Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

Nick

D ante Bianchi. My blood boils as the name loops through my brain. I clench my hands into fists then relax them—fist, release, fist, release—while Marley guides us through a phone interview with a frazzled sheriff's deputy. Deputy Wells promises to run Bianchi's name through the system and makes some noises about having a patrol car drive down Poinsettia Way a few times during the night.

I lean toward the octopus-shaped speaker phone and enunciate. "She's not going back to her cottage."

Noelle raises an eyebrow. "I'm not?"

"No. Absolutely not. You're coming back to the inn."

"Probably best," the deputy's crackly voice agrees from the speaker. "More people around."

"Too many people around," Noelle argues. "The place is fully booked, and you have three extra people in your private space already. There's no room for me at the inn."

"Well, you're not sleeping in a manger. And you're not going back to the cottage. So we'll figure it out."

Noelle frowns. Too bad. She's coming home with me, and that's that.

Marley taps her silver pen on her notepad and scans her notes. Then she ticks items off on her fingers, "The Snowflake Cafe, the woods behind Snow Lake, Alpine Jewelers, the library, Dancing Ladies, and the alley behind the chapel. Is that everything? All the times this Bianchi person popped up."

"I think so," Noelle says.

I snap my fingers. "The ski lodge! Enrique was walking his dog yesterday morning and saw that someone had broken in. It looks like they were sleeping there. Smashed a window to get in. We boarded it up, and Enrique said he'd call county park and recreation to let them know."

"Noelle wasn't there, right?" Deputy Wells asks.

"No, but he has to be sleeping somewhere."

"I'll add it to the report," she says doubtfully. "But it could have been teenagers. And if it was your guy, once he sees the window's been boarded up, he won't go back."

"How's he getting around?" Marley asks. "He can't be on foot. The strip club and the lodge are miles outside of town in opposite directions."

"I'll reach out to the car rental agencies at the airports. He probably flew through JFK and then to Burlington." Then the deputy groans. "Unless he was smart enough to fly into Montreal, rent a car there, and drive across the border. If he did that, it's gonna be much harder to track him. "

Noelle gulps. "He's very smart," she says in a flat voice.

"In that case, keep your head on a swivel," Wells advises. "I'll be in touch as soon as I know something."

"Thank you, deputy." Marley ends the call and studies us. "I don't like this one bit."

"That makes two of us," I tell her.

"Three," Noelle whispers.

"Do you need me to drive you to the inn? You shouldn't walk," Marley points out.

"Thanks, but I already called the inn. Ivy's on her way to pick us up. You've done plenty."

"Yes, thank you," Noelle says.

Marley waves off the gratitude. "Of course. I just wish I'd been faster. If I could have caught the guy, this would all be over."

Noelle widens her eyes. "Marley, listen to me, this guy is very dangerous. If you see him again, don't try to be a hero. Sensei Adam's training isn't a match for him. Do you understand?"

Marley must clock the terror in Noelle's face the same as I do. She answers in a grim tone, "Noted."

We stand inside behind locked door and watch the street for Ivy's beat-up Volvo wagon. When she pulls up in front of the building, Marley unlocks the door and we run to the car. Noelle's hugging the dress box to her chest like it's an infant. I yank the back passenger side door open and hustle her and her box into the car, then race around to the other side of the car and slide in next to her.

Ivy waits until we're buckled in to pull out. "We're going to take the scenic route. The square is teeming with revelers."

"Got it."

Rosemary twists around from the passenger seat. "Ivy filled me in, so I called my husband. No shade to your local authorities, but Dave knows some people from a previous investigation. Thyme's sister-in-law was being stalked by her ex-husband. It was an international thing because the ex was calling the shots from Brazil. Dave's going to reach out to his contacts about this Dante Bianchi."

"Thank you," Noelle whispers, wringing her hands in her lap.

I reach over and cover Noelle's hand with mine while I thank my niece. "I appreciate this, Rosemary."

"Of course." She hesitates, then says, "Mom wanted me to let you know you're both welcome at Tranquility. He won't think to look for you in New Jersey."

For the first time in years, I feel grateful for my meddling sister. "That's not a bad idea?—"

Beside me, Noelle snaps up straight and says in a steely voice, "No. I'm done running. And your uncle is playing Santa this weekend."

Rosemary studies her determined face for a moment. "Okay, I get it. The offer stands, though."

Ivy pipes up, "Dad, I know you want Noelle to stay away from her cottage, but she might want to pick up some clothes or toiletries. Rosemary and I can run in and get her a few things. "

"No. Absolutely not. Nobody's going near Noelle's house. Surely between the six of you, you can lend her anything she needs." It's out of the question.

Ivy nods. "Understood. We set up the guest cottage in the backyard for Noelle. It's more private."

"I thought your cousins were staying there?" Noelle worries.

"We decided to double up in our old bedrooms. Rosemary and Holly, Sage and me, and Merry and Thyme. It'll be fun. Like a sleepover."

Only Ivy still lives at the inn. Holly and Merry have their own places in town. But during the holidays, they stay in their girlhood bedrooms in our private wing. In part, to help with the guests, and, in part, because it's a tradition. Getting the guest house ready for Noelle is a sweet gesture, and I'm sure she'll appreciate the privacy. But there's no way she's staying there alone. I'm not letting her out of my sight until Dante Bianchi is behind bars or in the ground.

My daughters, with the help of their cousins, have outdone themselves. When Ivy pulls up in front of the inn, Noelle gasps. The wide, graceful porch is festooned with twinkling lights and hanging baskets bursting with red-and-white striped petunias. Two large wreaths of silver jingle bells decorate the double doors.

"The place looks great," I say as Ivy pulls into the driveway.

She meets my eye in the rearview mirror and grins. "We had fun doing it." She follows the long driveway past our guest parking area and brings the wagon to a stop in front of the cottage. "Merry had her homemade baked macaroni and cheese in the oven when we left. We can bring some out for you and Noelle."

Smart kid. My daughter knows I'm not leaving Noelle alone in the guest house. Before I can say that sounds great, Noelle clears her throat.

"It's the night before Christmas in July. You always have your family dinner tonight, before the chaos starts. I'm not depriving you of that. Not this year. We'll come eat with you. Just give me time to take a shower. It's been a long day."

My heart threatens to explode in my chest. After the wild emotional roller coaster she's been on today, Noelle's main concern is for my daughters and their first Christmas in July without their mother.

A small smile plays over Ivy's lips. "That sounds awesome. We'll get some clean clothes together for you and bring them out. Is dinner at seven okay?"

"Seven's perfect," Noelle tells her.

I help her out of the car with the unwieldy box and hustle to the front door of the tiny cottage. Ivy waits until I've punched in the code and unlocked the front door to pull out and drive behind the guesthouse to the garage where we park our personal vehicles.

I usher Noelle into the sparkling cottage. It's been cleaned from top to bottom and a giant Minerva amaryllis in a silver pot graces the small kitchen island, its red tipped petals and white star center adding a playful holiday touch. She smiles and runs a finger over a petal.

"I haven't been out here in years. I forgot how cute it is. "

"Well, you're in for a treat. We remodeled the bathroom, and the shower is a masterpiece. So take off your clothes and enjoy yourself. I mean?—"

She cuts me off with a kiss. "I know what you meant. And I will."

I laugh then grow serious. "But after your shower, before dinner, you're going to tell me what happened with Dante Bianchi."

Her green eyes are somber as she nods. "I will."

She heads for the bathroom and I pace around the small cottage like a tiger prowling in his cage. While the water runs in the next room, Holly brings over some clothes for Noelle and then I make a list of people who I trust. It's a long list, and I'm glad for that.

The water shuts off. A minute later, Noelle emerges from the bathroom. She has a towel wrapped around her hair and another, larger one, covers her body. Through sheer willpower, I ignore my body's reaction to her standing, practically naked, mere feet away from me.

"There's a bag of clothes on the bed," I croak.

"Thanks," she chirps, then disappears.

The image of her dropping her towel fills my head, and I drive it out with an alphabetical list of resorts. I'm at M for Mandarin Oriental when she reappears in the living area. Her damp hair is piled up on top of her head in a mess of red curls and she's wearing a soft-looking pale purple, long-sleeved top and a pair of faded jeans that hug her curves. Her face is bare of makeup and slightly flushed from the hot shower. She looks vulnerable, young, and so freaking scared.

"Feel better?" I ask around the lump in my throat .

"Much."

She crosses the room and curls up in the corner of the small loveseat with her feet tucked up beneath her. She pats the cushion, and I join her, turning sideways on the other end of the divan so we're facing each other. Even from here, she smells like lemons and vanilla.

"Dante Bianchi," I prompt.

She closes her eyes for a moment, and her long lashes brush her cheeks. Then she takes a breath, opens her eyes, and catches her lower lip between her teeth. After a moment, she starts talking.

"Let me get this whole story out without interruption, okay?"

"I'll hold my questions till the end," I tell her wryly.

She smirks. "Wiseacre." Then her expression changes. "Dante Bianchi was my master's program advisor. He was also, coincidentally, my supervisor for the research position I had the summer before the program was supposed to start. At first, he was fine. Charming, even. He flirted with me, but I didn't think anything of it. For one thing, it was Italy. I think the men are required by law to flirt with any woman who has a pulse. And for another, he was in a position of authority over me. The university's code of conduct was clear about the boundaries for relationships—and that would have been out of bounds."

She's about a minute into this story, and I'm already breaking my promise not to interrupt. "If it hadn't been, would you have been interested? I'm not jealous," I assure her. "Just trying to get the full picture."

She considers the question for a moment, pursing her lips, then shakes her head. "No. He was a little too intense for my tastes. And I really was laser-focused on getting my master's. I wasn't looking for a relationship or even a fling."

"Got it. I'll try not to interrupt again."

She nods and picks up the thread of her story again. "As the summer went on, the flirting turned into something more like harassment. He'd pinch my butt when I walked by. Made a lot of comments about my body. Just gross stuff. I told myself to ignore it, but he was relentless. And while I could put up with it for the summer, there was no way I wanted to deal with him on the regular for two more years once the program started."

I clench my fists and dig my fingers into my palms but manage to keep my mouth shut. She pauses to take a deep breath. Her pulse is visible in her throat.

"So I made my first mistake. I went to the international students' office and asked for help switching my advisor. I told them why, thinking it would be kept confidential. They agreed to assign a new advisor, but they told Dante what I'd said."

"That's on them, not you," I tell her roughly.

She gives me a look. "Try harder not to interrupt or I'll never get it out."

I clamp my jaw closed.

"Dante was livid. The next day, he came into the archives and cornered me. He pushed me against the wall, got right in my face, and spat on me. He warned me that I wouldn't like what happened if I said another negative word about him. I was freaking out. I realized I wasn't going to survive two years in a small program with this guy whether he was my advisor or not. He had it out for me after that, professionally. But he was also infatuated or obsessed or something. He told people we were dating. And I was afraid to correct him, you know?"

I nod my understanding and manage not to say anything.

"By the time I got Carol's letter asking me to be her maid of honor, I'd already decided to drop out of the program. I figured I'd come home for your wedding, regroup, and then get my master's in London or somewhere here. The University of Washington in Seattle has a great program, and I knew people there."

She pauses and clears her throat. Her gaze drops to her lap. Pain radiates off her in waves. I can't take it, so I pull her toward me and wrap an arm around her shoulder, stroking her damp hair with my other hand.

She fills her lungs with air and continues. "I didn't tell anyone my plan. I knew it would set him off.

But I started packing. What I didn't know was that he'd been spying on me. When he saw the boxes through my bedroom window, he broke into my apartment and … uh … pleasured himself all over my comforter."

I snarl, and she presses her palm against my chest. "Please just let me get this out. I freaked. I called the police, which was my second mistake. They completely blew me off. They said there was no proof it was him." She raises her head to look at me with tears shining in her eyes. "The one officer told me I should be flattered. That it was a compliment."

I'm seconds away from exploding, but I hold it together.

She goes on, "Then it got worse. I don't know how he did it, but after that, Dante somehow got his hands on my passport. I was keeping it on me at all times. But one afternoon, I opened my bag and it was missing from the zippered pocket where I'd been keeping it. In its place, there was a note: ti ucciderò, puttana. I'll kill you, whore. I knew it was him, and I knew nobody would believe me. He was very popular in the department, and I was some random American. I've never been so scared in my life."

Her shoulders shake, and I rub her back and make soothing noises while she sobs. After a minute, she wipes her tears and says, "I was in the ladies' room having what I now know was a panic attack. The door opened and this woman, Marta, walked in. She was another international graduate student, from Poland. Her English wasn't great, and my Polish is nonexistent. The handful of times we did speak, it was in Italian, so I didn't really know her. But she saved my life. I was sitting on the floor with my back against the wall, hyperventilating. She didn't even look at me. She crouched beside me and placed my passport on the floor. Then, washed her hands, and walked out of the bathroom without saying a word."

Her heart is thumping wildly. I can feel it against my chest.

"I opened the window and crawled out onto the ledge. Thank heavens I was only on the second floor. I jumped to the ground, walked to the train station and caught the first train to the airport. Then I emptied my bank account and bought a one-way ticket home leaving the next day. I slept in the terminal. Tried to sleep, anyway. I was still half-convinced Dante would find me and drag me back to Ravenna. But he didn't. I came home and never left. The end."

She pulls herself up and gives me a crooked smile. "Any questions. "

"Just one. How can you think any of this is your fault?"

She shakes her head. "I handled it all wrong. I didn't understand how disturbed he was, how much danger I was in. I should have?—"

I press my finger against her parted lips to still them. "No. I'm not going to let you blame yourself for any bit of this. It kills me that you've spent twenty-plus years beating yourself up over this piece of human garbage. Not one minute more, do you understand?"

She stares at me for a moment. Then she nods, and those green eyes fill again. I thumb a tear away from her eye and drop a gentle kiss in its place.

"You're safe now, Noelle. This isn't Ravenna. This is Mistletoe Mountain, and Dante Bianchi's about to learn the difference."