Death Under the Venice Moon

by Maria Grazia Swan

  Oh, no! I quickly closed the pages and looked around to see if anyone noticed me. Not possible. That was me, my picture, wearing the robe from the spa, raccoon eyes and mouth open like a fish on the hook. Kyle's small picture was next to mine, but the article discussed the possibility—had all Italians gone crazy?—that I came to Italy to seduce Cruz. Yes, the word seduce used next to my name didn't feel right.

  The article even suggested I had a hand in the disappearance, all to advance my son's career. Did Kyle know about these fabrications? Could that be the reason he insisted I become invisible? To protect me? Who came up with the printed lies? I sat, frozen. What if someone recognized me? I felt dirty. Where should I hide?

  Oh, God. Please, Larry, come get me. The "California Girls" jingle never sounded so good. I put the cell to my ear and bent as if tying my shoes.

  "Larry, where are you?" I whispered into the telefonino.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  My whole body trembled, electrified as I watched Larry lock the Mercedes. He hadn't noticed me yet. I could hardly breathe in anticipation of meeting face to face for the first time since he left for Florida. How long ago was that? A month? Hardly.

  Guilt ate at my soul, and while I mentally vowed never to pull something so unjustified again, deep down I knew I might. I stood outside the train station, waiting. He parked where Kyle told him to, and as he walked toward me, I willed myself not to move.

  Wait, Lella, wait.

  I knew he saw me by the way he quickened his pace, and even from the distance I felt his eyes on me. God, I'd forgotten how good he looked. Tall and confident, he wore a short charcoal coat I'd never seen before, and his hair in this wintry late afternoon light took on the darkest shade of black. Unlike me, the graying part of aging seemed to have passed him by.

  "Lella." We had agreed to keep it simple, like casual friends would. We couldn't attract attention. He took hold of my carryon with one hand and stroked the side of my face with the back of his free hand.

  I held his stare and kept silent. Should I apologize? Before I could make up my mind, his lips brushed the cheek where his caress still lingered and he whispered, "I missed you so."

  I swallowed my lumped-up emotions along with my uncertainties, and we walked to his car, our steps in sync, his arm around my shoulders. I realized there was nothing I had to say, at least not at this precise moment. Later, perhaps—much later.

  He stored my luggage in the back seat. The interior of this Mercedes was different from the one he had back home. It smelled like a new car should, and the gray leather seats felt soft to the touch. Larry started the engine, seemed to change his mind, and turned halfway to look at me.

  I felt like a sixteen-year-old on her first date. My cheeks burned. I wasn't sure if the cause was all those suppressed feelings or my hot flashes flaring up again.

  He grabbed the sides of my hood and pulled me to him. "You look like a little Eskimo." His voice a tad husky, he kissed my lips without lingering, then let me go, and a few seconds later the car started to move.

  I unzipped my quilted jacket. I was on fire.

  How could it be that easy? No scolding, no questions, just a whole lot of tenderness. All that made me feel even guiltier about the way I had behaved toward him. Maybe that was his game, to show me how good a man he was. Stop it. I had to say something. What?

  He beat me to it. "So tell me what's going on with this—Cruz? You don't seem as scared and nervous as Kyle described you."

  "When did you talk to Kyle?" There. I spoke. The earth didn't explode, yet my heart hadn't stopped fluttering in my throat.

  "A few hours ago. He called to make sure I was on my way to get you. He's a really nice young man." Was he mentally comparing Kyle to Olivia?

  I remembered my son's comment. "Is there really an Olivia?"

  "How about you give me your version of the events?" he said.

  "Mine is the long one."

  "We have all the time in the world. By the way, are you hungry? Do you want to find a place to eat or take the toll road back to Austria?"

  "Let's get out of Trento. Do you know your way back to the autostrada?"

  "I know how to get to it, but I can't figure out how to pronounce it, hence 'toll road.'" I sensed the smile in his voice. "We need to cross a bridge, coming up pretty soon. I've memorized the map."

  The stoplight turned red, and the tow truck in front of us stopped in a shriek of brakes. We barely missed hitting it. The abrupt stop seemed to shake the damaged car on the flatbed. Damaged was a loose way of describing it. The thing looked like a pancake.

  "That must have been some accident. Looks like the car caught fire before it rolled," Larry said knowingly.

  The streetlights came on, and the whole scene seemed like a movie freeze frame.

  A man came from the driver side of the truck, walked around, and stopped to look at the front of the Mercedes. He was all bundled up in heavy working clothes. A knit hat with a visor hid his eyes. He wore the kind of gloves I'd seen on city workers digging in public places back home.

  "Does he think I hit him?" Larry asked.

  Before I could answer, he put the car in park and opened the door. Damn. He didn't know Italian drivers. The light was now green and angry motorists drove around us, beeping their horns without restraint. I grabbed my jacket and hurried from the car.

  "Is there something wrong, signore?"

  The man looked at me and shook his head. "I thought I heard a loud thump, was afraid the cargo shifted." He checked around; I followed his glance, and among the soot-smudged surface I noticed spots of dark green paint showing through, and something else: a faded I heart NY sticker.

  Oh my God! Pia's car. I waved my hand in alarm. I couldn't find my voice.

  "Lella, what's wrong?" Larry walked to my side.

  The truck driver's eyes bounced between Larry and me.

  "Where did you get this car?" I spoke in Italian, and I could read frustration on Larry's face.

  "Car? Signora, this was once a car, it's now evidence. I'm delivering it to Trapasso Servizi, other side of the river, and if you don't mind I'll get going so I can make it home for supper."

  "You don't understand. The driver is my son's best friend. She's been missing for days."

  "Makes sense. The accident occurred days ago. Between the bad weather and the location, it took a special crane to retrieve this thing from the ravine. Of course the driver was rescued right away, I'm sure."

  "Pia is all right? Where is she? Can I see her?"

  Larry paced. He seemed to be concentrating very hard, trying to make sense of the conversation.

  Meanwhile, the truck man studied me like I was a bona fide loony. With a sigh he pulled a business card from an inside pocket and handed it to me. "Signora, I know nothing—when I was sent to retrieve the vehicle there was no one there except the police collecting personal items from around and under the upside-down car. Here is the phone number of the centralino for la stradale. You call them. I've got to go. I don't get paid overtime. Buonasera."

  He turned on his heel, and soon the truck carrying Pia's car disappeared over the San Lorenzo Bridge.

  "What the hell was that all about?" Larry the cop wasn't pleased. Feeling useless?

  "I—we need to follow the truck. That's Pia's car and—where is my phone? I'll call this number…"

  The chorus of car horns hurt my ears.

  "Lella, right now we need to get out of the intersection before a cop makes us. Let's go."

  I got back in the car like a robot. My mind tried to process all the new information but only succeeded in feeling overwhelmed and unprepared. My hands trembled so badly my cell phone slipped away and landed under my seat. I bent over to try to find it.

  "Lella, come on, sit and put on your seatbelt. Talk to me. Who is Pia, and how do you know for sure that's her car? I didn't see the license plate. Did you?"

  "Nooo, you don't understand. It's the sticker, the one with the heart. Where are you go
ing?" I was coming unglued. All that self-control and extra helping of silence, gone, poof. I wanted to scream at the world; instead I screamed at Larry.

  He put his hand on my knee and stroked it gently while driving across the bridge the same way the tow truck had gone. Good. Then I realized he went that way because that was the only way he could go. Breathe, Lella, breathe.

  "I'll pull over if I can, but, Lella, this is uncharted territory. I don't even understand the signs except for the ones pointing us to the ato…the toll road. So, what would you like me to do? I'm at your service as long as I can be back to the hotel by six a.m. I have a plane to catch at nine thirty tomorrow morning."

  "You what?"

  "I was going to tell you once we were in a more relaxed situation. I forgot this is Lella we're talking about. Tell me what's going on. When I stop at the next red light, go ahead and get your phone from under the seat. Maybe we can call Kyle."

  We? Was he going to ask Kyle to come and get me because he had a plane to catch? What was happening? Was he flying back to the States?

  I looked around. The sun was about to become a purple memory behind a mountain peak. The river Adige flowed peacefully under the San Lorenzo Bridge we had just crossed, and the streets would soon be deserted because of suppertime. We were approaching the toll road that would take us to Austria, where Larry would get into a plane and go where? With whom?

  I wasn't going to wait for a red light. I unfastened the seatbelt and scrunched down to search for my phone. The bing, bing from hell urged me to get back into my seat and buckle up. I found my cell and sat back.

  Larry didn't say a word, kept his eyes on the road. I could tell by the tightness of his jaw he was as upset as I was, maybe more. He didn't understand the language, and he surely didn't understand me. Before I could click on Kyle's number, the cell chimed.

  "Hel—pronto. Kyle? Oh my God, you are not going to believe this. I was about to call you. What? Who? Yeah, yeah, Larry is here. He's driving. No. You listen. I found Pia. No, not Pia. I mean I found Pia's car and…Larry? Why do you want to talk to Larry? I don't make sense? Excuse me, but—"

  Larry grabbed the phone from my hand. How dare he?

  "Kyle, your mom is excited, but I think she's on to something. I don't know who Pia is; your mom recognized a car or what's left of it. Dark green, I saw a VW logo, but your mom said she recognized a sticker. Here, talk to her, she'll give you the details." He handed me back the phone and patted my knee. "Breathe, sweetie, breathe." He spoke softly, the tone used to calm a fussy baby.

  Tenderness or weariness?

  I followed Larry's suggestion, and it somehow calmed me enough to explain the events to Kyle without sounding like a shrieking bitch. I made sure he wrote down the phone number on the business card. The truck driver said it was the switchboard for the Italian Highway Police.

  After Kyle promised to let me know what he found out, I felt exhausted, drained of energy. I wasn't hungry or sleepy, just drained, emotionally and physically.

  That was when Larry said, "About my early morning flight…"

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A thread of light filtered below the closed drapes. It reminded me of the dazzling brightness of early winter mornings in Northern Italy, when scarce sunrays rebounded on fresh snow and intensified their brilliance.

  Blinding glow.

  Childhood memories.

  All meaningless. Once again I found myself alone in a strange hotel room. To make this even more frustrating, I knew nothing about Innsbruck and even less about the local language.

  Larry. Kyle's words buzzed in my brain. "Is there an Olivia?" I had no certain answer.

  Larry had gone to pick up his mysterious daughter from the facility where they held her. His plan was to escort her to Frankfurt, settle her on a flight to Atlanta then fly back to Innsbruck and me. My presence on this trip wasn't needed or wanted. Again.

  Olivia's mother Jennifer would meet the daughter in Atlanta to get her back home and into treatment. He didn't volunteer where home was, and I chose not to ask.

  We had arrived at the hotel in the dark. I didn't know if we were in the center of town or out in the boonies. Larry mentioned it was conveniently located. To what?

  I listen attentively for outside sounds. The clock next to the bed said nine a.m. I had been awake for hours but didn't feel ready to leave the warmth and comfort of this—what was it Larry called it? Tuchent. So light and fluffy, and yet it provided more heat than my comforter back home. Or maybe my hot flashes contributed to the general sensation.

  What kind of coffee did Austrians drink? With my life a total mess, and no idea what tomorrow would be like, I worried about coffee. Somehow it seemed logical.

  Tomorrow? I didn't even know if Larry intended to come back here today or ever at all. And once again the old insecurities found an open door.

  I got out of bed, dragging along the Austrian duvet with the strange name and opened the drapes. Oh my God. Not just childhood memories. It did snow. The sight took my breath away. Snow in October? Mountains crowned in white, a fantastic scene. I hadn't experienced fresh powder in a long time. Plus this was the first snow of winter. It had to be. I felt like a child. I wished I could share all that excitement with someone. And just like that, my cell chimed.

  "Hello."

  "Sweetie, did I wake you?" A sigh escaped from my lips, and I didn't know if it was a happy sigh or a sigh of relief. I was that confused.

  "Larry, there is snow. Snow. Where are you?" I spoke quickly as if I needed to say all I had to say before he cut me off.

  "Frankfurt Airport." His sigh left no doubt—pure sadness. "I'll be heading to my boarding gate in about ten minutes. I wanted to make sure she was settled in first. Olivia has been nothing but trouble. I still can't believe this is the same young woman who left California two years ago. The doctor gave her some pills to calm her down before we left the center, so she was mildly sedated. That changed when we got to the US Air international gate in Frankfurt. Then it got ugly." He paused. "I wanted to know you're okay. I left the key to the Mercedes on the desk in case you feel like going out for breakfast. If you do, remember it's very, very cold. Let the engine idle for about five minutes. Or, if you prefer, you can get breakfast downstairs. They have a great buffet."

  "Larry, if you left the car here, how did you get to the airport?"

  "My lawyer. Part of the deal. He had to be there to make sure Olivia boarded the plane. I didn't tell him I was coming back."

  "Larry, when I said I'm terrified of driving in Europe I meant it, and now with the snow…I don't think I can pick you up at the airport."

  "Relax, the hotel has a shuttle. If all is well I should be back by lunchtime, and then you can decide what you would like to do next."

  "Oh, good, you had me going there for a minute. Stay safe, see you soon." I hung up. I couldn't think of anything to talk about. What was happening to me? To us?

  I dreaded going downstairs and being seen in public. Everyone would know I spent the night in Larry's bed, and I wasn't his wife. The fact that we didn't even have sex would have no bearing on the way I would be judged. Dear God, this is the 21st century, Lella, get a grip. Once a freaking Catholic, always a freaking Catholic. Maledizione.

  At some point I made it to the dining room. Larry was right. Breakfast was served buffet-style, and there was a little of everything. It had quite an international flair. The young woman walking me to the table spoke some English. She was a student at the university and said the hotel was near the airport and catered to winter sport aficionados from a variety of countries. Everything looked modern and expensive—not Century Palace expensive, but it certainly wasn't your Motel Six. And no one paid attention to me. Finally I'd caught a break. I was on my second cup of caffe Americano, weaker than espresso, when my phone went off. Larry? So soon?

  "Hello."

  "Mom, oh, good. Where are you?"

  "What do you mean where am I? Innsbruck. Where did you expect me to
be?" Irritation sharpened my tone.

  "Good, well, you need to get back here."

  "Just what do you think I am? A Frisbee?" No, no, I meant to say a yo-yo. "There is snow here, and Larry is in Frankfurt and—"

  "Frankfurt? What the hell is going on? What is he doing there? Did he just drop you in Innsbruck and take off? How did he get from Trento to Innsbruck to Frankfurt in less than twenty-four hours?"

  "He grew wings." I was that upset by his implied accusations.

  He snorted. "Okay, that was funny. Mom, listen. You were right about the car. It's Pia's." He paused. I waited. "We found her."

  "Thank God, is she all right?"

  "No, that's just it. This is such a mess. The information on her driver's license was outdated. Cops have been searching for relatives. They went to her mother's old address. That's so typical of Pia. Anyway, she's not doing well. Burned badly. They flew her to a hospital in Verona, where there's a good burn unit."

  "Pia is in Verona? All this time we were wondering about her whereabouts she was in Verona?"

  "It's not that cut and dried, Mom. It's not like she walked herself to Verona. I spoke to one of the investigators. He thinks she was trapped in her smoldering car for at least ten hours. The only reason she's still alive is because of the heavy rain. It had stopped the burning of the car, or she would be dead. But the heat traveled through metal. That's how she was burned. She was pinned in the upside-down car. Well, you saw it. The VW was almost flat. They're still sorting through the items they recovered from under the wreck. Pia is unconscious. I'm going to visit her; maybe a familiar voice can help her snap out of it. What do you think? Good or bad idea?" He wanted my opinion?

  "I think it's good. How about Roberto and Cruz? Any news?" He still hadn't said why he needed me to go back to Venice. Maybe he wanted me to meet him in Verona at the hospital? Three hours away by car.