Raphielli took a sip. “Mmmm. Wow. This is…wow!” She took another sip and peered more closely at her new therapy coordinator.
“You’re looking at my makeup,” Mia said.
“It’s absolutely flawless.”
“I used to work for Lancôme.”
“See?” Kate said. “I haven’t found anything she can’t do.”
“Ready?” Mia asked. “We don’t want to be late for the group session, and Paloma moves slowly. I’d feel guilty about having her walk at all, but she needs to start using her hips and legs or she’ll never regain full mobility.”
“I’m ready.”
Mia was out the door and heading down the hall. She called over her shoulder, “Paloma needs the elevator because of her fractured pelvis.”
“I need the stairs because of my hips…and my thighs.”
“You’re funny, Raphielli. I like you.” Mia laughed lightly. “See you on three.”
After climbing the stairs, Raphielli felt a bit winded, but invigorated by how beautifully restored her building was. She crossed the third-floor landing and blinked at the rays of hazy light pouring down from the skylight. The wood floors gleamed, and the walls had been repaired and painted so it looked like a modern penthouse. Mia and Paloma were standing outside a dimly lit room that had cushions lining the walls. Mia was saying, “Here you’ll meditate each morning and afternoon.”
“I don’t think so,” Paloma said in a bored tone.
“Everybody says that. You’ll come to tolerate it, then you’ll come to like it.”
Paloma’s grunted and turned to give Raphielli a cursory glance that made her feel like an intruder. Raphielli was startled by Paloma’s appearance—she had endured an extraordinarily brutal attack. She had extensive facial bruising and swelling. The bright magenta, purples, greens, and ominous black smudges gave her the appearance of a disturbed clown. Her unkempt bleached copper hair and baggy sweat suit completed the illusion.
Mia continued, “This is Raphielli. She works in the main office. Today’s her first day back after a few weeks away. This is Paloma. She’s just arrived from the hospital.”
“Hi, Paloma.” Raphielli held out her hand and Paloma ignored it.
“Collarbone hurts too much to stick my hand out,” she said.
“Let’s keep moving,” Mia said. “We don’t want to be late for group therapy.”
“I don’t need therapy. I just need to lay down.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to recuperate, but at least one mental health session a day is compulsory.”
“Nothing wrong with my mind.” She looked offended.
“You can’t separate the body from the mind.”
There was no response.
Raphielli headed downstairs as Paloma and Mia got back into the tiny cage elevator. She met them on the second floor for a peek inside the nursery. The governess was at the changing table diapering a baby, with a tiny infant snuggled against her chest in a Babybjörn, one relaxed arm dangling from the wrap. Again, Paloma appeared uninterested, but Raphielli knew the poor woman had just lost her unborn child.
Mia walked a few paces ahead to an open doorway. “Here are the dorm rooms. Paloma, you’re in this first one. You have that lower bunk. Nanda’s above you.”
“Hey, wait a minute, are there kids in this room?”
“It’s best to have mothers and children together. Everyone helps out with the kids. You’ll see, people here can help support you if you let…”
“I’m not here to make friends,” she said defensively. “I can barely walk, no way I can chase after kids…”
“You’ll find other ways to help. You’ll see.”
“…and I don’t need their help.”
“Come on, group’s starting. Back into the elevator, we go.” Mia reached for Paloma’s elbow, who bristled.
“I don’t need your help, either.”
Raphielli walked down to the first floor and met them at the door of the dayroom. Looking in, she would have guessed it was a knitting class.
Doctor Risinger, their staff psychiatrist, was saying, “All right ladies, please put your pretty little projects aside, and let’s focus on our inner beauty.”
“Little projects? You seen Shanti’s scarf? Ya ax me, it’s a afghan.” The comment came from Nanda, a slim woman with exotic features, jet-black hair, and the palest skin Raphielli had ever seen. She flashed her Chiclet-white teeth in a dazzling smile as she reached over and lifted a corner of a trapezoid-shaped scarf. She moved with a languor that Raphielli admired.
“I can’t help it. My scarf keeps expanding.” Shanti looked like a bemused child with her wide eyes and her hair eeked into high ponytails.
“You’re picking up stitches at the end of your rows,” Nanda said helpfully and without her usual curse words. Raphielli had selected the eighteen-year old island girl first when picking residents to live here, she’d lived through some…’shit’ as Nanda would say.
“How do I not do that?” Shanti asked.
Doctor Risinger called toward the door, “Ladies, please join us.” Raphielli watched Mia help lower Paloma into a chair—so much for not needing assistance. Raphielli took the chair the doctor indicated for her.
“Let’s begin by welcoming Raphielli back to the office, and our new resident, Paloma.”
The ladies offered a mixture of welcomes all at once, then fell silent as the doctor called for their attention.
The rest of Raphielli’s day passed quickly, and she was surprised by Alexi’s voice coming through the speaker on the office wall. “Alphonso Vitali is here.”
She pressed the intercom button mounted next to her desk. “I’ll be right out.” She turned to Kate. “I love being properly staffed. No more all-nighters here.”
“Now you can get out and have a life.”
“Not for a while. The highlight of my life is laying face-down while my physical therapist works on my knotted muscles.”
“Right, take care of yourself.” Kate glanced at her security screen, which displayed the alcove next to Alexi’s guard cage. “Sweet saints alive! Don’t tell me this gorgeous specimen of manhood is Alphonso.”
“Gorgeous? Sounds like him.”
“He’s not the highlight of your day? Are you telling me he’s just a friend?”
“Of course! My husband just…uh…just died.”
“Come on now, you know you’re better off now that Salvio’s dead.”
“Well, that’s true…but no…Alphonso’s never tried…we’re completely platonic. Although his cousin hugs me in a very familiar way, Alphonso is more old fashioned.”
“His cousin?”
“Zelph. They could pass as twins.”
“Two!” Kate’s eyes poured over the screen and she let out a sigh. Raphielli was almost to the door when Kate got up and joined her.
“I’m coming to introduce myself.” They pulled their coats on, and Raphielli switched into her rain boots. The introduction outside was short, but Raphielli didn’t miss the look Kate was giving her. Oh boy, she’s acting like a matchmaker…so embarrassing!
Kate went back inside as Alexi changed shifts with Kambiz, the night guard. As she and Alphonso set off walking, he said, “Alexi, has eyes for you.”
“Are you trying to make me full of myself?”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.”
“Well, you’re the one trained to see things.”
“You don’t know the effect you have on men, do you?”
“Do you know how women react to you?”
“Nah, Zelph gets all the attention.” He gave a vague wave of his hand and looked embarrassed. “How was your first day back?”
“Kate finished staffing while I was gone and everybody’s great. I met the women and children we admitted in my absence, and we took in a new resident today. It’s everything I hoped for!”
“Well, unlike Juliette’s homeless shelter where I can help out, I’ll have to take your word for
it.”
“I’m glad you don’t take Kate’s no male policy personally,” she said.
“No, it makes sense. But Cardinal Negrali’s allowed to come visit you, right? I assume he hears your confessions at work.”
“His Eminence is not considered a man, per se.” She clapped her gloved hands excitedly. “You should have seen his face when he came to check on me today. He was so impressed with how my shelter turned out.”
“What did your residents think of the big honcho cardinal?”
“He arrived during their yoga class, so they didn’t see him. But Kate was a bit flustered having such a great man in our office.”
“Yeah, that kind of power isn’t something most people come into contact with. He’s next in line to the throne if Pope Leopold dies, right?”
“He’d have to be elected by the College of Cardinals, but certainly he would be.”
“That’s some father confessor you’ve got there, little girl.”
“Being a Scortini has some perks.” She gave him a smile.
“Yeah, just a few.” He said with a laugh and then continued, “If you decide to let don Petrosino kill Salvio, I bet Cardinal Negrali could get you absolution.”
She felt her heart drop. “Don’t even joke about a lethal sin. I’d burn in Hell. I can’t have Salvio’s blood on my hands.”
“It was a bad joke. I’m sorry.” He put his arm around her protectively as a rowdy group of boys came running down the narrow calle, and then dropped it when they’d passed. They walked on in companionable silence.
As they came out from under the footbridge across from her palazzo, they were hit by a gust of wind carrying icy spray from a boat’s wake. She turned to avert a mouthful of mist and caught a glimpse of a man on a boat who looked surprised. He shielded his face with his hand and quickly turned away from her. She could swear it was the same man she’d glimpsed on recent outings. He was wearing a black hat today, but her nerves quivered as if someone had struck a tuning fork against her spine, and she instinctively ducked behind Alphonso to hide from him.
What are the odds? Does he travel back and forth on the canals around her home? Surely she had no enemies other than her husband. The boat carrying the man disappeared under the bridge. Alphonso wiped at her hair. “Let’s get you inside. It’s been a great day. We don’t want to ruin it with you being splashed and frozen to death.”
She followed him up the steps to her door.
CHAPTER
2
Time flew and, before Luigi knew it, the police department was changing over to the morning shift. He logged off his computer, and headed to Laszlo’s office. The inspector was waving two detectives out, one of which was Lydia, he recognized from the detective bullpen. “Just leave your request on my desk. You can stay until the department has rotated through their vacation days.” He looked up at Luigi. “Christ! You look like you’re going to fall down. Are you an insomniac?”
“No. I worked a full day on my regular cases yesterday, and then last night I met with some construction bosses. We went over their recollection of the minutes before Reynaldo Falconetti’s murder. They all swear Salvio left a builder’s meeting out a side door, and one of the bigwigs remembered an employee who’d come in late and stood at the warehouse’s front door. He stood right next to Reynaldo.”
“Good work. Did you find this employee?”
“Uh-huh, I found him at a club. He says Reynaldo went out the same side door right after Salvio.”
“Which proves nothing.”
“Well, I went around the side of the warehouse and looked at the vantage point of the surrounding buildings. One of the buildings is an art storage warehouse. I talked to the owner and he looked at his calendar for the afternoon in question, two of his gallery assistants had been there all afternoon, perhaps they saw something.”
“And?”
“I talked to Sarah and Leah. They showed me where they’d been working when Reynaldo was killed—right out on a balcony overlooking the door Salvio exited through and the alleyway Reynaldo was killed in.”
“Did they see anything?”
“No, but they were filming some artwork for their gallery curator and still had the footage on their phones.”
“That’s lucky!” Laszlo’s eyes went to the cops walking past his door and yelled, “Due caffè! Pronto!” Then back to Luigi. “What did they capture?”
“The footage shows the two girls bickering and holding up large canvases. Salvio appears in the background. He goes into the alley, and Reynaldo follows him. Next thing Salvio hurries out alone and is wiping something off the palm of his left hand.”
“Incredible!”
“Wait till you see Salvio’s face. It’s contorted, somewhere between rage and shock. I sent the film for enhancement to see if we can identify what’s on his hand.”
“Good work. Now, go home and get some sleep.”
“Not yet.” He gratefully accepted a paper cup of coffee from the duty assistant. “I’m heading to Murano to update Mario Falconetti. He’s angry that we consider Salvio dead. He wants Salvio’s body and justice for Reynaldo.” He stood to go.
“Don’t tell him you’re still on the case.”
Luigi raised his cup in a salute as he headed out for the stormy ride to the famous island of the glassblowers.
Markus was on his way to the breakfast room, when he heard the Pope’s raised voice.
“There is no chance this is a mistake! I will be in Rome before ten o’clock, and you will have him appear before me!” The voice thundered from behind a closed door.
The Swiss guards signaled for Markus to keep moving, so he continued past. As he took his seat at the table, Gabrieli was saying, “Giselle, your Vanity Fair photos are going to look sensational. The magazine’s creative director has just selected an area along Verdu Mer’s eastern rubble. The crumbling buildings in the background will look very dramatic.”
“You must’ve been at the construction zone before dawn.” Giselle stifled a yawn.
“Not quite. It’s not safe to move around Verdu Mer in the dark, but the creative team was there at first light. The photographer’s team is setting up now, and our security is making sure they don’t get injured or fall into the canal.”
“Well, I’m ready. What are the rest of you doing up?”
Juliette said, “I have an early meeting at city hall.”
“We are up to see you off, my dear,” Ivar said as he accepted a plate of eggs.
Markus admired her makeup-free beauty. “Is that what you are wearing?”
She looked down at her thermal shirt, and chinos. “Uh-huh. Why?”
Vincenzo said, “You look like you’re ready to lead an expedition.”
She smiled. “You work in a warm office pushing funds around, while some of us…”
“Artists?” Ivar glanced between Markus and Giselle.
“Artists-cum-draftsmen often work out in the elements,” she finished.
“Well, just remember it’s for a good cause,” Vincenzo said softly.
“Good thing they’re doing these photos first and holding off on the glamour shoot for next week. I can put that intimidating prospect out of my mind for the moment.”
“Avoidance. Good tactic,” Ivar kidded.
“Ah, sì, the glamour shoot sounds very special,” Gabrieli said. “I signed the transfer for my great-grandmother’s tiara to come out of the vault. You’ve taken care of the gown’s particulars, dear?” He looked to his wife.
“Sì.” Juliette looked pleased. “The curator will bring it to the studio next week.”
Markus knew Juliette was excited about these photos, but she also knew better than to try to get Giselle to share her delight.
Yvania said, “I would like to see your photo shoot this morning.”
Giselle seemed relieved. “Oh, please do, Yvania! I’d like you all to come. It’ll make me feel less as if I’ve been summoned to an alternate universe where lights flash and peopl
e say, ‘Brilliant dah-ling!’”
Gabrieli looked up as the Pope sat down to breakfast. “I’d love to be there, but something has come up, and I’m flying to Rome.”
Not for the first time, Markus wondered at the exact nature of Count Verona’s intimacy with the man from Poland who headed the Catholic Church. They seemed to be so in tune with each other.
During the boat ride to Verdu Mer, Markus chafed at his inability to sit with Giselle. He wanted to hold her hand, and he ached to kiss her. Although Vincenzo, Ivar, and Yvania would have been fine with those intimacies, it would cause a scandal if the Verona driver saw, not to mention the locals who passed alongside them in boats and called, “Ciao, Vincenzo! Ciao, Giselle!” from bridges.
Their boat pulled up to a part of Verdu Mer that Markus wasn’t familiar with. The big workshop where he and Ivar taught glass craftsmanship was in the middle sector. Now they climbed out of the boat into a crumbling old neighborhood on the far side of the site. Some sections had been razed to make way for new foundations, some were used to store construction materials, while other areas stood as they had for hundreds of years, structures sagging dangerously as the building materials disintegrated in the elements.
Markus helped Giselle out of the boat, and as his hand touched the small of her back, longing surged through him. A woman with a walkie-talkie hurried toward them calling, “Giselle! Er…Contessa! They’re ready for you in hair and makeup.”
Giselle glanced at Markus as she allowed herself to be led away.
Vincenzo indicated a direction with his head. “Let’s go over there.”
Markus fell into step with Ivar and Yvania as they followed Vincenzo past the demolition barricades into an empty house. Vincenzo’s bodyguard glanced around the space and then ducked outside to check the perimeter. Vincenzo looked around, stamped his feet, and tried to clap his gloved hands, but it was awkward with his cast. “I know it’s hard to talk at home, but I wanted to thank you for your patience, and give you an update of my progress…on coming out.”
Leaning on his walker Ivar said, “Progress sounds like good news.”
Storming Venice Page 4
