Death Under the Venice Moon (12 page)

Maybe Italian policemen also had siesta time, because only two dark blue vehicles sat in the spacious parking lot. And just so there wasn't any confusion, right below the red stripe on each car it clearly said CARABINIERI and 112, the official number to call in case of emergency throughout most of Europe.

I had never set foot inside a
Carabinieri
's office, station, or whatever it was called. And I had no idea what the difference was between
Carabinieri
and
polizia
. Thank God we had a lawyer to guide us through all that.

Carolyn sat in the car pouting and clicking away on her cell phone. This time the driver got out to stretch. Our lawyer explained this was the office that took the report regarding Cruz's disappearance, only she didn't call him Cruz. She referred to him as Manuel De La Cruz, and in her pleasant voice it sounded like the beginning of a fairy tale.

While she talked, the possibility dawned on me that Cruz could have been taken against his will, or maybe have been involved in a car accident, anything. And there weren't any loved ones to miss him, only people who profited from his success.

How sad. I slipped my arm under Kyle's. He seemed a little surprised but didn't say a word. The three of us walked in, me in my lovely new suit, the lawyer looking eager to talk to someone. And my son? Well, he scanned the room, and within thirty seconds, a few female employees began to stir in their chairs and whisper into their phones. The power of show business at work?

We had been expected and were quickly ushered into an office.

Short and sweet would best describe the meeting. I recounted the whole event of my evening with Cruz, including the despicable incident by the boat. Again, I had to humiliate myself by admitting how seriously I had taken the encounter with the so-called astrologer on Ponte Vecchio. The young
comandante
suppressed a smile while pointing out what a good movie
Zodiac
was. My stern stare didn't make a dent in his enthusiasm.

The lawyer explained I was here for a brief vacation with my son and asked if it was okay for me to travel to other locations while maintaining my room at the Century. She pulled out my passport as an offering of good faith.

Again the
comandante
smiled and shook his head emphatically. "No, no. No need." As long as I didn't leave the country. He emphasized this was completely voluntary, that no one was accusing me of anything. Evidently the lawyer was also welcome to hold on to the passport, as he never mentioned she should give it back to me. Smooth, real smooth.

We headed back to the lobby area. Two of the female employees ambushed Kyle by the exit and asked for his autograph. The
comandante
remembered an important question he wanted to ask the lawyer, so I walked out alone.

The car was still at the same spot. The doors were closed. I couldn't see the driver, but I saw Carolyn. She had stepped away from the vehicle and was walking toward a group of women dressed in black. I couldn't tell if the women were young or old. They wore loose clothing and had shawls wrapped over their shoulders. Their heads were covered by heavy lace veils, the kind my grandmother used to wear to church or to the cemetery. Maybe there was a funeral home nearby. I turned, hoping to see Kyle or the lawyer coming from the building. Something about the scene gave me goose bumps. For no reason images of Hitchcock's
The Birds
flashed through my mind.

I quickened my pace to reach Carolyn. Some of the women turned and must have noticed me. I watched them huddle and talk. Then they chanted, "
Assassina, assassina
."

I looked around. Who were they calling murderess? Oh,
mio Dio
, it was me. I had to get out of there, better get in the car.

"Carolyn, where is the driver?" I grabbed her arm and hurried toward the vehicle. Glancing sideways, I saw one of the women take aim and throw something. I hunched down, but kept on moving. The rock grazed Carolyn's cheek.

Commotion erupted from the
Carabinieri
's building. Several men in uniform ran out and dispersed the women. It was insane, like a choreographed soap opera. The dark silhouettes scattered in different directions. Shawls fluttered in the autumn air. One veil fell, exposing a silver-haired chubby woman. She ran faster than the rest while managing to dart me a hateful glance.

Mio Dio
. Augusta, the concierge.

"Carolyn, let me see your face." I shook, but at least I wasn't hurt.

"Hell no. Let's get the fuck out of here. Now. Where is…?"

The driver hurried from the main road, ditching a cigarette. Both the lawyer and Kyle rushed from the building.

"What just happened?" Kyle asked.

One of the young
Carabinieri
walked over. "I'm so sorry, we've had demonstrations before but always peaceful. Excuse me, ma'am." He tried to approach Carolyn, but she was so angry she wouldn't let him look at her cheek. She went to the car, got in, and slammed the door shut. The driver bowed a few times, mumbled a bunch of nonsense that might have been an apology, and took his place behind the wheel.

"It was Augusta." I kept my eyes on Kyle while I spoke.

"Mom."

"Don't
Mom
me. It was her. I'm sure. Carolyn needs to file a complaint. I'll tell her."

"Good luck with that. All Carolyn wants is to get out of Italy. She isn't going to file anything. Get real."

I looked toward the car. Carolyn turned her head away, ignoring us.

Kyle shrugged with an I-told-you-so attitude. He shook hands with both the lawyer and the cop, promised to call, then walked around to get into the passenger's side. The only thing left for me to do was follow his example. Incensed, I got in beside Carolyn, and we drove off.

We found a small
caffe
close to the dock where we had left Marco and the boat. The driver wasn't hungry. He waited for his espresso then picked up a newspaper from a nearby table and sat in a quiet corner waiting for us.

Emotions were off the charts.

How could Augusta possibly know we would be at the
Carabinieri
? Someone must have tipped her off. That whole parade of scarecrows in Sunday's lace was no coincidence.

Carolyn was mad at Italy in general and anything related to Cruz in particular. She insisted Kyle must get out of there ASAP. The only good news? A script was on its way to her California office, and she said it was from a world-class director with a famous Italian last name.

All Kyle did was drink his cappuccino and fume.

"Can you get hold of Larry?" he asked me.

"Uh, I—he is supposed to call me." I felt the heat of blood rushing to my face. Between the cappuccino and the embarrassment, I was on fire. I might well go down in history as the first woman to succumb to hot flashes.

"Larry, as in the rich, retired detective from Orange County?"
Damn Carolyn
.

At least she didn't add, "The one you are sleeping with?"

"Yes, Larry Devin," I said politely. "He is in Austria, visiting his daughter."

"He has a daughter? Is that why you're here? You're following him?"

"Following him? No, I was…oh, forget it." Add frustration to anger and hot flashes.

"Mom, I can drive you as far as Trento. It's halfway between here and Innsbruck. Ask Larry to meet us there. You can go to Austria with him, and I can be back here in time for late supper."

"No, you can't do that," Carolyn said. "You have a phone conference with De Bernardi in about two hours. I told him he better find a solution to the missing scenes, because you're done here."

Kyle went to pay the bill without saying a word. He motioned to the driver. It was time to get going. Ten minutes later we said our goodbyes to Carolyn, boarded the speedboat and headed back to Venice.

Cher’s "If I could turn back time” played in my head. She and I were of like minds.

We made it to our hotel rooms unnoticed. Kyle had gone straight through to his room, closed the adjoining door, and I hadn't seen him since. The gray skies we found in Sottomarina followed us, and now a steady rain fell on the city.

Venice, so romantic. But if one were stuck alone in a room and didn't want to be there at all, much less alone, it didn't matter how luxurious the hotel was or what city it was in. There was nothing romantic about it. I let the Venetian rain do my crying for me.

I had been lying on the bed with the drapes drawn wide to embed in my memory the soft thumping of drops hitting the lancet windows. The image might come in handy once I returned to Southern California where, according to the song, it never rains.

Larry hadn't called, and that didn't improve my melancholic mood. I wanted to go home.

A slight knock on the common door. Kyle came in; he looked tired. Had he been sleeping?

He sat on the edge of my bed. "Oh, what a mess." Long sigh.

"What now?" My mind rushed to Larry and his silence. Had something bad happened he didn't want me to know about?

"Roberto? Cruz's agent?" He glanced at me to confirm I remembered.

I nodded.

Kyle went on. "He had a meltdown in front of the gathered Italian press. Damn." He rubbed his fisted hand.

"Roberto? The mellow don't-talk-don't-smile-don't-get-upset Roberto?"

He nodded. "One of the reporters asked him a direct question. Giada said Roberto took a long sip of water and seemed to reflect on the question while he surveyed the audience. By then everyone had gone quiet, waiting. Without a word, he turned and ran out of the room. Giada thought he was crying. When people realized what had happened, he couldn't be found. The concierge thought he left by boat but couldn't say for sure. Is that bizarre or what?"

"What was the question?"

"What would happen to the film if Cruz isn't found alive?"

"Damn!"

"Mom." He smiled. "Are you cussing about my film?"

"No, I'm cussing about life's unpredictability. Like you, at first I assumed Cruz ran off with some female companion, but no more. I feel it in my bones. Something bad has happened."

"What you feel in your bones is the humidity of this place." He laid his hand on my arm. "Let's order some dinner, an extravagant meal since we aren't paying for it."

"You're eating in?"

"Giada is busy." His sigh said more than any words could.

He really liked her. I liked her too, and it had nothing to do with the lovely suit I was still wearing.

He went to get the room service menus, closed the drapes, and turned on all the lights, and we began the difficult task of ordering a meal from a plethora of choices and no budget limit.

My cell chimed, and I prayed it was the call that would make choosing dinner a less interesting task.

"Hi, Larry." I kept my eyes on Kyle. He picked up the menus and headed to his room, stopping at the doorway to motion he wanted to talk to Larry. I nodded and waved my hand for him to go and order dinner.

"Am I catching you at a bad time?" His voice sounded so good to me.

"No, of course not. We were deciding on what to eat. Kyle is having dinner in, keeping me company. By the way, he wants to talk to you before we hang up, okay? So, what's happening with Olivia?"

"Olivia." Long silence. "The passport was delivered today. We have a special meeting with the judge in the morning. An expert psychologist hired by my lawyer will explain why she should be sent home."

"Sounds to me like you made progress. So, why so discouraged?"

"It's Olivia. She doesn't want to go back to the States. I visit her, and she doesn't talk to me, just sits and stares or looks at me with pure hatred. The doctor in charge thinks she was abusing pills and may be in withdrawal."

"Oh my God! She won't talk?"

"The few words she's said I'd rather not repeat. There isn't much I can do about it right now. I'd rather clear my mind of all that, if only for a few hours. How did your visit to the Italian enforcers go?"

Good, he hadn't lost his sense of humor. Did I want to tell him about Augusta and her black-robed cohorts? Nah.

"The lawyer has my American passport, but I can travel with the Italian one, so…"

Kyle was back. He walked to the bed where I sat and, without so much as a hint of apology, took my phone.

"Hey, Larry, it's Kyle. Yes, it's raining. She can't go anywhere, or the paparazzi are going to have a field day with her. So I was thinking about arranging a meeting halfway. Do you have a car?"

I couldn't hear what Larry was saying, how annoying.

"Great. I calculated the halfway point would be Trento. I don't expect you to know, but it's pretty much a straight shot, mostly toll road, about two to three hours from here and also from Innsbruck. Here is my idea. If we both leave at the same time, we should be able to meet in Trento. I'll deliver my mom safely into your hands. We'll grab some late breakfast then each of us can be back to our hotel before three o'clock. What do you say?"

"Hey, I'm right here. You talk about me like I'm a piece of luggage."

He looked down at me. "You're the one who keeps saying you want to go to Innsbruck. I'm only the facilitator."

Damn, damn. My face was on fire. Of course Larry had heard "you want to go to Innsbruck."

 But wait. Kyle didn't look too pleased. "Too bad," he said.

Larry didn't want me?

"I see," Kyle said. "Well, if you can't, you can't." He spoke while I studied his face, needing to know what was really happening. "Tell you what, I'll discuss it with Mom. Get yourself a map or if you have access to a computer, even better, then we can resume the discussion after dinner. You need to talk to Mom? Okay, I'll let her know. Later." He turned to me. "Let's eat. Our food is on the way up."

Let's eat?
"What did Larry say? It seems pretty obvious he isn't going to meet us in Trento. What's happening? I want to know."
Breathe, Lella, breathe.

"Oh, that? He has to show up in court in the morning, something to do with his daughter. Seems very important and can't be postponed because then it's the weekend. He's trying to make plans for after the meeting with the judge."