Free Pasta Imperfect by Maddy Hunter

“Would you people
please
—”
    The corridor was empty.
    I looked left. I looked right. I stepped farther into the hallway and peered down the staircase. The voices I’d heard echoed up from the lobby. But they weren’t the voices of rowdy Italian night owls. They were the voices of a half dozen uniformed police gathered around a woman whose lifeless body lay at the bottom of the stairs.
    My eyes froze open in horror.
    And she was wearing my new stretch denim corset dress with the bra straps!

Chapter 4

     
    C assandra Trzebiatowski,” Duncan reported in a gravelly voice. “Room 211.” He stood outside my room, rumpled and barefoot — the same way he’d looked when I’d banged on his door an hour earlier.
    “The police speculate she tripped over the runner at the top of the stairs and fell down the whole flight. Snapped her neck in two. Probably died instantly.”
    I remembered the thump I’d heard after my shower and silently berated myself for dismissing it. If she’d died instantly, I probably wouldn’t have been able to help, but that didn’t make me feel any better. Looking toward the staircase, I eyed the tattered piece of rubber matting that served as a runner. “Are they sure it was an accident?”
    “Looks that way. She was wearing three-inch stiletto heels, one of which was sheared off from her shoe and wedged in the floor like an ice pick.”
    “So no one actually saw her fall?”
    Duncan shook his head. “The desk clerk should have, but he was napping in a room off the lobby.”
    “While he was on duty?”
    “This is Italy, Emily. There are no established rules. Only suggestions.” He covered his mouth to hide a yawn, tears welling in his eyes with the exertion. “Sorry.” He shook his head and threaded long fingers through his sun-streaked hair. “I’m used to operating on more sleep than this.”
    Guilt nibbled at my conscience. Unh-oh. “Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
    “No! You did the right thing. You did great!” He gave my shoulder an unself-conscious squeeze of gratitude. “It’s been a long day though. I’m getting a little punchy.” He gave the top of his foot a vigorous rub with his bare toes, then fanned out all ten, staring down at them distractedly. “I left my shoes in the bathroom while I was taking my shower. Bad move. I don’t think they’ll ever dry out.” He regarded my face then, his expression pained, his eyes like dark bruises. “Damn. I’ve never lost a guest before.”
    My heart went out to him. I knew from experience that the first one was always the worst…until you hit the second, third, and fourth. “You want to come inside for a few minutes and talk?” I opened my door wider for him. With a grateful nod he walked past me and angled himself into my tatty armchair, his powerful frame making the furniture look small and stunted.
    “Five years on the job without a single death.” He sighed miserably. “I had the best record in the company.”
    “Five years?” I seated myself on the edge of my bed, my voice filled with awe. I’d hardly been on the job five
hours
before I’d suffered my first casualty. I wondered if this was an indication that I should be rethinking my career choice.
    “It’s not that long actually. The odds are obscenely favorable in the tour industry. The chances of someone dying on your watch are astronomically low. Something like a trillion to one. Most guides go through entire careers without losing a single guest.”
    “Entire careers. Imagine that.” I scratched my throat self-consciously. Maybe it was time to reroute the conversation before he thought to ask me about
my
record. “Did Cassandra have a roommate?”
    Duncan nodded. “I accompanied the police when they told her about the accident, but she didn’t seem too broken up about it. Strange reaction, but I guess it makes sense if you consider the women had probably never spoken to each other until I threw them together tonight. To be honest