Death Under the Venice Moon

by Maria Grazia Swan

  "Roberto is out of intensive care. That's all I know. I'm told he has a lawyer. Whatever he wrote on his note, it's still a secret. Anyway, I have a feeling the police may have questions regarding Pia's state of mind when she drove you to Chioggia from the airport. You know. It would help if you were in Italy. I doubt they think you have anything to do with Cruz at this point."

  "Why do you say that? What changed?"

  "For one thing, he obviously didn't run off with Pia, and also, why would Roberto feel responsible unless he knows something about the disappearance?"

  "Kyle, you do realize this is starting to sound like a soap opera? But not amusing, not amusing at all. One day you want me gone because I'm the Black Widow. The next day I'm supposed to rush back and all is forgotten. I'm telling you, the minute that lawyer returns my passport, I'm on the first plane to the States."

  "What about Larry?"

  "What about Larry? He shipped Olivia home, that's why he was in Frankfurt, to make sure she didn't change her mind."

  Long silence. "So, what does she look like?'

  "Who?"

  "Olivia."

  "I don't know."

  "You don't…you never saw her, did you?"

  It was my turn to be quiet. "No."

  "Interesting." Smart kid. Choosing his words carefully.

  We both kept silent. I knew what he was thinking. It was a strange reality that in the years I had known Larry I knew so little about his daughter and had never, ever met her.

  After what might have been a minute or an hour, he said, "They're still looking for Cruz, but De Bernardi has plan B ready to go. I'm hoping Roberto holds the answer to the disappearance. I'm bent on thinking there's a woman involved."

  "Why is that?" Servers around me busied themselves removing plates and glasses. Breakfast time was over. The coffee in my cup was cold.

  "Because that's the logical explanation.Women are his passion She must be really special for Cruz to give up all that exposure and risk retribution from the studio. Italy isn't like the States. The show business community is small. Everyone knows each other. You get one studio mad at you, you might as well retire. Okay, Giada is here. We're going to visit Pia."

  "Wait—Giada is going with you?"

  "Sure, why not? I've nothing to do, just killing time until my contract is over, then I'm out of Italy. We may make a detour to Lake Garda. Call me when you're heading back, we need to coordinate our time so we can check out of the Century together. Anyway, call me after you talk to Larry. Okay?"

  "Okay and—Kyle—keep me posted, please?"

  He had nothing to do? How about me? I went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed.

  The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a snow-covered landscape. This couldn't be downtown. No old buildings, no narrow streets, everything looked very contemporary. The hotel itself was downright modern in a very charming way. No elaborate plastic chairs. No Venetian plaster either. And, thank God, no paparazzi.

  How would I keep busy until Larry got back? I was getting depressed again. Might as well brush my teeth. I was gargling with mouthwash when housekeeping knocked at the door.

  When I opened it, an older woman in a light blue uniform apologized. She kept her eyes on the floor and seemed to have figured out we had a communication problem. She pointed to her wristwatch and made me understand she would be back in one hour. Poor thing. I felt guilty holding up her schedule. Even if she came back in one hour, I would probably be still there, sitting on the bed, feeling sorry for myself.

  Or I could leave the pity party and go for a walk in the snow. When would I get another chance to do something like that? The idea grew on me, yes. I would go play in the snow. The only problem would be footwear. For the first time I regretted not owning fur-lined boots or something similar. How about socks? Damn.

  My mother used to say, "What is it with you? Were you born wearing high heels?"

  Poor Mom; she was probably shaking her finger and looking down with that I-told-you-so expression from up in heaven.

  I decided not to let the lack of boots stop me.

  The outside air was cold enough to extinguish any hot flashes. As it turned out, there really wasn't much snow on the ground. I walked away from the hotel toward an open area where rows of leafless trees raised their nakedness to the blue afternoon skies. The thin layer of white powder felt crunchy under my shoes. Rocks now seemed to outnumber the snowflakes that still survived the melting in progress. That and my modest high heels made for an interesting walk. The hem of my pants dragged on the wet ground and a chunky piece of muddy snow landed on my exposed foot.

  Damn. I bent over to flick it away, and something hit me right in the hip.

  Snow. Snow? I looked up. There was no snow on the trees. I heard the crunching of feet behind me. I turned, and there, all smiles, stood Larry ready to throw another snowball at me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I lay still, eyes wide open, looking at the ceiling in a state of astonishment. This was no dream. The snowy mountain peaks clearly visible from the bed through the open drapes and the dying sunlight made it ever more real. My fingers brushed his arm resting across my belly. The rhythmic breathing told me he was asleep. No surprise there; Larry had been up since the early hours of the morning.

  We had been lovers for two years, had afternoon sex before, but this was different. In my mind I revisited the previous night, the hours we spent in an uninterrupted, chaste embrace and long whispered conversation. I was certain then that my sex life was over, the only sizzle left in me being my hot flashes.

  All the doom and gloom I read about menopause had come true. I might as well get used to it. And then this—this incredible afternoon of passion. It all started with that soggy snowball. Sounded like a country song—the little snowball that caused an avalanche of lust. Maybe I should learn how to ski and spend more time in the snow. Now I was being silly. That was apt to happen when your body felt so…spent, in such a delightful way.

  Larry stirred in his sleep and turned his back to me. I felt exposed in more ways than one and retrieved the duvet we'd kicked off the bed during our excesses of sexual intoxication. I carefully pulled it up to cover our nude bodies then closed my eyes and waited for Larry to wake up.

  Noises came from the hall—maybe a late housekeeping call, the maid pushing a cart with squeaky wheels, or a newly arrived guest pulling heavy luggage.

  I found myself analyzing the unpleasant events of the last week, from my arrival at Marco Polo Airport to the here and now in this never-to-be-forgotten Innsbruck hotel room.

  First I'd met Pia Bartolomei, briefly. She was now in a hospital room in Verona fighting for her life. Next had come Cruz, now gone and yet to be found. Augusta, the palazzo concierge, was the common denominator among us, and while we hardly spoke, she'd been out there calling me a murderess. Why? And what about Roberto? I didn't even know his last name. He was also in a hospital bed for a self-inflicted medical emergency spurred by Cruz's disappearance. None of this would be a concern to me if I hadn't hopped on that flight on a whim and shown up in Italy in order to escape…Larry. This Larry, the man that made me cry out in pleasure and beg for more. What was wrong with me?

  Somewhere from a heap of discarded clothes on the room floor came a familiar jingle, "California Girls." Damn. I had to get that. Didn't want to disturb Larry's well-earned rest. Where was my robe? I slid off the bed, looking for something to slip into, gave up, and started to dig through the pile where the sound came from.

  "Hello." Whispering while breathless isn't a good idea. I rushed into the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and grabbed a large towel to cover myself while holding the phone against my ear with one hand.

  "Mother, what are you doing?" Kyle hardly ever called me Mother. Something wasn't right.

  "Sorry, sorry, didn't want to wake up Larry."

  "Oh, so he did come back…"

  "Of course he came back. Why would you doubt it?" Says the hypocrite.

 
"Never mind. Things are happening. Not good things. I'm at the hospital. I can't see Pia. I'm not family. It's bad, very bad. A detective has been here waiting to talk to her, but now that the relatives are here he is talking to them, and they're all looking at me like I'm the one who pushed her off the cliff. I had no idea where she was going. I have nothing to do with this."

  He went quiet. I could hear voices in the background, then a hush. "Kyle, what's happening?" No answer. Screeching noises, fading, and Kyle's voice. "Mom, there is a priest."

  "A priest? Is he a relative?"

  "I don't—no, no relative. Fuck, she's dying. I know it. Mom, he has a thing around his neck, a purple thing. What do you call it?"

  "A stole. Calm down, Kyle. Are you alone?"

  "Giada was here. She stepped outside, business call. I need to get out of here; the whole family is kneeling around the bed. I can see it from the open door. They are crowded in." The stress in his voice betrayed his inner turmoil. "It's weird. I can't watch this. I'll go wait at the other end of the hall. I'll call you back." The phone went dead.

  Dio Mio. I crossed myself. Old habits never die. The priest was delivering Extreme Unction to Pia. The last sacrament. My heart pounded, and I felt a weight on my chest. I couldn't breathe. Pia was dying. She was so young. Same age as Kyle. I needed to clear my mind, and do what? Giada was there for Kyle; he didn't need me. I had trouble holding on to the small phone. My hands trembled. My body quivered. A quick sob escaped my lips. I hardly knew Pia. What was happening to me?

  "There you are." Larry stood by the bathroom door. In my sorrow I hadn't heard him open it. "Sweetie, what's wrong? What happened?" Did he notice the phone? "Who were you talking to?"

  I kept shaking my head. Trying to speak would have opened the flow of tears.

  He walked over. When he knelt next to me, I saw he wore slacks. His fingers pushed back the lock of hair that had fallen over my eyes. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

  Another sob shook my chest.

  He slipped his arm around my shoulders, and the towel fell off. How humiliating. Sitting on the edge of the tub, more naked than naked. Raw.

  "She's dying."

  "Who is dying? Who were you talking to?" Gently he removed the cell from my grip, looked at it then at me.

  "Kyle." I avoided his eyes. The night before we had spent hours talking about his daughter, the one I had never met.

  "Is he okay?"

  I nodded. "It's Pia. Remember the car? In Trento? On the—"

  "I remember. Pia, Kyle's friend. She was the driver of the car. Is she the one who's dying? Who told you?"

  "My son is at the hospital. The priest is there to administer the last sacrament." I found myself sobbing without tears, almost a nervous reaction. Short and furious sobs.

  "I'm so sorry. Anything I can do? Do you want to get dressed and check out? We may be able to drive there in three or four hours. Wait, where is the hospital?"

  "Verona. She is in the burn unit. The minute the sun goes down the road will turn to ice with the melted snow and all that. Let's leave in the morning. They aren't even letting Kyle see her, only family."

  "You're shivering. Let me get you a robe." He came back a minute later and helped me into the warm, fluffy garment. "I don't assume you feel like going out to dinner." He was right. "Lella, I don't know if there is room service, but there is a restaurant downstairs, and I can bring up some food. What would you like?"

  I shrugged. All I wanted was to talk to Kyle, but I didn't want to be the one to make the call. I didn’t know what time it was. Maledizione. I went back to the bedroom to discover that night descended early in this town built in a naturally formed bowl surrounded by mountains. My self-generated tension was taking over my common sense. Being aware that Larry witnessed the meltdown upset me even more

  I felt his eyes on me. "Why are you looking at me?" I wanted him to react. I wanted an excuse to be mean. Instead he came over and hugged me. Not in a sensual way, but with the kind of tenderness reserved for the cherished ones. "Breathe, Lella, breathe. Your hormones are messing with you, but it won't last forever. We'll get through this." He held my face in his hands and kissed my lips in a way that soothed my irritation. And my phone went off.

  "It's over. She's dead." Kyle's voice, full of guilt, as if he had killed Pia with his own hands.

  "Are you still there? At the hospital? Do you know any of her relatives? Perhaps you can offer to help with funeral arrangement. Kyle, it's not your fault. It was an accident. Accidents happen." Accidents happen. Not the smartest thing to say.

  Would Kyle be thinking about the accident that killed his father? I needed to say something, change the subject. "We're heading back to Venice in the morning, but the roads are icy; we had snow today. Where do you think you'll be?"

  "I forgot to tell you. They found Cruz's phone."

  "They did?" Finally good news. "Where?"

  "Among the debris of Pia's car."

  My breath caught. Not such good news after all. According to Kyle, Cruz never went anywhere without his phone. "Mom, we're spending the night in Verona; we may still be here when you get back. I want to talk to the detective. He speaks English. I'll call you or you call me. Ciao."

  That was the saddest ciao I'd ever heard. I was somewhat aware that Larry had been talking on the room phone.

  "They are bringing us some food," he said. "I told the front desk you weren't well—by the look in your eyes, I spoke the truth. What happened?"

  I repeated what Kyle told me then went to wash my face and hands with cold water. It seemed to help. Twice I caught Larry glancing at his watch. "Are you expecting someone?" I asked.

  At first he looked at me like I spoke some strange language. "Oh, you mean because of the watch? Olivia should be landing in Atlanta in about forty-five minutes. She has to clear customs, so, let's say, what? Another twenty minutes? You know a lot more about that than I do."

  "Yes, twenty, thirty minutes should be plenty, especially if she makes a connection there to her next flight, because the airline takes care of your luggage after you cleared customs. Makes it much easier to go from the international terminal to domestic."

  "I'm hoping to get a phone call from her mother before I go to sleep. Knowing Olivia landed safely and is on her way to get help would be a big relief."

  We looked at each other and shook our heads. "Kids."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  "It's too bad you didn't get to see the downtown, reminded me of The Sound of Music. I ate at one of the restaurants with the lawyer. Maybe we can visit next time, under more happy circumstances."

  We were still driving through the Austrian part of our trip. A lot had changed since the last time I traveled this toll road, but some things remained the same. By daylight the ski jump platform built for the Olympics was hard to miss high at the top of a steep slope, After all those years it still looked like a brand new sparkling glass masterpiece.

  "And that glass tower over there"—Larry pointed at the building I had just looked at—"was redesigned by a famous architect in…2003. I'm quoting the same lawyer. A cable car takes visitors to the top. There's a restaurant and a view to take your breath away. Or so I'm told." He squeezed my knee. "I understand you can see all the way to Italy."

  I laughed. "Seeing Italy is not hard to do. As soon as we cross Europe's Bridge we'll be there. In my younger years, the bridge gift shop and restaurant were where we always stopped to use the bathrooms. Sometimes we had to sprint to beat a bus full of tourists looking for bathrooms. Memories."

  "Did you do a lot of traveling back then?"

  "It all depended on who I was hanging out with. I had a cousin who loved the mountains any time of the year, but there was no autostrada from Verona to Austria back then. We went through Rovereto, curvy mountain roads, sometimes only one lane. I always ended up with motion sickness. Come to think of it, memories are overrated. I wonder what happened to my cousin. He was a professor at the University of Padova the last time I we
nt home. Larry, did you finally speak to Olivia?"

  "No." His jaw tightened. He had spoken with Jennifer in the early morning just before we started packing. His tone of voice had been so controlled and detached it could have frozen erupting lava.

  "Something wrong? You don't have to talk about it if you don't feel like it, but I'm always crying on your shoulder."

  The angles of his profile relaxed some while the squeeze on my knee turned into a gentle stroke. I sensed his mind was far, far away. We entered the bridge, but he didn't seem to notice, and I kept quiet, looking straight ahead.

  I hated this bridge. I pretended it wasn't a bridge at all, just a nice, wide autostrada. The notion that we were over six hundred feet above ground made me sick. I was surprised when, without a word, he pulled into the parking lot that extended from the bridge to the restaurant, the same restaurant I had been talking about.

  He turned off the engine and twisted halfway to look at me. "Let's honor tradition." His voice held its usual calm. Whatever was bugging him must be resolved.

  "Let's. These days it's easy—most of Europe uses Euros, not like when I was young and every country, even the smallest ones, had different currency, but they were all willing to take dollars."

  He locked the Mercedes and draped his arm around my shoulders, and we headed toward the restaurant-slash-gift shop. The air was cold and crisp, nothing like the Arctic breath surrounding Innsbruck. Small patches of melting snow could be seen on the northern sides of the trees

  "Do I sense resentment regarding American dollars?" he asked.

  "You bet I'm resentful. When I had none, everyone wanted to exchange for dollars. Now that I have some, it's unwanted currency."

  Finally a genuine laugh. "Poor, poor Lella; even the dollar is conspiring against you." He stopped and kissed me lightly on the lips. My phone rang just as we crossed the threshold of the establishment. It was Kyle. I had trouble hearing him. While the place wasn't packed, many tables were occupied by families with children—noisy children. I motioned to Larry that I was stepping outside. He nodded.