Brutal Little Murder (Ana Delgado Book 2) Read online

  BRUTAL LITTLE MURDER

  Copyright © 2019 by Beatrix Banner

  All right reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  Ready For The Next Mystery?

  Prologue

  The cold had begun to seep into the worn leather of my boots. I clenched my hands into fists and squeezed my toes, opening and closing them rhythmically, trying to encourage my reluctant blood to continue circulating to my extremities. At most, it had to be around ten degrees Fahrenheit. Though I had dressed for the occasion, I had also been out here in the forest for over an hour. Most of the trees around me were spaced mere feet apart from each other and stretched and clawed their way up the night sky, some of them standing fifteen, twenty feet tall. They created a certain amount of protection from the stronger gusts of icy wind, but it still managed to permeate the warm layers of clothing and creep into your bones.

  One foot in front of the other, I continued to trudge through the snow that was blanketing the forest floor, like an enthusiastic child baker had just got a hold of a gigantic bag of icing. I hunkered down some more into my jacket and pulled the collar up around the back of my neck, desperate for a little more heat. It was a cold night, but at least the moon was almost full. The light reflected off the fallen snow, just enough for me to be able to see where I was going through the thick waves falling from low, bluish-brown clouds. Though, I was acutely aware that meant that anyone watching could see me, too.

  I worked my way slowly through the tall pine trees and listened to the crunch of snow underfoot with each step that I took. My ears strained for the slightest unfamiliar noise, filtering out the occasional drips of snow from tree branches and fluttering wings. I wasn’t entirely sure how far into the forest I had come. All I knew was that I wasn’t alone.

  It was a feeling that had persisted almost since the moment I had arrived in Italy. A constant sense that I was being watched. That someone was observing my every movement from the shadows. Just waiting for the right moment to pounce.

  Every hair on the back of my neck was on end. Hell, every hair on my body was prickling. My feet were moving mechanically, robotically, as if they were aware that if they stopped moving, we died. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. It was almost like a mantra, almost meditative. I had to keep going.

  Then, a different noise. A crack, about forty meters away. I stopped dead in my tracks. I scanned for any movement, any shape I could recognize in the shadows of the dense trees ahead and behind me. Nothing. I told myself that most likely, it was just an animal. A fox, some kinda bird, a goddamn rabbit, I don’t know what the hell kind of wildlife they have up here. I dutifully ignored the smaller voice that told me it was night in the middle of a snow storm and the likelihood of animals being out making noises was pretty darn low.

  Slowly, I started to move again, and pulled the hood on my coat further over my eyes in an attempt to shield them from the flurries. I continued to follow the gradient of the mountain down and sent out a silent prayer that I was heading in the right direction. I made it about ten feet before another crack. Again I froze. This time, it was closer, but the wind was whipping around to such a degree that it was almost impossible to pinpoint where it had come from. Another crack. A loud rustle, then a crashing sound from directly above.

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter One

  I leaned my head against the emergency exit door of the eleven PM American Airlines flight 5937 to Turin and peered out the scratched, oval window to my left. I looked down at the gigantic expanse below me, the gently twinkling lights of towns and villages, and my brain took the peaceful opportunity to float a notion: what would happen if the emergency exit door you’re leaning against right now just… dropped out?

  I jerked away from the window as an unpleasant jolt ran through my body. Well, I would plummet thirty-five thousand feet through the sky to my untimely death. Which wouldn’t exactly be ideal. Undoubtedly, though, the risk was worth the extra legroom. I stretched out and shook my head to clear the idea, vaguely amused by the mutinous nature of my brain.

  The plane continued its descent, and with it came an insistent and rising pressure that built steadily in my ears. I turned back to the window and focused on the jagged landscape below. The captain had informed the passengers that we were beginning our approach to the airport about five minutes earlier, and it looked as though the mountains and towns were gently rising up to meet us as we descended, the last of the light from the sun disappearing under the horizon.

  I looked back inside the cabin and opened my mouth as wide as it would go. I wiggled my jaw back and forth in an attempt to get rid of the uncomfortable, borderline painful pressure building and spreading through my head. I eventually felt the satisfying pop in my ears as the pressure released and smiled to myself as I looked back down to the approaching glow of Turin. The small clusters of twinkling lights spread out in the valleys below looked warm and inviting in the otherwise cold, winter landscape. I had always enjoyed the window seat. It offered perspective.

  I was on my way to Italy to visit an old friend from college, Tiffany Gennarro. We had lived together when we were both at UC Berkeley. Her family was European, from Austria originally, but she’d been educated at an international school and came to the States to study medicine. I had studied international relations, so it seemed natural to the folks in freshman accommodation assignments to room us together.

  A long time had passed and a lot had changed since college. Though we had stayed in touch during the years post-graduation—through the rest of her medical training and while I was going through OCS and into the army—communication had waned a little over the last couple of years. I guess sometimes, people can get left behind in the recesses of your memory.

  A few years ago, Tiffany contacted me to let me know that her grandfather had passed. He had surprised everyone and left her an Italian hotel in his will. She dropped her job and spent the last few years attempting to restore the place to its former glory. She emailed me again a couple of months ago with an invitation to come out and see the place now that it was finished. She informed me, in a way only she was capable, that it was time I stopp
ed ignoring her and got off my ass to take a look at what she had been up to.

  I think it would be fair to say that this kind of invitation would not exactly seem like a hardship to most. Nonetheless, it took a significant amount of cajoling from both Tiffany and my grandpa to convince me that it was a good idea. I could see the famous sights of Europe, they said. Soak up the culture, relax and get away from the noise and grime of city life. I argued that I didn’t need a break, I had plenty to do. Never mind the fact that if I wanted to soak up some culture or get away, I just jumped into the F150 and did it. A vacation, to me, looked like fixing up my truck and drinking too much, but to be honest, I hated the idea of vacations. Too much free time. They stressed me out. I needed routine, and I liked to keep busy and feel like I was doing something.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like to travel. I’d seen a lot of the world, but vacations frustrated me. Besides, you never knew when someone might need your help. I liked to be able to take cases when my time allowed it. To help people out who couldn’t afford to hire someone more reputable. But apparently those were weak excuses. When I tried to protest, I was informed I was no longer welcome at my grandpa’s until I had left the country for at least two weeks, so I just bought the damn tickets.

  My fate was sealed. I turned to watch my final descent into unadulterated anarchy. Who knew, maybe the mountain air would do me good.

  The plane touched down at Turin airport about twenty minutes later. I disembarked and made my way through the seemingly endless warren of corridors to customs, then baggage retrieval and finally out through the front doors of the airport into the chill of the winter evening air. I reached into my coat and pulled out a Red, lit it and took a lungful. It had been a long flight.

  I cricked my neck and stretched out my arms as I glanced around for a taxi rank. I spotted one on the other side of the concourse and looked for a light to see who was free. The taxi driver up front gave me a lackluster wave as he ducked into the cab and fired up the engine. A puff of black smoke was released from the exhaust into the frosty air and hovered there for a few seconds before dissipating. I crossed the road and opened the door, firing my cigarette at the icy tarmac and watching it skip and scatter ash.

  It was about an hour north out of Turin to the tiny little town of Remondanes, which lay in the Aosta Valley. Tiffany’s hotel was situated right on the edge of the town, and was surrounded by alpine woodland. Long, winding roads led the taxi up and out of the city, the traffic gently dwindling as we worked our way into the mountains. I stared out the window to pass the time, but all I could really make out were the long silhouettes of tall trees on the immediate roadside, and the occasional fluttering snowflake.

  Tiffany had prepared me to be impressed by the hotel. I was intrigued to see how the person trained in medicine and saving lives had done when it came to extending the life of a humble, dilapidated alpine mansion into… well, something better. She had fallen out of love with practicing medicine not long after she had graduated, but had stuck it out for several years before the unexpected inheritance, and she took it as a sign that she should start over. From much experience, I could confirm that she did not appreciate being asked how much money and time that sent down the pan. She preferred to focus on what she had managed to accomplish; she had a fancy medical degree, yes, and she had spent the last few years renovating the place out of the state of pretty heavy disrepair it had fallen into. Both fantastic accomplishments in their own right, I had been curtly informed.

  Eventually, the taxi turned off the dark, winding road onto another, smaller, dark winding road, telling me we were probably getting close. After a few minutes, the car slowed down and then finally stopped. The driver turned around in his seat and informed me we were here. I peered out the window, trying to make out what ‘here’ looked like. I couldn’t pick out much of the building in front of us, the snow seemed to be coming down harder now, but I could make out a warm glow emanating from the windows. I paid the guy and thanked him and he grunted back at me.

  The heat in the car had been blasting out on high and when I pulled on the door handle and stepped out of the cab, the contrast in temperatures was bitter. I turned to close the door and was suddenly rounded up by an enthusiastic porter who appeared out of a curtain of falling snow. For a moment, I thought he was trying to rob me, but instead, he hurried me into the lobby and out of the cold. I took a second to thank god I hadn’t knocked him out. That would have been an excellent first impression.

  “Welcome to Hotel Valle, signora,” he said as he grabbed my single duffel bag and lifted it onto a bell cart. It seemed like a rather unnecessary thing to do, I was perfectly capable of carrying it up myself. I tried to point this out, but he was quick to dismiss my concerns. “No no, signora, we take care of our guests here, one bag or one hundred.” He smiled and gestured dramatically towards the reception. “It will be waiting for you in your room.”

  I thanked him and slipped him some cash as I shook his hand, then made my way acro to the check-in desk. There was no line, and the tall, effusive woman behind the desk was intensely friendly as she checked me in.

  “Welcome to Hotel Valle, signora. How was your trip today, have you come far?”

  “Fine, thanks. I’ve come a little ways.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it!” she responded with vigour. “We have guests come here from all over the world. They may be tired when they arrive, but they leave feeling completely refreshed!” She flashed me a smile with her bright white teeth and clacked away at the keyboard. “So, at least you can rest now! You’ve finally arrived!” she said as she threw back her head with a cackle of laughter.

  I laughed along too, half out of confusion, half fear. “Absolutely.”

  A couple more clacks of the keys and she whipped her eyes up to look at me with unnecessarily searing intensity. “I can see that you’re staying with us for two weeks, such fantastic news! If you need any help with choosing activities or planning your days, please do not hesitate to ask me or any of the staff for assistance, we have leaflets, maps…”

  I had a feeling she would continue talking for the remainder of the evening, so I cut her off as politely as I possibly could. Best behavior had been engaged. “Thank you so much, that’s really helpful. Would you let Ms. Gennarro know I’ve arrived?”

  “Ah, no need, signora. Ms. Gennarro apologizes for not being able to meet you on your arrival, she’s been on the phone all afternoon. She asked if you would join her for drinks at the hotel bar at seven this evening.”

  I smiled. Classic Tiffany. “That sounds good.”

  I thanked her and escaped to the elevator before she could start up a new conversation. I checked my watch and saw that I had about an hour before drinks. I decided I probably had just about enough time to go take a look at my room and freshen up before I would have to head back down. I pushed the button for the elevator and turned to lean against the wall while I waited.

  I realized I hadn’t actually cast an actively observant eye over what Tiffany had done with the place. The hotel itself was huge and extremely grand, like stepping into a royal winter retreat. The lobby I was standing in was ornately decorated with wood-paneled walls that gave way to soaring high ceilings lined with dark wooden beams. Roaring fires burned in each corner of the room and were surrounded by warm, eclectic sofas and armchairs and deep red and black carpets that lined the flagstone floors. To my left, an enormous staircase led up to a mezzanine floor. From there, you could look out across the lobby and beyond, through the large windows that lined the entrance. The whole place was impressive; it gave off a feeling of home without losing any of the sense of grandeur.

  The elevator dinged behind me and pulled me out of my reverie. I was getting soft, admiring the goddamn wallpaper. I turned back around and stepped into the elevator and checked my room card. Room 402. I pushed the button for the fourth floor and watched the doors slide closed in front of me. The elevator was just as fancy as the lobby. Deep red velvet
colored doors with glided trim, edging... I don’t know, ask somebody who watches Fixer Upper.

  Room 402 was situated a couple of feet down the left hand corridor out of the elevator. Great. I’d be well informed of the comings and goings of every person on the fourth floor. I slid the keycard into the machine on the door and it flashed green back up at me. I pushed through the door and was immediately hit with even more opulent decor. Gold and red everything from the huge bed to the freakin’ chaise lounge to the balcony. I shook my head, amused by all the pomp, and walked over to the large windows opposite the door. The lights of the little town below twinkled gently in the valley and contrasted intensely against the otherwise pitch blackness of the winter evening. It’d be interesting to explore the area, catch my bearings. This place really made a gal feel isolated, and I had never enjoyed not having a clear idea of all possible exit routes. Vacation or not.

  I remembered my bag and turned around to look for it. I wondered if it had been brought up to my room like the Eager Bellboy had said. He had reminded me of a character out of one of those old Tintin cartoons and comics. The slightly jerky movements and old world manners. I could just imagine him, 1920s-style hat and coat, as he sped up to the room, skidded to a halt at the door, oscillating back and forth for a moment like an arrow when it hits the bullseye before he placed the bag down gently with a little salute. I grinned to myself as I spotted the bag over in the corner by the door. I grabbed it, took it over to the bed and sat down on the end as I unpacked the necessary items for this evening. I’d put the rest away after I slept—it was not in my best interest to make Tiffany wait.

  After cleaning up, I left my room and headed back downstairs to meet her about an hour later. I crossed through the lobby, gently bustling with guests going to and from dinner, and walked over to the bar. It was a separate area, situated to the left of the main entrance of the hotel and connected by an archway and a small entrance hall. I walked in and scanned the tables of diners for my friend and finally spotted her sitting up at the bar itself. I paused when I saw that she was talking to a tall, well-dressed man who looked to be in his mid-to-late sixties. She caught my eye and gave a little wave and I smiled and waved back. The guy turned around and took a look at me, then said a few words, leaned in to kiss Tiffany on the cheek and left.