I leaned over to read C de Cannaregio typed over the blue. “She was to meet him not far from her own villa?”
“At her family’s former weaving facility down the canal, yes. Her body was found here—” he tapped another circle “—floating in the canal.”
My eyes met his. “That was the night the painting was stolen from the weaving studio—the Bartolo. There’s no way Nicolina will believe Rupert isn’t behind this. He looks as guilty as sin.”
“We are aware of that. Furthermore, I have just been informed that Ms. Contini’s phone records were hacked at 10:25 this evening and, should the hacker be Seraphina Tosci, which I have no doubt to be the case, she now knows that Sir Rupert made the last call that the lady received.”
“And the one that drew her outside to her death. This is terrible. We have to convince Nicolina that Rupert isn’t behind this.” I stared hard at him. “Because he isn’t, of course, is he?”
“Of course he isn’t. Sir Rupert would never kill anyone and has never instructed me to do so on his behalf. I wouldn’t, unless in self-defense. That’s not who I am.”
It was more information than he had ever previously disclosed about himself and it left me momentarily speechless. I flashed back to Noel killing a Camorra dude in Orvieto when it could have been avoided. “But you are former MI6. Surely killing was part of your job?”
“In self-defense. I was not and have never been an assassin.”
Clearly he was a bit touchy on the subject. I let it drop. “I believe you,” I said finally. And I did. “Besides, I have never thought Rupert a murderer—a scoundrel, yes, but a murderer, no. I don’t know why I’m so convinced about that, considering the nefarious episodes he’s involved me in, but there you have it. Nicolina, on the other hand, thinks he’s quite capable of murdering her friend.”
“Perhaps she judges Sir Rupert by her own proclivities.” He tapped the table with one long finger. “Both the countess and her handmaiden are capable of violence with little provocation.” Those gray-green eyes never left my face—steady, reliable, true. “We have never trusted the contessa, despite our long association with the lady. Furthermore, we are concerned about the partnership you have developed with her over this last year, an arrangement for which Sir Rupert holds himself responsible since he first introduced you two. However we believe—”
I held up my hand. “Stop right there. If you’re about to make some inane statement about poor little Phoebe falling in with the wrong crowd, spare me. I fell in with the wrong crowd the day I was born and have been tangled in the roots of my gnarly family tree ever since. You two are also a result, I remind you, so anything you say that reeks of patriarchy is just going to piss me off.”
He pulled back, a little smile playing on his lips. “I certainly wouldn’t want to piss you off.”
“Damn right you wouldn’t, and discussing my relations with the countess is strictly out of bounds. I know what she’s capable of. Moreover, I know what you two are capable of, murder excluded.” I paused and studied him for a moment as he sat there holding himself in check from something—mirth, perhaps?
Did he really believe that little Phoebe was the same naive woman he had rescued in Turkey, or forgotten that I, in turn, had rescued him on at least one occasion? How quickly the male cranium forgets. Blame fossilized conditioning brewed in testosterone that seems to gum the brain cells together like solidifying tree resin.
More importantly, I wondered how much he and Rupert knew about our art repatriation plan. It wasn’t exactly a secret since we were operating in conjunction with Interpol but our enterprise certainly must prick the interests of Sir Rupert Fox and anyone else who operated on the fringes of the law. Maybe my spell of anonymity had ended sooner than expected. “What do you know about ‘my relations’ with the countess, anyway?” I ventured.
“You just told me that discussing your relations was strictly out-of-bounds.”
“It is unless I request it. Consider this a request.”
“We know just enough to be concerned,” he replied.
“A cautious answer if ever I heard one.”
“Let me clarify. We know that you are forming an art repatriation agency—”
“Tentatively called the Agency of the Ancient Lost and Found.”
The eyebrows arched as he continued with a little smile. “The Agency of the Ancient Lost and Found in cooperation with Interpol, but we are concerned that the countess may not be operating from the same good intentions as you and Max Baker. We have information that certain artifacts that probably originated from your brother’s Jamaican repository have been passing through the black market.”
“And you know that how?”
“The black market network is surprisingly tight in some respects and information has a way of getting around if you know where to look. At the very least, it usually has the means to identify which artifacts go missing and correctly identify the perpetrators. Your brother and Mr. Halloran were not discreet and, may I say, even haphazard in the end. Which pieces fell into their hands is more or less common knowledge. The only information that is not widely known now is which pieces are now in the hands of Interpol, which fell to Halloren, and which items are in the keeping of you and the countess.”
“And which pieces Rupert missed out on.”
“My employer came out of the debacle rather empty-handed, much to his chagrin.”
“How that must have rankled.”
He smiled. “True. In fact, it may have even compromised his immune system."
I couldn’t resist a grin. Still, the only way to identify who has what was to cross-reference the contents of our vault and Nicolina’s against Interpol’s and thus determine which pieces were outstanding. As if that was going to happen anytime soon. We were still in the organization phase. “You must know that there is no way I’ll ever disclose our holdings to you.”
He nodded. “At the moment, yes. Perhaps at some point you may be persuaded differently. For now consider this: What if the countess is selling pieces from her repository without your knowledge? Keep that in mind.”
“As if I haven’t.” I’d had my own niggling doubts about Nicolina from the beginning but trouble was literally my friend these days so I regularly walked the line between trust and suspicion.
“May I add that informants have alerted us to the fact that Halloren may be also selling pieces from his haul to fund his operation.”
“What operation?” I asked quickly.
“His criminal operation as art thief. He has managed to regroup rather well following the Jamaican debacle.”
I sat back, thunderstruck. “But I thought…”
“That perhaps he had mended his criminal ways? On the contrary, it appears that he’s only intensified them.” Then, after several moments of him watching me and me not speaking, he added: “I’m sorry to drop this on you, seeing that you and Halloren are—”
That did it. “Are what? We are nothing. Let’s stay focused on the matter at hand, shall we? Nicolina and Seraphina may attempt to assassinate Rupert while the real perpetuator runs free. That’s the issue at the moment. What are we going to do about it?”
Something snapped behind his eyes—satisfaction, what? “For the moment I intend to do everything in my power to assure that Sir Rupert stays safe. He is my prime concern. Sir Rupert’s butler is arriving on an early flight tomorrow morning thus relieving me of nursing duties. As soon as he arrives, I will be free to investigate further.”
“Sloane?” For some reason I couldn’t imagine Rupert’s fastidious butler clanking around this grand hovel.
“Sloane. I will then be free to work more directly on the matter at hand and with you, if you will agree. Meanwhile, Ms. Phoebe, you are in the best position to do the necessary groundwork since you are staying at Ms. Contini’s villa and possibly surrounded by suspects or, at the very least, by those who may have pertinent information. I urge you to convince the countess that Sir Rupert was not involve
d in Ms. Contini’s demise and would never harm her.”
Just once I wanted to hear him talk like he didn’t have half the British Empire stuffed into his mouth. I sat back and crossed my arms. “Oh, that will be a piece of cake. You do realize that I will need to tell her that I’ve been in contact with you and that she will probably trust me that much less as a result?”
“Unavoidable.”
“And since Nicolina is more than willing to believe Rupert is behind Maria’s death and the robbery, too, she may not be moved by anything I say. She told me all about the broken engagement and the promised paintings and how Maria crumpled to family pressure on both points. To her, that gives Rupert motive.”
Evan leaned forward. “If that alone was motive for both a theft and a murder, it would have happened long ago. Sir Rupert hasn’t seen Ms. Contini for over two decades. Why did she suddenly call him and request that he meet her in Venice? That is the question.”
I leaned toward him. “How do you know the call was even from Maria? There’s another question.”
“It was placed from her private line in the villa. The lady did not possess a cell phone. There was a second call that night, which thus far remains untraceable.”
“But if Rupert hadn’t spoken to Maria for decades, he might not recognize her voice. In other words—”
“Perhaps he’s being framed.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Nevertheless, it could be true.”
“Whatever the case, that stolen painting must be behind this somehow.”
“So I believe.”
“She needed the money, Nicolina says, which the state of her house supports, which is probably why she sold the Crivelli. Maybe she was about to sell the Bartolo, too.”
“I thought the same thing.”
We stared at one another for a moment. I imagined his thoughts flickering across his features, the strong jaw clamping hard on determination. I pitied anyone who got in this man’s path, but if it ever happened to be me, I hoped he’d be wearing that apron. Crud, Phoebe, stop it. I had yet to disentangle my heart from one man; I didn’t need to be attracted to another.
“Either way,” he said finally. “There is something else behind this, something bigger and potentially more deadly.”
“Like what?”
“That’s what we need to discover.”
“You must have some idea. I only just dropped into this mess.”
“There are possibilities too convoluted to get into now.” He checked his watch. “It’s 12:15 and best that I deliver you back to the villa immediately. We can resume this as soon as I can manage. In the meantime, I have something for you.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an iPhone that looked suspiciously like mine, right down to the Anatolian kilim wallpaper.
“Oh, great—you and your phones. What does this one do besides monitor my every move—explode random articles, unfold into an instant gondola, play Vivaldi’s Spring?”
His brief grin was heart-stopping. I made a mental note to provoke one just like it at the first opportunity. “Something much better. When used correctly, it will enable you to gather information from the surrounding environment. It—”
“We plebes call that spying.”
“Spying, yes, but it’s more than that. Among other things, it has some handy weaponized features that I’ll instruct you on when next we meet. And you’ll have me on call. Briefly, if you hold down the lower volume button and walk around a room, it will detect surveillance devices and even pinpoint their exact locations. It can also act as a metal detector with a bar graph illustrating the percentage of metals found when you activate the X-ray app by pushing the eye button. I’m rather pleased with the new X-ray features, but admittedly it’s still very much at the development stage. Please take it with you tonight. Should you need me in the meantime, just push the top volume button twice and I’ll come.”
“The top volume button—cute. Why not use an Evan icon?”
That flash-grin again. Yes, I liked it a lot. “Too obvious. Also, that would require you to be turned on, er, turn on the phone, I mean.”
“I don’t mind turn-ons.” Hell, Phoebe, just shut up.
A grin combined with those knowing eyes. Hell. “Nevertheless, this way you only need to press the button twice.”
“Still, I want an Evan button. Work on that, please.”
His eyes met mine. “You need to give me a little more time for an Evan button.”
“Take all the time you need,” I said. “I’ll be waiting to press your button when necessary.” This wasn’t the first time we’d played these double entendres but it seemed more dangerous now somehow.
At that moment a little device on the counter began emitting feeble croaks. “Evan…”
I turned and gasped. “A baby monitor?”
“Sometimes the simplest technology does the job.” He jumped up and dashed from the room.
“Can you give me a hint about the phone’s other features?” I called, following after.
“Later. We will continue this at another time, Ms. Phoebe. Bear with me.” I wouldn’t mind “baring” with him someday.
We arrived to find Rupert sitting up in bed looking petulant. “My tea, where is my tea?” he rasped.
“Baby monitor is just the thing,” I muttered.
“Sir, it is getting very late and I really should get Ms. Phoebe back to her quarters.”
“Before I pumpkinize,” I added sourly.
Rupert flopped back against the pillow. “Very well. Have you…told her all?”
“As much as we have time for tonight. As soon as Sloane arrives, I will disclose further.”
“Very well.”
I strode up to the bed and looked down at my rumpled, feverish friend. Seeing him this way made my heart ache for multiple reasons. Here was a man who couldn’t bear the sight of a wrinkle on his clothing but who now lay wrapped in a heap of tangled bedsheets. That alone was enough to induce conniptions. “I hear that Sloane is coming to tend you tomorrow. He’ll insist you get better so you must get right on that. Besides, we can’t have you croaking all over this venerable old ruin, can we?”
“So sympathetic,” he wheezed. “You will…visit again, Phoebe?” he asked, attempting to prop himself up again and failing miserably. I adjusted the pillows behind his head.
“Is that better? I’ll come back as often as it’s safe and when my vaporetto driver there can manage. Obviously I can’t come by myself.”
He grasped my hand. “You’ll need a…disguise.”
“Yes, but it won’t be the plague doctor again, I can tell you that.”
“You will…help find Maria’s killer?” he rasped.
“I will. Now, rest and follow the doctor’s orders so that the next time I visit you, I can see more of my sartorial friend.”
Evan tapped his watch.
“Must go. See you soon.” I squeezed his hand. I was halfway across the room when it hit me. “Oh, Rupert, before I forget: Would you happen to have a size five millimeter knitting needle I could borrow?”
8
Nothing about the trip back to the Contini villa encouraged conversation. Being stuffed inside a blackout hood counting the number of right- and left-hand turns was challenging enough. Exhausted by then, I struggled just to stay awake. When we finally arrived, Evan helped me to remove my hood and mask before assisting me up to the dock. I had no idea where we were.
“You only need take the right-hand turn at the end of that bridge,” he said, indicating a small porto directly ahead, “and then you will be on the Cannaregio. From there, proceed down the canal side until you reach the villa. I will be keeping an eye on you until you are safely inside.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. A bit of a walk might wake me up.”
Evan lightly touched my arm. “I cannot overstate the need for caution, mad—Ms. Phoebe. There is something at work here that even I fail to grasp. It concern
s that villa and the Continis, for certain, but beyond that we know so little. Extreme caution is necessary.”
“I will be extremely cautious.” I remained standing where I was, rather enjoying the feel of his hand on my arm, the man’s proximity. He removed his hand and the spell was broken. “Well, then. Take care of Rupert and hopefully I’ll see you soon,” I said, heading toward the bridge.
I never looked back, never looked around, but kept on heading across the bridge and onto the street that rode the canal. A few people were still about but I had no sense of being stalked or even observed except by Evan’s friendly eye. As soon as I crossed the construction area with its temporary steel walkway across the canal, I arrived at Maria Contini’s villa. The door flew open before I had the opportunity to touch the knob.
“Phoebe!” Nicolina stood there with Seraphina right behind her. “Where have you been? We have been so worried!”
I stepped inside. “Sorry about that but neither of you were around and I needed a walk. Where have you been, by the way?”
I heard the countess sigh as she followed me into the salon where I took a seat and clasped my hands across my knees. Before me sat a silver tray of vino Santo, three glasses, and a dish of small biscotti. My stomach growled ominously. I helped myself to a glass of the sweet liquid and dove into the biscuits, crunching away.
“It was necessary for us to go out. I see you found the jacket. It is lovely, yes?”
“Yes, perfect, thank you—very useful, as was the gun, but I’m afraid I disposed of the spy devices. I hope that doesn’t make me appear too ungrateful,” I said mildly while pulling out the gun to ensure I’d disengaged the safety—check. I immediately turned my attention back to the wine and munchies.
“Spy devices?” Nicolina asked.
“The ones secreted in the lining of my jacket—surely you knew?” I stole a glance toward her. Apparently she didn’t. Nicolina was staring at Seraphina, who uttered something in Italian. A brief exchange followed at which point Seraphina left the room.
The Carpet Cipher Page 8
