Chapter 35 #2
Arianna clutched the bag to her chest. “Nothing.”
“Was it more olive oil?” Bastian asked, all amusement gone from his voice.
“Oh, I do love Kerstin’s oil,” Aunt Agata said.
“Have you been to our apartment?” Bastian pressed. “Did you stage the kitchen like that?”
Arianna’s face grew tight. “I don’t even know where your apartment is.”
“No? Then why does that smell keep following us around everywhere we go? It was all over the apartment when we found the mayor. That’s what the occult artifacts planted in the kitchen smelled like.”
Angry tears shone in Arianna’s eyes. “What exactly is it you’re accusing me of?”
“Just show us what’s in the bag,” De Luca said, reaching for the straps. Arianna tried to pull away, snapping at him in Italian. He said something back, and they wrestled with the bag. De Luca yanked hard and the bag flew from Arianna’s arms.
It burst open on impact with the cobbles, scattering hard little brown objects across the ground.
“Merda!” Arianna bent down, scrabbling for the objects and stuffing them back into the freezer bag.
“What is this?” Whitby asked, poking one of the frozen morsels with her paw. “It looks like a shriveled walnut.”
“It’s a prune,” Bastian said. Even through the layer of ice, he smelled the dehydrated fruit.
“A prune?” Aunt Agata said, picking one up and raising it to her nose.
Arianna muttered something under her breath as she snatched the object from Aunt Agata’s hand, cramming it into the bag.
She looked flustered, her gaze sharp with worry and something else.
Guilt? Bastian couldn’t imagine why she would be feeling guilty about prunes, unless they were supposed to be a secret?
“Oh no,” he said, his voice gravelly with amusement. “That’s too good.”
“What’s too good?” Whitby asked.
“The prunes…they’re the secret ingredient, aren’t they? They’re the special something in the gelato that really makes it pop.”
“What?” Arianna said, her cheeks now puce. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bastian laughed, because her reaction made it so obvious. “Oh my. No wonder your family kept that under wraps. Not the sexiest secret ingredient I’ve ever heard of, but certainly one of the most surprising. I’m assuming Kerstin is your supplier.”
Arianna looked like she wanted to be sick. She held on to the bag like a shield. Kerstin made a disappointed face as she sucked up the dregs of the bottle. She reached into her pocket and removed another.
“I need to get back to work,” Arianna said. “And you”—she jabbed a finger at De Luca—“need to find Enzo.”
She turned and strode off toward the gelateria.
“I would never have guessed it was prunes,” Aunt Agata said. “Funny how the truth is often so mundane. Now all I’m going to taste when I eat gelato is old plums.”
Kerstin unscrewed the lid of her second bottle and the aroma of olive oil filled Bastian’s nostrils. He clenched his fists, his patience thinning as he turned to her. Had the answer been in front of them this whole time?
“Was it you?” he asked. “Were you the one in my apartment earlier today?”
“Apartment?” Aunt Agata said, holding her knitting basket tight. Bastian wished she would butt out.
Kerstin twirled the metal straw in the bottle, her voice wavering as she said, “You’ve found me out. How irritating. Well, at least I tried. I hope you won’t take it personally.”
They all stared at her.
Bastian’s brain filled with static, struggling to process what the woman had said. It sounded like—
“She admits it!” Whitby cried jubilantly.
Bastian was stunned. He hadn’t expected her to confess so readily.
“Just to be clear,” he said, leaning toward her, “the kitchen. You admit you did that?”
“Kitchen?” Aunt Agata asked.
Kerstin cocked an eyebrow. “Somebody has to take the fall for the murders. It seemed like the most sensible option to frame the best-known vampire in Vernazza.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Bastian said.
“Don’t agree with a killer, Bastian,” Whitby snapped.
“Killer?” Aunt Agata said, frowning at Kerstin while rearranging the knitting needles in the basket.
Kerstin took another glug from the bottle. “I’m not a killer.”
“You just admitted that you staged the crime scene,” De Luca said.
“Crime scene?” Kerstin said.
Whitby emitted a low grumble. “This is getting us nowhere! She’s clearly a moron!”
Kerstin hissed at the cat, her mouth opening wide, and that was when Bastian saw them.
Two elongated incisors.
Fangs.
Shock ran through him like an electrical current.
He thought he must be imagining it, he probably hit his head when the Obliterati’s van rolled, but there was no mistaking those savage, pointed teeth.
Before he could open his mouth to speak, a figure lunged for Kerstin. At first, Bastian thought it was De Luca, but De Luca wasn’t wearing a yellow sunflower dress.
Aunt Agata rushed Kerstin with surprising speed.
In one swift motion, the shopkeeper tossed her wicker basket to the ground and brandished her knitting needles in one hand.
With her other hand, she shoved Kerstin against the window of Micio Micio.
Kerstin dropped her bottle in the scuffle, and it smashed against the cobbles.
Aunt Agata raised the knitting needles, bringing them down in a slicing arc to dig into Kerstin’s chest, right over her heart.
“I think it’s about time you started giving us some real answers,” the shopkeeper said.