Page 88 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

He noticed De Luca looking at him with an intense frown. The darkness in his expression made Bastian anxious. It was almost as if De Luca thought Bastian was making it up, that he was fabricating a lie about his brother for a reason he didn’t want to voice. Bastian could guess, though.

“It wasn’t me,” he said. “I promise, Nico. I didn’t do this.”

For the first time since they had opened up to each other, De Luca looked uncertain.

29

“Do you think Enzo killed Salvador?” Whitby asked.

They were in the kitchen, just the two of them. De Luca had remained upstairs with his brother, making sure he was okay—and avoiding Bastian, it seemed.

“I don’t know,” Bastian said, washing himself at the sink. He then put on the light cotton sweater De Luca had given him, resisting the urge to bury his nose in the soft fabric and draw in the scent.

Strange how he could feel so close to De Luca one second, then miles away the next.

“But you suspect it,” Whitby said, sitting on the kitchen table with her tail wrapped around her feet.

“All I know,” Bastian said, dropping into a chair, “is that Enzo wasn’t in bed when I looked. And then Salvador screamed, and I found him bleeding out.”

“The two must be related.”

“Why would Enzo kill Salvador?” Bastian asked.

“You said yourself that he has a rare blood condition.”

Bastian began to plait one side of his hair. “And?”

“And every one of the victims has been found bleeding out from their neck. What if he’s trying to do something like, I don’t know, replace his blood with theirs?”

“That’s a horrifying thought, Whitby.”

“It doesn’t make it untrue.”

Bastian kept plaiting. He shook his head. “If Enzo was doing that, there’d be some evidence. He’d have had blood on him when we found him back upstairs, but there wasn’t a drop. I had more blood onme.”

Whitby didn’t blink for several seconds.

“Okay, let’s assume for a minute that Enzo didn’t kill Salvador. Where did he go when you found his room empty? And how did he get out if, as you said, he’s bedbound?”

“And who got him backintothe bed?” Bastian mused.

“I’m asking the questions here.” Whitby sniffed. “Did you hear anybody else moving around the house?”

“No.” Bastian frowned. “I did hear something earlier, though. When we were in the kitchen right after the gala, there was a creak upstairs. But only Enzo was up there, and he’s bedbound.”

“Somebody else could have been up there with him.”

Bastian started a second plait. “That’s possible. Unless the creak was just Enzo turning over in bed.”

“Did you sense whether or not the mayor’s husband had been here when you found Salvador? He could have escaped custody.”

“No,” Bastian said, wishing he had a more helpful answer.

“Where was De Luca when all of this happened?” Whitby asked.

Bastian’s fingers stilled at mention of the inspector. He kept seeing the hurt in De Luca’s face. The betrayal.

But De Luca was a poliziotto. He had to consider all the facts, even if they were difficult.