Elegant Death

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  A New Life (excerpt)

  About the Author

  Contact Beate

  Cozy Mysteries by Beate Boeker

  Contemporary Romances by Beate Boeker

  ELEGANT DEATH

  Temptation in Florence #7

  Beate Boeker

  Elegant Death

  Temptation in Florence #7

  by Beate Boeker

  Edition I

  Copyright © 2018 Beate Boeker

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover by Susan Coils

  Editing by Gina Ardito

  Words in Italian are written in Italics and follow Italian spelling rules.

  Chapter 1

  Carlina placed the receiver with great care back into the charging station, shook her head with an amused grin and went to find her fiancé.

  He was in the kitchen, his head inside the fridge, but when she walked in, he turned and looked at her. “What have they done now?”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “You've got that kind of face.”

  “What kind of face?”

  “That mix between amusement and exasperation you always have when your family has come up with another catastrophe.”

  “This time, it's not a catastrophe.”

  “Whew.” He leaned his broad shoulders against the fridge and studied her. “So it's got nothing to do with our wedding?”

  “I didn't say that.”

  His face grew wary. “The wedding is tomorrow. Please tell me they haven't hired a surprise orchestra that will hover above us in a balloon, to play all night long.”

  She laughed. “Oh, no, nothing like that.” She just couldn't resist; she had to caress the little scar next to his mouth. “Where on earth do you get your ideas?”

  “They're nothing compared to the Mantoni ideas.” He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. “Tell me.”

  “My brother will bring a girlfriend to the wedding.”

  “Is that all? I'm relieved.”

  She drew back her head to see his face. “You don't understand. My brother has had quite a few girlfriends, but he's never presented one to the family. My mother will have a heart attack.”

  “But only on Sunday.” His tone was firm. “I will not have a death interfering with our wedding.”

  She smiled, enjoying the faint whiff of his aftershave and the warmth of his body. “I'll break it to her gently. Besides, people usually get heart attacks from bad news anyway. This is good news. Really good news.”

  He put his head to the side. “Depends on the girl, doesn't it?”

  She shrugged. “I doubt that mamma will like her, even if she's an angel. Enzo is the youngest, he's the only son, and so far, nobody was good enough for him. But the one thing that will speak in her favor is mamma's opinion that it's high time for him to settle down.”

  “But he's younger than you are, isn't he?”

  “Yes. Seven years.”

  Stefano nodded sagely. “Now I see her point. At twenty-six, he's definitely molding on the shelf. No wonder your mother is panicking.”

  She gave him a playful punch on the arm. “Stop it.”

  “This will increase the guest list yet another time. I think we now have five more than originally planned.”

  She hesitated. “Yes. I'm sorry. Of course, we invited him to bring a guest, but I didn't think he'd bring one. Do you mind that there are so many Mantonis and only a few people from your side?”

  “Not at all.” He smiled down at her and gently pulled at one of her brown curls. “I'm exceedingly grateful we managed to organize a wedding that even remotely resembles what we want to have as opposed to the carnival your family originally planned. It was a great idea to push the date ahead and tell your family only three days in advance.”

  She returned his smile. “They're now so busy buying dresses and going to the hairdresser, they don't even have much time to get on our nerves.”

  “A decided relief. I like our strategy. We should use it more often.”

  “Fine with me.” She looked at a button on his shirt. “Stefano?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . about marrying me?”

  He held her closer. “I'm only nervous about one thing: that something will go wrong before we've tied the knot. I want to be married to you; I want you to be my wife. I'm not keen on all the hullabaloo they create around weddings, but you know that.”

  She nodded. “No second thoughts because of the family?”

  He smiled at her, a smile full of tenderness. “I knew I would only get you as a combination-package, including the Mantoni clan. I've accepted it, and as long as we manage to put a few evasive strategies into action, I'm happy.”

  She returned the smile, her heart lifting. “Evasive strategies . . . like a German island with no cars?”

  “Exactly.” His arms tightened. “I can't wait to walk along that beach, with the wind in our hair, and not a single Mantoni anywhere near. Nobody but you.”

  “And in the evenings, we'll sit at an open fireplace.”

  “Yes. It'll be cozy. It's much colder in Germany than in Italy in October.”

  “They've predicted a lovely autumn day for Florence for tomorrow. Sunshine, blue skies, mellow temperatures.”

  “I didn't expect anything less. After all, we've booked a garden wedding, sunshine included. I just hope they'll start early with the cutting of the tie, so I can breathe easily. I really don't like ties. In fact, I believe this particular tradition was invented by someone who didn't want to be strangled all night.”

  Carlina grinned. “I'll give Roberto a little hint. He'll love cutting your tie into pieces and asking money from the guests. I really think he's chosen the wrong profession. He should have become an entertainer or something, instead of a pathologist.”

  Stefano nodded. “I've often told him so.” Then his gaze grew intense. “How about your feelings about our wedding? No second thoughts? I'm only a homicide inspector with an average income. I'm grumpy and don't talk much. Sure you want to bind yourself to me for the rest of your life?”

  Her smile deepened. “I've never been surer about anything in my life.”

  The feeling of happiness and serenity stayed with Carlina all through the next morning. Butterflies danced deep inside her, but it was a delicious feeling, not stressful. She was getting married to Stefano today, and it was exactly the way she wanted it. The weather was beautiful, and they would exchange their vows outside, in the garden, right in front of three old Japanese maple trees that looked like flaming torches with their bright red filig
ree leaves.

  It was only when she sat in the car, on her way to the wedding, that a tremor of nervousness ran through her. If only nothing happens to stop the wedding. She couldn't forget Emma's wedding last year, when her grandfather's sudden death had almost put a stop to everything. Please, no deaths today. She pushed away the nervousness and got out of the car, carefully lifting her long, white dress. This is it. I'm getting married to Stefano. Her heart sang.

  They reached the garden with the beautiful trees.

  Chairs with white covers and big bows at their backs were placed in rows, leaving a broad aisle in the middle.

  Carlinas gaze swept over all the festive people. The music started . . . The Processional. An excited whisper swept over the guests, like a rustling of leaves, then everybody rose and turned their heads to watch.

  Her heart hammered, but Uncle Teo was at her side, beaming, patting her arm, immaculate in a new suit and an elegant white shirt. Dear Uncle Teo, who had taken her dead father's place to lead her down the aisle. She smiled at the wrinkled face of her great-uncle, and spontaneously, she bent down and kissed his cheek.

  “Go, Lilly!” Her sister, Gabriella, who stood at the side, gave her daughter a little nudge. Lilly went down the aisle, sprinkling flowers. Carlina smiled. She knew how proud and nervous her eight-year-old niece was about being the flower girl.

  The music changed to Here Comes the Bride. There! That was her cue.

  Slowly, they started to walk.

  Carlina didn't have eyes for the family. She couldn't look away from the tall figure at the end of the aisle, and when she finally came up to Stefano, and he took her hand, happiness filled her to such an extent she started to shake.

  The rest of the ceremony went by in a rush, and later, she couldn't remember anything else. It was as if for her, the wedding had taken place the moment Stefano had taken her hand, had looked at her with so much love and tenderness and pride and had taken his place next to her.

  The next hours, she stayed inside her bubble of happiness, never being far from her husband – what a delicious word! – talking to their guests, eating, dancing . . . conscious of every time Stefano looked at her or touched her. But when she saw him insert a finger between his shirt collar and his neck, making a little grimace, she remembered their conversation about the taglio della cravatta. She had promised to remind Roberto about it. Carlina looked over the throng of guests to locate the pathologist and found him laughing next to her brother, Enzo, and Enzo's new girlfriend, Dorotea. With a pang, she realized she hadn't exchanged more than three words with them. Time to remedy that. She went to join them, and when Enzo looked up and saw her, he swept her into a big hug. “Congratulations, dear sis. You're looking wonderful tonight.”

  “Thank you, little brother. I don't think you've ever said that to me before.”

  Enzo grinned. “Have to save the best lines for the big moments.”

  She laughed and turned to Roberto. “Roberto, would you start the cutting of the tie now? Stefano asked me not to leave it too late, so he can breathe easily for the rest of the night.”

  “Gosh, yes! It's high time.” Roberto put his glass onto the next table, then winked at her. “I'll get them whipped up.” He hurried in Stefano's direction.

  Carlina smiled and shook her head. “He's so funny.” Then she stretched out her hand. “I'm happy to meet you, Dorotea.”

  Dorotea took her hand with two cool fingers. “I'm delighted to be here.”

  Carlina suddenly felt lumpy. Dorotea was tall and thin, and she had magnificent, black hair that went straight and thick down her back. She looked like a model, and she had that certain patina of the rich. It was difficult to pin it down to one thing exactly; it was more a combination of several factors: perfect teeth, stylish clothes, immaculate hair, and bronzed skin created that patina, plus something else, a certain assurance that the world was at her feet. Dorotea had it all. She also exuded coolness, and Carlina wondered how she meshed with Enzo, who was more chaotic than organized, well-known for his tactlessness, and had never in all his life managed to brush his curls into obedience. Well, opposites attract. Maybe that was it. She smiled at Dorotea, casting around for a topic. “Did you know that the cutting of the tie is a very Italian habit? In the US, where I was born, they don't know about it.” A shout of laughter was heard from Roberto, who had robbed Stefano of his tie. He made a big show of cutting it up, then threw the pieces into a black hat he had brought for the occasion.

  “It's a barbaric custom and should be forbidden.” Dorotea lifted her chin. “Just to think of that nice fabric being cut into pieces makes me shudder. Thank God they don't cut up shirts yet.”

  Roberto appeared next to them. “I've got a wonderful bargain for you, my dears! A great memento of this amazing evening. You can now purchase a unique piece of the groom's tie, and I'll even give you a special price.” He dropped his voice at the last two words and winked.

  Dorotea sighed and shook her head.

  Enzo grinned in a strange way, as if his feet hurt, but he didn't want to admit it.

  Carlina frowned. Usually, Enzo would be the first to join in the game, making an auction out of the whole thing. She'd seen it happen at the last three family weddings. Apparently, with Dorotea at his side, he had decided to keep a low profile.

  “It seems you can't get any buyers here, Roberto.” Carlina took him by the shoulders and turned him around. “Try that group over there.”

  Roberto waved and shot off, taking his rejection with good humor.

  Carlina breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God the pathologist had such a sunny nature.

  She turned back to Dorotea, wondering how to continue the conversation. When had she last felt so tongue-tied? She forced herself to smile. “You've got to tell me how you met Enzo. He hasn't told me anything yet, and I'm a hopeless romantic.”

  Dorotea shrugged. “I'm afraid it wasn't very romantic. Enzo is the representative of one of our suppliers. He sells the cloth for some of our shirts to me.”

  Carlina gulped. Her brother's girlfriend didn't sound as if she was much in love. Instead, she sounded . . . matter of fact. Or was that just her way of speaking? Maybe she was insecure, trying to cover her nervousness? But no, she didn't seem nervous.

  Enzo, however, grinned. This time, it was a better grin, one that didn't look as if parts of him hurt. “I believe a business meeting is a better way of finding the love of your life than meeting over a body.” He winked at her.

  “Ha.” Carlina laughed and shook her head, then turned to Dorotea, hoping to thaw her a bit. “No doubt you've already noticed that Enzo has a way of always putting his foot in his mouth. I met Stefano over a body, as he phrases it.”

  A faint frown appeared between Dorotea's stenciled brows. “Enzo will have to learn to be more diplomatic.”

  Uh-oh. Carlina wondered what was going to be left of her brother, if this woman took away his spontaneity. She didn't know what else to say, but fortunately, her mother came up at that moment.

  Fabbiola had swept up her henna-colored hair into a loose chignon. She wore a dark-blue chiffon dress with silver threads that floated around her in loose swirls.

  With a sigh of relief, Carlina turned to her. “You really look gorgeous today, mamma.”

  “Thank you, my dear. As the mother of the bride, I knew I had to make an effort. I'm glad I managed something, even at such short notice.” She sniffed.

  Enzo lifted his eyebrows. “That reminds me. I've been meaning to ask you, Carlina. Did you push up the wedding date because you're pregnant?”

  “No, that wasn't the reason.” Carlina had expected this question much earlier and was prepared. “But the slot here was suddenly vacated, and we really love the location with the gorgeous glass house and the beautiful garden, so we decided to act immediately instead of waiting for next year.” For an instant, she wondered what they would say if she gave them the real reason. We decided to get married in a rush, so you wouldn't drive us crazy w
ith the preparations. How lucky that they couldn't read her thoughts.

  Dorotea's critical gaze went to Carlina's belly and up again. She didn't say anything.

  The silence between them became uncomfortable.

  “Do you have children, Dorotea?” Carlina asked, desperate to get the conversation rolling again.

  “Do I look like it?”

  “No, you don't,” Fabbiola cut in, and her tone made clear she didn't mean it as a compliment. “You're also wearing white, and even in Milan, they should know one doesn't wear white to a wedding.”

  Carlina blinked. That was right. She hadn't even noticed because the cut of Dorotea's wide trousers and severe jacket were nothing like a wedding dress.

  Dorotea's expression of boredom became more pronounced. “I always wear white. It doesn't matter if it's a wedding or a funeral.”

  Fabbiola gasped. “You wear white to a funeral?”

  “I do.”

  “It's her idiosyncrasy.” Enzo shrugged and took a sip of his wine. “The whole industry knows it.”

  “Well, if you work in fashion, I guess you have to make a statement.” Carlina was trying hard to find something nice to say.

  “It's more than a statement. She's an icon.” Enzo grinned.

  “Stop talking nonsense, Enzo.” Dorotea still sounded aloof. “It's just my signature, so to say.”

  “And very clever it is, too. Because you're the head of Camicie Di Silva.”

  “Camicie Di Silva!” Fabbiola stared at Dorotea. “That's the brand Uncle Teo buys for festive occasions. I think he even wears one of those shirts now.”

  “Uncle Teo is my great-uncle.” Carlina pointed with her finger across the room. “He's next to the buffet.”

  “I know who he is, and yes, he does wear one of our shirts.” Dorotea still spoke with that unemotional voice.

  “They're horribly expensive.” Fabbiola pursed her lips.

  One of Dorotea's stenciled eyebrows went up. “The price is perfectly adequate. Our shirts are made of the best material you can get, they're sewn with amazing attention to detail and in exquisite quality, they offer a unique design, and it's a brand name that's famous all over the world.”