The Carpet Cipher

by Jane Thornley

  “Torcello?”

  “Evan thought it the safest place for us to have our meeting today.”

  “Ah.” She smiled, nodding. “Perhaps also to give him an opportunity to see his ex and son again.”

  For a moment I couldn’t speak. “Evan has a son?” Giani. That explained a lot. In fact, it explained everything except why it bothered me so much.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No, of course not. I don’t know any personal details concerning Rupert’s right-hand man. Why would I?” That came out unintentionally cross.

  “Seraphina had him checked out years ago. This liaison occurred before MI6, before he even met Rupert. In any case, I agree to speak with him but it must be later tonight since Seraphina and I must go to the warehouse and retrieve some documents immediately following dinner. The police finished with the crime scene only today. Now I am allowed to enter again and there are sensitive documents I must collect immediately.”

  I nodded, only half listening. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Excellent. We can use the help since I do not want to involve anyone else for the time being.”

  “Why?” I asked, suddenly paying attention.

  “Because I do not trust anyone except maybe you.” She stepped up to me and took my hands in hers. “You I see as my friend, though I know I have not behaved as a friend to you. Still, you I trust. But I must ask you to consider that perhaps Rupert did meet Maria as planned and killed her to obtain the keys to the vault.”

  “The keys?” I asked.

  She squeezed my hands. “Just think, Phoebe: if she was meeting Rupert to take him to the vault, Maria would have had the keys with her. She always took them everywhere. She showed them to me once—on an ornate key chain from Murano. The studio’s outside door wasn’t broken into but the security code was penetrated and only the door to the safe was blown. Someone used the keys to enter the building and they are now missing, taken by Rupert that very night, perhaps.”

  “No,” I said, pulling my hands from hers. “I absolutely don’t believe that Rupert had anything to do with this. Promise not to try to assassinate either him or Evan. We need the chance to clear his name, to clear both your names, and find the truth.”

  “You trust him in everything?” the countess asked me while studying my face intently.

  “Of course not! It’s pure foolishness to trust Rupert carte blanche but I don’t believe him capable of this particular crime. Besides, we still have this gang chasing us. They’re the main suspects now.”

  Nicolina gave a rueful smile. “I would not have killed him, anyway, not like that, and Evan is a formidable opponent, in any case. No, I was just very angry and—what do you say?—venting. I was venting.”

  I lowered my voice. “What about Zara?”

  “Thoroughly investigated by both Seraphina and the police. Her alibi is clear and she has worked for this family forever. She was with her family that night and Seraphina says she is heartbroken by Maria’s death.”

  “That doesn’t mean she couldn’t have hired somebody.”

  “But why?” she asked. “And why now?”

  “Maybe somebody got to her.”

  A bell rang down the hall and Nicolina sighed. “We will leave this for now. Let us regain our friendship over dinner.”

  I wasn’t certain how much of our friendship existed but I really did want to trust her eventually. For the time being, I followed her into a spacious formal dining room where a sea-blue damask tablecloth had been spread over the long table set with silver and sparkling crystal. Silk velvet jacquard the hue of deep burnished bronze hung on the windows.

  Seraphina did not dine with us, and other than to deliver dishes, Zara stayed out of sight, too.

  “They eat together in the kitchen,” my hostess remarked. “It is a long-standing custom in Italy that the servants do not eat with the owners of the house, even in this day and age. Of course, Seraphina and I don’t follow such rules at home but here, and since we wish to talk, I thought it best. Also, Zara and Seraphina have been friends for many years and prefer to be by themselves also.”

  “I understand. Besides, I don’t think Zara likes me, either,” I whispered to her over the basket of rolls. I said it as a joke but it was true.

  “I don’t think she likes anybody after Maria’s passing, except Seraphina, perhaps. Certainly she resents me becoming the new mistress here. She is very angry, it seems. I have shared with her the sum Maria wished to leave her in her will but it brought no consolation. That blouse looks lovely on you—Gucci, correct, the summer 2017 collection?”

  “I think so, and thank you for the gift. I keep these pieces for special occasions, which aren’t all that frequent.” Nicolina loved to shower me with designer clothing, which I both appreciated and treasured but left me feeling as though I was receiving a subtle nudge to dress more appropriately for the world we intersected together—hang out with an Italian countess, dress like a countess, or at least like an Italian. I took a sip of water from a crystal goblet and smiled. “Tell me what you know about the family history, please.”

  She gazed at me from across the table, a diamond earring catching the light. “I do not know as much as you think, and what I do know I didn’t believe important at first. The Continis were wealthy textile merchants in the fifteenth century, exporting silks and woven cloths all over Europe and beyond. It was in the family stories that they had joined with a Jewish family sometime in that same century and that the painting recorded that event. That’s all I know.”

  “Maria didn’t mention a cipher?”

  “She told me that she believed there may be a secret hidden in the painting but had no idea what.”

  “Where did the Jewish family come from?”

  “It is not known—possibly from someplace East. The Jews were being persecuted all over the world and were constantly on the move so they could have come from anywhere.”

  “But this family must have amassed great wealth to have a sanctioned union with a wealthy Venetian family despite religious barriers. The bride must have been expected to renounce her faith, or to hide it, at the very least. How common was it for Jews to renounce their faith in order to marry, anyway?”

  “No more common than it was for a Catholic to marry a Jew with the blessings of the family, I would think. In Italy, if one marries a Catholic, it is the other religion that must convert. For me even twenty years ago, to be born Catholic in this country was to ban me from marrying a Protestant unless he converted, so imagine a union between a Catholic and a Jew five centuries earlier? But this much I can say: Signore Contini was very anti-Semitic. He became so enraged when Maria wanted to study the Kabbalah that I thought she would leave the house.”

  “Maria wanted to study the Kabbalah?”

  “It interested her greatly. In fact, she had been studying it for several years in secret. She was proud to have Jewish blood in her ancestry.”

  I sat back. The pieces were falling together but still with enough spaces between them to keep the picture far from my reach. For a while, I focused on eating, especially when the fish arrived to stare me in the face. I covered the head with a bit of risotto while carefully removing the bones. “What about this cousin,” I asked at last. “Does she know anything?”

  “She is Maria’s father’s younger deceased brother’s daughter and she has never shown the least bit of interest in this family or its history. Maria had only met her once, to the best of my knowledge. She lives in Milan.”

  “And if she changes her mind and contests the will?”

  “She assured me she would not. I explained about Maria’s desire for the museum and that I will sell this crumbling villa in order to finance the renovation. She can have all the art inside these walls but for the textiles and the missing painting, should it be located. What need have I for a villa in Venice, anyway? Now that Maria is gone, I will have no desire to visit much except to oversee the museum. As for the other properties—there are
two, I believe—a farm in Tuscany and a vacation property somewhere. Those I will sell to finance the warehouse restoration, as well.”

  Nodding my approval, I dove into the rest of my dinner while trying not to speak with my mouth full. Zara had created a feast of risotto with red wine, fried sardines, pasta, and polenta with not a speck of anything green in sight. It was delicious but I couldn’t do it justice.

  Nicolina poured a little wine into her glass while I waved away the offer. “As soon as the body—” she hesitated, fortified herself with a sip, and continued “—as soon as we can, the funeral will take place. I have been assured that this can happen within the next few days. I have provided you with something to wear.”

  I shook my head. “Whenever the funeral is, I’ll use that time to explore and research since everyone’s attention will be elsewhere.”

  “I had hoped you would keep me company.”

  “You won’t need my company, Nicolina. You have Seraphina, and I would be very out of place at the funeral of someone I didn’t know, despite my feelings of affinity with Maria.” Besides which, I couldn’t get images of Don’t Look Now out of my head—the funereal black gondola sailing down the canal. “But thank you for the outfit. I’ll return it.”

  She waved away the thought. “You must keep them.”

  “Well, thank you again and for ordering this magnificent feast.” What I would do with that dramatic black outfit, I had no idea.

  Nicolina appeared relieved that I’d accepted her peace offering as she toasted me over the table. “To friendship! Salute!” My water goblet and her wineglass clinked over the candles.

  Through dessert of gelato and coffee, we spoke of more neutral subjects until the table was cleared.

  “So,” I began, “are we going to just stroll down the street to enter the warehouse tonight?”

  That brought a smile. “No, certainly not. It is best that our activities remain private. I have another way.” She rang the little bell on the table and in strode Zara, to whom Nicolina said something directive that caused the housekeeper to scamper away. Seconds later, in came Seraphina.

  “Seraphina, tonight we go to the warehouse to collect those files we spoke about and Phoebe will accompany us. Following that, Sir Rupert’s man, Evan, will visit us here at the villa to discuss possible suspects.” Nicolina waved one hand by way of aborting protests. “We are attempting collaboration.”

  “Collaboration.” Seraphina appeared to ponder the word. “Very well. In that case, I suggest that we take the secret passage to the warehouse so as not to draw attention and that Sir Rupert’s man enter the villa through the canal door.”

  “Good idea.” Nicolina nodded.

  “Secret passage?” I asked.

  “At one time, the Continis owned all the buildings in this block,” Nicolina explained, turning to me. “A private passageway—probably no longer in good condition—runs at the back of the buildings at the canal level. Centuries ago it was built to assure the Continis didn’t muddy their shoes when traveling back and forth to their place of business. Maria took me through it a couple of times when we were younger, all in fun. Girlish games, you know,” she added with a sigh.

  “Good. I’ll just text Evan and tell him to meet us at the back canal entrance, shall I? What time do you think?”

  Nicolina and Seraphina exchanged glances. “Perhaps 10:30?” Nicolina suggested.

  “Ten-thirty, it is. I’ll just go upstairs and change.” Which I proceeded to do, texting Evan along the way: Success. Come to the villa at 10:30 by boat via the back canal door.

  After I had received Confirmed in response, I climbed the stairs, pondering the idea of Evan with a son and an ex, the lovely Sophia. It bothered me at some level but I didn’t want to prod too deeply as to why. Maybe because I’d always thought of the mysterious Evan as monkish—probably even preferred to think of him as the attractive unobtainable man, perfectly safe for flirting purposes. After all, didn’t he live in a kind of cell of Rupert’s choosing waiting on his every need? Now I had to broaden my image of him as a man with the same needs as any other. Well, of course I knew he had that need. Our playful flirting had told me that much. Luckily I didn’t have time to think too long on the subject.

  Since my hands would be full carrying files back and forth through this mysterious tunnel, it made sense to leave my carpetbag behind. To that end I changed into jeans, sneakers, and sweater and shoved my cell phone into my pocket. After donning my new jacket, complete with gun, I was ready for the evening.

  When I met Nicolina and Seraphina downstairs minutes later, both had changed into leather jackets and pants complete with sleek little high-heeled booties that left me totally baffled. High heels for stealth missions through mysterious tunnels? Badassed chic totally escaped me. My sneakers, on the other hand, made me feel like a Clydesdale draft horse set off to plod with a pair cantering thoroughbreds. We each carried a plastic carrier bag to add to the effect.

  Still, I was thankful for those treads when we stomped down to the cantina moments later, wove through the damp shrouded shapes, and watched as Seraphina pried open a low decrepit-looking door at the end of the cavernous room. The hinges shrieked in protest but eventually cooperated enough to reveal a dark, foul-smelling corridor. All three of us stepped back.

  “It is in much worse condition than I thought,” Nicolina remarked, holding a tissue to her nose. “Many floods over the decades.”

  “Mold,” Seraphina said ominously. “We will need protection and perhaps to cover our noses. There are coats over there by the door. I will put something together against the mold.”

  Nicolina and I waited while Seraphina rummaged against the far wall by the boat door.

  “Smells moldy, all right.” Seemed like a bad time to mention my mold allergy so I just coughed for effect.

  “Mold and spiders and all manner of unpleasant things,” Nicolina agreed as she lifted a tarp covering a long shape beside us and poked her flashlight underneath. “The family’s ceremonial gondola. I wonder whether it will ever sail again? I suppose I must auction it off.”

  Before I could comment, Seraphina had returned carrying three full carnival masks plus three yellow well-used hooded raincoats. “With the hood and the masks over our faces, this is the best possible protection for in there.” Seraphina indicated the corridor with a jerk of the head. “I will go first.”

  She donned the slicker, pulled up the hood, and slipped a glittery, feather-plumed mask over her face. For a moment she reminded me of some jaunty bank robber with a thing for bling. Nicolina, on the other hand, being a taller and more striking figure all around, appeared utterly bizarre in an old ill-fitting raincoat and a grimace mask straight out of Greek tragedy. As for me, I was just grateful not to be wearing a plague doctor beak for once and thought my silver and golden sequin-encrusted sun/moon mask rather spectacular. Whether it offered much protection for penetrating slick, mold-slimed corridors was left to be seen.

  Thus decked out like actors from some Carnevale Meets Freddy Krueger B-movie, we entered the yawning corridor. We had to hunch as our backs scraped against the fungi-encrusted ceiling while trying not to breathe in the stench of mold and whatever dead things putrefied the air. Rats, I thought. Seraphina was ahead, me behind her, and Nicolina bringing up the rear, each of us grasping flashlights along with our bags, and yet it was impossible to see much of anything. It was dark, and we were in full face masks trying not to breathe in too deeply but gasping for breath all the same time. Touching the walls even with the gloves I had the foresight to bring was to be avoided but it was impossible since balancing myself on uneven surfaces was part of the territory.

  Our scout wasn’t wasting time and seemed intent to traverse this disgusting corridor as quickly as possible. That wasn’t the problem so much as my inability to keep up while slipping on the greasy cobbles. The ever sure-footed Nicolina behind me asked: “Phoebe, are you all right?”

  “Fine,” I croaked, and scramble
d on.

  Once, a few inches of wall to our right opened to briefly reveal the canal and briny air. The disintegrating brick must have toppled into the canal months or even years before, indicating the fragility of this passageway. Yet, that single lungful of semifresh air kept me going awhile longer.

  The corridor was not only dark and slippery but refused to follow a straight line. It formed a torturous route through a closed-in passageway snaking behind the buildings, including steps in some places. By the time we reached a steep set of stairs rising straight up, Nicolina shone her flashlight over Seraphina’s head and claimed: “We are almost there.”

  Seraphina bounded up the steps and called: “Stay back. I will fight the door.” The sound of wood wrestling against stone penetrated the gloom. Splintering noises followed and soon Seraphina called: “It is free.”

  We climbed up and up, my breath struggling inside the condensation-slicked mask, which I couldn’t wait to tear off my face, while my hands braced against the slick walls. In moments we had burst into another dark room, this one as dry and dusty as an abandoned cathedral.

  I removed my mask, shrugged off the raincoat, and found myself standing in a huge space, one so expansive I couldn’t see the opposite wall from where I stood. More tarps shrouded tall mounds everywhere our flashlights landed.

  “This is the main studio, second floor. The first floor is storage, the top the offices. Look, Phoebe.” Nicolina flung away a tent-like covering over one of the mounds to reveal an old loom possibly six feet long and still threaded with warps as if the weaver had aborted a project before it began.

  “See how many kinds there are?” Nicolina said while removing the covers from several different varieties. “There are looms for silk, looms for velvet, looms for special robes for maybe a queen, yes? This one made golden thread into brocades, Maria said.” She stood lost in thought before an old upright loom that still wore the remnants of fraying cloth caught between the silken warp.