Almost Dead. Блейк Пирс

then she’d never worked for a high-caliber family like this before.

      She stood and watched while Venetia maneuvered the stool back into its precise position. By then, Nina had put the butter back in the fridge and the bread in the bin. The kitchen looked immaculate, as if breakfast had never been eaten there at all.

      “Giuseppe will be here soon,” Nina reminded her sister. “We must clean our teeth.”

      They left the kitchen and headed upstairs to their rooms, with Cassie watching in amazement. Five minutes later they returned, carrying their school bags and coats, and headed outside.

      Cassie followed them out, with thoughts of security still uppermost in her mind, but a white Mercedes was already driving toward the house. A few moments later, it stopped in the circular driveway, and the girls climbed in.

      “Goodbye,” Cassie called, waving, but they couldn’t have heard her, because neither child did so much as wave in response.

      When Cassie went back inside, she found that Ms. Rossi and Maurice had also left. No other household staff seemed to be on duty at that time.

      Cassie was entirely alone.

      “This is not what I expected,” she said to herself.

      The house was very quiet and being here alone felt unsettling. She’d assumed that she’d have far more to do, and much more involvement with the children. This whole setup felt weird, as if they genuinely didn’t need her at all.

      She reassured herself that it was early days, and she should be thankful for some time on her own. Probably this was the calm before the storm, and when the children got back home she’d be run off her feet.

      Cassie decided she would use the time to follow up on the lead she had received yesterday. The unexpected free morning she was enjoying now might be her only chance to find out where Jacqui was.

      She didn’t have much. The name of a town was not a lot.

      But it was all she had and she was determined that it would be enough.

*

      Using the household’s Wi-Fi, Cassie spent an hour getting to know the town where Jacqui lived—or at any rate, where she’d told Tim the barman that she’d been living, a few weeks ago.

      In her favor was the fact that Bellagio was a small town, not an enormous place. A small town meant fewer hostels and hotels, and there was also a better chance of people knowing each other’s business, and that a beautiful American woman might be remembered.

      Another advantage was that it was a tourist destination—a scenic place bordering Lake Como that offered dramatic views, as well as numerous shops and restaurants.

      As she researched, she imagined what it must be like to live in that town. Quiet, scenic, bustling with tourists in the peak of summer. She imagined Jacqui staying in one of the small hotels or rental apartments—probably a small place, overlooking a cobbled street, accessible from a steep stone staircase, with a window box filled with colorful flowers.

      It took two hours before Cassie had properly familiarized herself with the place, and made a comprehensive list of the lodges and backpacker hostels, the numerous Airbnbs, and the rental agencies that let out apartments. She knew there were probably a few places she’d missed, but she hoped that the odds would be in her favor.

      Then it was time to start calling.

      Her mouth felt dry. Compiling the list had built up her hopes. Every name and number represented a new chance. Now she knew her hopes would be broken down again, as the list of places where Jacqui might be staying grew smaller and smaller.

      Cassie dialed the first number, a guesthouse in the town center.

      “Hello,” she said. “I am looking for a lady by the name of Jacqui Vale. She’s my sister; I lost my phone, and I can’t remember where she said she was staying. I’m in Italy now and want to meet up with her.”

      Although this wasn’t the truth, Cassie had decided it was a plausible reason for her phone calls. She didn’t want to embark on a long, complicated story as she feared that the guesthouse owners might grow impatient, or even suspicious.

      “She might have booked in under Jacqueline. It would have been within the past two months.”

      “Jacqueline?” There was a short silence and Cassie felt her heart accelerate.

      Then her hopes crash-landed as the woman said, “Nobody by that name has stayed here.”

      Cassie discovered this was a long, frustrating, and time-consuming task. Some of the guesthouses refused to help at all due to privacy concerns. Others were busy so she had to make a time to call them again.

      She worked her way down the list of options until she’d almost reached the end. Only three numbers were left, and after that she would have to admit defeat.

      She dialed the third-last number, feeling frustrated, as if Jacqui’s elusive presence was taunting her.

      “Posso aiutarti?” the man on the other side of the line asked.

      Cassie had learned this phrase meant “Can I help?” but the man didn’t sound helpful. He sounded impatient and stressed, as if he’d had a bad day. Cassie guessed he would be one of those who would tell her that he couldn’t disclose any details for confidentiality reasons. He’d say it just to get her off the line, because he had guests waiting, or was heading out himself.

      “I’m looking for a Jacqui Vale. She’s my sister. I planned to meet up with her while I was in Italy, but my phone was stolen yesterday and I can’t remember where she was staying.”

      Cassie had upped the drama level of her story, hoping for more sympathy.

      “I’m phoning around to try and trace her.”

      She heard the man tapping a keyboard.

      Then Cassie nearly fell off the chair as he said, “Yes, we did have a Jacqui Vale staying with us. She was here for about two weeks and then she moved out, into a shared apartment, I think, because she was working nearby.”

      Cassie’s heart leaped. This man knew her—had seen her, spoken to her. This was a huge breakthrough in her search.

      “I remember now, she had part-time work at the boutique around the corner, Mirabella’s. Would you like Mirabella’s number?”

      “This is amazing, I can’t believe I’m going to be able to find her,” Cassie gushed. “Thank you so much. Please give me the number.”

      He looked it up for her, and she wrote it down. She felt giddy with excitement. Her search had resulted in success. She’d found the place her sister had recently worked. There was every chance that she might still be there.

      With trembling hands and feeling short of breath, she dialed the number he’d given her.

      It was answered by an older Italian woman, and Cassie felt a pang of disappointment that Jacqui herself hadn’t picked up, because that was what she’d been imagining would happen.

      “What can I do for you?” the woman asked in strongly accented English, as soon as she’d established that Cassie was not Italian.

      “Am I speaking to Mirabella?”

      “You are.”

      “Mirabella, my name’s Cassie Vale. I’m trying to contact my sister, Jacqui. I lost touch with her a while ago, but I found out that she has been working for you. Is she still there, by any chance? If not, could you pass on her number to me?”

      There was a pause.

      Cassie imagined Mirabella beckoning Jacqui over to the phone and she was disappointed when the woman herself spoke again.

      She sounded brief, regretful, and businesslike.

      “I am sorry, but Jacqui Vale is dead.”

      There was a click, as she disconnected the call.

      CHAPTER NINE

      Cassie dropped the phone. Rather, it fell from her