Murder Under the Italian Moon

by Maria Grazia Swan

  Augusta sat at her desk. The moment she saw us she stood and smiled, magically losing twenty years.

  "Manuel, you're back," she cooed, extending both hands to him.

  He smiled, accepted the offered hands and placed the Prada bag in them, then kissed the plump concierge on both cheeks.

  "Not for long, I'm afraid. But Kyle's mamma"—he nodded in my direction—"she is on vacation, so you'll see a lot of her and perhaps Kyle also." He moved his hands away from hers. "Do you think we can take a look at the menus? Of course, I already know what I want." More smiles. "But Kyle's mamma has no idea about the good care you take of us."

  I wanted to shout that my name wasn't Kyle's mamma but decided I could put up with his immature sense of humor for one evening. After all, he was willing to put up with the imposition of my unscheduled presence.

  Augusta went back to her desk and removed a folder from one of the drawers. The lamp put a shine on her silver hair. She opened the folder and laid at least a dozen restaurant menus on the desktop. While she motioned me to look at them, she kept glancing at the Prada bag, obviously dying to open it.

  Small golden bells chimed eight p.m. The lovely sound came from a handsome old clock on the wall.

  "I never get tired of listening to that beautiful sound. Thank you, Manuel." Augusta sounded a little misty.

  I stared at the menus, unable to decide what to do. "Cruz, you are more familiar with these restaurants than I am. What do you suggest? Something light so I won't toss and turn all night."

  He chuckled at my remark, spread the menus on the desk, picked one, and suggested some risotto di frutta di mare. While it literally translated to "rice with fruits of the sea," when served it would be a light risotto with mussels, scallops, and calamari. Perfect. He worked out the details with Augusta, who apparently ordered his food when he stayed at the condo.

  She assured us everything would be delivered within forty-five minutes.

  More kisses on both cheeks, then we left.

  "Let me see. You get here in the dark so as not to be seen and hide in the condo while your star-struck old girl provides you with your daily needs, then you take off again in the dark. That's your wonderful life in Chioggia? How long have you been calling this gilded cage home?" Why was I so mean? The poor man did nothing to deserve my criticism. Misplaced anger or a preview of the mood swings my ob-gyn predicted for my near future?

  "Gilded cage? Hide waiting for darkness?" We paused by the elevator door. "You don't know a thing." He grabbed my arm. Like a man on a mission, he firmly dragged me along toward a dim corridor. Smoke might have flared from his nostrils, but I couldn't tell in the low light.

  "Where are you taking me?" All his passion could be a sign of craziness. The narrow hallway grew even darker and seemed to close in around us.

  He stopped at a door. I knew it was a door because a low-voltage light bulb above it made it possible for Cruz to insert a key, unlock and open it wide.

  A gush of cold air took me by surprise. Were we outside? This wasn't just cold air; it had a damp, chilling effect and smelled of mold and rotten wood. Memories of my grandfather's cellar popped into my head. But my grandfather's cellar had a floor. This place? Several steps down from the threshold, dark water slapped against the walls.

  "Come on." Cruz stood on the lower step, prodding me to join him. The instant I moved away, the door shut behind me. What have I gotten myself into?

  Water dripped somewhere in this cavernous place, resonating loudly. Precise and relentless.

  "Watch where you step." His voice was as calm as if he were taking a stroll in the park. He must have pulled a flashlight from his pocket. The light beam showed the way.

  He seemed to be walking on solid ground, so I followed him closely. Our footsteps echoed in the vaulted space. We turned a corner and found ourselves at a moonlit underground dock. The moonbeams poured in from a large skylight, bleaching the walls and the boat to a ghostly pallor. A boat!

  "Where are we? What's above us?" I listened for dock sounds—voices, engines of other boats. But the only sound was the water slapping against the walls and moorings.

  "The skylight is part of the garden terrace. We are under the palazzo. Think of this place as a basement with seawater." His laugh was filled with affection. "And this is my Gemelli."

  "Gemelli? You are a twin? You have a twin brother?"

  "Lella, Lella, pay attention—Gemelli, as in astrology. I named my boat after my birth sign."

  That explained the affectionate tone. The man was in love with his boat.

  "Got it. This is your beloved speedboat you named Gemini because you are a Gemini. Correct?"

  "Brava!"

  Maybe it was the chill of the underground canal or the jet lag that finally caught up with me, but the tingling that crept up my spine when he mentioned Gemini wasn't pleasurable. More like bad memories and an urge to get out of there.

  Cruz's flashlight had a limited but powerful beam. He pointed it and examined the ropes anchoring the Gemelli.

  "Don't you have any electricity?" I stomped my feet. The humidity from the slippery stones dampened my ankle boots.

  "Of course I do, but I don't want to attract attention."

  "Attract attention? Whose attention? The sewer rats?" I can't believe I said that.

  He grabbed my elbow and forced me to walk the length of the boat past the bow. A few meters ahead, the underground boat slip opened into a wide canal dripping in moonlight. Cruz pointed across the water at a few lit windows. "The stores are closed, but people live above the businesses." He smiled. "Like you say in America, I like to keep a low profile."

  "Is below sea level low enough? How about we go back to the condo?"

  "Not yet. I want you to understand how free I feel to be myself. No agents, no paparazzi, just me and my boat." He rubbed his hand against the side of the speedboat the same way I ran my hands over Flash's back, except my cat purred. "My boat is my magic door. Once we leave the slip, I enter a different world, a world where I can choose who I want to be and where I want to go. No one questions me. I spend days on one of the small islands, just painting."

  "You paint?"

  "Painting is my passion. When I'm no longer, um, effective on the screen, I will paint every day. Augusta stores all my painting material when I'm gone for long periods of time. I don't leave anything personal in the condo. You never know who may stop by."

  "You mean you are not the only one with the keys?"

  "I'm told I am, and I give keys to my guests, but I trust no one. And you are right, Lella, I do wear wigs and glasses when I roam around town. Here." He climbed aboard the boat and was immediately coated in that ghostly, washed-out color. "Take my hand; come aboard."

  "No, that's okay. Really. I'm fine." My stomach gurgled loudly. Cruz kept his arm stretched out to me. Damn! He helped me up. The saying "a fish out of water" took on a whole new meaning. All I wanted was to get out of that drippy, stinky place.

  The boat actually smelled of new paint or something. Cruz stood there like a king assessing his domain. If a simple boat gave him such pleasure, this middle-aged man must have missed a lot more than a good meal in his life.

  "See?" He pointed to the skylight above. "Soon the moon will be directly over us, and on nights like this I lie on the bow. Come on, I'll show you."

  "Show me what?" I really, really didn't want to be there and had no intention of waiting for the moon to reach its pinnacle. This was getting too strange. Cruz lifted me up and sat me on the bow of the boat. He seemed very comfortable, while I was just the opposite.

  "Relax, relax." He settled himself beside me and leaned back, looking straight up past the skylight to the moon just coming into view.

  He tapped his palm against the bow. The chill and humidity must have messed up my brain functions, because I lay back next to him, looking at the same moon, thinking of the easiest way to get the hell out of there.

  "Nights like these make it all worth it." His voic
e dreamy.

  I had no idea what he meant, and I didn't care. Lunatic. It dawned on me the moon in Italian was luna. How appropriate.

  "So, Cruz, you're Spanish?" I figured talking might keep him from enjoying his moonlight, and maybe we'd go back to the condo.

  "Spanish? No. Why do you think I'm Spanish?

  "Your name?"

  "Oh, that. I adopted the name."

  "Adopted? You mean you legally changed your name? Or is it your screen name?"

  "When my friend died I adopted his name to honor him."

  We are not having this conversation. He's rehearsing some movie part and wants to see my reaction. "And you didn't have to go to court for that?"

  "Only three people know, now four. I doubt you'll go out and tell the world about it. Besides, no one will believe you."

  Dear God, the man is crazy. "What about your family, don't they care?"

  "I don't know. I grew up in an orphanage. My friend and I ran away when we were about twelve. I always liked his name." He became very quiet, then I heard muffled sounds. Was he crying?

  "He died of meningitis when he turned fourteen. I gave the priest my name for the burial. Manuel approved. I know it. Now Manuel De La Cruz is a household name—not bad for a runaway orphan." His voice faded.

  He really is a great actor. Maybe I should clap. I wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be okay, but I choked on my emotions and didn't move.

  The boat rocked a little harder. I was getting motion sickness.

  My imagination played tricks on me. I could have sworn someone else was on the boat. I felt a presence then—no—I caught a moving shadow. Too frightened to scream, I elbowed Cruz.

  "You hungry?" He got halfway up. I don't know if he saw the fear on my face, but something must have alerted him. He turned his head, and his body stiffened. "Hey! Delinquente," he yelled.

  When Cruz moved, I could see the dark silhouette of a man perched on the side of the boat. The stranger jumped off. The sound of his pounding feet receded as he ran away.

  I lay still, paralyzed by fear.

  Cruz jumped down and went after the intruder.

  The roar of a motorized boat zipped by the open canal before Cruz even reached the end of the slip.

  Show over.

  DEATH UNDER THE VENICE MOON

  available now!