Death Under the Venice Moon (15 page)

Larry grabbed the phone from my hand. How dare he?

"Kyle, your mom is excited, but I think she's on to something. I don't know who Pia is; your mom recognized a car or what's left of it. Dark green, I saw a VW logo, but your mom said she recognized a sticker. Here, talk to her, she'll give you the details." He handed me back the phone and patted my knee. "Breathe, sweetie, breathe." He spoke softly, the tone used to calm a fussy baby.

Tenderness or weariness?

I followed Larry's suggestion, and it somehow calmed me enough to explain the events to Kyle without sounding like a shrieking bitch. I made sure he wrote down the phone number on the business card. The truck driver said it was the switchboard for the Italian Highway Police.

After Kyle promised to let me know what he found out, I felt exhausted, drained of energy. I wasn't hungry or sleepy, just drained, emotionally and physically.

That was when Larry said, "About my early morning flight…"

A thread of light filtered below the closed drapes. It reminded me of the dazzling brightness of early winter mornings in Northern Italy, when scarce sunrays rebounded on fresh snow and intensified their brilliance.

Blinding glow.

Childhood memories.

All meaningless. Once again I found myself alone in a strange hotel room. To make this even more frustrating, I knew nothing about Innsbruck and even less about the local language.

Larry. Kyle's words buzzed in my brain.
"Is there an Olivia?"
I had no certain answer.

Larry had gone to pick up his mysterious daughter from the facility where they held her. His plan was to escort her to Frankfurt, settle her on a flight to Atlanta then fly back to Innsbruck and me. My presence on this trip wasn't needed or wanted. Again.

Olivia's mother Jennifer would meet the daughter in Atlanta to get her back home and into treatment. He didn't volunteer where home was, and I chose not to ask.

We had arrived at the hotel in the dark. I didn't know if we were in the center of town or out in the boonies. Larry mentioned it was conveniently located. To what?

I listen attentively for outside sounds. The clock next to the bed said nine a.m. I had been awake for hours but didn't feel ready to leave the warmth and comfort of this—what was it Larry called it?
Tuchent
. So light and fluffy, and yet it provided more heat than my comforter back home. Or maybe my hot flashes contributed to the general sensation.

What kind of coffee did Austrians drink? With my life a total mess, and no idea what tomorrow would be like, I worried about coffee. Somehow it seemed logical.

Tomorrow? I didn't even know if Larry intended to come back here today or ever at all. And once again the old insecurities found an open door.

I got out of bed, dragging along the Austrian duvet with the strange name and opened the drapes.
Oh my God
. Not just childhood memories. It did snow. The sight took my breath away. Snow in October? Mountains crowned in white, a fantastic scene. I hadn't experienced fresh powder in a long time. Plus this was the first snow of winter. It had to be. I felt like a child. I wished I could share all that excitement with someone. And just like that, my cell chimed.

"Hello."

"Sweetie, did I wake you?" A sigh escaped from my lips, and I didn't know if it was a happy sigh or a sigh of relief. I was that confused.

"Larry, there is snow.
Snow
. Where are you?" I spoke quickly as if I needed to say all I had to say before he cut me off.

"Frankfurt Airport." His sigh left no doubt—pure sadness. "I'll be heading to my boarding gate in about ten minutes. I wanted to make sure she was settled in first. Olivia has been nothing but trouble. I still can't believe this is the same young woman who left California two years ago. The doctor gave her some pills to calm her down before we left the center, so she was mildly sedated. That changed when we got to the US Air international gate in Frankfurt. Then it got ugly." He paused. "I wanted to know you're okay. I left the key to the Mercedes on the desk in case you feel like going out for breakfast. If you do, remember it's very, very cold. Let the engine idle for about five minutes. Or, if you prefer, you can get breakfast downstairs. They have a great buffet."

"Larry, if you left the car here, how did you get to the airport?"

"My lawyer. Part of the deal. He had to be there to make sure Olivia boarded the plane. I didn't tell him I was coming back."

"Larry, when I said I'm terrified of driving in Europe I meant it, and now with the snow…I don't think I can pick you up at the airport."

"Relax, the hotel has a shuttle. If all is well I should be back by lunchtime, and then you can decide what you would like to do next."

"Oh, good, you had me going there for a minute. Stay safe, see you soon." I hung up. I couldn't think of anything to talk about. What was happening to me? To us?

I dreaded going downstairs and being seen in public. Everyone would know I spent the night in Larry's bed, and I wasn't his wife. The fact that we didn't even have sex would have no bearing on the way I would be judged.
Dear God, this is the 21st century, Lella, get a grip.
Once a freaking Catholic, always a freaking Catholic.
Maledizione
.

At some point I made it to the dining room. Larry was right. Breakfast was served buffet-style, and there was a little of everything. It had quite an international flair. The young woman walking me to the table spoke some English. She was a student at the university and said the hotel was near the airport and catered to winter sport aficionados from a variety of countries. Everything looked modern and expensive—not Century Palace expensive, but it certainly wasn't your Motel Six. And no one paid attention to me. Finally I'd caught a break. I was on my second cup of
caffe Americano
, weaker than espresso, when my phone went off. Larry? So soon?

"Hello."

"Mom, oh, good. Where are you?"

"What do you mean where am I? Innsbruck. Where did you expect me to be?" Irritation sharpened my tone.

"Good, well, you need to get back here."

"Just what do you think I am? A Frisbee?"
No, no, I meant to say a yo-yo.
"There is snow here, and Larry is in Frankfurt and—"

"Frankfurt? What the hell is going on? What is he doing there? Did he just drop you in Innsbruck and take off? How did he get from Trento to Innsbruck to Frankfurt in less than twenty-four hours?"

"He grew wings." I was that upset by his implied accusations.

He snorted. "Okay, that was funny. Mom, listen. You were right about the car. It's Pia's." He paused. I waited. "We found her."

"Thank God, is she all right?"

"No, that's just it. This is such a mess. The information on her driver's license was outdated. Cops have been searching for relatives. They went to her mother's old address. That's so typical of Pia. Anyway, she's not doing well. Burned badly. They flew her to a hospital in Verona, where there's a good burn unit."

"Pia is in Verona? All this time we were wondering about her whereabouts she was in Verona?"

"It's not that cut and dried, Mom. It's not like she walked herself to Verona. I spoke to one of the investigators. He thinks she was trapped in her smoldering car for at least ten hours. The only reason she's still alive is because of the heavy rain. It had stopped the burning of the car, or she would be dead. But the heat traveled through metal. That's how she was burned. She was pinned in the upside-down car. Well, you saw it. The VW was almost flat. They're still sorting through the items they recovered from under the wreck. Pia is unconscious. I'm going to visit her; maybe a familiar voice can help her snap out of it. What do you think? Good or bad idea?" He wanted my opinion?

"I think it's good. How about Roberto and Cruz? Any news?" He still hadn't said why he needed me to go back to Venice. Maybe he wanted me to meet him in Verona at the hospital? Three hours away by car.

"Roberto is out of intensive care. That's all I know. I'm told he has a lawyer. Whatever he wrote on his note, it's still a secret. Anyway, I have a feeling the police may have questions regarding Pia's state of mind when she drove you to Chioggia from the airport. You know. It would help if you were in Italy. I doubt they think you have anything to do with Cruz at this point."

"Why do you say that? What changed?"

"For one thing, he obviously didn't run off with Pia, and also, why would Roberto feel responsible unless he knows something about the disappearance?"

"Kyle, you do realize this is starting to sound like a soap opera? But not amusing, not amusing at all. One day you want me gone because I'm the Black Widow. The next day I'm supposed to rush back and all is forgotten. I'm telling you, the minute that lawyer returns my passport, I'm on the first plane to the States."

"What about Larry?"

"What about Larry? He shipped Olivia home, that's why he was in Frankfurt, to make sure she didn't change her mind."

Long silence. "So, what does she look like?'

"Who?"

"Olivia."

"I don't know."

"You don't…you never saw her, did you?"

It was my turn to be quiet. "No."

"Interesting." Smart kid. Choosing his words carefully.

We both kept silent. I knew what he was thinking. It was a strange reality that in the years I had known Larry I knew so little about his daughter and had never, ever met her.

After what might have been a minute or an hour, he said, "They're still looking for Cruz, but De Bernardi has plan B ready to go. I'm hoping Roberto holds the answer to the disappearance. I'm bent on thinking there's a woman involved."

"Why is that?" Servers around me busied themselves removing plates and glasses. Breakfast time was over. The coffee in my cup was cold.

"Because that's the logical explanation.Women are his passion She must be really special for Cruz to give up all that exposure and risk retribution from the studio. Italy isn't like the States. The show business community is small. Everyone knows each other. You get one studio mad at you, you might as well retire. Okay, Giada is here. We're going to visit Pia."

"Wait—Giada is going with you?"

"Sure, why not? I've nothing to do, just killing time until my contract is over, then I'm out of Italy. We may make a detour to Lake Garda. Call me when you're heading back, we need to coordinate our time so we can check out of the Century together. Anyway, call me after you talk to Larry. Okay?"

"Okay and—Kyle—keep me posted, please?"

He had nothing to do? How about me? I went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a snow-covered landscape. This couldn't be downtown. No old buildings, no narrow streets, everything looked very contemporary. The hotel itself was downright modern in a very charming way. No elaborate plastic chairs. No Venetian plaster either. And, thank God, no paparazzi.

How would I keep busy until Larry got back? I was getting depressed again. Might as well brush my teeth. I was gargling with mouthwash when housekeeping knocked at the door.

When I opened it, an older woman in a light blue uniform apologized. She kept her eyes on the floor and seemed to have figured out we had a communication problem. She pointed to her wristwatch and made me understand she would be back in one hour. Poor thing. I felt guilty holding up her schedule. Even if she came back in one hour, I would probably be still there, sitting on the bed, feeling sorry for myself.

Or I could leave the pity party and go for a walk in the snow. When would I get another chance to do something like that? The idea grew on me, yes. I would go play in the snow. The only problem would be footwear. For the first time I regretted not owning fur-lined boots or something similar. How about socks? Damn.

My mother used to say, "What is it with you? Were you born wearing high heels?"

Poor Mom; she was probably shaking her finger and looking down with that I-told-you-so expression from up in heaven.

I decided not to let the lack of boots stop me.

The outside air was cold enough to extinguish any hot flashes. As it turned out, there really wasn't much snow on the ground. I walked away from the hotel toward an open area where rows of leafless trees raised their nakedness to the blue afternoon skies. The thin layer of white powder felt crunchy under my shoes. Rocks now seemed to outnumber the snowflakes that still survived the melting in progress. That and my modest high heels made for an interesting walk. The hem of my pants dragged on the wet ground and a chunky piece of muddy snow landed on my exposed foot.

Damn. I bent over to flick it away, and something hit me right in the hip.

Snow. Snow? I looked up. There was no snow on the trees. I heard the crunching of feet behind me. I turned, and there, all smiles, stood Larry ready to throw another snowball at me.

I lay still, eyes wide open, looking at the ceiling in a state of astonishment. This was no dream. The snowy mountain peaks clearly visible from the bed through the open drapes and the dying sunlight made it ever more real. My fingers brushed his arm resting across my belly. The rhythmic breathing told me he was asleep. No surprise there; Larry had been up since the early hours of the morning.

We had been lovers for two years, had afternoon sex before, but this was different. In my mind I revisited the previous night, the hours we spent in an uninterrupted, chaste embrace and long whispered conversation. I was certain then that my sex life was over, the only sizzle left in me being my hot flashes.

All the doom and gloom I read about menopause had come true. I might as well get used to it. And then this—this incredible afternoon of passion. It all started with that soggy snowball. Sounded like a country song—the little snowball that caused an avalanche of lust. Maybe I should learn how to ski and spend more time in the snow. Now I was being silly. That was apt to happen when your body felt so…
spent
, in such a delightful way.