mean; not the CD. And I watered them. And talked to them.”
“I can show you how to grow sunflowers,” said Signora Falchi, a little less sternly. “And then we’ll order you something new together.”
Rosa nodded when Iole looked at her doubtfully. “Signora Falchi is cool,” she commented, with a touch of sarcasm. “Her boyfriend is a musician.”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
Iole glanced at the two bags. “You’re going to live with us now?”
Raffaela Falchi looked inquiringly at Rosa.
Rosa nodded again. “For the time being. It’s better not to have so many rooms standing empty. To air them. They’re damp from the walls.” She had expected opposition from Iole, but the girl only rubbed the back of her neck thoughtfully and then shrugged her shoulders.
“Okay,” she said.
The tutor beamed.
“Which room is she going to have?” asked Iole.
Rosa gestured in the direction of the ceiling. “We have twenty-three empty bedrooms. Take your pick.”
Iole reached for one of the bags and was about to go ahead, but then she stopped and pointed to a small table near the porch. A padded white envelope lay on it. “A courier brought that yesterday. It’s for you, Rosa. From Avvocato Trevini. Feels like two cell phones.”
Rosa’s heart sank like a stone. She went over to the packet, picked it up, and saw that it had been opened. “Feels like two cell phones?”
Iole went red. “I was curious. But I didn’t take them out. Word of honor.”
Rosa weighed the envelope in both hands, took a deep breath, and then put it back on the table. She would watch the video—later. Probably.
Iole carried the case upstairs to the third floor. Signora Falchi followed her. Halfway up, Iole remembered something else.
“Oh, yes,” she said, looking over her shoulder.
Rosa had to force her eyes away from the envelope. “Hmm?”
“Twenty-two.” Iole switched the bag over to her other hand. “Rooms, I mean. There are only twenty-two still empty.”
“What happened to the twenty-third?”
Somewhere in the house, Sarcasmo barked. Had he been barking the whole time? It sounded a long way off, as if it came from the other wing of the palazzo.
“You have a visitor,” explained Iole. “She seemed so tired. I told her she could rest in one of the bedrooms.”
“Visitor?” repeated Rosa quietly.
“Very, very tired,” said Iole.
Rosa stood before the closed door.
Nothing else seemed to exist. Even Sarcasmo’s barking had died out. The dog had left his post outside the room and was now standing at a safe distance, wagging his tail and feeling proud of himself for enticing Rosa this way.
She stood in the dark corridor, on cracked flagstones and in front of faded wallpaper, in the yellowish light of the lamp. Stood there staring at the door of the room where her visitor was waiting for her.
She listened, but couldn’t hear anything.
Then she slowly raised her hand to knock. And lowered it again. She took a deep breath. Damn it, this was her house. She didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission to go into one of the rooms.
Put her in a taxi to the airport, she had told Trevini. And you’d better book her on a flight to wherever she wants. She sensed another attempt at manipulation on the attorney’s part. If the new video wasn’t enough to upset her—seeing her would do the trick.
Her fingers touched the doorknob. The metal, clouded with vapor, felt cold in her hand. Sarcasmo growled.
When the handle moved as if of its own accord, she realized that someone had been standing on the other side, hesitating, the whole time.
“Hello, Rosa,” said Valerie.
Very tired. Now she knew what Iole had meant. Except that the exhaustion in that face, in those eyes, wasn’t ordinary tiredness.
Valerie looked even worse than she had in Trevini’s dungeon in the hotel, although she must have showered, because her dark hair was wet. Iole had given her clean clothes. Valerie was wearing Rosa’s black There Are Always Better Liars T-shirt. On Val, it struck Rosa as very appropriate, although it hung from her bony shoulders as if it were on a coat hanger.
Her eyes lay deep in their sockets; her nose looked long and thin. Triangles of shadow under her cheekbones were emphasized by the ceiling light. When Rosa had first met her, Valerie had just stopped wearing braces; now her teeth were discolored and yellow, and half of one incisor had broken off. It was only with difficulty that she seemed able to stay on her feet. She clearly needed a doctor.
“I know how I look,” said Val. “You can leave out