Death Under the Venice Moon (13 page)

"How can all that be said in so few words? Did he sound like he didn't want to meet us?"

"Mom!" He rolled his eyes. "No long explanations needed. He may have some problems he need to get resolve. We don't know exactly why he’s in Innsbruck. Hey, he could be in his Jacuzzi in Orange County or downstairs at the bar having a martini.Keep the faith" His flawless logic left me speechless and confused. His tone softened. "I suggest we eat, drink, and maybe watch a movie, then sooner or later we'll find out if you stay or if you go."

"Are you mocking me?"

He bent down and hugged me. "I'm trying to cheer you up and help you to understand some things are beyond our control."

A knock at the door then a voice: "Room service."

How about that? Perfect timing. I had no clue what Kyle ordered.

I ran into the bathroom to get out of my suit that was now all wrinkled. Might as well make myself comfortable. We weren't going anywhere.

The food was served in Kyle's room because it was more spacious. He moved the table so we could see the movie while we ate. I watched him pop open a bottle of Prosecco. Trying to cheer me up? He wasn't much of a wine drinker. He ordered enough food to feed us for a week should we become trapped in the room. This was like that movie,
Pretty Woman
. Richard Gere's character said he didn't know what Julia Roberts liked, so he ordered one of each. In spite of all the choices, I reached for the warm rolls first.

Kyle's phone went off as I took my first bite of
tortellini alla panna
.

"
Buonasera, si, sono Kyle
."

I chewed my pasta, quietly savoring the smaller version of ravioli in a delightful creamy sauce, and watched Kyle's expression change from annoyed to surprised then concerned.

The whole conversation was in Italian and about Pia. Today was Friday. Humidity or premonition, shivers raced up my spine in spite of my comfy robe.

"Well." Looking puzzled and disturbed, Kyle laid the phone next to his plate. He tapped his index finger on the table, glancing at me without really seeing me. What went through his mind?

"Bad news?" I didn't want him to know I had totally eavesdropped on his phone conversation, but curiosity won.

Again he looked through me, absentmindedly picked up his glass of wine, and drank. “That was Pia’s cousin. She was to have been part of a wedding party, but never showed up. No one had been able to reach her since Monday. Talking seemed to snap him out of his hypnotic state. "You heard the conversation?" he asked.

"It was hard to ignore it, especially since it was in Italian."

"Pia's mother is not well. She's in one of those places for older people. I doubt she has direct access to a phone. Her relatives know Pia and I are friends, so it's not that farfetched for them to check with me. I thought she'd been ignoring my phone calls for personal reasons. I guess I was wrong. This is too much of a coincidence. Pia and Cruz, both missing and at about the same time. Even if they are together, who cares? Why all this secrecy? There has to be more to it." He checked his watch. "I guess I should call Roberto and Giada. And say what? Damn, Mom, you were the last one to see Pia also. No, no way."

"How could I've been the last one to see her? She left by car and mentioned stopping for gas before her trip."

"Gas, that's right. She had trouble with her gas gauge, always putting off getting it fixed. I bet she stopped at the same gas station in Chioggia where I usually fill up. I know the owner. Can't call him now, this isn't California where they are open twenty-four seven."

My phone chimed. It had to be Larry. So much for the quaint dinner. The two of us plus two phones equaled a crowd.

"Hi, Larry."

Kyle practically pulled the phone from my hand again. "Damn, Larry, too bad you don't have jurisdiction here, we could use a good detective. Yeah, I'm not going to take up your time explaining. I'm sure you'll hear plenty from Mom. Were you able to get an idea of what I'm trying to do? Yes, Brennero-Modena, you got it. I suggest you write it down in case you need to ask for directions. Nothing personal but your pronunciation is a little off."

He laughed, his eyes on me. "Okay, do you have pen and paper? So you take the A13 from Innsbruck. It becomes A22 once you enter the Brenner corridor. Stay on that until you get to Trento. I've only been to Trento once myself, but I had plenty of time to memorize many details about the place."

"The main train station is very convenient to the
autostrada
or the A22 you are coming from. Once you're at the train station, turn your back to the building. In front of you will be a park. Don't picture parks in the States. This one is smaller, but green, big fountain, and right there you can park without being noticed. I'll get there and make sure my mom is comfortable. She can wait for you at the bar in the train station. It's a safe place. Plus, we can stay in touch by voice or text. I'm letting you talk to Mom. You have my number if you have questions. Thanks, Larry, I owe you one."

He grabbed a plate full of assorted sliced meat and went into my room, and I could hear that he turned on the television. What a sensible kid.

"Larry, I feel terrible about this. Maybe I should wait until things with Olivia get resolved and—"

"No."
Whoa
. He meant it, no hesitation, a firm
no
. "I'll be there. I can't give you a definite time, but I will be there, and knowing that you'll soon be here with me makes this ordeal more bearable."

Finally something uplifting.

"What kind of car are you driving?" I asked. "I'll be on the lookout for you."

"A black Mercedes."

I chuckled. Flashes of our first date and the first kiss in his black Mercedes tickled my mind. "Predictable," I kidded.

"That's not it. You're so off." His voice was packed with so much emotion I felt guilty. Guilty about what? "I'm in a foreign country, in a town I don't know, surrounded by strangers who speak a language I don't understand. Every day I eat food I dislike, drag myself to see a daughter who despises me, then drive in the freezing rain to get back to the same room, in the same hotel, surrounded by the same strangers." He stopped to breathe. "The Mercedes is the only thing I'm familiar with. It's sort of my blankie. The car—and your voice."

A light fog floated inches above the wet asphalt of the
autostrada
.

To my surprise, Giada, wonderful Giada, had a quilted jacket with a hood delivered to the hotel, and Kyle assured me it would come in handy once we left the Adriatic coast and headed up north. He was right. I remembered Larry's remark about the freezing rain in Innsbruck. I should have brought my heavy mohair coat that was hosting moths in my closet back in Dana Point.
I should have
—story of my life.

"How long do you think it's going to take to get to Trento?" I asked.

"A couple of hours. I only did this road once, the week of my arrival. It was with Pia's car, better known as the slug. It was my first experience with Italian toll roads. Right away I wanted to be one of those drivers with the heavy foot. I didn't know Pia that well, didn't dare tell her to speed up. It was awful. The Italian love affair with cars is so evident on their
autostrade
. No apparent speed limit, the boldest driver with the fastest car wins. Every vehicle on the road was passing us, zoom, zoom…maddening. I did miss my Porsche. I didn't want to be a spectator; I wanted to be a contender."

"Where were you going? Lake Garda?"

"No, although in retrospect that would have been a better choice. Pia had this fantasy. I call it a fantasy. According to her it's a real place. She just couldn't remember how to get there."

"Sounds interesting. Did it involve a rabbit hole?"

"Mother!"

"What? I'm talking about
Alice in Wonderland
."

"Yeah, I got that. No. Pia said that when she was very young she spent her summer months in a small cabin—wait, she called it a
baita
. The word stuck in my mind because it sounds like bite, instead it means—"

"Kyle, I know what it means, a rustic cabin in the mountains. It's not uncommon in the Dolomites. Why would you think it was a fantasy?"

"Because we never found it."

"Maybe it isn't there anymore."

"You don't understand. We left the
autostrada
about three exits past Trento, and we meandered around narrow roads under huge trees. I swear it was like a forest, and the first thing you know, we found ourselves right back where we started, looking at the toll road from below. We did that twice with the same results. There was no one to ask directions. On the third attempt we ran out of gas out there in the middle of nowhere. She called ACI, the Italian version of triple A, but we didn't know where we were. We walked miles and finally were able to get a ride to town. Since I couldn't communicate well, I stayed at a bar in Trento while Pia tried to figure out how to get her car towed to the nearest gas station."

"Did she?" Poor Pia.

"No. We rented a car to get me home on time for a meeting the next day. Eventually one of Pia's friends drove her back to her vehicle, along with a large gas can." He shook his head as if clearing his mind of the whole adventure. "That was my first Italian outing and the last one with Pia. She is so disorganized." He shrugged. "Maybe that's what happened to her. Maybe she ran out of gas somewhere, and her phone ran out of juice."

The sun playing hide and seek with the low clouds helped lift the fog as we left the first
autostrada
and entered the toll road to the Brennero Pass, the road that would take me all the way to Austria if Larry kept his word. Otherwise, I would probably be looking for public transportation back to Venice. Just the thought made me queasy.

I liked this road trip, mother and son locked together in a small car for hours. What else could we do but talk? Kyle yawned, a big, loud yawn. It made me smile. Still my boy.

"I feel guilty putting you through all this nonsense."

"I look at it as payback for all the times I kept you up at night or spoiled your plans with friends because I got myself in some kind of trouble, true or perceived."

I patted his arm. "Why do I sense that the 'perceived' part is a nice way of saying your mom tends to dramatize?"

"No—you think? Are you ever going to tell me the real reason you hopped on that plane and paid me an impromptu visit? And while we are on the impromptu subject, is there really an Olivia in Innsbruck or is this a creative way for Larry to come get you without making it look like he's chasing after you even when you do him wrong?"

"Why are you always taking Larry's side?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side, but I'm not stupid," he said. "It seems to me he does a lot to accommodate you. And that's a good thing, because since you met him, I don't worry so much about you living alone, your car breaking down, or a light bulb that needs changing—all the little things I should do for my mom but don't always."

"I beg your pardon? For your information, I change my own light bulbs, and I have plenty of friends who can help me out—"

His cell phone rang. He pushed the answer button and it went to speaker. "Good morning." He waited.

"Kyle, where are you?" I recognized Giada's voice.

"I'm in the car driving my mom to Trento as planned." He sounded annoyed.

Why? Oh, of course, he just finished telling me how I kept Larry on a short leash, and here is sweet Giada, checking up on him. Ah!

He seemed to rethink it. "Wait, you mean, how far I am from Trento, right? We're on the Brennero Modena
autostrada
, left Verona about thirty minutes ago. So I guess I'm, what? Forty minutes away, then I need to find a suitable place to drop off my mom."

"Am I on speaker? Something's happened to Roberto." Giada's tone was so unchanging and devoid of emotions she sounded like a recorded message.

"Huh? Something—can you be more specific? I don't care if my mother hears. Who would she tell, anyway?"

"He apparently tried to commit suicide."

"Damn. Roberto? Why? How?"

"No one had seen him since he ran out of the press conference. I didn't go looking for him. He isn't my responsibility. His personal assistant got worried when he didn't return phone calls. She has a key to his house so she can run errands for him. She went there early this morning. Overdose."

"Oh, damn, damn." He hit his hand against the steering wheel. "What's going on? An overdose of what? Fuck!"

There was that word again.

"Sleeping pills," she said. "The assistant told the police he uses sleeping pills on occasion. I don't have any other details yet. It seems he left a note. The authorities have it. The assistant said she tried to read it, but didn't dare touch it because the police would claim it as evidence. She felt it was connected to Cruz. I'll know more in a few hours. My boss is calling a press conference. He is on his way back to Rome. At first he was spitting fire, but now damage control is in full swing. They want you sitting at the bar at the Century when the news goes public."

"De Bernardi wants me to be sitting at the bar? Why? So I look like a soulless jerk?"

"Kyle, I'm just the messenger. What about your mom? This should shift the attention away from her. Anyway, I'm supposed to stay in Venice. De Bernardi is sending the crew back up, and you'll redo your scenes. I'm sure they have something in mind, something good for the studio and perhaps for you. I mean, with Cruz gone—"

"Gone? You don't know that." He didn't sound convinced of his own statement. "Okay, I'll get Mom settled and make a U-turn back to the hotel. Damn. Sorry, Mom, nothing to do with you."
Of course not.
"Okay, babe, see you shortly."

Babe?
I opened my mouth to ask if he really liked Giada, but for once my common sense kicked in on time. I sat back in the comfy seat and sucked in the view. Too bad the mountains hid the view of Lake Garda. I had never traveled this way before.