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"Mrs. Barron, can you tell—"

"Miss Barron. I never married. Too many insist on calling me Mrs. Barron as though they find my spinsterhood embarrassing. Please do not make that mistake. It annoys me no end." Her hands fluttered in the lamplight. "Do sit down. There's a davenport behind you."

Nico assumed that meant a place to sit. He stretched his leg back a few inches, felt something hard and sat down. "Miss Barron, can I turn on another lamp so we can see each other?"

"Please indulge me and allow me a few more minutes, Mr. Doyle. I am finding comfort in the dark." Her hands rested back on her lap.

"As you wish. What can you tell me about Mrs. Lamberti?"

"Lamberti was her husband's name. Nora went back to her maiden name, Salviati. She was a very proud woman, at times quite unpleasant to others. Not to me, oddly enough. I considered her a not particularly close friend. She's the one who sought me out. She claimed she enjoyed my company. I think she liked showing off her Queen's English. It was quite good."

Nico leaned forward. "You called the carabi—"

Miss Barron's lifted hand stopped him from going further. "Yes but allow me to continue. Stories need to follow their own rhythm for them to make sense."

"The truth is what we are after." Nico wondered if she was avoiding painful questions or taking time to make up a story.

"We met on a train ride from Bath, where I live, to London four years ago." She spoke in a clear, light voice. "Nora noticed we were reading the same book and started asking questions. She had spent a month in London and had come down to Bath to visit the Roman ruins before going back to Italy. She wanted to know all about me and my interests. I was a bit surprised she found me so interesting. A bit nosy, I thought, but she convinced me to visit this charming area and I will be forever grateful to her. I have been spending two months of every summer in a hotel not far from here."

As he listened, Nico smelled coffee. Perillo had tiptoed back to the doorway.

"This year," Miss Barron continued, "quite unexpectedly, Nora invited me to spend a week with her. We used to see each other only when I came down for the summer. I had plans to go to London to see a few plays, but she was quite insistent. Nora was used to getting her way and it had been raining for days at home. I let her convince me." Miss Barron paused.

"She was playing the piano when her life was taken. Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. The music awakened me. My room is just above."

"What time was this?"

Miss Barron leaned into the lamplight. Her face was thin, bare of makeup, her cheeks flushed. Perfectly arranged gray-blond curls crowned her small head. Nico placed her age on the late side of fifty. Sharp, deep-blue eyes peered at him, then shifted to the shadow Perillo was casting on the carpet.

Miss Barron lifted her eyes to study this short stocky man in the doorway. His face was in shadow now, but she remembered she'd been surprised by his strong, appealing face, the striking dark eyes looking at her from under a shock of black hair. His looks had helped calm her. She felt she was in good hands until she realized he couldn't understand a word of what she was saying. "Why is the mahrayshallow hovering by the door?" she asked. He'd been shifting his weight impatiently, the light from the adjacent room casting a long shadow. "He would be of more use seeking clues, I should think."

Nico translated for Perillo, summarizing what Miss Barron had told him so far, adding, "I hope you enjoyed your coffee."

"And yours. Handing it to you would have been rude. I didn't have tea for her." Perillo turned back to Nico. "Ask her some questions. What are you waiting for?"

"For you to get her some tea."

"Okay, but I'm counting on you, Nico. Find me when you're through." Perillo bowed his head toward Miss Barron and walked away.

Miss Barron waited for Perillo's footsteps to fade into silence. "You are fluent in Italian."

"I had an Italian American mother, an Italian wife and I've lived here for two years," he explained, hoping to put her at ease. "I still make a lot of mistakes and I can't get rid of my accent."

"I envy you, Mr. Doyle. I have tried to speak this country's beautiful language, but my xenophobic ear refuses to hear and learn." She turned off the lamp next to her, rose from her chair and walked to the heavily curtained window. Nico was surprised by how tall she was.

"The sun must be coming up soon," she said. "It's a lovely sight on this side of the house." She threw open the curtains, revealing a tall, paned French window. A pale light poured into the room.

Nico joined Miss Barron to look out. A long blanket of dark grass spotted with wildflowers dipped down and disappeared into the horizon. The sky had turned a blue-tinged gray. A thin pink thread ran along the bottom edge. Birds had begun their morning chatter.