Death Under the Venice Moon (11 page)

"Mom."

The voice sounded far away, but the hand shaking me was firmly planted on my shoulder.

"Kyle?" I fought to keep my eyelids open. "What's happening? What time is it?"

"Seven a.m." He was fully dressed. "We have a long day ahead. I need you to get up and come look at something."

Maledizione
, what? She kicked him out of bed?

I dragged myself to the bathroom. Some things couldn't wait. Thank God he didn't run around opening drapes and windows…what was with this kid of mine? I didn't remember him being an early riser. And I certainly never was a morning person. By the time I made it to his room, he was pointing to a laptop on the desk.

"Come, take a look."

Must be that thing I watched last night on TV, me in my robe and makeup…poor Kyle.

I was wrong. The screen displayed several women's suits, like a catalogue.
He wakes me up at seven a.m. to show me women's clothes?
"What? Are you a closet crosser…"

His eyes got so big I thought they would come out of their sockets. "Cross dresser?"

"Yes, that."

He erupted in laughter while trying to talk. "Oh, too funny. Cross dresser—my mother thinks I'm a closet cross dresser. I have to remember to tell Giada, ah, ah." He wiped tears from too much laughing. Maybe he would go tell Giada in person right now, and I could go back to sleep.

There was a light knock at the door. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair and over his cheeks, motioned me to stay put, and went to open his bedroom door. He spoke to someone then came back holding a large tray with coffee and a lot more. Good boy.

I headed straight to the table where he set the tray.

"No, no, Mom, we have to take care of business first. Which one of these suits do you like?"

"Suit? Like? Like for what?"

"To wear, of course."

"Kyle, it's so sweet of you, but I don't need any clothes, honestly. All I want is to get out of here, out of your hair, and get myself to Innsbruck. Maybe I can catch a flight from Marco Polo, no?" I gave him my sweetest, most innocent look.

He shook his head. "Late yesterday afternoon Roberto reported Cruz missing to the authorities. We expect they'll want to talk to you. So you have to volunteer to be interviewed. It shows good intent. De Bernardi and crew are in full containment mode. You need to be dressed for the part."

"Part? What part? I'm not some puppet—"

"You want to go to Innsbruck? Follow directions, and you'll be on your way in no time. By the way, did you bring both passports?" He was all business.

What kind of Kool-Aid did my kid drink in my homeland? Did he read the disapproval in my eyes? His attitude changed. "Giada is waiting for you to pick the suit. Please, Mom, we don't have much time."

I rolled my eyes. "Giada? Where?"

"She has access to clothing from companies the studio uses. Sit and scan, then decide. What size do you wear?"

"Italian size?" I sat and looked. "I don't know. I never buy clothes in Italy—for one thing, they don't have 'petite,' so it's only shoes and handbags. But American size is six petite." Since I wasn't going to pay for the suit and none of the outfits had a price tag, I decided to go with the flow, like we say in America. I paid close attention to each suit. I could hear Kyle fiddling with the coffee cups. Good. Teamwork. Who was kidding whom?

"What do you think about this one?"

He brought me some coffee when he came to check out my choice. I pointed to a dark teal skirt and fitted jacket. I figured if I got to keep it, the suit would be a great addition to my wardrobe.

"Yes, that would work," he said. "What about shoes? We were thinking a small heel so you look sophisticated without trying to be sexy. Mom, stop rolling your eyes already, you're supposed to be this wonderful, strong woman who did such a good job raising your only son in spite of being a widow."

Kyle was in his twenties when his father died.

"People don't need to know when dad died."
Did he read my mind?
"Or that I'm not such a good son because I hardly visit unless I happen to be passing by your house on my way to somewhere else. No, no, Mom, no crying. You need to look calm and serene, not a worry in the world. No red eyes. So, what size shoes?"

I couldn't talk, too choked up. I blew my nose. My son hadn't changed. He was simply in hiding…
thank you, God
. I managed to say, "Six and a half, medium width. But Kyle, Italian shoes don't have the medium width. I always have to buy size thirty-seven, and that's really too big because I have small feet, but—"

"Mom, your feet are perfect. Relax. You're not running a marathon. Let me call Giada and place the order." He walked away smiling.

All that sniffling plugged my nose, and I made slurping sounds while drinking my coffee. Might as well see what else was on that tray. All this before eight a.m. Whatever happened to the famed Italian
dolce vita
? Another busted myth, like the one about the sanctity of holy matrimony? I could hear Kyle talking and laughing on the phone. Must have been Giada at the other end.

"We are all set," he said when he came back. "Here is the plan. Giada is bringing the clothes. Roberto has a press conference scheduled here at the hotel. The studio went all out and rented the big fancy party room. They're providing free food and drinks to the reporters, so you know they'll all show up. Giada will text me when they're serving, and Roberto will start taking questions so we can sneak out through the service elevator. There'll be a boat waiting to take us to Sottomarina, and from—"

"Sottomarina? We are going all the way there by boat? And why Sottomarina? It's across the bridge from Chioggia."

"Precisely, that's where the new Sede dei Carabinieri is. Carolyn is meeting us at the lawyer's office, then from—"

"Whoa. Wait. Police station? Lawyer? What's going on?"

"Mom, the studio set this up, sort of preempting the next move. You'll be interviewed by the local authorities before they even consider calling you up. The lawyer is on retainer, and the studio wants to make sure my reputation and, of course, yours remains spotless. Look, a lot of planning went into this to make our life easier. So smile, and don't forget to thank Giada when she arrives with her staff."

"Her what?"

He checked his watch. "If you want to shower or wash up, you better get going. I'll let you know when they are on their way up."

And with that, he dismissed me and never told me a thing about her staff.

I sat in the bathtub, stewing. If God were out to teach me a lesson, well, mission accomplished. I remembered getting on that flight to Venice thinking I was going to teach Larry a lesson. Poor Larry, how were things going with his daughter? Was he getting bossed around like I was? What time was it? I left my watch and my phone in the bedroom, but it was probably time to get out of the tub and prepare myself to face the music, or, as Kyle called it, Giada and her staff.

She arrived wearing a gorgeous dark green outfit, long pants and matching coat. This was the first time I had a chance to see Giada up close. Her eyes matched the shade of her outfit. I fought the urge to ask if she wore colored lenses. Eyes like hers were the kind I'd read about in romance novels but had never encountered in real life.

She was very professional, so professional I asked myself if my son spent the night with her or someone else. No longing glances were exchanged, no lingering handshakes. Maybe they decided to try to fool me. Both the skirt and the sleeves of my suit needed shortening. No problem. One of the two women Giada brought with her happened to be a seamstress with the necessary tools of the trade. I tried on two pairs of shoes. One pair fit comfortably. The shirt to be worn under the jacket was a pale blue knit top.

To everyone's consternation, I said no to pantyhose. I had stopped wearing them twenty years ago. Kyle should have remembered that. The second woman on the staff did my makeup and hair. She should have applied for a manager job at the hotel spa. I looked better than I had in a very long time. Had she used products tailored specifically for the trade? Could they be purchased over the counter? Then again, maybe it had more to do with her talent than all the concoctions.

I didn't know what all this would accomplish, but I loved the results and wasn't going to offer to return a thing unless forced to. The suit looked and felt expensive. It could have been custom-made by the way it fit my body, not too snug here or too loose there. And Kyle said Giada had connections with the apparel manufacturers. Good to know.

Too bad I hadn't brought some of my good jewelry. My string of pearls would have been perfect. All I could think about was parading in the new outfit when I met up with Larry. Some things never grow old. Well, on a low note, I had to use my own purse.

By eleven fifteen, the two staff members headed for the elevator. Giada lingered. I thanked her and excused myself. I closed the adjoining door behind me. As far as I was concerned, the young lady got my vote. And it didn't hurt that her English was better than mine.

Damn. No word from Larry yet. I wasn't sure if I would be able to answer my cell once we hit the road or, in this case, the water.

Kyle knocked and came in. "Okay, Mom, we will be leaving soon. Make sure you take your US passport. I know you are proud to let everyone know you have dual citizenship, but this one time you should forget about it. I doubt you'll be asked because it's not common, but just in case. Leave your Italian passport here, and if the cops want to see identification, you hand them your US one. Okay? Once I get the text we'll have to move fast. You may want to take some flat shoes to wear on the boat. They'll have blankets if it's breezy. How are you feeling?"

"I feel stupid. I have no clue what's going on. Will we be coming back here? When can I go to Innsbruck?"

He came over and hugged me. His phone buzzed.

*  *  *

We boarded a generic-looking speedboat. I wasn't surprised to see Marco at the wheel. The watercraft moved away slowly, probably to avoid unwanted attention. Kyle had me sit inside at the back of the cabin.

The minute we were outside the Grand Canal and approaching open water, we picked up speed. Kyle was up front chatting with Marco. They laughed and talked about some Italian singer arrested for peeing in public.
Really? This is my old country?
Forty-five minutes later we approached Sottomarina. I changed back to the new shoes and pulled out my mirror to check my makeup.

Showtime
.

As we approached the landing at Sottomarina, I saw Carolyn leaning her tall, thin frame against a black car just yards from where we would be disembarking. If she recognized the boat, she didn't acknowledge it. No waving, no smiling.

After thanking Marco and stepping out onto dry land, Kyle and I walked up to her. She looked us over and nodded approvingly.

"We're stopping by the lawyer's office." She opened the back door of the car.

I got in first. She sat next to me. After a brief hesitation, Kyle went to sit in the front next to the driver. The older man with thinning hair and a thick mustache mumbled some apology about not getting out of the car to open doors—
l'Americana
not allowing him to leave his driver's seat.

Carolyn shrugged. "Damn. You Italians have so many different branches of the law, it's like a different unit for every crime. Anyway, let's see what this lawyer has to say."

"Did you drive here from Venice?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm all packed. I'm going from here to the airport and back to the States. Had about enough of this Italian vacation." What happened to liking it just fine? She pronounced the word
vacation
as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. I felt about the same way, except I volunteered for my vacation.

"Hey, Kyle, Cruz's story is making the rounds. We're getting calls. Something big. My new assistant Max is supposed to keep me posted. Really big, with Italian connections." She cracked a smile at the last sentence. "All this BS about Cruz's disappearance is doing wonders for your career." She poked Kyle's shoulder.

He shrugged. "Maybe so, but I'd rather we didn't discuss my career at the moment, and especially not in front of the authorities. They'll think my mom is part of a conspiracy to make me famous." Was he being funny?

We left the speedboat docked at the narrow end of Sottomarina, the port of Chioggia clearly visible in the distance. Here the seawater reflected more blue than green, and while the town was likely to be packed during the summer months, I saw very few pedestrians around. Chioggia was like a page torn from history, while Sottomarina had modern hotels, wide streets, and lots of tourist kiosks now closed for the winter. It also had a
lungomare
, a promenade the whole length of the peninsula. The sun had been shining when we left Venezia, but now the sky wore many shades of gray.

Apparently the driver knew where to go. He left Lungomare Adriatico, entered a narrow street with older, well-kept buildings, and before long parked the car in front of a two-story structure. Big trees framed the path littered by the fallen leaves. A young lady appeared by the front door and motioned us to come in. The crunching of dead foliage under my new shoes felt very unfamiliar, and for no logical reason, sadness cloaked my soul.

The lawyer was a she. Signorina Nardi looked to be in her mid-thirties. She had a pleasant face and an annoying habit of never standing still. She spoke while pacing, sounding well rehearsed, probably on De Bernardi's payroll. She suggested Carolyn wait in her office until we came back.

Carolyn wouldn't have any of it. She intended to go with us even if she had to wait in the car. Kyle insisted I give my passport to the lawyer, so I handed her the American one as planned.

We left in the same car we arrived in and followed the lawyer's vehicle back to Lungomare Adriatico and to the
Carabinieri
's headquarters, which sat across from a beautiful and empty sandy beach. No kidding, better than a private villa. Lucky cops.