Daggers and Men's Smiles by Jill Downie Read Free Book Online Page A

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    â€œThat, Inspector, is the symbol of gay and lesbian Florence. That’s what that is.”
    Moretti and Liz Falla watched the departing figure of Mario Bianchi.
    â€œBefore we go in to talk to them, DC Falla, is there anything you can tell me about the Vannonis?”
    â€œOf course, you weren’t on the island when they arrived, were you, Guv? Well, not much, except they don’t mix — except with the high and mighty. A bloke I used to go out with says they’ve got a little message up on the front door that reads, ‘Only personal friends of the marchesa may use this door. All other visitors must go to the back entrance.’”
    DC Falla’s love life was proving quite useful.
    â€œCharming.”
    In spite of being a small island — or perhaps because of it — there were some clear-cut divisions in Guernsey society. There were the hundreds of families who had lived on the island since the beginning of its recorded history and beyond, with the old island names — Bisson, Falla, Gallienne, Roussel, Le Poidevin, and many more. There were the great families — Brock, De Saumarez, Carey — the island aristocracy, some of whom had fallen on hard times, like their British counterparts. There was a transient population, who came from Europe to work in the hotels and restaurants, or to teach in one of the island schools — some of these came and went in a summer; some stayed for years. Then there were the wealthy escapees, who came to avoid the high taxes of the mainland, and who bought their way into the higher priced properties on the island — what were called “open market properties.”
    Not that British escapees were any longer the dominant section of that community, since Prime Minister Tony Blair had altered the tax base in Britain. Now, the wealthy were more likely to be the managers and CEOs of the myriad banks and financial institutions that operated on the island. Many lived in the comparatively new development around Fort George; some purchased Guernsey’s equivalent of a stately home — the Manoir Ste. Madeleine, for instance. All around the island, the old farmhouses and cottages were being tastefully renovated, painted in pastel shades of dove grey, apricot, ivory, and restored to greater than former glory.
    But Moretti had rarely heard of such overt class distinction.
    â€œSo, let’s beard the lioness in her den and start off with the family. Then we’ll talk to Monty Lord and the Ensors again. Insiders and outsiders — only, which is which? Somewhere between the two groups we’ll start to get some sense of this.” Moretti recalled the expression on Sydney Tremaine’s face.
    â€œMrs. Ensor seemed startled by Giulia Vannoni’s appearance.”
    â€œSo was I, Guv. It was quite an entrance. Those bikes cost a fortune, don’t they? Mrs. Ensor’s unlikely to be a — well, one of them —”
    â€œâ€” a lesbian,” supplied Moretti. Interesting that Liz Falla had problems with saying the word, but it could be she was concerned about his own delicate feelings.
    â€œRight. Is she? Mind you, that creep she’s married to could put any woman off men, in my opinion.”
    â€œQuite,” said Moretti, his thoughts elsewhere.
    What point was the murderer making by using daggers? What was he — or she — saying? Was this all about love? It was much more likely to be about hate.
    But nobody hated Toni Albarosa apparently. Still, it was amazing how often that was said about murder victims. In the Manoir Ste. Madeleine they might take the first steps toward the truth.
    â€œOh, by the way, Guv — I spoke to Giorgio Benedetti last night. He says if there’s anything he can do —”
    â€œThank you, DC Falla.”
    DC Falla gave him a look he was beginning to recognize now, but for the life of him he couldn’t make out what it signified. His