Page 76 of The Unraveling of Julia

Julia sipped Chianti in the quiet kitchen. She’d showered, blown out her hair, and changed into a white cashmere sweater with a V-neck and jeans. She hadn’t brought perfume, which was good because she would have overthought wearing any.

Enjoy him.

Julia’s gaze fell on the meal she’d cook when Gianluca got here. Lamb chops topped with fresh rosemary and cracked black pepper glistened in a ceramic pan, and she’d made broccoli florets, plus an endive and Bibb lettuce salad with feta cheese. She even cut shallots and thyme for a dressing of olive oil and balsamic. Mike always loved lamb chops, but she couldn’t think about that now.

Her phone rang, and Julia took it quickly, expecting Courtney, calling back. But it was an Italian number. She answered, “Hello?”

“Ms. Pritzker, this is Dr. Caraccioli, the vet who treated Bianco.”

“Oh yes, how are you?”

“I’m fine. How is he?”

“He’s resting quietly.” Julia checked Bianco, curled up like a powdered doughnut. “By the way, I found some garbage he’d gotten into. I assume it didn’t agree with him.”

Dr. Caraccioli paused. “Garbage? How much did he eat?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Is any left?”

“No, he ate it all.”

Dr. Caraccioli cleared her throat. “I’m calling because I had some concerns when he was here. I put a rush on his blood tests, and the results verified them.”

“Oh no, what?” Julia asked, alarmed. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he should be fine. It doesn’t change my treatment. Let me ask you, you aren’t his caretaker, correct?”

“Correct. My housekeeper and her husband are.”

“May I speak with them?”

“No, unfortunately, they’ve gone.”

“When will they return?”

“They won’t. They moved to Abruzzo.”

“What are their names?”

“Anna Mattia Vesta and her husband, Piero Fano.”

“Do you have their contact information?”

“No, I’m sorry. I only met them a few days ago.” Julia didn’t understand why the vet was asking so many questions.

“Have you learned who’s Bianco’s primary veterinarian?”

“I haven’t had a chance yet. Why do you ask?”

“Bianco’s blood showed the presence of a plant substance.”

“He must have gotten it outside. The vineyard here is overgrown. There must be tons of weeds and plants.”

“No, this plant is not native to Tuscany.” Dr. Caraccioli paused. “It’s the iboga plant, native to central Africa. Africa’s not so far from Italy, as you may know. The drug made from the iboga plant is ibogaine. It’s a controlled substance here and in the United States.”

“A drug?” Julia asked, puzzled.

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