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in person . She would ask the police for a confidential talk, and then she would tell them the truth. It would be the most embarrassing thing ever, but she didn't have a choice.
    As she descended the worn wooden staircase from the top floor, she realized she was walking twice as slowly as usual, her fingers caressing the smooth wooden railing out of habit. She didn't want to arrive. She didn't want to face the police. She didn't want to explain how stupid she had been.
    In front of her grandfather's green door, she pulled back her shoulders, shook her hair, and took a deep breath. But before she could touch the handle, someone flung it open from inside. A flash of red hair, then her cousin Ernesto called over his shoulder as if he was seven and not seventeen, "Here she is!"
    Carlina's stomach curled up. "Are you waiting for me?"
    "Yes!" Ernesto grabbed her arm and led her to the kitchen like a prize he had won at the local carnival. "The Commissario is here. He has looked at every detail, and we've already explained everything, but now he wants to see you."
    What? He was supposed to come in thirty minutes, not in five! Carlina stopped. "I think I forgot something," she said. "Let me just run upstairs, and I'll . . ."
    The kitchen was still full of people, but it now looked more like a party. Benedetta was busy handing around little slices of bread with tomato cubes, and already, voices were raised in heated discussions.
    "Carlina!" Fabbiola rushed toward her. She had found the time to dress and brush her hair, but she carried her trusted cushion under one arm.
    Carlina looked at it with dismay. If her mother started to carry the cushion around inside the house, it was worse than she'd expected. For some reason, her mother felt safer with cushion than without and took it with her whenever she left the house, but as a rule, she didn't carry it around if she stayed inside.
    Fabbiola gave her a lopsided hug. "Why do you look so afraid?" she asked with a stage whisper. "He's nice, the Commissario. I've already explained everything to him."
    Everything? Oh, no. "That's all right, Mama." Carlina's voice sounded as uncertain as she felt.
    A man appeared in the kitchen door, tall enough to tower over her. "Are you Caroline Arabella Ashley?"
    Carlina nodded. Her throat felt tight. He had his back to the light, so she couldn't make out his features, but he seemed lean and athletic. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and black trousers, formal enough to scare her.
    "My name is Stefano Garini. I'm the Commissario at the homicide department."
    Carlina winced. The homicide department. It was all so wrong.
    Her mother grabbed her arm and gave her a reassuring smile.
    "Would you please step into the sitting room?" He led the way, then opened the door and stood to the side.
    Carlina cleared her throat. "Sure."
    "I won't leave you." Fabbiola declared in a voice that brooked no opposition.
    "That's not necessary, Mama." Carlina's voice sounded flat.
    Commissario Garini inclined his head. "If you wish to have your mother with you, it's not a problem."
    Carlina looked at him. His thick hair was dark-brown, brushed back from his brow. He was tanned, as if he had been in the sun all summer long.
    "See?" Fabbiola shook Carlina's arm. "I told you he's nice."
    "Mama, I can talk to him on my own. I'm not a teenager anymore."
    "I know, my dear." Fabbiola smiled at her daughter. "But what kind of a mother would leave her daughter all alone with the police?"
    It sounded as if the police was equal to a wild beast, bent on devouring Carlina until not a hair was left.
    The Commissario didn't bat an eyelid. "This is Signor Cervi." He made a motion with his hand toward the corner of the room. A young man with an impassive face nodded at them. He was seated on a low stool.
    Grandpa used this stool to put up his feet. He'll never do it again . The loss hit Carlina like a wave.
    The Commissario glanced at her. "Are you all right, Signorina Ashley?"
    Carlina pulled