Storming Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  “I guess nothing surprises me about the Scortinis,” she said.

  “He says he knows the outside of the palazzo pretty well, which makes sense since he’s been working on keeping the place watertight for ten years. But he wasn’t able to give us access to the locked areas inside.”

  Zelph added, “He told us the former houseman died a while back, so no one else knows the property. However, he says he did know about the secret passage that ran between Salvio’s office and the door under the bridge access. He found it while repairing the foundation under Il ponte di Diamante.”

  Alphonso said, “I’d hoped there’d be a book on this palazzo. I checked la Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, but no luck. I called the historical property society who told me, as far as they know, the Scortinis always refused requests to have this palazzo included in books or films.”

  Raphielli said, “I like the idea that I could escape out the secret passage in an emergency, or that don Petrosino and you two can get in that way. You don’t want to seal it up, do you?”

  “Seal it up?” Alphonso stared at her. “No, but I’d suggest fixing the door leading inside the house, and it’d be easy to put a door with a lock at the mouth leading to Salvio’s office. Wouldn’t it?”

  Zelph pushed his long hair out of his eyes, produced a white bandana from his pocket, and tied it over his head. “Right, it's a good idea to add a security door from his office to the passageway.”

  “Ah, that sounds good,” she said.

  “Oh, hey! I almost forgot.” Zelph handed her a little device. “Here, this is yours. Since you don’t have a security service, I’ve given one to Luiz, Guiseppe, Rosa, your part-time cook, and Dante. Pressing the little red button alerts the other devices, and uno-uno-due gets a call for emergency help. They’re even waterproof.”

  “Zelph and I have ‘em, too.” Alphonso took her hand. “Before lunch, we want to show you another secret passage Luiz knew about. It’s over in the kitchen.”

  When they entered the spotless white-tiled network of kitchen rooms, they greeted the cook and then headed over to a side food prep room near one of the empty pantries. Zelph pushed on the wall and part of it pivoted in place.

  “Oh! My! It’s on a spindle?” Raphielli clapped her hands.

  “Clever, isn’t it?” Zelph said.

  “Where does it lead?” She asked.

  “Well, you can see by the random walls that the floor plan has been changed, and sadly this passage is a dead end.”

  “But it’s pretty cool. Come on, check it out.” Alphonso took Raphielli’s hand and walked her down the passage with Zelph following behind.

  “It probably ran from the kitchen down to a servant’s area.” They stopped in front of a cupboard in the wall. “But now it stops here at this dumbwaiter.”

  “So, here they could deliver food to another floor?” She opened the cupboard and eyed the shaft and pulley inside.

  “Right. It’s near the main kitchen and would have been convenient when lots of people lived and worked here.” They continued walking and turned a corner. “But see? Here the passage ends abruptly at this one odd step down to this wall.”

  They retraced their steps, went back through the spinning wall, and had lunch in the kitchen staff dining room before they began their systematic mapping of the roof. They rode up in the formal guest elevator, and Alphonso admired the craftsmanship of the ornate wrought iron cage. Its exposed machinery was a work of art that whirled before their eyes during the brief ride.

  They mapped the roof but found no secret passages in the greenhouse, tool shed, or observation tower. The third level of this wing had been used for housing the staff. Walking through the orderly bedrooms and communal bathrooms, they had a palpable sense of the people who had lived here in generations past.

  After descending one level, they spent some time on the grand landing of the staircase because the main access to the second floor of the wing was locked. The big double doors had a strong lock that hadn’t been lubricated in years, but luckily it was one that Zelph was familiar with. When he got it open, they explored fourteen grand bedrooms, each with a dressing room and an opulent bathroom. There were a few secluded, shallow gallery rooms for admiring the beauty of the waters outside. Everything on this floor was covered with sheets, and tarps covered the rugs. They counted eleven more rooms that remained locked, so Alphonso added them to the growing list for Zelph to pick at another time.

  “The missing keys are critical. Let’s take a break and look for them,” he said.

  “I agree,” Raphielli said. “Where should we begin?”

  “Salvio’s office,” Zelph sounded confident. “If I was still a betting man, I’d bet they were there.”

  They took a break from mapping and, on their way back through the kitchen, Raphielli told the cook they’d have dinner in Salvio’s office. When they got there, they began looking around. Raphielli started running her hands under shelves, opening cabinets, and tapping walls checking for secret compartments. Zelph followed her lead and began tapping on surfaces.

  Careful not to knock anything off the walls, Alphonso ran his hands along paintings, photos, and mementos. “This office is a natural place to store keys because it had been Salvio’s father’s office, right?”

  “Sì, it was Salvatore’s, and before that Salvadore’s, the grandfather,” she answered.

  “A butler runs a household,” Zelph reasoned. “So when the other two Sal’s were alive, their butler must have had a copy of all of the keys to keep the place secure and give the staff access as needed.” He disappeared behind black velvet curtains knocking on the walls.

  “But Salvio wanted them all.” Alphonso continued examining furniture. When Raphielli, who was on her hands and knees, gasped, “Ah-ha!”

  “What?”

  She didn’t answer him. She’d been examining the bottom of an enormous frame containing an oil painting of some Scortini ancestor that went almost to the floor. She looked like a hunting dog signaling prey as she raised her head to look at him and pointed her finger at the far wall.

  “I know!” She crawled across the black carpet to a stout little bookshelf built into the paneling that they’d already checked. “I think I saw him moving this once!” She stood up, ran her hands over it, and tugged. Nothing happened.

  “Moving it?” He went and stood beside her.

  She stared down at the shelf containing neat stacks of books. It matched others lining the room. “Sì. The day after our wedding, I came in here looking for Salvatore.” She turned to face the door as if watching herself come through it. “Instead, I surprised Salvio. He was standing right here, his left hand was here…” She touched the upper inside corner of the shelf. “Like this. He…was yelling at me…”

  Alphonso’s heart went out to her as she grimaced at the memory of her husband’s anger.

  “He took a step back, and I swear the shelf moved with him. He must have pushed it into place.”

  Alphonso moved next to her, reached over, and intertwined his fingers with hers inside the shelf. He gave them a reassuring squeeze, and together they felt along and compressed a little lever.

  “Ah!” she cried.

  They pivoted the whole shelf away from the wall. The back of the shelf was lined with hundreds of keys on little hooks. Each bore a neat label corresponding to a chart on a thin wooden board.

  “What a relief!” he said. “This is going to speed up our progress considerably!”

  “Soooo, you caught little Salvio sneaking into his father’s office to lift some keys. Bad boy.” Zelph pretended he was scolding his least favorite person.

  They looked up as Guiseppe rolled a cart into the office, and the aroma made Alphonso realize just how hungry he was.

  Zelph said, “I’m starving.” As they sat down, he asked, “Guiseppe, do you ever feel frightened moving around this palazzo now that it’s mostly vacant?”

  He gave it a moment’s thought while arranging their silverwar
e, and then said quietly, “Now that the master is gone. No.”

  It was late and the police station was quiet. The rest of the detectives had gone home to families or loved ones. Luigi’s wife had called that afternoon asking him to take her out to dinner, but he’d already set up a dinner meeting with a banker friend so he could follow the Scortini money trail, so he’d asked her for a rain check. She was irritated, but he’d promised to take her to a nice dinner soon. Now it was ten thirty and he’d just finished adding that financial information to his report and was ready to go home. As he passed the inspector’s office he heard, “Anything new on your side project?”

  Luigi changed direction and walked into the office that at night looked like a film noir set. Just one desk lamp was on, illuminating the big man’s face.

  “Sì, I talked to an old friend of mine who’s a banker. Apparently, just this past weekend, Raphielli consolidated the entire Scortini estate into a new trust.”

  “How much are we talking?”

  “So much money that every bank in Europe is revising their portfolios because of the sudden shift.”

  “Especially the banks she transferred the funds into, I’d bet,” Laszlo said.

  “That’s the thing. The financial advisor who managed this lightening tour de force is Vincenzo Verona.”

  “The young count Verona?”

  “Uh-huh. He and his accountant, Leonardo Trentori, modernized the Scortini estate which was made up of holdings that go back hundreds of years. My banker friend says Vincenzo and Leonardo deal exclusively with saving the environment, alleviating human suffering, things like that.”

  “The human suffering sounds in line with the Scortini widow’s passion for saving battered women.” The inspector pulled on his lip for a moment and then fixed him with an intense look. “If you’re right, and he’s still alive, his money won’t help him anymore.”

  “And now he’ll have another motive to murder her.”

  “Whatever his first motive was...” Laszlo sat back, disappearing into the darkness. “My hunch says he’s in the canal,” came the disembodied voice.

  “That’d be nice,” Luigi muttered.

  “So, how rich is the his widow?”

  “Raphielli is likely the richest woman in the world.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  Markus felt better than he had in weeks as he took a seat across from Giselle at the breakfast table. He was looking forward to working alone with her and was about to say so when Juliette swept into the room and made a beeline for Giselle. “Buongiorno my dear.” She planted a kiss on Giselle’s cheek. “I hear you are back to your art. You must be excited.”

  Giselle smiled happily. “Ecstatic! Thanks to Markus our supplies are being delivered as we speak, and this morning I’m going to the studio to set up. He’s helping me create a model of my next sculpture.”

  “Almost done with your Verdu Mer responsibilities?” Ivar asked.

  Giselle nodded, and Markus could see how relieved she was. “I’ve got one final meeting with the architectural team.”

  “Ah, I know that look.” Juliette moved to her seat, and a servant pulled it out for her. “When you are working, you are so intense. I am glad to see you happy, my dear. I had hoped you would find your house designs more fulfilling, you have such a gift.” Juliette laid her napkin neatly across her lap and looked at him. “Markus, between your classes at Verdu Mer and this studio, she will want to physically work you from dawn to dusk.”

  “I will find a balance.” He tried not to let on that he was possibly even more excited than Giselle at the prospect.

  Markus nodded to Gabrieli and the Pope as they hustled in, noticing that the Pope’s lips were drawn in a tight line. Ivar asked, “Gabrieli, are you and the holy father going to the news station?”

  The Pope said, “Sì. I will speak to the people of Brazil via satellite. They are facing a crisis that has many lobbying for birth control.”

  “Is it like the Zika virus?” Ivar asked, sounding grim.

  Markus watched a shudder ripple through the Pope as he nodded.

  Juliette made the sign of the cross and then repeated the little gesture in Giselle’s direction. “Grazie a Dio we have no plague here.”

  The conversation changed to the weather, and as they ate, Yvania and Juliette talked of their plans for a day of experimental cooking. When Giselle and Markus stood to go, Vincenzo got up and kissed Giselle’s cheek. “Have a wonderful day with your art.”

  She kissed him back, then turned to Ivar. “I’ll see you at the Verdu Mer meeting at one o’clock.”

  “I will be there,” he said.

  The day was cold, but not raining for a change. Giselle and Markus hurried through the calles to the studio. They found their supplies were inside, along with a note from the landlord and a receipt from the delivery company. Markus went to the thermostat and turned up the heat. “Now my beautiful, finally we are in our element.”

  He turned to see her standing in the studio’s workshop leaning on a stack of boxes. She was smiling like a girl on Christmas morning. “Why didn’t we do this weeks ago?”

  “Why indeed?” He needed to connect with her before he could concentrate. “Before we set things up, will you indulge me?”

  She gave him an innocent look, but her voice became sultry. “Certainly.”

  “Come stand over here.” He pointed to the spot directly in front of him.

  When she stood before him he cocked his head to the side and let his eyes take her in. He reached out, peeled her coat off, and tossed it over a nearby chair. He began to unbutton her heavy satin blouse, letting his knuckles and fingertips graze her breasts. She gave a little gasp and her head tossed back minutely.

  He let his fingertips stroke the insides of her wrists as he unbuttoned her shirt cuffs, and then his palms were caressing her arms. He slipped her shirt and bra straps down her shoulders. He stroked her ribcage lightly and with a deft maneuver, her bra came free. Letting the shirt and bra drop, Markus knelt in front of her and removed her shoes. Looking up, he could see she was both cold and excited. He grazed her pubis with his thumbs as he unzipped her pants, and she let out a moan that sounded like pain. He smoothed his hands down her firm thighs, taking her pants with them. Finally, she stood naked, and he rocked back on his heels to admire her. “I cannot concentrate on art until I can think clearly.”

  “Hmm, it’s a wonder you were able to assist me back in Gernelle.” She playfully swiveled one knee, offering him tantalizing peeks as she spoke, only to let her leg drop closed again.

  “If not for cold showers, I would be in an asylum by now.”

  “Are you saying that working with me when you couldn’t have me almost drove you mad?” She took a deep breath and her breasts jutted prettily.

  “Da.”

  “Well, I’m no Sigmund Freud, but I’ll do what I can.” She turned her back to him, and he admired her from behind as she walked a few steps across the scarred wood floor. She bent over a table, laying her stomach on the smooth wood, and then looked back at him over her shoulder.

  He threw his coat on a chair, ripped off his shirt, and unfastened his pants in seconds before crossing to her. He dropped to his knees behind her and gave her as much pleasure as he could with his mouth and fingers. When she was glistening and panting, he entered her and stroked her most delicate reaches from within, her thighs with his hands, and her back with his mouth.

  They took their time, savoring each other until he lost all control and gave way to a rush of release. They held each other only for a short while before they made their way to the utilitarian bathroom for a quick hot shower. Afterward, Markus pulled his clothes back on.

  She dug through her tote and changed into a thermal shirt and jeans.

  “You brought a change of clothes?”

  “I figured the chances of a broken zipper or lost buttons was high so I threw some extras in my bag.”

  “I did not know you owned jeans.”


  “Vincenzo invested in a company that makes organic hemp jeans, and they’re the most comfortable pants I’ve ever owned. I also brought some thermal shirts to the studio to work in.”

  “Much more practical than the little dresses you wore while we worked in Gernelle.”

  “Those were the hot early days of fall.”

  “And here on the cusp of winter, I am favored with your maddening nipples showing through your winter shirts. I do not know how I can work around you at all.”

  As Giselle pulled a large sketchbook from her tote, Markus came to look over her shoulder and saw an imprisoned figure that was flying at an oddly distorted angle into bars.

  “That is the idea for your new sculpture?” He asked.

  “It is, indeed. I call it Immure to Madness.”

  “Is that a cage?”

  “It sure is.”

  “And the person inside is metallic?”

  “Mm-hmm. They’ll spin inside the cage.”

  “That could look disturbing or beautiful.”

  “I’m going for both.” She looked extraordinarily pleased with her concept.

  “The spinning person does not throw razor blades at the museum-goers or anything like that…” He gave her a wary look. “Please tell me it does not.”

  “No razor blades.” She looked at the charcoal drawing fondly. “I dreamt this up when I was in high school and built a little prototype that’s somewhere in these boxes. And now I’m going to build a larger scale model to see how I can make the body perform.”

  “Like the model you did of Star Fall?”

  “Right. I find I always need a couple of prototypes before beginning my work.”

  “Makes sense. Your works are so big, they had better be feasible before you begin them.”

  “Exactly.” She smiled at him.

  Markus left her to unpack lengths of metal while he unpacked his glass and metal supplies. He wondered if Vincenzo hoped this arrangement would be indefinite so he could shunt Markus to the sidelines, while his wife stayed at his side and had dalliances at the studio. He was not going to let that happen.