Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,88

Bowles died not because Gabriel Fox pushed her but because she was wearing my coral sweaterdress with the decorative shoulder strap? Oh, my God! Would she still be alive if my dress had been constructed from polyester instead of the more snag-prone cotton knit? Could I be charged with negligent homicide because I'd exercised my preference for breathable fabrics?

"Are you saying Gabriel Fox didn't have anything to do with that Bowles woman's death?" Dick Teig asked.

Duncan shook his head. "He was nowhere around her when she fell."

Dick turned to Osmond. "Don't erase that tape. If Fox decides to sue Emily's ass for slander, you could make a bundle."

"Wouldn't that be more defamation of character?" Helen asked.

"No, no," Lucille corrected. "It would be a clear case of libel."

"But Gabriel Fox has to be the killer," I blubbered. "He had the opportunity. He had the motive!"

"Didn't no one try to help that woman unsnag her dress?" Nana asked.

Duncan shook his head. "She was all alone in that section of the gallery for several minutes while people attended to the man who was suffering from heat exhaustion. A man in a safari hat."

Safari hat? All eyes flew to Fred, who suddenly looked as if he'd like to disappear through a hole in the floor.

"It wasn't heat exhaustion," he said grudgingly. "It was a panic attack. And it was all their fault!" He stabbed his finger at Brandy Ann and Amanda. "I told them I didn't like heights. I told them I'd do better visiting museums, but nooo, they had to climb to the highest point in the whole damn city!"

"Hey, you didn't have to come with us!" Amanda yelled.

"And then what would I have done? Wandered around Florence all by myself? What fun is that? I'm always by myself!" He dropped his head to stare self-consciously at the floor. "I...I kinda liked being part of a group."

Poor Fred. A victim of peer pressure even at his age.

"What about Sylvia?" Keely called out. "Was Gabriel Fox anywhere around her when she fell down the stairs?"

Duncan waved his phone in the air. "He was on a train to Rome when she fell. And according to the autopsy results, Sylvia Root's blood alcohol level was soaring at the time of her death, so that, combined with the condition of the stairs and the fact that her foot was caught in the hem of her pants, paints a rather accurate picture of the incident. The police will be filing no criminal action in the case. It's been ruled an accident."

"She got so pickled at the restaurant last night, I don't see how she made it up the stairs in the first place!" Lucille Rassmuson charged.

"But she wasn't a mean drunk," Grace Stolee admitted. "She told some funny stories at dinner. At least, I think they were funny. She was slurring her words so badly, I couldn't catch some of the punch lines."

"Sylvia was drunk last night?" I exclaimed.

"Stinking drunk," Dick Teig called out.

I heaved an agitated sigh. You'd think maybe someone could have mentioned that to me?

Chirrup chirrup. Chirrup chirrup. Chirrup chirrup.

Suppressing a scream, I snatched my phone from my bag. "What?"

A crackle, followed by a surprised, "Emily?"

"Ohhh, hi, sweetie." I regarded the multitude of unblinking eyes staring back at me. "Um, this isn't really a good time for me." I angled away from the crowd.

"I won't keep you, darling. I'm on the train headed for -- KRRRRKKK. I thought I'd -- KRRRKKK."

"Etienne?" I sighed my frustration. "Hello?"

Behind me, I heard a loud crack of bubble gum followed by Keely's voice. "So let me get this straight. Gabriel Fox didn't kill anyone. None of us were in danger of being murdered by him. Sylvia Root died because she was drunk, and Jeannette Bowles died because she was klutzy. What about the first woman who died? Cassandra."

"That was ruled an accident from the beginning," Duncan said.

"So Emily's theory was a bunch of crap?" Keely asked.

"Emily's theory was well thought out," Duncan replied, "but I suspect, in this case, she was wrong."

I spun around and gave him a frustrated look. Well, maybe my theory wouldn't have been so wrong if I'd had all the information! "Etienne?" I said into the phone, turning away again.

"...teasing about having money left to buy a train ticket," I heard him say.

"Did you end up losing all your money at the casino?" I asked, wondering if Switzerland might have an organization that was the equivalent of Gamblers Anonymous. "No, no. My luck held. I