Page 52 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“Hello, Inspector.” Kerstin Grönberg had a light Swedish accent, and her tone was jovial, almost motherly. “What brings you to this little part of the world? And who is your friend?”

“I would’ve thought you’d recognize me,” Bastian said, “seeing as you apparently watched me murder Emilio Valentini.”

Kerstin’s eyes flashed over him and her smile drooped. Even though they stood a few feet apart, Bastian smelled her, an earthy, fusty aroma that must be the result of days spent digging around in her grove.

“Oh dear,” the woman said, raising a green bottle to her lips and sipping through a metal straw. The label on the bottle readolio d’oliva. Bastian suppressed an appalled shudder. The woman was drinking olive oil, neat.

“I hope I haven’t caused a problem,” Kerstin said, clutching thebottle in gloved hands, “but I did see you at the harbor looking sort of, well, vampire-y. And there was a body.”

“But you didn’t actually see him kill Emilio?” De Luca said.

“Well, no, I didn’t see the act itself. Isn’t that in my statement?”

“Your statement says you saw Bastian kill Emilio.”

Kerstin took another long sip of the olive oil. Bastian grimaced. How could she drink the stuff like that?

“No, Inspector,” Kerstin said, “I merely saw him at the harbor and reported it to—”

“The commissario,” Bastian guessed, pursing his lips. “Commissario Zappa took your statement, didn’t he?”

The woman nodded and Bastian exchanged a glance with the inspector, who frowned, as if he was thinking the same thing as Bastian, but the thought didn’t make sense.

Commissario Zappa playing fast and loose with a witness statement was bizarre. A flagrant abuse of his power. Was he really so desperate to pin the deaths on Bastian? If it were in service of protecting the people of Vernazza, Bastian might understand, but he doubted Zappa’s intentions were so noble.

“That oaf needs a scratch in both eyes!” Whitby cried.

“Herregud!” Kerstin raised her gloved hands. “You’re the first cat I’ve heard speak since I left Sweden!”

“How wonderful for you,” Whitby said through gritted teeth.

Kerstin blinked and returned her gaze to Bastian. “Look, I’m not against vampires. I have met plenty of them over the years. I’ve helped them.”

“Helped them?” De Luca asked.

She shook the green bottle before them. “The properties in my olive oil can cure a myriad of ailments. I have helped many people in town since moving here. The mayor herself is an avid supporter of my work.”

“The mayor?” Bastian echoed.

“I make my own creams from the oil—people use them for their wonderful antiaging properties,” Kerstin explained, taking another sip of her oil. “And, when used correctly, my oil can help vampires overcome their thirst. It can prevent them from killing. She knows the value of that.”

“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous,” Whitby said, her tail swatting the air.

Bastian looked between the bottle and Kerstin. She had been gulping the oil ever since they arrived. Because she had her own ailments in need of treatment? He turned his ear toward her, listening, wondering if he would find a conspicuous silence in the place of a pulse.

But no, there it was, the soft patter of a heartbeat.

She wasn’t a vampire. Just weird.

“Are you saying you’ve met vampires in Vernazza?” he asked, trying to understand.

Kerstin swallowed. “I couldn’t say without compromising my clients.”

“But there are vampires here.”

She gave a small shrug, saying nothing, and her silence made Bastian uneasy. He and Whitby had come to Vernazza to avoid vampires, but now they faced the very real possibility that a vampire was responsible for the deaths.

Bastian didn’t hate what he was. He had made peace with his vampirism and, in the long run, it had helped him to embrace his truth. To live authentically. But other vampires could be savage. Ruthless. The definition of monstrous. He had been like that for a while, before Whitby.