Obviously, I didn’t believe a word they said. The stories dated back to his youth, when the effects of WWI had made people poor and trusting of the high society that offered a free daily meal and gifted their children clothes to wear. Maybe it was the reason why Henrietta thought Alessandro Lucazzone got away with murder.
According to Jett’s file, it was the first Sunday in December 1953. Henrietta Lucazzone had just returned from yet another shopping spree, of which she was so fond, only to find her husband in bed with another man. While this had happened before, this time the lover next to Alessandro was dead. His torso had been slit open from the throat all the way down to his abdomen. According to her diary, Henrietta never called the police and the body was later found buried in the woods, naked, the torso torn open.
No one ever asked questions, no one pointed fingers. Around the time the body was found, Alessandro gave money away to charity, and he was praised for his generosity. The man was identified as a former soldier in WWII, hooked on the bottle and in desperate need of cash to finance his next drink. Mayfield’s private detective only stumbled upon Lucazzone’s secret when he wasn’t granted a visit entrance to Lucazzone’s home, and he stumbled upon Henrietta’s diary in the chapel behind the gardens, hidden beneath the kneeling pad facing the altar.
Although the diary was never sent to the police, the fact that a body was found inside the villa should have been proof enough that someone in the Lucazzone house was a murderer. And yet, the family’s good reputation and wealth protected whoever committed the crime. In his correspondence with the detective, Mayfield had claimed the man was old and sick. If he was indeed the murderer, any justice would reach him after his death. I wondered why Jett wouldn’t just hand the diary to the local authorities. If Alessandro was found guilty, the Italian government would auction the estate and sell it to the highest bidder, in which case I doubted anyone would make an offer in excess of twenty million. It would have been so easy, and yet Jett seemed to want to take the hard road for reasons unfathomable to me.
Closing the file, I placed my empty plate in the dishwasher and headed upstairs for the privacy of my office. Without Jett, the house seemed unusually quiet. As I booted up my MacBook from sleeping mode, I found myself easing slowly into work mode. I looked through the file from front to back cover, twice, without finding anything that could possibly help. The tax records were fine. The estate had financial troubles, but they weren’t severe enough to push Lucazzone into selling. I had no idea what else to look for and was about to close the file when the tiny number printed at the bottom of each page caught my eye. The last page was numbered 147 of 148, meaning one page was missing.
Had it been filed with the others? I couldn’t remember having seen it, but I searched the file twice nonetheless, then my desk and finally the kitchen, without much success. In the end, I decided to ask Jett about it and commenced my administrative tasks. By the time I finished answering his principal business correspondence and postponed each and every meeting as per Jett’s request, it was early evening, and the sound of crunching pebbles beneath tires told me it was time to call it a day.
***
Jett’s business meeting hadn’t gone well. I could tell by the way he slammed the door shut, sending a reverberating quake through the floor and walls. I had no idea what to make of it, so I stayed glued to the spot, inches away from the clothes hanging in my closet, wondering what to wear tonight. Until now it had always been one business suit after another, intermingled with the occasional jeans at night. Tonight I felt a need for a change, maybe something risky like a skirt or a dress. Something to entice the man who hadn’t touched me since our outing to the beach. Why? Because I wanted to get it over and done with.
Anticipation or patience had never been my virtues. I didn’t like this waiting game, spending hours a day in his presence with his sultry eyes on me. Every time he looked at me, it felt as though his heated gaze was undressing me while sending delicious trembles through my lower body. Ever since he touched me down there, I could think of nothing but his lips on my skin, teasing, sucking, sending me over the edge. I wanted to feel that electrifying cascade of emotions again, but I also intended to repay his efforts this time. The tell-tale tingling of arousal rushed through my belly, descending into a sensual pull just below my abdomen.
But now wasn’t the time.
Pushing Jett to the back of my mind, I dressed in a pencil skirt that fell just below the knees and a soft Cashmere top with a plunging V neck line. I kept my makeup understated—a bit of mascara, blusher, and a touch of lipstick—and eased my ponytail. My hair cascaded down my shoulders in countless soft ringlets. Pleased, I inspected myself in the mirror.