The Carpet Cipher

by Jane Thornley

  “I apologize, Phoebe. Seraphina only seeks to protect you,” Nicolina began once she’d left.

  “Why does everybody say that?” I said while dusting crumbs from my lap. “I get the gun part but spying on me, too? That sounds more like someone hoped I’d lead them to Rupert.”

  “Phoebe!” To her credit, she appeared genuinely shocked, but I wasn’t buying it for a second.

  “Being the suspicious creature that I’ve become, it occurs to me that getting to Rupert might even be the real reason why you’ve invited me to Venice in the first place. You knew he’d contact me, so having me tracked served a dual purpose.”

  “I assure you that I did not realize Seraphina had you tracked. I apologize. Please believe me. She only wanted to ensure your safety. The gun, the jacket, are all to that purpose. Oh, and the jacket, it comes with a secret pocket inside. May I show you?”

  “Yes, of course.” I removed the jacket and passed it over, which prompted Nicolina to stand, shake off the crumbs, don the jacket (which looked so much better on her model frame), and reveal the leather sling secreted inside.

  “A hidden holster?” I said, slapping my hand over my chewing mouth in the interests of decorum.

  “Yes, specially designed. I have had several made and thought you could use one, too.”

  “Oh, I can. Thanks. Once I removed the tracking devices, I just loved it.”

  Nicolina returned the jacket and took her seat beside me. “Phoebe, be truthful: Where did you go tonight?”

  “Thanks for asking. Truthfulness is always the preferred state between friends, don’t you think? But if I have reason to suspect someone is less than truthful with me, I’m going to be less than forthcoming myself.” That statement, by the way, contains more syllables than I usually manage after a glass of wine. I bit into another biscuit. “Forgot to eat,” I mumbled.

  “But you left the villa without telling me. You could have texted,” she said.

  “You could have also texted,” I pointed out. “I’m supposed to be here to help you. You were out looking for Rupert, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. We have had word that he has been in Venice since the day that Maria was killed but we have yet to find him. There, you see, I have been honest.”

  I nodded. “Good start, so I will admit that I have seen Rupert tonight.” I caught her sharp inhalation. I brushed crumbs off my lap. Really, I didn’t belong in a villa with a countess. “But I can’t tell you where he is because I simply don’t know—I was blindfolded. But I can tell you this: he is not responsible for Maria’s death. Absolutely not. He received a call from Maria to come to Venice, and when he had landed, they spoke briefly about where to meet. When he arrived at the designated location, Maria didn’t show up. He is being framed.”

  “And you believe this?” Nicolina said, turning to me with that hard glint in her eyes.

  “I absolutely do and I intend to prove it somehow, but try not to assassinate him in the meantime, will you? Look, Nicolina, you don’t execute a man before you have proof that he is guilty.”

  “But I know in my heart that he is guilty.”

  “When it comes to men, your heart is an unreliable measure. Besides, how can you try to harm a friend? You are basing your suspicions on circumstantial evidence. Don’t judge Rupert until you have all the facts, which, I assure you, I’m going to help you get.”

  “Then at least let him face me and explain his innocence himself, then perhaps I will believe him.”

  I downed the last of my wine. “That’s not possible at the moment. Can’t you just take my word for it for now?”

  “But, Phoebe, how can you ask that if you have no more proof that he is innocent than I do that he is guilty?”

  “Because we are—were—all friends, that’s why. He’s helped you in the past, remember? Doesn’t that count for something? Why all of a sudden do you want to execute him for a crime you have no proof he committed? I’m asking that you stay your hand in the name of our friendship—yours and mine—if nothing else. Tomorrow we’ll discuss this in more detail and you can tell me everything you haven’t yet disclosed about Maria, the paintings—the whole backstory. Because I know there’s plenty you haven’t told me. Anyway, right now, I’m exhausted.” And possibly a little wine-soaked. I stood up and strode toward the door. “So, off to bed I go.”

  “Phoebe, wait.”

  I turned.

  “Tomorrow, it will be a very busy day and we may not get an opportunity to speak.”

  “But I’ll continue my investigations, regardless. I said that I’d help you find Maria’s killer and I will but I’ll need full access to the house and Maria’s vault in the meantime.”

  Nicolina stood up. “That will not be possible. The warehouse is a crime scene and the police will not allow access. Besides, this is not my house.”

  “Actually, it is now, more or less, since you are the beneficiary. Get me a set of keys, which I’ll take as a gesture of goodwill. ’Night.”

  There’s a reason why I avoid vino. The next morning I slept late—too late—oblivious to the stirrings around the house until at least 11:00 a.m. My eyes opened on the new iPhone Evan had given me that I’d left stacked on top of the old one on the inlaid side table. I jolted up. What if Seraphina or Nicolina—anybody, for that matter—had entered the bedroom while I slept and tampered with the phone?

  Picking it up, I studied it, puzzled by the green light that flashed across the screen’s surface when touched, illuminating bright blue fingerprints. What did that mean? Green meant go so that had to be a good thing. Blue probably not so much. Maybe Evan had worked it so that if a stranger touches the phone, the thing displayed the fingerprints? Oh, hell: I needed a phone lesson and fast.

  I turned off the old phone and secreted it in my carpetbag’s hidden compartment and pocketed the new. Next, I chose a fresh pair of jeans, a black turtleneck, and a multicolored scarf that was bound to dispel any notion that I was into the minimalist look. By the time I poked my head out the door minutes later with my arms full of toiletries and clothing, I could hear the cadence of new voices filling the downstairs space—male voices. The villa had company.

  After quick ablutions in a bathroom—I had a sink and a toilet in my room but neither a tub nor a shower—where the pipes whined painfully and the water took forever to warm, I dressed and crept downstairs, pausing outside the salon door where two dark-suited men were speaking to Zara and Nicolina while a uniformed man looked on. The polizia already?

  “Signora,” one of the suited men said, catching sight of me and stepping forward. Nicolina smoothly intercepted, speaking to him in Italian, which caused him to nod curtly at me and turn away.

  “We are being interviewed,” she said, stepping into the hall. “I have told them that you have nothing to offer since you did not know of Maria until yesterday and are here only as my friend. There is no need for you to be involved in this tedious affair. First, I give my statement, then I must visit the lawyers and the funeral people. It is all very distressing. This may take many hours, Phoebe.”

  “Have they released the body or determined cause of death yet?”

  “Not yet.” She lowered her voice. “It’s best not to ask such things when the police are around. Please, take breakfast on the patio upstairs without me. I have asked Zara to prepare something.”

  “Did you ask for a set of keys, too?”

  “Yes, you will find them next to the coffee flask but you will find nothing here. We have combed the villa already, as the police are doing now.”

  I nodded. “But an extra set of eyes always comes in handy. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  Nicolina touched my arm. “Yes, of course you can, but we must talk later. About Rupert, I mean. It is not good that we keep secrets from one another.”

  “Sure.”

  She retreated into the salon, clicking the door shut softly behind her, leaving me in the hall, trying to disentangle all the things botherin
g me, which were plenty. Not for the first time, I desperately wished I could speak Italian, at least enough to know what was being said behind those doors. Yes, I was willing to eavesdrop and, if possible, use one of those surveillance devices on my new phone, providing that I knew how. One way or another, I was being maneuvered by Nicolina, used for some purpose I had yet to discern. It wouldn’t be the first time. But I had to get ahead of the game because, as it stood, I was way behind.

  However, nothing is possible first thing in the morning without coffee.

  I returned to the stairs and climbed three flights, continuing on until reaching a narrow marble stairwell washed in daylight. Moments later, I found myself on a small square rooftop patio with a pair of high trumpet-shaped Renaissance chimneys in one corner and a barricade of stone and canvas screening the drop. The morning breeze was bracing and surprisingly warm. I stepped out, breathed deeply, and looked around.

  A Venetian rooftop loggia. I’d glimpsed them from the water countless times, always wondering about those lofty spaces where residents captured a slice of private outdoors in a city where exterior space was at a premium. This one looked as though it had been well-used for alfresco dining over the centuries with its vine-covered pergola overhanging the little table that now bore three glass-covered platters and a thermos. Beside the thermos sat a ring of keys, which I quickly pocketed, but the view momentarily banished all thoughts of food and coffee. I gazed out at a vista centuries old, a scene of canals dancing in sunshine with boats of commerce and pleasure plying the waterways.

  For a moment, I just soaked in the scene, checking out the gondolas transporting tourists down the canal below along with vaporettos and private motorboats. I broke my reverie only long enough to grab a roll, a piece a cheese, a slice of salami, and a mug of strong coffee before returning to the vista. So, Maria Contini’s villa stood at the beginning stretch of the Cannaregio close to the Grand Canal? A prime viewing spot with the crossways of the two canals converging.

  I had just bitten into the roll and gulped back some coffee when I saw her—or, at least, I thought it was a her—the figure of a dark-haired woman standing on a roof patio much like mine only on the opposite side of the canal. A pair of binoculars was focused on my person. For a moment I thought it must be a tourist gawking at the villas in her line of sight but her position never wavered.

  For a second, I tried to appear as though I was studying the view, looking slightly to the left while keeping her in my peripheral vision. She remained fixed to the spot before turning abruptly away. I tossed my half-eaten roll onto the table and scrambled around looking for something that had to be there: a pair of binoculars. Nobody has a roof vista without them and, sure enough, Maria Contini’s mother-of-pearl version sat tucked under a shelf of glasses. I grabbed them and ran back to the balcony only to find that of course by then my spectator had disappeared.

  So, now I needed to find out about the building across the canal. Maybe she was just a casual viewer but I thought not. I took my roll and a mug of coffee and descended the steps.

  On the way down, I bumped into Seraphina heading up.

  “Buongiorno, Phoebe. The countess asked for me to accompany you to keep you company. Everyone will be very busy today. Ah, good, you have found breakfast.”

  “Thanks for the offer, Seraphina, but I don’t need a tour guide or a companion. I have work to do and I’m sure you do, too.”

  “The police, they do not have questions for me, only the countess. I am just a servant, you see? I keep you company.”

  Going solo was not an option, in other words. I wondered how long it would take for the police to learn the extent of Seraphina’s services. We carried on to the next landing, the top-most bedroom floor. Turning, I faced her with my back to my door. “I just saw somebody staring at me through binoculars from a roof across the canal.”

  “Perhaps it was Evan. He is watching you, no?”

  “This was a woman.”

  “Many people are curious about Signora Contini’s death, so perhaps it is the press. Either way, it must be stopped. I will go with you.”

  Like I wanted that. “Fine. I’ll meet you downstairs after I brush my teeth.” In a second I was back in my room, resolved to shake Seraphina’s company as soon as I could without causing suspicion. I’d just have to lose myself, which should be easy enough in Venice. Of course, she hoped I’d lead her to Rupert at some point, which had to be avoided at all costs. But there was another pressing matter that had to be attended to immediately—two, really.

  First, I pressed the bottom volume button on my new phone and strolled around the room, ridiculously delighted when the screen flashed red, intensifying as I drew the phone closer to a little knob fastened onto a skeleton clock on the mantel. I plucked off the knob, studied a thing the size of a watch battery, and continued until I found two more. Minutes later I whacked the disks on the floor with the heel of my sneaker and dropped the broken pieces into my pocket. Only when the phone no longer flashed red did I stop.

  That done, I fished out my old phone and called Max, who had yet to answer my text from the night before. The call rang and rang. Next, I tried his house phone and even the gallery with the same result. A ping of alarm hit. I was just about to hang up when suddenly a voice answered. “Yo, Peaches here.”

  “Peaches, hi. Where’s Max? I keep trying his numbers but he’s not picking up.”

  “Phoebe? How are you doin’, girl?” Something pounded in the background. “Just me and da contractors here at da moment. How’s Venice? Always wanted to go to Venice.”

  I lowered my voice. “Venice is fine, I think, but there’s lots going on here and I could use a confab with Max.”

  “So confab with me. Max and Serena took off for a long weekend in da country. I’m thinking it’s a bone-jumping weekend but dey’re being plenty zip-lipped about it. Acted like they were looking for antiques—yeah, right.”

  For a moment I couldn’t speak. “A bone-jumping weekend?”

  “Yes, you know what I mean by dat: man and woman dig each other, man and woman decide to take off for a little one-on-one—read dat literally—time together, and—”

  “I know what you meant, Peaches, but I’m just stunned that we’re talking about Max and Serena. Since when did romance bloom between those two?”

  “You mean, how’d dat bloom without you knowing? It’s been right under your nose da whole time but you’ve been pretty absorbed with da breakup of you and your hottie, not to mention your brother and all. I get that totally. My bro’s in jail, too.”

  “I know.” Why was she repeating all this?

  “I knew my bro was a sicko. You found out in one blow. And then your hottie turns out to be involved—gutting.”

  I was about to protest the use of hottie applied to Noel but gave up. I was picking up on signs that Peaches was upset about something—too much time alone, who knows? “How I missed that between Serena and Max is baffling but they’ve gone away for the weekend together, seriously? Well, that’s great and I’m happy that Max finally recognized the good woman right under his nose but surely they don’t plan to leave their devices off the whole time?” Knowing Max, maybe he did.

  “Why not? Some people do dat. They're crazy.”

  “Peaches, are you okay? I haven’t heard you slip into Jamaicanese since you arrived in London. What’s going on back there?”

  “Oh, crap. Can’t keep Jamaica off my tongue when I get stewed up. It’s just that the dudes we hired to do the upstairs floor called to say that they can’t start on Monday like they promised. I mean, you kidding me? I said You were contracted to perform a service on a certain date and now you say you’re behind on another contract so you can’t start ours? It’s like they’re working on island time and that just doesn’t go down here. That’s not going to happen, I said. The whole reno gets held up until those floor guys get the job done, see? Think I’m going to let that happen? Hell, no. I told them they better get their butts over here nex
t week or else.”

  “Or else what, what did you tell them?” Sometimes I forgot that the first time I met Dr. Peaches, she was slinging a machine gun at a bunch of drug runners. Though she was doing a phenomenal job of acclimatizing to her new life, it is a process, as they say.

  “Or else there could be violence, I said.”

  “No, no, no, Peaches, please curb your kick-ass tendencies. You’ve scared off half the contractors already. If these guys bolt, we’ll have to find yet another and that will take ages. Just chill. We can wait a week or two for the floor. We’re in no real hurry, right? Who’s there now?”

  “Just the wall guys. I made them work Saturday to finish the drywalling ’cause we were going to get way behind. They’ll bugger off after today while we wait for the floor contractors. Okay, I promise not to threaten them with bodily harm. Not yet, anyway.” She inserted a string of colorful curses. “So…are you really okay there in Venice? Sure you don’t need a bodyguard or a helping hand or something? Soon there won’t be anything for me to do here with the worker dudes gone.”

  “I’m fine at the moment but I’ll let you know if that changes. Please stay put until Serena and Max return on Monday. Don’t go off threatening anybody just yet, okay? Take a few days off. Get reacquainted with London, maybe. I have to go now but I’ll check in later.” I clicked off, my pleasure over Max and Serena’s liaison muddied by an anxiety that was building by the minute. Yet, I had more immediate things to worry about just then.

  I quickly brushed my teeth and donned my new jacket before slipping from the room. Seconds later, I bounded downstairs to where Seraphina awaited in the hall, her petite form compacted into a buttery brown leather pantsuit and a pair of high-heeled ankle boots. She stood, arms folded, watching me descend, the salon doors still firmly shut behind her and her mouth pulled into a tight little line. I had kept her waiting. “So, you come at last.”