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T wo hours later, Julia hadn’t found any bones or bodies, but she’d toured her property and knew it better.

Her legs and arms were covered with scratches, and she was sweaty and starving, so she trudged up the hill to the villa.

She entered the kitchen, fetched a glass, and poured herself water, leaning on the sink.

It felt strange to be in the kitchen without Anna Mattia.

Julia crossed to the refrigerator and looked inside.

Everything was organized; and on the right were grapes, strawberries, and blueberries.

On the left were jars of green and black olives, fresh broccoli, and packaged lamb chops.

The middle drawer was filled with cheeses, and the bottom drawers contained romaine and butterhead lettuce, potatoes, onions, and garlic.

Julia grabbed some grapes and gobbled them. She found a thick loaf of rustic bread under the covered dish, so she retrieved a serrated knife and made a cheese sandwich, while Bianco shuffled into the kitchen, still hanging his head, his walk wobbly.

“Hey buddy, how are you?” Julia went over and scratched him behind his soft ears.

His round amber eyes met hers, his pink tongue lolling adorably out, then he started shuffling toward the back door.

She thought he might need to go to the bathroom, so she opened it, and he trundled out and turned toward Anna Mattia and Piero’s house.

Julia watched him go, then he trotted downhill and she lost sight of him. She took off, hurried down the hill toward the carriage house, then looked around. The dog had disappeared.

“Bianco!” Julia called, then heard a noise inside the equipment shed. She hustled to the shed and crossed into the cool shade next to the tractor. A plastic trash bin lay on its side, its lid off, and Bianco was sniffing soiled napkins on the ground.

“No, buddy!” Julia tugged him away by the collar and hooked a soggy napkin shred from his mouth. She realized he must’ve gotten into the garbage and it upset his stomach. She righted the bin, picked up the trash, and closed the lid.

Suddenly her phone rang, and she slid it out of her pocket. The screen showed the Philly area code, 215, but she didn’t recognize the number. She answered, “Hello?”

“Ms. Pritzker? Detective Tom Malloy from the Homicide Division. I picked up your husband’s case. I heard you called Detective Pivali.”

“Yes, is he in?” Julia walked Bianco out of the shed, holding onto his collar.

“He was reassigned, and I caught the case. I’m fully up to speed. How can I help you?”

“Have there been any developments?”

“No, I’m sorry, not yet. We have a new video from a traffic cam. We have no suspects as yet. We’ll keep at it.”

Julia’s heartbeat quickened. It was the first she’d heard of the traffic cam. “What does the video show?”

“It shows the assault, but we have yet to identify the perpetrator. I will keep you posted.”

The thought that Mike’s murder was recorded sickened her, at the same time it gave her hope. She led Bianco toward the hill, heading back to the villa. “Well, I think I have a lead for you.”

“Go for it. I’m all ears.”

Julia told him about the blue hoodies on the bridge and how they matched the one that Mike’s killer wore, then that it was the uniform for the Italian soccer team.

By the time she was finished, she’d reached the villa with Bianco and they went inside the kitchen.

“I think that’s interesting, don’t you? It suggests that Mike’s killer was Italian. It’s an unusual sweatshirt for Philly.”

“I see what you mean. So you’re in Florence now?”

“Yes.” Julia told him she was being followed by two different men, then about her inheritance and the underground cell, editing out Caterina again.

“So, Detective Malloy, you see my point? Something’s going on.

I’m starting to think Mike’s murder is related to my inheritance or any crimes my biological grandmother may have committed.

She imprisoned a child in the villa, whether it was my birth mother or not. ”

Detective Malloy fell silent. “I’m trying to understand what the villa has to do with your husband’s murder.”

“Mike was killed protecting me, and now I’m thinking it wasn’t a random purse snatching. They could’ve made it look that way, but they were trying to kill me because they didn’t want me to inherit the villa and find the underground cell.”

“You’re making assumptions, Ms. Pritzker.”

“I know, but it’s a lead, isn’t it? Don’t you have a way to figure out whether there were Italian citizens in Philly last October, when Mike was murdered? What about Italian citizens with criminal records? Isn’t there a database you can search?”

“This complicates the investigation.”

“How?” Julia asked, puzzled. “I think it makes it easier. It narrows the search.”

“Here’s the hitch. The Homicide Division has jurisdiction over your husband’s murder because it occurred within city limits. We have access to local and state databases. We don’t have access to federal or international databases.”

“Can’t you get access to them? There has to be someone you can talk to.”

“Yes, but we’ll have to liaise with several agencies.”

“Which agencies?”

“Immigration, for starters. Organized crime, if we’re talking trafficking. Counterterrorism, too. I can get it done but it’s red tape all the way down. That’s how the feds are, bureaucracy on top of bureaucracy.”

Arg. “In the meantime, can you start with your local database and see if there were any Italian citizens in it, last October?”

“That, I can do.”

“Also, as far as the Italian authorities go, I filed a report with a Marshal Torti in Savernella. He knows everything about the case. He saw the underground cell, too. I can give you his number, and you can share information.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Julia scrolled her phone and read him Marshal Torti’s phone number.

“That’s a long number, huh? Looks like a bank account.” Detective Malloy chuckled. “Look, I have to go. Call anytime. I’ll keep you posted. Goodbye now.”

“Bye, thanks,” Julia ended the call, her heart sinking. She worried that the disconnect between Philly and Italy would be a problem.

She needed a friend, and one was only a call away.

Julia called Courtney. “Hey Court, I just got off the phone with the detective on Mike’s case. Got a second?”

“Sure,” Courtney answered, excited. “Any leads?”

“Not from him, but from me, yes.”

“Wait. How’d you get a lead?”

Julia realized she hadn’t told Courtney about Gianluca.

She wondered if she could edit him out like Caterina, but it would be the first time Julia had withheld something from her.

“Bottom line, I saw a blue hoodie in Florence last night and it matched the one that Mike’s killer had on, and it made me think that the killer might be Italian. ”

“Really?”

“Right, and I’m thinking the purse snatching wasn’t random. Maybe they were trying to kill me so I wouldn’t find the underground cell in the villa. Maybe that’s why they’re following me, too.”

“Who’s they ?”

“I don’t know.”

Courtney groaned. “Hold on, I have a text to deal with. Can I call you back in an hour or so?”

Julia realized Gianluca would be here then. “No, let’s catch up tomorrow.”

“I’m flying tomorrow. How about later tonight? I’ll be up, I gotta pack.”

Julia braced herself. “Actually, no, I’m having someone over.”

“To your haunted villa?”

“Yes, we’re having haunted lamb chops.”

Courtney snorted. “Is it another ghost? You got room?”

“Very funny.” Julia braced herself for a reaction. “It’s a guy.”

“Wait, what ?” Courtney whooped. “Hallelujah! I didn’t see that coming. You met someone ? Finally!”

“Are you kidding? It’s too soon!”

“No, it’s not!” Courtney squealed. “Is he hot? What’s he look like? Send pix!”

“I don’t have one.”

“Tell me everything! What’s his name?”

“Gianluca Moretti.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Hottest. Name. Ever!”

Julia crossed to the refrigerator to see what she could make for dinner.

“This is so great ! How did you meet him? Tell me what’s going on!”

“Court, for real, I feel guilty.” Julia took the lamb chops and broccoli out of the refrigerator, then set them on the counter.

“No, why? You should have a romance. It’s Italy !”

Julia’s gut wrenched. “What about Mike?”

“Look, I loved Mike, too, but it’s okay. It really is. You’re young and you have to live your life. Let’s be in a positive space for once.”

“I’m in a positive space,” Julia said, defensively. She went to the base cabinet and looked for a roasting dish among the stacked pans. She found one and pulled it out with a clatter, cradling the phone on her shoulder. “Meanwhile Anna Mattia and Piero left—”

“I so don’t care. Back to Gianluca. Are you sleeping with him? Oh my God, you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you? I can tell.”

Julia groaned. “I’m not sleeping with him.”

“But you slept with him, didn’t you? The right answer is, ‘Hell, yes!’”

Busted. Julia couldn’t bring herself to say it. She set the pan on the counter.

“Oh my friggin’ God! That’s a yes!” Courtney cheered. “Tell me everything!”

“I don’t have time. I have to get ready.”

“Gimme the executive summary.”

“Okay.” Julia told Courtney about Gianluca, but it wasn’t as much fun as it used to be. Widows weren’t entitled to joy, and romance didn’t come in black.

“It really is okay to see him,” Courtney said, reading Julia’s mind.

“I still wear my wedding ring. That’s just weird.”

“No, it’s a transition.”

“I don’t want a transition .” Julia felt a pang. “I love Mike.”

“But Gianluca sounds like a sweet guy.”

“He can’t replace Mike.”

“He’s not a Mike replacement. You’re not going to marry him.”

Julia couldn’t let it go. “He was hurt before, and I don’t want to hurt him.”

“So, don’t hurt him.”

“I will, if I can’t return his feelings.” Julia knew it was true as soon as she said it aloud.

“That’s his lookout, not yours.”

“That’s not nice.”

“Yes, it is,” Courtney shot back. “He’s a grown man. He has agency. Enjoy him!”

How? Julia didn’t think she could enjoy Gianluca and be loyal to Mike. She felt stuck between them, neither here nor there, trapped in the interstices of her own life.

“Jules, Mike would want you to move on.” Courtney’s tone softened. “He would want you to be happy. Gianluca sounds good for you.”

“What if I’m not good for him?”

“Why don’t you want to be happy?”

“What?” Julia asked, stung.

“So many amazing things are happening for you, but you turn each one negative. You inherit millions of dollars, but that doesn’t make you happy. You get a villa in Tuscany, but you see ghosts. You meet a great guy, but you won’t be happy. It’s like you refuse to be happy.”

“That’s not true.” Julia could hear a new weariness in Courtney’s tone. “If I could move on, I would, but it’s not that easy—”

“Of course it is, you slept with him!” Courtney shot back, and Julia felt her throat tighten. A wave of shame swept over her, and she felt terrible, not because Courtney said it, but because it was true.

“I have… to go,” Julia stammered, hanging up.

Julia sipped Chianti in the quiet kitchen. She’d showered, blown out her hair, and changed into a white cashmere sweater with a V-neck and jeans. She hadn’t brought perfume, which was good because she would have overthought wearing any.

Enjoy him.

Julia’s gaze fell on the meal she’d cook when Gianluca got here.

Lamb chops topped with fresh rosemary and cracked black pepper glistened in a ceramic pan, and she’d made broccoli florets, plus an endive and Bibb lettuce salad with feta cheese.

She even cut shallots and thyme for a dressing of olive oil and balsamic.

Mike always loved lamb chops, but she couldn’t think about that now.

Her phone rang, and Julia took it quickly, expecting Courtney, calling back. But it was an Italian number. She answered, “Hello?”

“Ms. Pritzker, this is Dr. Caraccioli, the vet who treated Bianco.”

“Oh yes, how are you?”

“I’m fine. How is he?”

“He’s resting quietly.” Julia checked Bianco, curled up like a powdered doughnut. “By the way, I found some garbage he’d gotten into. I assume it didn’t agree with him.”

Dr. Caraccioli paused. “Garbage? How much did he eat?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Is any left?”

“No, he ate it all.”

Dr. Caraccioli cleared her throat. “I’m calling because I had some concerns when he was here. I put a rush on his blood tests, and the results verified them.”

“Oh no, what?” Julia asked, alarmed. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he should be fine. It doesn’t change my treatment. Let me ask you, you aren’t his caretaker, correct?”

“Correct. My housekeeper and her husband are.”

“May I speak with them?”

“No, unfortunately, they’ve gone.”

“When will they return?”

“They won’t. They moved to Abruzzo.”

“What are their names?”

“Anna Mattia Vesta and her husband, Piero Fano.”

“Do you have their contact information?”

“No, I’m sorry. I only met them a few days ago.” Julia didn’t understand why the vet was asking so many questions.

“Have you learned who’s Bianco’s primary veterinarian?”

“I haven’t had a chance yet. Why do you ask?”

“Bianco’s blood showed the presence of a plant substance.”

“He must have gotten it outside. The vineyard here is overgrown. There must be tons of weeds and plants.”

“No, this plant is not native to Tuscany.” Dr. Caraccioli paused. “It’s the iboga plant, native to central Africa. Africa’s not so far from Italy, as you may know. The drug made from the iboga plant is ibogaine. It’s a controlled substance here and in the United States.”

“A drug?” Julia asked, puzzled.

“Yes. In fact, if I had a reasonable basis to suspect that you had given ibogaine to Bianco, I’d report you to the authorities.”

Yikes. Julia felt taken aback. “I swear, I’d never do anything like that. I don’t have any of that plant, drug, whatever. What does it do?”

“It’s from a family of hallucinogens.”

Julia gasped.