The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries by Carrie Bedford

Author:Carrie Bedford [Bedford, Carrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780990454328
Publisher: booksbnimble
Published: 2018-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

6

I slept sporadically for the rest of the night and jumped out of bed as soon as dawn lightened the room. I showered and dressed, and by the time I’d dried my hair, the fragrance of coffee drifted up the stairs. With Bianca following close behind, I hurried down to join Dad in the kitchen.

Over breakfast, we made plans for Easter weekend. Josh and I planned to come, as did Leo, with Olivia and the boys.

“Invite Ethan and Claire,” Dad said. “I’d like to see them again.”

I would, I decided, assuming that Ethan ever called me back.

Dad stood and took a pair of secateurs from a drawer. “The camellias are blooming. I thought you could take some over to Claire’s.”

Just after ten thirty, I knelt to hug Bianca before getting into Dad’s car. Her shining brown eyes gazed into mine as though she’d known me her whole life. I wondered if she knew that I was different, that I had this strange ability to see auras. I’d read that dogs could sense the presence of ghosts. I shivered. What if Bianca could see auras like I could? Did she see one over me?

I gave her an extra hug and stood up. I was being ridiculous.

The drive into Florence didn’t take long, only ten minutes to the Lungarno, where Dad let me out in front of the Biblioteca Nazionale. Most private vehicles were banned from the city center. I gathered the flowers from the back seat where he’d put them and watched as he drove away. It was sad to say goodbye, but I’d see him again in a couple of weeks. And Bianca would keep him company.

The walk to Claire’s house took me through the Piazza Santa Croce. As I crossed the square, I felt the emotions that Florence always stirred in me— a mix of delight in being there and frustration at having to share it with thousands of visitors from all over the world. A large group of Americans milled around the entry to the church, following a young woman holding a yellow umbrella. The steps in front served as seating for young people taking selfies, and the square teemed with street vendors hawking scarves and leather bags. Still, I loved it all.

I checked my watch and picked up my pace. It was almost eleven. Claire lived on Via Dei Pepi, so I left the piazza and walked up Via Petripiana, past the post office, which had to be one of the ugliest buildings in Tuscany. The crowds thinned in the more residential areas where parked mopeds and shuttered shops lined the pavements; most Italians would still be in church or at home preparing lunch. And the shops didn’t open on Sundays. Here and there, I caught tantalizing glimpses of the russet dome of the cathedral framed against the blue sky.

Cradling the flowers in one arm, I checked in my shoulder bag yet again to make sure that the leather pouch was still there. I wondered what Claire would make of all this.

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