A Fashion Felon in Rome by Anisa Claire West Page A

bought that boat to impress me. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore,” she despaired as a shadow appeared in the bare window.
    We simultaneously gasped, fearing that Leonard had indeed come back this time.  Instead, though, the comforting figure of Detective Cantino materialized.  “We don’t need a confession,” he informed.  “There’s a little something called surveillance footage that’s already taken care of that detail.”
    “Surveillance footage at the boat dock, you mean?” I guessed.  “Was Leonard actually caught on tape cutting the brake lines of Tomaso’s boat?”
    “He certainly was,” Detective sighed with satisfaction.  “And thanks to you Gianna, and you Massimo, we apprehended him before he could get out of Stella Polare.  We’ve got our killer.”
    “And now the Alegres family can get some peace,” I said, feeling a grateful smile perk up at the corners of my lips.
    Spontaneously, I hugged Massimo, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my body warmly into his.  “We did it!” I whispered.
    “You deserve most of the credit,” he said gruffly, holding me a little too tightly.  “Let me take you back to the hotel now.  You deserve a good night’s rest.”
    “I really do need a good night’s rest,” I agreed as we each shook hands with the detective.
    Walking over to Evelyn, who was still trembling, I pulled her into a supportive hug.  “You’ll get through this.  And remember, it’s not your fault.”
    She hugged me back feebly and nodded uncertainly.  “Thanks, Gianna.”
    “Let’s go, Detective Gianna,” Massimo offered warmly as we slid out the window like graceful wildcats embracing the full moon and airy night.
    ***
     
    Early the next morning, I arose feeling more refreshed and peaceful than I had since arriving in Rome.  Tomaso’s murderer was behind bars, and I had played a pivotal role in making that happen.  Justice was being served, and in a few minutes, a scrumptious buffet breakfast would be served in the lobby.  Stretching luxuriantly, I reached for my phone, noting that Richard still hadn’t called or sent a message.
    More out of obligation than desire, I dialed him in New York.  It was the middle of the night back home, and I would probably be waking him up.  But I didn’t care.  We needed to break the silence.
    On the fifth ring, our lines connected.  “Hello?” A cooing female voice answered.
    My heart halted as I wondered if I could have dialed the wrong number.  But no, I had gone straight to my contacts and pressed Richard’s speed dial entry.  There was no one else’s number it could be but Richard’s.
    “Who is this?” I demanded as a commotion erupted on the other end of the line.
    “Why did you answer my phone?!” Richard’s voice was muffled but outraged.
    “Oh, sorry,” the female voice apologized.
    “Give me that! Oh no…” Richard sounded desolate.  “Gianna?”
    “Yes, it’s me,” I replied tightly.  “Who is that woman?”
    “My co-worker, Cynthia…we’re working late tonight.” The lie didn’t fool me for a second.
    “Working late? I’m not stupid, Richard.  Who is she?” My voice rose several octaves in my fury.
    “I told you, she’s…”
    “Just stop! You’re cheating on me, aren’t you? I can’t believe this!” I slammed my hand on the nightstand as angry tears pooled in my eyes.
    “I’m not cheating, I swear…”
    “Richard, if you tell me one more lie, I’m hanging up this phone right now!”
    A long pause followed before Richard croaked, “I’m sorry, Gianna.  But you’ve been gone so long and…”
    “I haven’t even been gone two weeks!”
    “I know, but I just got lonely and…”
    “You’re pathetic.  Absolutely pathetic.  It’s over, Richard.  There’s nothing you can possibly say.  I’ll never trust you again!”
    Before he could try to weasel out of his deception with another lame excuse, I disconnected the call, throwing myself