Death Under the Venice Moon

by Maria Grazia Swan

  "What plane?"

  "He didn't tell you? Ooops. He is flying back to the States. His flight leaves in…four hours."

  "What? Oh my God, I didn't even say goodbye to him. How about Giada, is that why she was so sad?"

  "Calm down. Giada knows nothing. That's the plan. She may have enough influence to stop him from leaving, even if only temporarily. Hang on, let's see what this baby's got under the hood, and you can ask Kyle yourself in about twenty minutes."

  Unbelievable. He pulled into the same rest area where I'd had my first chat with Nicola, but he drove into the gas station area and parked to the side. I noticed the Focus.

  "Lella, stay calm. Your son has enough drama of his own. Okay?" He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand, a show of affection I'd come to cherish.

  We got out of the Mercedes, and Larry walked up to Kyle's car, squatted down, and repeated the same thing he did to his car.

  The whole time my son avoided looking at me. Was it something I did? Said? What?

  "Yes, got it." Larry squatted by the passenger side of the back bumper. He looked up. "I suggest you leave it where it is. If she figures out it's gone, she'll find an excuse to send her beloved highway patrol after you."

  Kyle nodded, all life drained from his already somber face.

  "What are you doing with the car when you get to the airport?" I asked.

  Finally he acknowledged my presence. "Mom, I'm planning on driving the Focus to the Garage San Marco reserved parking spot and leaving it there."

  "Are we taking you to the airport?"

  "No need to. My friend, Marco, remember him? The water taxi captain? He collected all my belongings from my hotel room. He's waiting at the parking garage. He's driving me. I would like to go inside for a cup of coffee, but this is the only spot I found without cameras. Just playing it safe. Don't want to end up like Pia."

  "What are you saying? You scare me to death."

  He looked at Larry. "Pia kept a diary, planned on turning it into a book. The police returned it to her family before they figured out what was in it, or maybe the Trento cops aren't on the take…yet. I suggested the cousin make copies and contact the Italian detective to see if there's any way to bring charges." He shrugged. "Giada offered Pia a contract: convince Cruz to disappear for forty-eight hours as a publicity stunt for the release of our movie, The Lost Heir. In exchange, Pia would have worldwide exclusive rights to the first interview when Cruz was found and rescued. Giada and Cruz have a long history of bad blood. She considers him 'high maintenance.' He dislikes all young independent women, plus the fact that she constantly monitored his actions. The cops are taking another look at Pia's brakes. Accident or not, I bet Giada was hoping Cruz had been in the car when it went off the road. All his contracted work has been sent to Carolyn. The part has been retooled for me to take over his roles. Creepy, right? Hell no. I'm not coming back here. Okay, then." His phone went off. He took it out of his pocket, looked at it, and put a finger to his lips to shush us. "Hi, Giada. I'm at the rest area outside Verona, getting coffee." He rolled his eyes. "What? When? They found Cruz?" He glanced at us, animated. "What do you mean he found himself? Oh, I see. Three o'clock, main room at the Century Palace. Got it, I'll be there with my best smile. No problem. See you then."

  For a moment we all stared at each other, speechless.

  Kyle spoke first. "Well, you heard the news. Cruz is safe and sound somewhere in Trento. A limo is picking him up and taking him to the Century to freshen up and prep for a big press conference this afternoon at three. By then I should be changing planes in London. I've got to run, but you two should grab a drink and watch the star's rescue on television." He winked. "He is a good actor." He gave me a quick hug. "See you back home, Mom, and please, behave?"

  I was getting all choked up, damn. "Wait, wait…Kyle, when you get to the parking lot to leave your car? Can you do me a favor?'

  "What is it?" He fidgeted with the car keys.

  "Remove the tracking device from the Focus and stick it under the nearest tourist bus? If it's from a faraway country, even better."

  He was still laughing when he closed the driver's door and turned on the engine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  "Do you think Kyle made his flight?"

  "Lella, he was so determined to get out of Italy, nothing could stop him. In all fairness, I think Giada is in love with him."

  "So? Since when does being in love give you license to destroy other people's lives? I bet she kept me at the police station with Nicola to make sure he didn't know about her role in Cruz's disappearance. Conniving bitch."

  We were approaching the causeway taking us to Piazzale Roma, where we could leave the car and hop a boat to the hotel. It dawned on me this was the first time Larry would see Venice. I kept quiet and studied his reaction. He squinted against the noon sun glinting from the polished surface of the waters flanking the bridge.

  "Wow! This is so much better than the pictures. Wow." His voice low, trailing on the last wow. He reached over and squeezed my hand. Showing emotion always made him uneasy.

  I laughed, a joyful laugh. "You'll love Venice. We need to decide what to do next. I'm not staying at the Century. All I want to do is get the few things I left there in case someone goes to check. Whatever we do, I must go back to my hometown if only for a day. I owe my mom a visit to her grave."

  "Sweetie, this is your home, you decide."

  "By the way, what did you think about Cruz's impromptu television performance?" We had just a glimpse of it while sipping cappuccino at the rest area.

  "You mean about him getting lost in the woods after waiting for the love of his life to show up at the baita? Bunk. When the cops found the place, whoever was staying there had only been gone hours. My guess is Cruz noticed the Carabinieri vehicle in front of the cabin and decided to be found in a more dignified way. The impromptu television interview must be his idea of dignity. I bet he had no idea what happened to Pia. Let's see how Giada spins this one. Oh, I can see the steeple. Is that what I think it is?"

  "Larry, calm down. We'll end up in the water. Where are you leaving your car?"

  "Same garage as Kyle; he gave me all the details."

  "Sounds like you two got along fine."

  "He's a nice kid and thinks highly of you." He frowned.

  Was he thinking about Olivia? "Larry, have you heard from your daughter?"

  "We are not going to talk about Olivia, not now. It's out of my hands for now. Okay?" He sounded sad but determined.

  I nodded. "I better make sure I still have keys to the room." I fished in my bottomless bag and my fingers met the cell phone. The dead cell phone. "I'm not going to bother with this again. Agree?"

  "It's up to you. We can use mine. Kyle knows the number."

  Larry had just locked the car when Marco showed up out of nowhere. I only recognized him because of the navy-blue uniform with all the gold buttons.

  "Mrs. York." He touched his captain's hat, very impressive. "Kyle made his flight. He sends his love." His tone very formal, his eyes smiling. "I'll be happy to give you and your companion a ride to the hotel"—he winked—"and back if you so choose."

  What was it about men and speedboats? Just like Kyle, Larry stood up front, next to Marco. Even if I could only see his profile it was obvious how much pleasure the ride and the view of Canal Grande gave him, lighting up his expression.

  But then I caught a name…Cruz. I got on my feet. Wobbling and swaying, I made my way up next to Larry.

  "What about Cruz?"

  "Marco was telling me"—I had forgotten about Marco's knowledge of English—"that the Italian detective phoned Kyle while he was in Marco's car. Gave him the real version of Cruz's rescue. Supposedly Cruz got tired of waiting for Pia and walked twice to this remote garage and gas station to—get this—buy cigarettes. The only thing he ran out of. No one recognized him until he wanted them to—that would be early this morning. The owner said he found him asleep inside a cu
stomer's car left there for repairs. Of course, Team Giada is probably writing a generous check to this garage owner, who will experience sudden amnesia regarding the previous visits."

  Marco laughed out loud. "You have it figured out already, the Italian way of doing business?"

  Larry shook his head. "Nah, Marco, it's not an Italian monopoly. It's a worldwide disease." He soaked in the colorful palazzi and the noisy vaporetti packed with tourists willing to take a chance on Venetian-style mass transportation.

  "Mr. Cruz should be at the hotel shortly with his crew. They'll prep him for the press conference this afternoon."

  "God, I hope we can get out of there before the arrival of the circus and the main clown." I meant every mean word I said.

  We reached the end of the canal. Marco did an exaggerated U-turn just like he did for my first ride, and Larry got an eyeful of Piazza San Marco and a colorful crowd of visitors and pigeons alike. The tourists all had their backs to the water, looking toward the Two Moors clock tower. Marco slowed the boat just as the first Moor hit the huge bronze bell. One o'clock. I watched Larry's expression, like a child on Christmas morning. Marco had just earned a nice bonus to be added to his tip.

  We walked through the tall glass doors, and I felt the need to pull on Larry's arm as he moved at snail's speed trying to see as much as possible. Talk about an American tourist. I loved his eagerness.

  Just as before, the concierge came to greet me, announced he had an envelope, and asked if I could wait.

  "Here is your chance to fill your eyes with the place, then let's move fast," I said to Larry. "The last thing I want is to run into either Giada or Cruz." I doubted he heard a word I said.

  I opened the thick envelope in the elevator. It was my United States of America passport. Thank you, thank you, God. With all the daily drama I had forgotten all about it.

  If I had expected Larry to help me pack, I would have been wrong. He was totally overwhelmed by the shape of the windows, the height of the ceilings, and the view of the canal. I sent the luggage down to Marco and his water taxi, and we still managed to get out of there within thirty minutes. I had to make sure I didn't leave anything behind. I was never returning to the Century. Okay, after Larry's state of awe, maybe never was too strong a word.

  On the way down, we discussed Marco's tip. We would recycle the passport's envelope to slip him a serious reward. I helped Larry figure out the paper money.

  "So, you're okay? We drive to my hometown, spend a day there then we can come back to Venice, stay in a different hotel and play anonymous tourists? By then Cruz's parade should have left town."

  The elevator stopped at the lobby. Since we were the only two people in it, we moved close to the doors. But when they opened we were nearly run over by a loud group of photo-popping paparazzi and people shouting. I recognized Roberto, Cruz's agent. No!

  "No comment, no comment," he kept repeating while I fought my way out. Larry hesitated only a moment, but that was enough for us to be separated.

  I found myself outside the elevator, in front of the frenzied group of reporters, and against Cruz's back. Why, oh why?

  He turned and saw me. Larry was right behind Roberto, who was trying to reach Cruz and pull him into the elevator.

  "Kyle's mamma." Maledizione.

  Cameras clicked at warp speed, if that was even a valid measure. And Cruz? The idiot grabbed me and tried to kiss me on the lips. In public. That was when I decked him. I figured it was either me or Larry, and odds were I'd have a better chance of getting away with it.

  It caught Cruz totally unprepared. He let go of me and fell backward against one of the young paparazzi I recognized from when I first arrived. I heard giggles and open laughs.

  Larry took my arm, and we ran out the lobby doors to the boat dock, trailed by the reporters.

  The minute he saw us, Marco revved the engine. I decided we needed to add more paper money to the envelope. We hopped onto the boat. In all the excitement, my knee felt brand new. We waved goodbye to the reporters still clicking away on the dock of the Century Palace.

  We were laughing so hard tears ran down my cheeks. Larry noticed and wiped them away with his fingers. His eyes locked on to mine.

  "I didn't know you could throw such a mean punch." His voice was a tad husky.

  I smiled. Everything was going to be okay.

  * * *

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  * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Maria Grazia Swan was born in Italy, but this rolling stone has definitely gathered no moss. She lived in Belgium, France, Germany, and beautiful Orange County, California, before settling in her current home of Phoenix, Arizona. Maria loves travel, opera, good books, hiking, and intelligent movies (if she can find one, that is). Her idea of a perfect evening includes stimulating conversation, rich Italian food, and a perfectly chilled Prosecco. Maria has written several novels, short stories, and articles for high profile magazines and blogs taking on life and love … Italian style!

  To learn more about Maria Grazia, visit her online at

  mariagraziaswan.com

  * * *

  BOOKS BY MARIA GRAZIA SWAN

  Lella York series:

  Murder under the Italian Moon

  Death under the Venice Moon

  Mina Calvi series:

  Love Thy Sister

  Bosom Bodies

  Other works:

  Mating Dance

  Medley of Murder

  * * *

  Enjoyed this book?

  Check out a

  SNEAK PEEK

  of another humorous romantic mystery from Gemma Halliday Publishing,

  Organized for Murder, Organized Mysteries book #1

  ORGANIZED FOR MURDER

  * * * * *

  KATE MCKENZIE'S 5-STEP ORGANIZATIONAL START METHOD

  BEGIN ANY DE-CLUTTER PROJECT BY COLLECTING AND LABELING FIVE LARGE BOXES:

  REJECT—items un-repairable, missing parts, past expiration, or like half-a-dozen others already in the house.

  RECYCLE—gently used, unwanted items for charitable organizations or Freecycle.

  RESELL—through consignment shops, tag sales, eBay, Craigslist, or newspaper ads.

  RETURN—sporting goods, toys, books, tools, etc. that belong to family members, neighbors, or friends.

  REVIEW—things requiring extra thought before fate is determined.

  Completely unload the room or closet, distributing discarded items into correct boxes. Return only "keepers" to the target area.

  CHAPTER ONE

  STACKED IN YOUR FAVOR, LLC,

  KATE MCKENZIE, PRES.

  BUSINESS PLANNER FOR JOB # 1

  DATE Wed., April 7th

  9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. -- Meet with Miss Amelia Nethercutt at her mansion to organize her and her late husband's exotic collections. Magnificent sprawling home and grounds. On phone seemed eager to learn organizational techniques. Says she scrapbooks and keeps a daily journal. Spend time telling how to develop her vision, to make a date with herself each day to keep living space organized and de-cluttered. Also, since she's a collector, offer the "One-in/One-Out Rule" so old replaced item always goes out when new item is purchased.

  * * *

  "On the second day, I decided widowhood was infinitely better than divorce."

  "Miss Amelia!" Kate McKenzie caught herself, and her teacup, an instant before the Lapsang Souchong escaped over the gold rim and onto the Aubusson rug. While the cream and sienna tones of the carpet would have accepted the tea stain like a distant relative, such an accident threatened to be an uneasy alliance. Especially as Kate courted this new, and particular, client.

  Amelia Nethercutt took the still-clattering china from Kate's hands and settled the pieces on the gleaming rosewood coffee table, then said, "It isn't as if I don't know the pros and cons of both marital dissolution options, my dear. My marria
ge to Daniel was my fifth, no, sixth marriage. I keep forgetting Joey. And receiving an inheritance is much more liberating than monthly alimony."

  Kate stiffened on the white-on-white Victorian sofa and hoped her smile didn't look like a grimace. She again swatted the irritating peacock feather and gilt-streaked twig arrangement that invaded the personal space around her left shoulder. Where had common sense fled when she agreed to work sight-unseen in this procurement madhouse?

  Façades could be most deceiving; Amelia's and the mansion's. The woman's exterior resembled that of her home—sweeping luxury and professional styling. Even Kate's first look inside of the house, the foyer with its elegant mahogany collectibles cabinet standing guard against taupe-colored grass-cloth, fooled her.

  Then she'd seen this parlor, the study, the bedrooms, the conservatory, the library, and…well…all the other "treasure rooms."

  This first workday revolved in a repetitive nightmare of list making, supply ordering, prioritizing, and attempts to stem the overwhelming need to hyperventilate. Even her never-fail categorizing system of REJECT, RECYCLE, RESELL, RETURN, and REVIEW periodically failed to keep Kate's panic at bay. Finally, for the first time ever, she gave up and began dividing the upstairs by what rooms were wholly trash and which might be salvageable. Of course, this never meant she would actually be allowed to throw out anything, but she persevered. Until Amelia had called from downstairs and said it was time for a "tea moment."

  Kate's last ally disappeared as Mrs. Baxter, the Nethercutts' cotton-haired cook, had bustled in bringing the tea tray and placed it near Amelia. "Nice meeting you, dearie," Mrs. Baxter said, before straightening her pink pillbox hat and telling her employer, "I'm going to the market and the drugstore. There's a cab waiting. I'll be back as quickly as I can."