Murphy's Law

by Lisa Marie Rice

  She smiled up at him, slim and vibrant in the morning light, and he thought the waiters would probably run into Siena to get her coffee, if she asked.

  “Sounds great.”

  It did, too, because out here it might be easier to carve out a little private time with her without having to share her with the geeks still in the breakfast room, inhaling cornetti or whatever it was they ate.

  Already in the courtyard there was probably enough brainpower to run a third-world country. There were at least five math nerds lounging in the cloisters, eyeing Faith. His glare kept them away.

  There would probably be another thirty of them inside, and there’d be no hope of sitting at a table alone with Faith for more than a minute. Yeah, it was better to stay out here.

  He brushed the gray slab of stone which still retained the cool of the night, and sat down heavily. His knee really hurt.

  Faith came out from the refectory empty-handed and he stood. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be possible to have their coffee outside, so…but then he smiled and shook his head in wonder.

  Two waiters were following Faith, one carrying a little round table and the other carrying two cane-bottomed chairs. While one waiter set up the table on the grass, whisking a cotton tablecloth over it, the other disappeared for a moment, returning with a filled tray.

  “Ecco signorina,” the first waiter said, with a broad sweep of his arm. He pulled back a chair and waited. Faith smiled as she sat and glanced up at him. “Grazie. To both of you.”

  They bowed and went back inside.

  “Don’t just stand there, Nick,” she said serenely as she poured two cups of coffee for them. There were four cornetti, slices of bread, pats of butter, a small jar of honey and a pot of steaming milk. “Come have breakfast.”

  The waiter had put the chairs facing each other, but he wanted to sit next to her. He pulled the chair over and sat down. “You put something in the water here? Either that or you’ve cast a spell on them. Tuscans aren’t usually so obliging.”

  Faith laughed. “Maybe they’re being so nice because they know that soon they’ll see the back of us. The conference is over, except for a few ceremonial speeches. By eleven they’ll be sweeping out the conference rooms. Then we’re going down to see your precious Palio.” She nudged a cornetto onto his plate. “From all the fuss, you’d think it was the second coming.”

  “Oh, better.” Nick stuffed a big bite of pastry in his mouth and chewed happily. It wasn’t Nannini’s, but still worlds better than the rubbery donuts his corner coffee shop in Southbury served up. “I don’t imagine the second coming will be pretty to look at.”

  “Nope. I’m sure the Palio will be better.” Faith sipped from her cup, closing her eyes and sighing.

  Nick sidled closer with his chair. Now was the time to take a shot at it.

  “Listen, Faith, I know you want to be with your geeks—sorry, your colleagues—but I’d love to have you watch the race with me. We have a cousin, actually not quite a cousin, his mother grew up with—” He waved his hand impatiently. “Never mind. Anyway, we always watch the Palio from his balcony, which looks right out onto the piazza.” He smiled tentatively. “Best seats in the house. And you can go to the bathroom, something you can’t do out in the square.”

  Her eyes had slowly opened and she was listening with a faint smile on her face. “Well.” She shook her head. “Bathroom rights sound like a deal-clincher.” She pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. “Tell you what, Nick, I’ll talk to Leonardo about it. I think the business part of the conference is over. If he thinks it’s okay for me to desert him this afternoon, I’d love to watch the Palio from your cousin’s balcony. I think we’re all going down this morning for the trial heat.”

  “The last one. It’s called the provaccia.”

  “Tell me about it. The—pro…what?”

  Nick smiled. He was on familiar ground here. “Provaccia. It’s the last trial heat before the race and less exciting than the other ones. Basically they just canter the horses around the square. The jockeys don’t want to tire the horses out. It’s the Palio later in the day that’s the important thing.”

  “And the Palio itself is at what—six?”

  “Six-thirty. The August race starts at six because the sun sets earlier.”

  She shook her head. “Two big horse races in the space of six weeks. Weird.”

  Across the way, Richard Allen, in red-and-orange shorts and not much else, was talking earnestly with a skinny Japanese man who came to his breastbone. Richard stooped to take off his enormous sandals, whacked them together, sole to sole, and threw his head back, braying with laughter.

  Nick’s eyes slid back to Faith. “You hang around with guys like that and you find two Palios weird?”

  She poured more coffee into her cup, added sugar and stirred. She was playing it cool, but was having trouble suppressing a smile. “He’s probably discussing amicable numbers. He’s an expert.”

  Richard had slipped his sandals back on, on the wrong feet, and had opened his immensely long arms. He flapped them vigorously.

  “Jesus.” Nick shook his head. “What kind of numbers are those?”

  Faith put her index fingers to her lips, considering. “Takanara’s English is very sketchy. I think Richard’s trying to tell Takanara that he’s flying back home tomorrow. Richard—” She sighed. “—Richard’s neurons pop to a different drummer.”

  “Do they ever.” Nick dismissed the crazy geek from his mind. He cut a cornetto in half. “Here, try this. It’s great.” He nudged the pastry against her lips. “Open up.”

  She obliged, and chewed and sighed. “Good,” she murmured.

  Nick watched her swallow and had to swallow himself. Christ, she’s lovely. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that last winter? He’d gone out with Lou and Faith at least a couple times a week all winter, and he’d never really looked at her.

  She was driving him crazy. Like the roses in the growing heat of the day, she gave off an intoxicating smell-of soap, shampoo and the warm skin of woman.

  She raised her face, smiling into the morning’s warmth. She was so pretty, long pale neck gleaming, smooth slender shoulders bare except for the skimpy straps of her sundress. The dress she was wearing was very revealing. For one thing, it revealed she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  The material was soft and clingy. He could see her small nipples pushing against the fabric, and was blown away by sensory memories of taking those nipples into his mouth. His hand cupping that soft mound. Her hair fanned out over his pillow, her moans…

  “Lean over.” He barely recognized his voice. It sounded thick and distant.

  She didn’t jump or look quizzical. As if it were the most normal thing in the world for a man to be blasted by lust in her presence, she looked over and her mouth lifted in a half smile. “Nick,” she murmured.

  “Here.” He was reduced to monosyllables. “Now.” He hooked a finger into the bodice of that revealing dress and pulled. She didn’t resist. She moved slowly but steadily toward him and he felt as if she were moving through water, it was that slow.

  Finally, finally, there she was, her mouth against his, and he opened his mouth over hers. “Come closer,” he whispered.

  He put his hands on the metal armrests and pulled her and the chair toward him. The way he was feeling, he would have pulled the entire Certosa toward him if it meant getting closer to her.

  Faith sighed and moved her tongue against his…

  The loud crash drove them apart. Nick jumped to his feet and pulled Faith behind him. She peeped out from his side and they both stared at the heavy terracotta planter now in shards, the earth strewn around it in a star from the force of the impact.

  It had fallen exactly where Faith had been sitting five seconds before.

  The sound of running footsteps sounded loud in the shocked silence.

  “I saw it! Up there!” Richard shouted, pointing up to the second floor where the planter had been, and took of
f with surprising speed for the corner stairs. He disappeared up them in an instant, the skinny Japanese hard at his heels.

  Nick contemplated following him, but nerdy though he might be, Richard didn’t have a bum knee and could run faster than he could. Besides, he could feel Faith trembling behind him and he didn’t want to leave her alone and scared.

  He turned, blocking Faith’s view, but she’d seen enough. So had he.

  The vase and earth must have weighed at least a hundred pounds. Dropped from a height of twenty feet, it would have been enough to kill Faith if it had landed on her. If he hadn’t been dying to kiss her, it would have fallen straight on her head and cracked her skull like an eggshell.

  Nick turned and took her in his arms, and, with a whimper, she burrowed there. He put a hand to her head and dropped a kiss on her hair. She couldn’t feel it, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was alive. His arms tightened.

  “I say!” Richard descended the stairs, his pale face blotched with red patches of emotion and anger. “Be still, you!”

  He was holding a wriggling Madeleine Kobbel by a huge hand wrapped around her right biceps. He could have wrapped his hand twice around her arm.

  The woman was jerking and pulling, but there must have been more muscle than Nick gave him credit for in those long skinny arms, because Richard didn’t give an inch. He wrapped his other hand around her left arm and held her at arms’ length.

  “Let—me—go!” Kobbel jerked again and aimed a vicious kick at his prominent, white, hairless shin bone.

  Richard’s face was splotchier than before and he was breathing heavily.

  “Easy there.” His arms were so long she had no hope of reaching him. “Settle down now, Madeleine.”

  She was breathing heavily. “Let me go, you English bastard,” she snarled, and tried to wrench herself away.

  Richard blinked, surprised. “Actually, my dear,” he said seriously, “my parents have been married since 1977, well before I was born.”

  She screamed in frustration and wrenched so hard he had to open his hands in order not to hurt her. She screeched and rushed forward, hands out in claws. She was almost at Richard’s surprised eyes when Nick grabbed her by the waist from behind. She writhed in his grasp.

  “Stop it,” he said coldly.

  Something about his voice and the strength of his hold must have penetrated her hysteria, because she subsided, sobbing and shaking. He looked down at the shattered vase.

  She tried to aim a kick at him and he put a little muscle into his grasp. “Watch it, lady. You almost killed Faith, and I’m not feeling very charitable at the moment.”

  Kobbel straightened and wiped her face with shaking hands. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was walking along the corridor when this madman—” She glared at Richard. “—when he grabbed me and pulled me downstairs.”

  Her head twisted as she looked at them—Richard , the Japanese guy, Faith, and finally at Nick. Her mouth turned down. She shot a venomous look at Richard . “I’m going to sue you for assault, and you—” She glared up at Nick.

  She sounded vicious but sane, so he opened his hands and she stepped back.

  “I can just see the headlines back home. ‘Athlete Manhandles Woman’. Your career will be over in an instant. I can guarantee that.”

  “Too late for that,” Nick said. “And I wouldn’t be so quick to lawyer up, lady. My cousin’s a cop, and what do you want to bet that he’ll find your fingerprints all over that vase.”

  They all looked solemnly down at the vase, smashed to smithereens. Nick doubted very much that any shards large enough to hold fingerprints were left, but he was a firm believer in the adage--when in doubt, lie.

  He pulled out his cell and punched in Dante’s number. “Dante? Yeah. You might want to come up to the Certosa. I think we’ve found your murderer.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  If you think the problem is bad now, wait until it’s solved.

  In the excitement, the conference was de facto adjourned. In the breakfast room, a shocked Leonardo declared the closing session over before it began and announced that Faith Murphy would be drafting the final report, to be published in the proceedings.

  Faith, taken totally unawares, had nodded sagaciously, then realized that she’d just said okay to listening to sixty hours of taped discussions, transcribing the proceedings and drafting a twenty-page report.

  No one was even listening to Leonardo make his announcements. Madeleine Kobbel, Roland Kane, possible motives for murder, where to have a good lunch in town and the upcoming Palio—these were the topics of conversation. The participants seemed to find it all “terribly entertaining” in Richard’s words.

  In less time than Faith would have imagined possible, Dante and his minions had come up, carefully gathered the tangled mass of shards and dirt and mangled flowers—she could hardly look at the mess without shuddering—handcuffed Madeleine, who was now hysterically crying, and driven off with her, Nick, Richard and Takanara.

  She didn’t mind Dante driving off with Madeleine but unfortunately he insisted on driving off with Nick, too. Nick had been visibly reluctant to go, which warmed her heart. He’d left her his cell phone number and they’d made an appointment to meet at Piazza del Campo 26 at four to see the race.

  The abandoned agenda didn’t disturb anyone. The mathematicians found the attempted murder infinitely more interesting than the morning’s scheduled program.

  Particularly since the waiters had set up a little impromptu banquet in the courtyard, ferrying coffee and sandwiches for the police officers. The participants had ripped right in, too, and it had had the ghostly feel of a phantom coffee break at a non-existent conference.

  Faith’s hand had been patted innumerable times and she’d been asked over and over again if she was all right. She clearly was, and the patting was getting annoying.

  Particularly annoying was Tim, who must have asked her a thousand times if she was okay, and who insisted on having her tell him over and over again exactly what had happened.

  Since Faith had had to give him a heavily edited version of the truth, it was getting tedious. Not to mention the fact she was anticipating more of the kisses she’d edited out of her story for Tim.

  He stuck by her side like a leech. Oh God, not a leech. A worm, with his beige hair and beige T-shirt and beige shorts and beige legs.

  She knew she was being uncharitable, but she couldn’t help it.

  “I’m fine, Tim,” she said sharply for the hundredth time.

  They were being herded into four minivans by Leonardo, who had given up on even pretending that a little work could be done today and had arranged to ferry them all down to Siena early.

  “I was so scared for you,” Tim said simply, and she shut up.

  It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t Nick. Why was she so irritated with him?

  She scooted over to the far side of the minivan and Tim climbed in after her.

  Faith sighed. “Thanks, Tim. But in the end, no harm was done.”

  His jaw tightened. “Maybe. But that wasn’t her intention.”

  No, Madeleine’s intention had been to crack her skull. And she’d almost succeeded. Faith hadn’t asked it yet, but now she had to. “Why me? What did I ever do to her? I thought we were friends?”

  The van was dipping and rocking back on its suspension as the other conference participants climbed in. Finally the driver slid the van’s door shut and started the engine.

  “Why you?” Tim turned in his seat to look her full in the face. “Jealousy. Leonardo offering you the job at the New Economy Foundation just tipped her into insanity.”

  “Jesus.” Faith stared at Tim. She hadn’t seen Tim last night at the street dinner and hadn’t had a chance to talk to him this morning. “How did you know about that?”

  He smiled. “Math jungle drums. Fastest communication vector known to man. No, actually, Grif told me over breakfast. I think it’s grea
t, Faith. And you really deserve it.”

  While Faith heartened to Tim’s unusual praise, he sneaked in a chance to lean over and peck her on the cheek, and took her hand.

  He smiled, showing dull, gray teeth. “I love Siena,” he said. “And if you’re going to be spending a year here, that’ll be my chance to come over more often.”

  Faith withdrew her hand and barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Damn! Tim obviously wasn’t reading her face language, her body language or her language language. She couldn’t speak her thoughts out loud in a van full of colleagues, so she looked out the window instead.

  It was the diplomatic choice, and had the added advantage that the countryside was much better looking than Tim Gresham.

  “So, Professor Kobbel, you have a lot of explaining to do.” Dante felt like a character in a Hercule Poirot story at the denouement of the novel.

  They should have been in the darkened library of an English country manor, rain lashing the windows, his elbow propped on the mantelpiece. Instead, they were in his sunny office, window open to the view of rooftops stretching away toward Via di Città.

  Kobbel had finally stopped weeping hysterically, for which he was profoundly grateful. Dante was well aware of the many weaknesses of his character. One of the greatest was he couldn’t stand to see a woman cry. Even a lying, murdering woman’s tears could unman him.

  Dante had sat rigidly in his chair, jaws and hands clenched, while she wept tears of rage and frustration. Finally, finally, the storm passed and she sat quietly, head bowed, fingers picking at the stiff fabric of her skirt.

  Now he could talk to her rationally. He leaned forward. He wanted to start slowly, work his way up to attempted murder and then the real thing. “Professor Kobbel, this morning Faith Murphy was almost killed by a terracotta vase dropped from a great height. She missed death by inches. That is attempted murder and it is a serious crime in this country. It carries a mandatory sentence of seven years in jail.”