Sheila Connolly - Reunion with Death Read Free

one-lane—flanked by tall cypresses led to a cluster of stucco buildings seated regally at the top of the rise. The van’s engine labored to make the grade, but we finally pulled in at a level graveled area in front of one building, where two other matching vans were already parked. It took a few moments for everyone to clamber out of the vehicle, and then we all stood around, looking, I thought, a bit dazed. Brenda herded us into the building.
    “There are information packets with updates on the table there, plus name tags for all of you,” she said authoritatively.
    I felt a spurt of relief that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t recognize everybody. Name tags would be a blessing.
    She was still talking, so I had to focus. “There’s also a sketch map of the property, with the various buildings labeled on it. Your room assignment is in the packet. Some people arrived yesterday and others will be here later. Find your place, unpack, chill out, and we’ll all meet at the big building down the hill, at the opposite end from here, for drinks and dinner at seven.”
    I checked my watch: it was already six o’clock. Midday for me back home, so I should be alert, right? I found my packet and pulled out the map, which showed a lot of small buildings.
    “Hey, Brenda, can you point us in the right direction?” I asked.
    “What? Oh, sure. Where are you assigned?”
    I pointed to a blob on the map.
    “Right, the back end of the villa. Go around this building, follow the drive past the tennis court and around the next building, then go down the stairs. Your room is at the back. There’s a key in the door, but nobody bothers with them here. Once you get there, you’ll see where we’ll be eating, right down the hill.”
    “Thanks,” I said dubiously. We all went back outside, dragged our suitcases from the back of the van, and set off in different directions. The wheels of my suitcase left twin tracks in the neat gravel, and I felt like I ought to apologize to someone. I concentrated on keeping my footing—the paths kept shifting from gravel to flagstone to brick to grass, in no particular order. I passed the tennis court, which clearly hadn’t hosted a tennis game in quite some time; passed the next building, went around to the back and down a short flight of stairs, and found myself in front of two heavy, ornate wooden doors, one of which had a key in the lock. This must be it. I set down my suitcase with a sigh of relief and turned to check out the scene.
    Oh my God. From where I stood I had a one-hundred-eighty-degree view of rolling Tuscan hills, stacked up against the horizon. Small villages nestled in the valleys below; here and there a plume of smoke rose. Clouds drifted across the blue, blue sky. On both sides, more olive trees marched down the slopes. In front of me lay two buildings; the larger one must be where we would be eating. No one was in sight; the only sounds were natural. No cars, planes, electronic devices—just blessed silence. Except for a low buzzing: I looked to my right to see a large tree covered with small yellow blossoms, and when I approached it I realized there were bees feasting on all of them. The whole tree buzzed. I retreated a respectful distance and inhaled the sweet scent of the tree, tinged with a hint of wood smoke and maybe a dash of pine—or was it rosemary? It didn’t matter; it was all wonderful.
    And it was my home for the next few days. With no little regret I turned my back on the spectacular views and opened the door.
    Benvenuti in Italia!

Chapter 2
     
    Once inside the room, my first impression was that it was dark, and I realized that it had no windows. I fumbled for a light switch on the wall next to the door and pressed it, turning on a lamp across the room. It must have had a forty-watt bulb, which didn’t help much. The ceiling was high, crossed by massive wooden beams that looked authentic and old. I parked my bag and wandered through a doorway on the right