The Bride of Montefalco

She heard something scrape against the cement floor. She shivered to realize he’d pulled the chair next to her bed and had sat down.

“What you’re doing is against the law!”

He gave a caustic laugh.

Fear of a sort she’d never known before emboldened her to say the first thing that came into her mind.

“What a tragedy that such a lovely, beautiful town produces monsters like you.”

The rhythm of his breathing changed, letting her know she’d struck a nerve. Good!

“For someone in your kind of trouble,” he began in a frighteningly silky voice, “I’d advise you to stop fantasizing and tell me everything before the chief prosecutor of the region gets here and you’re arraigned before the magistrate.”

She sat up on the cot and pressed herself into the corner of the wall, as far away from him as possible.

“Whether you believe me or not, I’m Mrs. James Parker. So far, all you’ve told me is that I trespassed. But I don’t see how I did that when the guards wouldn’t let me past the gate.”

She heard him shift in the chair.

“If you’re telling the truth, and you really are the hapless wife who was the last person to know what your husband was up to, explain what those pictures are doing in your laptop.”

Pictures? Ally rubbed her bloodshot eyes with her palms. She was so desperately tired, maybe she was dreaming this horror story.

“I asked you a question, signora.”

No—she wasn’t dreaming. He was sitting there next to her, intimidating her by his very presence. All two hundred pounds of him, hard as steel physically and every other way.

“It’s my husband’s laptop. I don’t know anything about any pictures.”

She heard a sharp intake of breath.

“So you carried his laptop with you all the way to Montefalco for no particular reason?”

“I didn’t say that!” she protested. “I told you earlier that I came to have a private talk with Mr. Montefalco and no one else.”

“In order to show him the photographs and extort thousands of dollars in the process.”

Thousands of dollars? What pictures would be worth that kind of money? She took a deep breath, scared of what she might discover.

“If there are pictures, I haven’t seen them.”

At her hotel in St. Mortiz, Ally would have looked inside the laptop, but she hadn’t brought an adaptor to fit in the foreign outlet and figured she would have to wait until she returned to Portland. Part of her knew that was just an excuse. She didn’t want to know.

“I planned to talk to him about things that aren’t your business or anyone else’s.”

After a pause, he said, “You can tell me. I have his ear.”

“Prove it! For all I know you’re just a lowly policeman pretending to be Mr. Montefalco’s bodyguard.”

Suddenly he was on his feet. She could feel his rage as he pushed the chair away. She hid her face behind the sheet even though it was dark in the room.

Still bristling she said, “Now you know how it feels to be told you’re a liar and a sleazy con artist out to cash in on someone’s private tragedy. I repeat.” Her voice throbbed. “I’m not saying another word until I can speak to someone from the Embassy.”

While she waited for his response, the door opened, then slammed shut.

The next thing she knew the light in her cell went on.

She checked her watch, which she’d changed to Italian time on the train. It said 7:30 a.m.

How long were they going to leave her in here before allowing her to freshen up?

In desperation she dragged the chair over to the door so she could push the button he’d pressed earlier.

Suddenly the door swung open, almost causing her to fall.

A guard she didn’t recognize waited for her to climb down, then ordered her to follow him.

She grabbed her purse and trailed him down the hall and around the corner to the bathroom. There was no sign of her captor. She sincerely hoped she would never have to see or talk to him again.

After brushing her hair and putting on some lipstick, she felt a little more human. When she emerged minutes later, the guard escorted her back to her cell where a tray of food was waiting on the chair.

Just looking at the chair reminded her how her interrogator had shoved it across the room in a fit of anger.

In spite of the precariousness of her situation, the fact that she’d been able to infuriate him caused her to smile.

The guard noted it before disappearing.

Locked in once more, her gaze fell on the sparse continental breakfast. Rolls and coffee. But she wasn’t about to complain. It might be a long time before she was allowed to eat again, so she consumed everything in short order.

She kept thinking about those pictures he’d mentioned. Jim had evidently stored some in one of his files. Maybe they were photos of all the women he’d had affairs with in Europe. At this juncture she didn’t put anything past him. Her husband had truly lived a double life.

Ally let out a sound of abnegation.

What a fool she’d been not to have confronted him when she’d first suspected there was another woman.

Her abductor’s words stung more than ever.

If you’re telling the truth, and you really are the hapless wife who was the last person to know what your husband was up to, explain what those pictures are doing in your laptop.

Ally hadn’t been hapless. It was a case of not wanting to admit something was wrong and have her mother say, “I told you so. A man with good looks and knows it can’t be satisfied with one woman.”

Ally didn’t believe that. She knew too many attractive couples who had wonderful marriages.

Hers had started out that way, but when she saw changes happening, she should have questioned him point-blank. But she’d been scared. They could have talked things out and maybe salvaged their marriage. Now it was too late. There was no use wishing she’d acted on her suspicions a long time ago.

She looked around her claustrophobic cell. What she needed to do was get out of here.

Her abductor was waiting for her to cooperate. Maybe if she made up a lie, he’d believe her and allow her to go free with a slap on the wrist.