Death Under the Venice Moon

by Maria Grazia Swan

  At least I had a pretty good idea of the palazzo location. Might as well go back and wait for Kyle. Too bad I hadn't stopped to buy a local paper or a magazine to catch up with Italian news or, better yet, Italian gossip.

  I made it to the front entrance of the palazzo in minutes and noticed the absence of parked cars. Either all the condos were empty, or there was a garage nearby. I let myself in then headed to Augusta's office to ask if Cruz's car was accounted for.

  I knocked and waited. Knocked again. On impulse, I tried the handle. The door was locked. What a relief. Hey, I tried. I walked to the elevator as fast as I could.

  The living room had been vacuumed, dusted, and whatever else…I couldn't tell, but there was no longer the lingering odor of spilt wine. Good. I made a beeline for the window, curious to see if I could spot the lace maker's place. I recognized the row of arches and residences on the upper floors but couldn't see the chairs where we sat and chatted. The arched porch hid it from view.

  A noise came from behind me. Cruz? I turned. The concierge was quietly locking Cruz's bedroom door. She pocketed the key. Parts of an odd conversation with Cruz crossed my mind.

  "You mean you are not the only one with the keys?"

  "I'm told I am, but I trust no one."

  "Good afternoon, Augusta."

  She spun around, and the scowl on her face told me I wasn't supposed to have been there to witness that. That? What was such a big secret about cleaning someone's bedroom?

  "Is Cruz back?" I used my sweetest voice, hoping to annoy her as much as she annoyed me.

  "No. I made his bed. Need to go." She walked out before I could come up with some other smart-alecky remark. Damn.

  Made the bed? Not likely, since it wasn't mussed when I left that morning.

  Yeah. Like Kyle said, Cruz probably didn't even sleep in his bed last night. Why would she lock the room when it wasn't locked before? Whatever their relationship, it had nothing to do with me. Stick to your own problems.

  On cue, the cell phone chimed. I walked to my bedroom and closed the door, resisting the temptation to lock it.

  "Lella." Larry's voice radiated tension. Not his style. Tension and worry were my department. "Lella." He sighed.

  "What is it?" Maybe something bad happened to his daughter.

  "How far are you from Innsbruck?"

  "Innsbruck? That's in Austria. I'm in Italy."

  "I understand. I was wondering if you know the distance between where you are and where I'll be."

  What? "Wait, wait. You are going to Innsbruck?"

  "I'm flying out of LAX tomorrow at noon with Lufthansa, changing planes in Frankfurt. With layovers and all that, I should be landing in Innsbruck roughly thirty hours after departing California."

  I was speechless. I waited.

  "I miss you, Lella. I want to fix this—this thing that's caused you such pain. Give me a chance. My life has been hell since you left. And now what's happening with Olivia…I always pictured the two of us traveling through Europe together. You, me. On vacation, though, not like this."

  My brain refused to process anything he said with the exception of I miss you and my life has been hell since you left. That part eased my tension. I felt vindicated. "I don't know the exact distance, maybe two hundred miles. How about you tell me what's going on?"

  "Remember when we were talking and I had to take another call? Well, it was Olivia calling. She's being detained in Innsbruck because she couldn't produce a valid form of ID. At least, that's what she said."

  "You don't think she is telling the truth?"

  He sighed again, and the sorrow he tried to conceal was so real it snared my heart.

  "Five days ago she told me she was in Paris trying to renew her passport at the American embassy in order to get back home. I wired her a large amount of money for her flight back, for the passport, and the hotel." A long pause. "Now she's in Innsbruck broke and still without a passport."

  I had to know. "How about her mother?"

  "Jennifer? She doesn't have a passport, and she may have to go back to Florida if they subpoena her for her husband's trial." His voice held no empathy or affection when he spoke about the woman, and he seemed bitter. More was going on here than he was sharing. "Besides, I bet she knows a lot more about what's up with Olivia than I've been told."

  I knew it.

  "I'm so sorry." I really was. The memory of Kyle's brief stint in jail for something he didn't do still lingered in my mind. "Anything I can do to help?" Parenthood is a forever mission.

  "Yes, wait for me. My friend Bonnie Fisher was able to locate an Austrian lawyer through her legal practice. He can help expedite the matter with the passport. As soon as that's done, I intend to put Olivia on a flight to the States, then I'll get into my rented car and come to visit you, wherever you are, if you let me."

  I found myself speechless again. He sounded so…eager to please me. "Larry, our cell phones don't always work here. You may want to get yourself a cell phone when you get to Innsbruck so we can talk."

  "I will. Good to know."

  While he didn't seem to want to hang up, he also seemed hesitant to speak, as if he didn't want to say something wrong. This was not the Larry I knew.

  "How old is Olivia now?" I asked.

  "Twenty-three. The European trip was her present for her twenty-first birthday. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Started out with a college group and a chaperon. When the rest of the group returned home, Olivia said she was staying behind with her best friend from school. In the last twenty-four hours I learned that was a lie. The girlfriend returned to Florida at the end of summer, just as originally planned. My daughter has been wandering around Europe on her own for two years. I feel like her mother had to know all this." His voice was strained, anger and outrage audible. Whoa! And all this time I thought he was busy making love to Olivia's mom. "I'm going to be talking to the girlfriend and her parents."

  There wasn't much to say, less to do at that point. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could do something. I can only sit here and wait for Kyle. I know it sounds silly, but I feel like…a stranger in my own country. And I'm not about to drive in Italy, no way. You wait. I don't know about Austrians' driving habits, but wait until you see how Italians act behind the wheel. They are, like, possessed. I refuse to drive, period."

  "So it's okay if I show up at your door? You are the only reason I would be driving on Italian streets."

  I swallowed before answering, not wanting him to hear all that emotion pent up in my voice. "Of course it's okay, but at the moment I don't know where I'll be." I tried to offer some emotional support to his problem. It had to be hurting him terribly. "Don't be too pessimistic. Maybe Olivia had a good reason to stay in Europe. Give her a chance to explain before you pass judgment."

  Good advice. Too bad I hadn't been able to follow it myself.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Mom? Mom?" Kyle's voice.

  I must have dozed off. Damn jet lag. "Come in. The door is open." Still holding the cell phone against my chest. God! I rubbed my eyes and straightened out the clothes I'd slept in, trying to look dignified.

  "Mom!" Kyle hugged me so hard he nearly lifted me off the bed. Oh, how I missed his hugs and enthusiasm. "Let me look at you. I'm so happy to see you."

  I choked up. "Hey, that's my line." It was my turn to look at him. While he didn't appear older, he did seem more mature. Couldn't be. He'd only been gone ten months. "You look…different."

  "Of course I do. I've been Italianized. You like that word? Sounds so important, doesn't it?" He laughed. "Seriously, though, I need to find out what's going on with Cruz before we go to dinner. You hungry? You want to wait here while I talk to Augusta? Or you can go with me. Your choice."

  "I'll join you. Can I have a minute to comb my hair?" I couldn't get enough of looking at him, all grown up, tanned, sophisticated, and so handsome. My little boy.

  "Sure, go ahead. I'll go check out Cruz's room."

  Good luck
with that.

  I turned the faucet to a trickle and pretended to wash up while keeping an ear out for the bedroom inspection.

  "What the fuck?"

  Dear God, I'd never heard my son use the f-word before. Was that what he called Italianization?

  He rattled Cruz's bedroom door.

  Time to butt in. I stuck my head out of the bathroom door. "The concierge locked the door."

  "Augusta? Why would she do that?"

  "I don't know. She was leaving with the key when I came back from my outing."

  "Damn." He wasn't happy, but he didn't say the f-word in front of me. Not that I'm a prude, but there's something uncomfortable about hearing your offspring swear.

  * * *

  We headed to the first floor, where the concierge's office was located. Some of the initial reunion magic might be wearing off, but all in all, I could tell Kyle was glad I was there. Good.

  The concierge seemed startled when Kyle swooped down on her without bothering to knock. "Good evening, Augusta. I understand you met my mother. I found Cruz's room locked. Do you know anything about it?" No chitchat, straight to the facts.

  Her eyes met mine. I smiled.

  "Huh—I—yes, I wanted to make sure all was—you know—perfect." Her glance darted from Kyle to me. If looks could kill, I'd have been a corpse.

  "Not sure what you mean; my mother was the only one there." He shrugged. "Anyway, you told his agent Roberto you haven't seen Cruz since last night, but I've been asked to check on Cruz's Ferrari and the boat. Can I please have the keys? All the keys." He held her stare.

  Her eyes mere slits, she opened her desk drawer, pulled out an envelope, and retrieved a set of keys on a chain. She handed everything to Kyle then slammed the drawer shut.

  Kyle kept his cool. "Thanks." He turned to me. "Let's go, Mom."

  Not sure why, but I felt proud of my son. He didn't raise his voice, yet there was a sense of confidence in his attitude, something I hadn't seen before. He reminded me of…Larry.

  I wasn't looking forward to revisiting the aquatic dungeons below. Kyle headed in the opposite direction, still on the first floor. This corridor was well lit. He unlocked a door, and we entered a large storage area. It was divided into thirds by a chain-link fence. A dark, four-door sedan was parked in one of the spaces. Augusta's car? The area next to it looked empty at first, but at the very back in the larger space sat a black Ferrari, identifiable by the prancing horse on the hood. As for the car itself, it didn't look like any car I'd ever seen before. More like science fiction…time traveling into the future.

  "Wow," slipped from my lips.

  "Isn't it a beauty?" Kyle removed the padlock from the wire gate and went to look at the vehicle. I stayed outside the marked space. This Cruz seemed to find a way of annoying me even when he wasn't around. First the speedboat named Gemini, then the Ferrari.

  No way I could forgive him for that stupid prank on Ponte Vecchio, not with all the reminders connecting him to it.

  Kyle sat in the passenger seat and used one of the keys to open a few locked storage compartments. He reached over the rearview mirror, took down a pair of sunglasses, then put them back. He stretched his neck to look behind the seats. Finally he got out of the car shaking his head. "Doesn't look like he used the car at all since he got here. Well, let's see if he left by boat."

  "You mean we have to go down into the stinky underground dock?"

  "You've been there?" He seemed surprised.

  "Yeah, I didn't tell you? Cruz dragged me down there late in the evening, had me climb up on the bow—get this—to look at the moon. Some scoundrel showed up, and we got out of the place as fast as we could."

  "What? Looking at the moon? Scoundrel? What are you talking about?"

  I told him the short version while he locked everything back up and we headed for the damn boat dock. Again when he opened the door to the underground channel, the cold air knocked my breath away.

  But unlike Cruz, Kyle turned on all the lights, and while the smell lingered, the place wasn't as claustrophobic. He climbed up on the boat. I entertained myself by walking to the end of the dock. There were lights behind some of the windows across the canal. Which one was the lace maker's room?

  Apparently no clues to Cruz's absence were found on the boat, and we headed upstairs to the condo.

  "Kyle, don't you have any luggage? How long are you staying?"

  "We're heading to Venice in the morning, Cruz or no Cruz."

  "We?"

  "Yeah, I thought it would be fun. If the missing movie star shows up, we're scheduled to do the last retakes. If he doesn't, well, we can have lunch with Carolyn and Roberto. My stuff is in the car. I'll need a change of clothes, but I'm parked at the curb. Now that I have the key, let me check Cruz's bedroom and see if I come up with anything. I'll shave then we can go to my favorite trattoria. You're in for a treat. The best fish ever. They say Chioggia is well known for the daily catch. Restaurants from as far away as Bologna send their people here early in the morning to wait for the fishermen to arrive so they can get first pick. Okay, so let's get ready. Oh, wait. I’ll check the room and call Roberto. He's very concerned."

  He unlocked Cruz's room and went in. I sat on my bed, trying to decide whether to change for dinner and sending mental thanks to the universe that my son hadn't asked me about Larry yet. I needed to process all of Larry's latest news on my own first.

  He didn’t mention finding anything out of the ordinary in Cruz’s room and said so to Roberto.

  The trattoria's owners recognized Kyle—not because of the movies but because he ate there often when staying in Chioggia. They went out of their way to gain the approval of the Italian mamma. I didn't have to pretend. The meal was superb and tasted homemade, the best kind there is.

  The next morning I waited to hear Kyle moving around the condo before leaving my room. The poor kid slept in a very small room with a single bed, I assume he let me use his. I found him in the kitchen making coffee. "Buongiorno, Mamma. We'll need to hit the road soon, so we can have coffee then wait to eat until we get to Venice. But if you prefer, we can have Augusta send something up. There isn't much in the refrigerator. You decide."

  "Coffee sounds perfect. Look at you, dressed like—" I stared at his Levi's, sneakers, and Polo Ralph Lauren Henley. Really?

  "Like the wholesome kid next door," he finished my sentence.

  "Yeah, now that you mention it."

  "Have to, by contract. Feeding the perception Italians have of the nice young American boy. I feel like I'm back in high school, or maybe a prep school dropout. Good old Ralphie boy." He tugged at his shirt, shook his head, and poured the steaming coffee into our small cups.

  "How are we getting to Venice?"

  "We'll take my car. The studio has a reserved spot at Garage San Marco, and from there we go by the hotel water taxi. You better take everything you brought with you; we may not come back here."

  "Oh." I had mixed feelings about that—part of me happy to get away from Cruz and Augusta, the other part lamenting the missed opportunity to fully reacquaint myself with this charming little town.

  By nine thirty that morning we left the medieval Porta di Santa Maria behind and headed toward Venice. In a sense I was traveling the same road I had with Pia, only in reverse.

  "What happens when we get to Venice?" In a few hours Larry will leave for the airport.

  "I have to meet with Carolyn and Roberto at the Century Palace. Cruz keeps a suite there. We'll probably have breakfast or lunch and get an update. You know, I forgot to tell you. Since Cruz got caught with that woman coming out of the hotel, paparazzi hang around the place hoping to get lucky. You want to put on lipstick or something?"

  "What, what? Cruz getting caught, paparazzi, lipstick? How about you tell me the whole story. We have time."

  "My mom wants to hear about gossip." He snickered. "How about that? You need to understand that Cruz is a…nice fellow, but he is or can be…peculiar."

>   "You don't say."

  "Why? Did he do something bizarre around you?"

  Mental pictures of Cruz reveling in the moonlight on the floor of the condo flashed by. "Aside from the Ponte Vecchio experience, no, but I had the feeling he is a little…different."

  "He has this thing about older women. He gets into torrid affairs with women twice his age."

  Augusta? "And? I felt an and coming."

  He laughed. "And a few months ago he got involved with a much older married woman, who happens to be the wife of a powerful man—the kind of powerful man you don't want mad at you. Cruz got caught walking the woman out the back entrance of the Century to a waiting speedboat at one a.m. Two paparazzi were at the hotel covering a public event. They went outside for a smoke. Well, you can imagine the rest—fist fights, boat chases. And all of it made the news by morning. I think that's one of the reasons the studio wants me to parade around as the good boy and all that jazz. You know, a balancing act. One more month and I'll be back in L.A. ready to set the town on fire."

  I found myself laughing along with him. "Kyle, maybe that's why he isn't to be found. Maybe he is somewhere with this woman. No?"

  "He better not be. If that's the case, he won't be around to see the premiere of the film. I'm not kidding, Mom—he is messing with the wrong crowd."

  "Is that why you never talk about Pia? Because of the good-boy image in your contract?"

  "Contract? Pia? What about Pia?"

  "Isn't she your girlfriend?"

  "Hell no. Whatever gave you that idea? Oh, you mean because she picked you up at the airport? She had to be up here anyhow, no biggie. I don't know what she told you, but no. I went out with her a few times, and it just didn't work out. She hangs around because she gets access to showbiz news before the rest of the crowd. That's all."

  I didn't argue with him, but once again I concluded that my son was clueless when it came to relationships. Must take after his mother.