“No, no, leave it on,” he said. He gently took her hands in his. “It was just a shock to see you wearing it. Other than what I and her family have, most of her work has ended up in the hands of American collectors. It would’ve been a shock seeing her work anywhere—but especially since we . . .”
His voice tapered off, and Olivia sought to fill in the blank: especially since what? We just met, we know each other, we’re friends, we’re dating?
It was a strange coincidence. More than one, in fact. Not only was she wearing his wife’s beads, she’d also met his brother-in-law that very morning. But then everything about meeting Alessandro had been strange, starting from how they’d met in the airport. It was beginning to feel like destiny, if she even believed in such a thing. “I can take it off if it makes you uncomfortable,” she said.
“No, of course not,” he said. “I’d like to say it was made for you, but as beautiful as those beads are, they’re no match for your eyes. I can’t think of anyone they’d look lovelier on.” He smiled, and she saw herself reflected back in his dark eyes. The compliment was maybe a little over the top, but he seemed sincere in his intentions not to let this reminder of his wife come between them.
“Look,” he said, “I have to go soon, but I have something to ask—”
He was interrupted by a knock. “Alessandro?” someone said through the door. “Your father would like to see you.”
“I’ll be right there.” He looked disappointed as he released her hands.
“You can ask me later,” she said. “Although if I leave through that door, your father’s going to wonder what we’ve been up to.”
He laughed. “I’ll just tell him you’re a groupie—my only groupie, I might add. Still, yes, you’re probably right. He’d be thrilled to see me with a woman, but maybe this isn’t the best time. I don’t want him to have a heart attack on his birthday. I’ll introduce you after the recital.”
He opened the door leading to the hall. Looking with mock furtiveness in either direction, he whispered comically, “It’s safe to go now. See you after the show!” He kissed her quickly on either cheek, and she thought how if anyone saw her, they’d conclude by the size of her smile that she’d indeed been up to no good with the star.
She found her way back to the Apollo Room just as the lights flicked off and on, the signal for people to find their seats. She took one close to where she was standing, while Alessandro walked with his father to the microphone at the front of the stage.
When the audience was quiet, Alessandro’s father spoke. “Thank you, everyone, for coming. I am truly blessed to have so many good friends.”
Someone from the audience called out, “We love you, Antonio!” A woman started singing “Happy Birthday” and was joined by everyone in the room. This ended in cheers and applause, and Olivia could see that both father and son were touched.
It took Antonio a moment to regain his composure before speaking, but when he did he thanked them again for coming. “I also want to thank Alessandro for helping me celebrate tonight. Like most fathers, I dreamed my son would follow in my footsteps, and when I held him in my arms that first time, I could already imagine him racing the cars I made . . .”
Oh my God! Alessandro belonged to that Rossi family?! Rossi racing cars were absolutely iconic—right up there with Lamborghini, Porsche, and Ferrari. No wonder his friends looked so well heeled! He was probably one of the richest men in all of Italy! Another reason why she hadn’t connected Alessandro’s wife with Rocco’s sister. Silvio had said Rocco’s sister had married into a wealthy family. It had never occurred to her that Alessandro was wealthy. He was a cop—though the palazzo on the Giudecca should’ve been a clue.
Suddenly, the enormity of his wife’s death struck Olivia with a force it hadn’t before. He’d given up the lifestyle of the super-rich to pursue his wife’s kidnapper and killer. It spoke of incredible devotion, and she was right to be cautious. Katarina Zucaro was going to be a hard act to follow.
“But like all rebellious young boys,” Alessandro’s father continued, “he spurned the family business and decided to play the piano instead. I was, of course, disappointed,” and smiling, he turned to face Alessandro, “and I hope you forgive me that. And I do thank you for humoring me by racing now and again.”
Alessandro placed an arm around his father’s shoulders, while his father continued. “I came to accept it and used to joke that when he inherited the business, he’d turn the car factories into piano factories.” There was a ripple of laughter, and Olivia remembered her Grand Prix–loving brother-in-law, Phil, once mentioning while watching a race on TV that the Italian driver was also a concert pianist. She’d said that it was a peculiar mix of talents, but she’d thought nothing of it at the time, not even bothering to look up at the screen where she would’ve seen Alessandro.
The laughter died, and Antonio concluded emotionally: “But I have to say, his playing has been one of the great joys of my life. I wish Katarina could be here tonight. But I trust she can hear anyway and sends her blessings.”
Olivia wondered how Alessandro would react to this mention of his wife and was surprised when he looked at her through the crowd and gave her one of his heart-stabbing smiles. Don’t get ahead of yourself, she reminded herself, knowing full well she might as well try to stop breathing.
Alessandro started by thanking everyone for coming and helping his father celebrate his birthday. “These have been difficult years, and I thank my father for convincing me to perform again. Here’s to friends and family, to old memories and making new ones. Tonight, I will be playing my father’s favorites.”
As he sat at the piano, a hush fell over the audience. Alessandro began with “Clair de lune” by Debussy. It was familiar to Olivia, but she’d never heard it played like this, a subtle blending of harmonies like colors on a canvas, an Impressionist painting in sound. His hands appeared to float over the keys rather than strike them.
Alessandro played for an hour. When it was over, he bowed and smiled and was rewarded with a standing ovation and calls of Bravo! Bravo!
He went back to the piano and waited for the applause to stop before addressing the audience. “Thank you all again. Please stay and have another drink. I understand there’s marvelous food. Let’s make this a birthday my father will never forget. And now for the encore. I’m going to play something new but already very special to me. So while the rest of the program is dedicated to my father, this one is for the girl with eyes like violet Murano glass.”
An almost electrified murmur went through the crowd. If curiosity and surprise had a sound, it would be this, Olivia thought. The woman next to her looked at her curiously, and Olivia’s hands went to her throat as if covering the beads would hide her identity.
But now he was playing again, and she forgot the curious looks and listened to the beautiful music that was being played just for her.
Chapter 14
There was no getting near the stage when the music ended. She stood for a while wondering if she should take another glass of champagne but decided against it. A few people smiled at her conspiratorially, and she felt as if the violet beads were a billboard advertising her as the woman for whom Alessandro played his encore. There was warmth in the smiles, though, and she felt people were happy about this development. New memories, Alessandro had said, and she knew he was referring to her.
Suddenly, she needed to be alone, to escape before someone introduced himself and started asking questions. She needed to understand what was happening. Oh, how she wished she weren’t flying to New York tomorrow!
Then again, maybe it was good. This all seemed to be happening very fast, and she was still trying to get her head around how rich he was—the kind of wealth that made Marco’s Happy Spiders success look like pocket change. And yet he seemed interested in her, a humble Canadian art-history graduate.
She looked to
ward the stage, where people crowded around Alessandro and his father. A waiter managed to get through, and Alessandro took two champagnes, handing one to his father. He took out his cellphone, and Olivia saw the screen light up. Of course, he was still a cop and couldn’t leave his phone off any longer than necessary.
This gave her an idea. She made her way back to the bar, where she asked one of the waiters for her coat and umbrella. While she was waiting, she took out her iPhone and turned it back on.
She quickly typed a text: Thank you so much for the music. Enjoy the rest of your evening, and please wish your father a happy birthday for me. I’ll have to meet him another time.
She knew he’d wanted to tell her something, but she didn’t think there’d be any opportunity tonight. She hit Send, and the message left with a whoosh just as the waiter returned with her coat.
A couple of minutes later, she was standing on the wide steps in front of the opera house. It was drizzling again, and the lights from the surrounding palazzos reflected off the wet stones in Campo San Fantin. She put up her umbrella and stood for a moment, wondering whether to return directly to her apartment or walk instead to San Marco, doubting if even that magnificent square could contain her emotions.
She’d just decided on San Marco when she heard the ping of an incoming text. It was from Alessandro: Please wait at the front doors. Be there in 5 minutes.
He was there in less than five. “Come,” he said, taking her by the hand. They walked under her umbrella down the steps and around the corner. Beside them, the rain pattered on the dark waters of a canal. They stood against the rail, and the possibility of a kiss hung between them on the cold air.
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
“Thanks for asking me. I don’t want to keep you from your other guests, though.” She wanted to say something more, but didn’t know how to approach his introduction to the encore. “Your father seems very nice.”
“He is.” There was a pause as he looked at her, then he took a postcard from his pocket. A picture of a mask was on one side, a handwritten invitation on the other. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this. I haven’t asked anyone out on a date since Katarina. But I received an invitation to a Carnival party tomorrow night from my cousin Beatrix. It’s also her twenty-first birthday. I’m pretty much obligated to go. I warn you it’ll be a bit wild, but I thought you might find it interesting, and we could always go somewhere else after—”
“I’d love to go,” she said, taking the invitation. A drop of rain smudged the ink. “But I’m flying to New York tomorrow at noon. I’m organizing a show of Murano glass jewelry for the gallery there . . . Rocco’s actually . . .”
Alessandro looked disappointed. She wished every plane in the country would be grounded so she could go to the party with him. Another bomb scare? “I’ll be back in a week. Maybe then . . .”
“Yes. Call me. We can go for dinner.”
She went to give back the invitation, but he shook his head. “Keep it,” he said. “In case you change your mind about going to New York, or there’s another bomb scare.”
She laughed. “I was thinking the same thing. I’d call one in myself, but then you really would have to arrest me.”
He laughed too, and there was a sudden easiness between them.
“Will you play your encore again for me sometime?” she asked.
His smile lit up the night. “If you’ll let me kiss you now, I’ll play it as often as you like.”
Of course she let him, stepping into the circle of his arms while the rain fell behind her on the canal.
“You need to get back to your father,” she whispered.
“I’ll call you a water taxi.”
“I’d rather walk, and you’re the one who says Venice is safe.”
“It is. But trouble seems to have a way of finding you here. Or maybe it’s me trouble follows. Either way, I’d be far more comfortable if you’d let me send Dad’s bodyguard with you. And text me when the door is locked behind you.”
She agreed, wishing Alessandro was seeing her home. She’d invite him in, of course, and he’d of course say yes, and they could pick up this kiss where they had left off . . .
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Believe me, I wish I could be the one taking you home. I can’t believe it’ll be another week before I can kiss you again . . .”
He kissed her now while they waited for the bodyguard to appear. After Alessandro introduced him as Francesco, they wished each other a more demure goodnight and parted ways.
She recognized the street she and Francesco followed, and she watched the doors until she found the one bearing Marco’s name. She paused and looked up at the shuttered windows. “My cousin lives here,” she explained to Francesco. “But he’s in Iceland right now.”
It was strange Marco had never asked her to keep an eye on his apartment while he was away. She worried she might have offended him with her lack of enthusiasm for it. Did he sense she thought his taste ostentatious?
Marco tried too hard, she thought. He tried too hard with his apartment, just like he tried too hard with men. She really hoped this new relationship worked out for him. He really deserved to find someone wonderful.
They crossed the Grand Canal by way of the Accademia Bridge and soon turned into Olivia’s street. Francesco insisted on coming in with her and checking the apartment before he left. It seemed like overkill. Even if someone wanted to get into her apartment, they’d have three locked doors to get through: the one from the street into the courtyard, the one into the building, and the one into the apartment itself. But Francesco was only doing his job, so she waited awkwardly inside the door while he checked the rooms.
“Make sure you fasten the deadbolt too,” he said when he finished.
She thanked him and wished him a goodnight, then locked the door and immediately fastened the deadbolt.
Text me when the door is locked behind you, Alessandro had said. She took out her cellphone and saw two texts, one from Marco and another from Silvio.
The one from Silvio had come in first: Confirmed your flight. Luigi has the glass packed, and Dino will pick you up at your apartment at 10 a.m. You’ll take the suitcase as carry-on. Rocco will be flying to New York on Sunday. Good luck. Call or text me if any problems arise. Buonanotte.
Marco’s had come in a little later, about the same time as she’d been standing outside his apartment looking up at the shuttered windows: Cara Olivia—buona fortuna à New York. Normally, I’d wish I was going with you, but not this time. Aron (my Icelandic god) and I are spending a few days at the Blue Lagoon—a resort famous for its hot springs—though I can’t imagine how things could get any steamier. ;-) Will be in touch. Plan to be back in Venice soon with Aron in tow.
That sounded promising. She wondered if she should text him a warning about not getting his heart broken. No, she should think positively. This really could be the one for Marco. And if she were going to warn anyone about getting a broken heart, it should be herself.
Chapter 15
When Alessandro arrived at the office the next day, his colleagues were gathered around Pamela’s desk. “You’re not watching that YouTube video of me again, are you?” he said with more humor than before. With the memory of Olivia’s kiss on his lips, he felt as if everything else had faded to insignificance. If only he could get through the next week until her return!
He had his jacket off and hung in his locker before he realized they hadn’t answered his question. No laughter came from around the desk either, and he walked over to see what held everyone’s attention.
“City police found a young woman’s body in a dumpster early this morning,” Columbo said.
“Foul play?” Alessandro asked.
“With a Czech-made 9mm Luger, to be exact.”
“What was her name?”
“Vanessa Alberti.”
Columbo handed Alessandro a small stack of photos. “She worked at the Marco Polo Airport. City police want to make it our case.”
A security photo came first, showing an attractive woman in her mid-thirties trying to look poker-faced for the camera. The next couple showed her on the stainless steel table in the morgue, eyes shot through with blood, a neat red hole where the bullet had pierced her skull and entered her brain. Then, most disturbing, her body in a dumpster, limbs splayed over the black garbage bags that had been shredded by seagulls in search of scraps. There were signs that gulls or rats had also had a taste of the poor woman’s body.
Alessandro swallowed hard as he returned the photos to Columbo. “Why would the city police want us to take the case? I mean, other than to get out of work, obviously.”
“Didn’t you hear?” Pamela piped in. “George Clooney was arrested for illegally navigating a boat through the canals last night. I think they’re holding him until they all have his autograph.”
“You’re just jealous you weren’t the one to bring him in,” said one of the new recruits while a few people snickered. “You know, handcuffs and everything. I bet you would’ve gotten more than his autograph—”
“Children, children,” Columbo barked. “Let’s get serious here. Vanessa Alberti’s body was found on Murano about six thirty this morning by a guy searching through the dumpsters outside the glass studios. He makes jewelry out of waste glass.”
“I’m not following you,” Alessandro said.
Columbo took a deep breath, then looked Alessandro right in the eye. “The dumpster belongs to the Zucaro family. And when the city police learned that, they tied it to Katarina’s murder and decided it was our case.”
Alessandro could feel the tension in the room. In the past, he’d always been quick to counter “Katarina’s murder” with “Katarina’s disappearance,” but today he didn’t. He knew he further surprised them when instead he said, “Sheer coincidence, I’m sure. The likelihood of the two things being connected after all this time is remote. But as you say, it’s a good way for them to pass their work along. Has anyone talked to the dumpster-diving jeweler?”
Midnight in Venice Page 8
