I felt a tap on my beak. “Hold on, madam,” he called.
All thoughts were jolted away when I heard the engine throttle to full as the boat hit open water. I stared ahead at nothing as we zoomed through the chop toward some undisclosed destination. I managed to catch glimpses of lights stacked off to the right. Skyscrapers? No, cruise ships! We had to be following the cruise pier on the right-hand side, which meant that we must be on the broad Giudecca Canal. Hell, did I want to know even that much?
Not that it mattered. Soon we were turning back into the canals, I guessed, judging by the multiple abrupt turns and the occasional echoes of the boat’s engine under bridges. After only a minute of that, I was totally disorientated. Once I caught a whiff of blossoms—cherry or maybe apple—leaving me with the impression that we had passed a garden, but otherwise I may as well be a million miles elsewhere. Eventually and at last, the engine was abruptly cut and the boat coasted a few yards forward.
“Are we here yet?” I whispered
“Yes, madam. Directly. Best to be silent.”
So silent I was. I kept quiet as the boat bumped against a mooring, sat patiently as Evan leaped out to secure the craft, and waited until his strong hand guided me up until I stood on a dock. He steered me forward with his arm around my shoulders—not an unpleasant sensation, though probably unnecessary—until I heard a door scrape open and a bolt shove home behind us. A security something beeped softly.
“May I take this thing off now?”
“In a moment, madam.”
I was being led down a dark passageway, right into one room, left into another.
“Now?”
“Not yet.”
We walked for about another ten yards and then I heard a voice. “My word!” it croaked. “Have you delivered death to my doorstop yet again, Evan?”
I whipped off the mask and stood staring into the candlelit face of Sir Rupert Fox. He stood before me wrapped in a blanket in the center of what looked to be an empty ballroom—marble floors, mirrored walls, slender pillars, a dark fireplace at one end—all of it lit by electric lanterns as well as candlelight. Though the light seemed inadequate for such an expanse, it didn’t take a spotlight to see he was sick. “Rupert! What’s wrong with you?”
“Phoebe! Imagine seeing you here…after all… Wasn’t the last time just after you…sent us to Tahiti?” He began to cough racking heaves that shook his frame so hard I thought he’d topple over.
Evan and I raced to his side. “You must lie down, sir. To bed with you immediately. You were not supposed to get up while I was away.”
“Yes, back to bed now,” I seconded, looking around. So where was the bed in this marble wasteland? Surely not that foldout steel-legged mattressy thing set up in the center of the room beside a pillar and a single unlit Tiffany lamp?
But with Evan on one side and me on the other, that’s exactly where we steered Rupert, while the whole time I glimpsed the ghost-like reflection of our movements in the wall-to-ceiling mirrors at the far end of the room.
“Where is this place?” I whispered.
“That must remain undisclosed at all costs,” Evan answered as he tucked his employer under the covers, made him swallow two ibuprofens with gulps of water, and wiped his forehead with a cloth from a bowl of melting ice. “It is imperative that no one discover our hiding place.” And then in a louder voice, he asked: “Have you taken your antibiotics, sir?”
“You gave them to me…before you left…old chap.”
“Indeed I did. Just testing. Now, it is absolutely critical that you rest. Ms. Phoebe will only stay a short while—” he shot me a quick glance “—and then I shall deliver her to her accommodation, as planned. What can I get you in the meantime?”
“A doctor, surely?” I said, looking up at Evan.
His green eyes met mine—worried eyes, I realized. “He was seen by a physician earlier today—”
“At an exorbitant price—highway robbery…” Rupert wheezed.
“He charged a reasonable fee considering that we swore him to secrecy,” Evan said. “At knifepoint, if I recall.” Turning to me, he added: “Sir Rupert was diagnosed as having a probable case of pneumonia following a bad cold that he was fighting in London. We won’t know for certain until the test results come back.”
“The doctor bled me, Phoebe, bled me,” Rupert rasped.
“He drew blood for the tests,” Evan clarified, almost but not quite rolling his eyes. “You were in no danger of expiring during the procedure.”
“Nonsense. For all we know he was a black market quack.” Rupert coughed.
“I checked him out thoroughly, I assure you. The good doctor is a very legitimate practitioner, just one inclined to line his pockets with extra money.”
“The Italian way,” Rupert remarked in his alarming voice.
“Nevertheless, we were grateful for his services.” Evan had the patience of a saint—an armed saint, maybe, but nobody’s perfect.
“Valid doctor or not, Rupert should be in a hospital,” I said.
“Impossible under the circumstances,” Evan remarked while Rupert gazed up at me with feverish eyes.
“What circumstances?”
“They would have me…killed,” Rupert rasped.
“Who would have you killed?”
“Unfortunately, we may have more than one candidate with possible murderous intentions in this city,” Evan responded mildly.
I knew of at least two.
“I am not popular in…Venice,” Rupert said.
“Then why did you come?” I looked up toward the tall ceiling with its ornate wooden timbers shrouded in shadows and suppressed a shiver. “And why here?”
“Long story…” Rupert closed his eyes. “No energy left to tell it. Evan, my boy, do fetch us…some tea…if you please. We may be camped out…in this haunted villa…but we needn’t live like specters.”
“Haunted?” It did feel haunted but then so did most of Venice.
“Tea, Evan,” Rupert murmured.
“Tea coming up.” Evan caught my eye as if to say don’t tire him and was gone in an instant, dashing across the vacant room on his long legs and disappearing through an arched door on the far end.
“What is going on?” I pulled up a folding chair and positioned it by the camp bed. His face shined with sweat, his eyes feverish. “Tell me. This…this—” I gazed around, grappling for adjectives “—this moldering heap looks unhealthy, if not dangerous. I can smell mold if not ghosts.”
“Ghosts don’t smell, Phoebe—” he paused as if considering his words “—well, maybe they do. This…this is truly a lovely…building but I admit…to never wanting to stay in it…like this. Two murders took place here…and unaccountable misfortunes to the owners. I am here as a…last resort.”
“Some resort,” I muttered. Obviously it had been a large palazzo of some sort, a once dignified and ornate Renaissance establishment that had, for whatever reason, been left to ruin. “You should be recuperating in a hospital or at one of those luxurious hotels you favor. Really, I never saw you as much of a glamper.”
He emitted something like a snort. “A glamper indeed. It makes a perfect…hiding place. The locals…think it’s haunted and...avoid it at all costs. It has been…deserted for years.” Though he labored with every breath he seemed intent to talk.
“I gathered that but from whom are you hiding exactly and why here?”
He waved a hand at the shadows before letting it drop back to the bed. “At least I own this and so can…stay with some impunity. I bought it decades ago…an investment. I planned to restore it as…my Venetian bolt-hole.”
I looked around. “A bolt-hole the size of a palace?”
He took a moment to catch his breath. “But I am persona non grata…in this city, always have been. They have a long memory here…never forgetting so much as…an imagined infraction.” He spent a few minutes recovering before continuing. “And I couldn’t get workmen…to restore it…
quickly.”
“All right—” I nodded “—so you shafted someone, probably cheated them out of some priceless piece of art for which they’ll never forgive you, plus you tried to marry some man’s daughter, which didn’t exactly work out—got it—but what brought you to Venice this time? Tell the truth.” I just needed him to say it.
“Oh,” he rasped, “a fine one to speak of truth, Phoebe…after you sent…us on a wild…goose chase.”
I patted his hand. “And how did that feel, Rupert, after the multiple times you’ve tricked me over the years? I’ve been on so many wild-goose chases these days, I try to fly in a flock.”
He looked at me aghast, almost like he was seeing me for the first time. Then he closed his eyes and emitted a sound like sandpaper against a chalkboard. “What happened…to you, Phoebe? You used to be…so sweet.”
“Gullible, you mean. I’ve grown wiser. You lost nothing by taking a detour to Tahiti except maybe upping your sunburn quotient.”
“Nonsense. I’m diligent…with my SPF.” At least the old humor was there. “But you are wrong about losing something. I shall explain all as soon as I am able.”
“The Rembrandts were all forgeries, compliments of my brother’s consummate skill,” I continued. “But that’s all beside the point now. Let’s put it behind us. We have more pressing matters to deal with. Besides, I’ve missed you and you missed me. Don’t deny it.”
“I don’t…deny it.”
“Good—” I squeezed his hand “—so let’s get back to being friends and try a dose of honesty while we’re at it—honesty as in full disclosure, not your shifty half-truth variety. Why are you really here, Rupert?”
He fixed me with his bleary eyes. “For the sake of Maria Contini.”
I pulled my hand away. “I knew it. Damn it, Rupert. You know that Nicolina believes you may be responsible for Maria’s death.” I wasn’t thinking. That was one bomb I shouldn’t have dropped in Rupert’s weakened state.
“That’s preposterous!” He propped himself on his elbows and fumed at me. “Me kill Maria? I loved her once! She always has a place…in my heart!” And then he began to cough and cough.
“Calm down. It’s all right, everything is all right.” I dashed over to the little foldout table, retrieved what I hoped to be cough medicine, and spooned some down his throat followed by water. “Evan!” I called, but suddenly Evan was speeding into the room while Rupert’s face reddened to the point of combustion. For a hideous moment I was afraid he’d expire on my watch.
Evan, wearing an apron and bearing a tray of tea things that he set down with a clatter, rushed to my side. “What happened?”
“I can’t get him to stop coughing.”
“Sir Rupert, calm yourself at once!” Evan ordered, laying a hand on his forehead. “You are not to get upset. Ms. Phoebe will leave you to rest immediately.”
Rupert shook his head and clasped Evan’s arm, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. “Tell her,” he gasped. “Every…thing. Within…reason.”
“I don’t think that’s wise, sir, for her sake or yours.”
“Tell her!” Then he took a deep heaving breath and fell back against the pillows, eyes closed, one hand flapping in the air as if waving us away.
Evan caught my eye, lips stern in that chiseled chin. “You have exhausted him, madam.”
“He has exhausted himself.” I met his gaze steadily, trying to block how devastatingly attractive a muscled man looks wearing an apron and scowling. As if this was the time for such thoughts.
We watched Rupert carefully until the patient appeared to be resting and his face had lost its explosive flush. When I was certain he was dozing, my eyes met Evan’s again and I pointed toward the door at the far end of the ballroom and mouthed, Let’s talk. He nodded and I followed him across the marble floor.
Carrying a battery-operated lantern, he led me through another huge empty room with tall shuttered windows and damp-stained brown wallpaper that might have once been gold silk, down a dark hall, and into a back room lit with various portable lights. One spotlight blazed onto a microwave, hot plate, and a two-burner radiant-heat cooking surface.
I looked around at what appeared to be a kitchen/office space furnished with old-fashioned counters, a central butcher’s block commandeered as a desk, and an assortment of blinking lights that may have been battery packs. A stack of books sat neatly on one of the counters, another bookmarked and sitting on the floor beside a chair.
“So not a crack of natural light is allowed in this fortress, right?” I asked, trying to read the book’s title in the pocket of gloom.
“I have secured this building with the necessary features, including cameras, remote surveillance, and alarms. However, from the outside, it must still look like an abandoned building, which is admittedly a challenge. Please take a seat.” He turned and offered me a chair at a folding table. “The book is on Renaissance art, by the way, history being a bit of a hobby.” So he’d caught my curious glance. Well, of course he did: nothing escaped Evan.
In a moment, he whisked away a pile of electronic circuitry and clutter that occupied the surface. Evan was a technical genius but working under these conditions must tax even his abilities. A technical genius who read history and poetry? I caught another title on the spine of a book sitting on the counter at my back: A Dedication to the Stars: The Universe in Poetry.
I scraped over the metal chair and settled in, dropping my carpetbag at my feet, and waited for him to join me, which he did with his usual quick efficiency. This would be the first time ever that Evan and I had license to discuss a situation one-to-one without Rupert taking the lead. It was unsettling. Do we now behave as colleagues, friends, what? I knew Evan’s deference to be only a veneer that locked down a fascinating and dangerous combination of skills and attributes but the man still unnerved me, especially like this. And I thought the feeling could be mutual.
“Is the Renaissance the historical period that interests you most?” I asked.
“All centuries interest me but I try to soak up as much detail as possible if the period is relevant to my mission.”
“So the Renaissance is relevant to this mission?”
“Possibly.”
Why was he feeding me these details? Really, I needed to take the lead here and the best defense is a strong offense, as they say. “Okay, Evan,” I began, “so tell me what’s going on and skip the ‘within reason’ condition Rupert added. The situation is critical, you must see that, and we have to work together. I know I can help. Nicolina believes Rupert—and you by default—may be in some way involved in Maria Contini’s death.”
“That’s completely untrue,” he said, looking mildly annoyed at the thought that he would ever participate in such an act. I waited but that’s all he said. Getting information from this man would be like prying barnacles from rocks with a toenail clipper. Presumably he’d been trained to keep his cards plastered to his brawny chest during his MI6 days but still…
“What part’s completely untrue—the part about us working together or the bit about you two being involved in Maria’s murder?”
“The latter. The former is something we will continue to do, I trust.”
And he was always so formal, which was disconcerting in itself. I leaned forward, watching him carefully. He had a little tick by his left eye that twitched almost imperceptibly when he was reining himself in. Maybe Her Majesty’s Secret Service ousted him on that fact alone since it gave him away every single time. “Nicolina says that should she learn that Rupert was anywhere near Maria on the night she died, she’ll kill him herself.” I paused, waiting for a reaction. Something flickered across his chiseled features. “That worries me because she’s fully capable of it. Well?”
“Well, what, madam?”
Hell. He was back to the “madam” bit. “Was Rupert—or you, for that matter—anywhere near Maria Contini on the last night of Carnevale?”
Evan fixed me with his gray-gree
n gaze but said nothing. His twitch started twitching and, in this case, a twitch is worth a thousand words.
I flattened my palms against the table and stared at him—hard. He stared back in stony silence. He was a much better starer than I—didn’t even blink. “Oh, hell, Evan. I was afraid of that, but why? Tell me there’s an explanation.”
“Madam—”
“Stop it, just stop it. Call me Miss Phoebe like I’m some character out of Gone with the Wind if you must, but stop with the ‘madam’ bit. It makes me feel like ancient history. Why did Rupert come to see Maria? Tell me.”
He sighed, and glanced away before returning his gaze. “I admit that I disagree with Sir Rupert’s insistence that you be brought into this situation. It is exceedingly dangerous. You would be far safer if you were to excuse yourself from the countess’s company and return home.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m just going to forget you said that. Try speaking to me like I’m an adult and not a child needing protection. Let’s begin again: Why did Rupert come to see Maria?”
He kept his eyes fixed on my face. “In London, Sir Rupert received a phone call from Ms. Contini insisting that he visit her in Venice immediately. She said that it was urgent and that she had found something of great interest to them both. Naturally, Sir Rupert caught the next plane and we arrived in Venice on the final day of the festivities.”
I waited. “And?”
“He called Ms. Contini upon arrival and arranged to meet the lady at a designated location of her choosing.”
“Let me guess: the designated location was somewhere near where Maria’s body was found.”
He leaped to his feet and, in one swift motion, fetched something from the counter and returned to spread a large sheet of paper across the table. A map of Venice, marked in various places with red circles and perfect hand-labeling here and there, wound its sinuous blue canals before my eyes. “Ms. Contini was to meet Sir Rupert here.” He placed a finger over one of the circles hovering beside a ribbon of blue. “He waited for nearly an hour but she failed to appear.”
The Carpet Cipher Page 7
