In Olgiata, Simonetta Palazzi was listening to a woman’s voice on the telephone. “My name is Donatella Spolini,” the voice said. “We’ve never met, Mrs. Palazzi, but we have a great deal in common. I suggest we meet for luncheon at the Bolognese in the Piazza del Popolo. Shall we say one o’clock tomorrow?”
Simonetta had a conflicting appointment at the beauty parlor the next day, but she adored mysteries. “I’ll be there,” she said. “How will I know you?”
“I’ll have my three sons with me.”
In her villa in Le Vesinet, Hélène Roffe-Martel was reading a note she had found waiting for her on the mantel-piece in the drawing room. It was from Charles. He had left her, run away. “You will never see me again,” the note said. “Don’t try to find me.” Hélène tore the note into small pieces. She would see him again. She would find him.
In Rome, Max Hornung was at Leonardo da Vinci Airport. For the past two hours he had been trying to get a message through to Sardinia, but because of the storm all communications were down. Max went back to the flight operations office to talk to the airport manager again. “You’ve got to get me on a plane to Sardinia,” Max said. “Believe me, it’s a matter of life and death.”
The airport manager said, “I believe you, signore, but there is nothing I can do about it. Sardinia is shut up tight. The airports are closed. Even the boats have stopped running. Nothing is going in or out of that island until the scirocco is over.”
“When will that be?” Max asked.
The airport manager turned to study the large weather map on the wall. “It looks like it’s good for at least another twelve hours.”
Elizabeth Williams would not be alive in twelve hours.
CHAPTER 55
The dark was hostile, filled with invisible enemies waiting to strike at her. And Elizabeth realized now that she was completely at their mercy. Detective Campagna had brought her here to be murdered. He was Rhy’s man. Elizabeth remembered Max Hornung explaining about switching the Jeeps. Whoever did it had help. Someone who knew the island. How convincing Detective Campagna had been. We’ve been covering all the boats and airports. Because Rhys had known she would come here to hide. Where would you like to wait—at the police station or your villa? Detective Campagna had had no intention of leting her go to the police. It had not been headquarters he had phoned. It had been Rhys. We’re at the villa.
Elizabeth knew she had to flee, but she no longer had the strength. She was fighting to keep her eyes open, and her arms and legs felt heavy. She suddenly realized-why. He had drugged her coffee. Elizabeth turned and made her way into the dark kitchen. She opened a cabinet and fumbled around until she found what she wanted. She took down a bottle of vinegar and splashed some into a glass with water and forced herself to drink it. Immediately she began to retch into the sink. In a few minutes she felt a little better, but she was still weak. Her brain refused to function. It was as if all the circuits inside her had already closed down, were preparing for the darkness of death.
“No,” she told herself fiercely. “You’re not going to die like that. You’re going to fight. They’re going to have to kill you.” She raised her voice and said, “Rhys, come and kill me,” but her voice was barely a whisper. She turned and headed for the hallway, feeling her way by instinct. She stopped under the portrait of old Samuel, while outside the moaning, alien wind tore against the house, screaming at her, taunting her, warning her. She stood there in the blackness, alone, facing a choice of terrors. She could go outside, into the unknown, and try to escape from Rhys, or she could stay here and try to fight him. But how?
Her mind was trying to tell her something but she was still dazed by the drug. She could not concentrate. Something about an accident.