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J ulia reeled, shocked. “Dr. Caraccioli, did you say it’s a hallucinogen ?”

“Yes. Ibogaine is a powerful psychedelic, and it can induce hallucinations in humans for up to twenty-four hours, depending on the dosage.”

“Psychedelic? You mean it makes you see colors and things that aren’t there?” Julia tried to wrap her mind around it. “So Bianco wasn’t sick, he was drugged ?”

“Yes, the drug is similar to LSD, psilocybin, ketamine, MDMA, or salvia. I can only imagine what poor Bianco experienced. We know little about how psychedelics affect animals. I’m hoping he slept through most of it. It was a small dose.”

“What does the drug do to people, in small doses?” Julia flashed on the garbage scattered on the shed floor. It was her leftovers. She’d eaten the drugged meals, too.

“In humans, ibogaine has the same hallucinatory effect. It causes an altered state of consciousness, also delusions and paranoia. By most accounts, the hallucinations aren’t pleasant.

They are so-called bad trips. The use of this family of drugs is highly controversial.

Microdosing it and other psychedelics has been used to treat withdrawal from opiates in the United States and elsewhere.

Such microdosing has mostly been discontinued for safety concerns. ”

“What safety concerns?” Julia asked, aghast.

“It can cause sudden cardiac arrest and death.”

“My God!” Julia felt horrified. “Dr. Caraccioli, this is shocking. I’m trying to understand how anyone could get that drug.”

“It can be obtained like any so-called party drug. We see this sometimes in our practice. People find it amusing to give their pets drugs or alcohol. However, intentionally feeding an animal a controlled substance is inhumane under Italian law. Our practice takes animal welfare very seriously.”

“So do I, of course.”

“So please let me know if you get contact information for his previous caretakers or for your primary veterinarian.”

“Of course I will. Thank you so much. Goodbye, now.” Julia hung up the phone, distraught.

She looked around the kitchen, remembering Anna Mattia cooking for her.

The pappa al’ pomodoro . The chicken with Vin Santo .

The gnocchi with tomato sauce. The polenta with mozzarella and broccoli rabe .

Had Anna Mattia been dosing her food? Or her Chianti?

Giving her a psychedelic that made her see things? Become paranoid? Hallucinate?

Julia’s thoughts raced. After her first dinner, she had the nightmare about the ceiling fresco coming alive, trying to eat her and burn her to death.

After the second dinner, she’d had the nightmare about Caterina trying to strangle her and she’d run to the vineyard, clawing at her own neck.

After the third dinner, she’d seen her laptop levitate and the Zodiac signs attack her, sending her running for Anna Mattia and Piero.

Had she been on hallucinogens ? Had a psychedelic produced those bad trips?

Julia tried to figure it out, testing the theory.

Last night was the only night she’d eaten out, in a restaurant with Gianluca.

She’d had the panic attack on the bridge, but that was real.

She’d had no nightmares and slept well. Maybe there was no Caterina at all, appearing to her in the living room.

Maybe she’d been drugged and hallucinated a blue ghost. But if so, how did she find the crack in the wall?

The tunnel that led to the underground room?

Julia crossed to the refrigerator, opened the door, and scanned the contents with new eyes.

There had been no leftovers, which now seemed odd.

Anna Mattia didn’t waste food, so why had she thrown away so much?

And why did Anna Mattia take the time to throw out leftovers before they’d left? Piero hadn’t even put his shovel away.

Julia reached the likeliest conclusion. Anna Mattia and Piero were hiding what they’d done. They’d drugged her. They wanted her to hallucinate. They were trying to make her think she was crazy. Or drive her crazy.

Her appalled gaze fell on Anna Mattia’s note, still on the table.

Sorry we go Abruzzo. The villa have evil spirit. You are crazy like Signora.

Anger flared in her chest. Julia had more questions than answers.

What about the “evil spirit” thing? Was that a lie?

They’d sure left in a hurry. Why? Had they known the tunnel was there?

Had they been lying that they believed Rossi had no children?

Or were they part of a kidnapping ring, if there was one?

Julia’s memories kept coming, but now she wondered what had really been going on.

She remembered Anna Mattia, casting off the evil eye with her olive oil and water mixture.

Talking with her upstairs in Rossi’s bedroom.

Saying that the dead lived among us. Telling the story about Sofia, her daughter who choked to death. Did they even have a daughter?

Julia thought back to other times she’d been suckered. Anna Mattia had told her to ask Mike for a sign. Rossi, too. Had Anna Mattia planted that pearl? Was the whole thing a ruse? A gaslighting scheme?

Julia felt struck by a thought, even darker.

Rossi thought everyone was trying to kill her and she was related to Caterina Sforza.

Dr. Caraccioli had said that the drug-induced paranoia and delusions.

Had Anna Mattia drugged Rossi , too? What if Rossi’s delusions were induced by the drug?

If so, it wasn’t heredity that both Julia and Rossi were feeling crazy.

It was that they’d both been microdosed.

Julia couldn’t sort it out, her mind a jumble of questions. Had Rossi really ordered her stuff to be burned? Maybe that was why Rossi never went to doctors, not that she didn’t want to, but that Anna Mattia knew a doctor would test her blood and find out she was being microdosed? But why?

Julia’s gaze fell on the gun, on the counter near the box of bullets, but even that baffled her.

Why did Piero leave his gun? Why give her something to protect herself, after they drugged her and could have killed her?

Was it part of their act? Who did they want her to protect herself from?

The men following her? White Fiat? Ballcap? Were they in it together? A conspiracy?

Julia reached for the phone to call Courtney, then stopped herself. She needed to talk it over with somebody, but Courtney wasn’t the right person, after that last phone call. Gianluca was en route, and he rode with an earbud so he could take calls. She couldn’t wait until he got here.

Julia pressed in Gianluca’s number. The phone rang, and was answered after one ring. “Gianluca, hi, are you almost here?”

“ Ché? ” said a man’s voice, but it wasn’t him.

“Who is this?” Julia checked but she’d called the right number. There was a commotion and men speaking in Italian. “Is Gianluca there?”

“ Aspete ,” the man said, and another man came on. “Who’s calling?” he asked in Italian-accented English, his voice vaguely familiar.

“This is Julia Pritzker. Who is this?”

“Ms. Pritzker ?”

“Yes, who are you?”

“Marshal Torti.”

What? “Why do you have Gianluca’s phone?”

“Why are you calling him?”

“He’s on his way here.”

Marshal Torti hesitated. “I’m sorry to say, he’s been in an accident.”