better get ready for my appointment.” Julia got out of the car, left the garage, and hurried up to the villa.

She entered the kitchen, found two plastic baggies in a drawer, and hurried with them into the living room.

She made her way through the debris to the coffee table and picked up the strands of hair she’d taken from the comb.

Whoa. Julia felt the tingling again. She pulled apart the strands, divided them into two clumps, and put half in one bag and half in the other. She sealed them and left the room to shower and get ready for the investigator.

Time for answers.