When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms. ” “I suppose so. The doctor paced the room half a dozen times. Detention would mean coming home late, which spelled distraction and trouble on the night of a kill. As to Mrs.
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