Death Under the Venice Moon (6 page)

Cruz's underground dock. Damn. Something wasn't right. Why
Frenchman
?

Her eyes locked on to mine. "Is that where you are staying?" We were the same height, and now that we stood so close I suspected her weathered face was more the result of hard living than old age.

I wasn't going to lie. "Yes, it is, but I have no idea who this Frenchman is. Can you describe him?"

She laughed, the laugh of a tired soul. "I can't. He keeps on changing. I call him
el Francese mato
because no normal man would act like that."

"Like—what?" The tingle scurrying up and down my spine wasn't one of pleasure. Could she be describing Cruz?

"He isn't from around here. I've only seen him during the day, and he doesn't seem to have a regular schedule of any kind. Sometimes a season goes by and no traces of him, then I'll be sitting there just where you found me and hear the rumbling of the engine.

"The first time it happened, it frightened me. I thought it was a plane falling from the sky. This shiny thing came from the bowels of the building, quickly turned toward the
laguna
and disappeared in a wake of misty foam. I never saw him come back. Sort of forgot about it. After the second time, I was curious. I snatched some old opera glasses from the store. The next time the boat appeared, I was ready." She spoke with pride, as if it were her civic duty to keep an eye out. "I saw this man, thin, with a big, dark mustache and long, curly hair covering part of his face. Every time he goes by he looks different."

I'm like a chameleon.
Cruz's words echoed in my mind.

She went on. "I can tell it's the same man by his behavior. He stands tall and stiff as he steers the boat toward the
laguna
. Just as it starts to turn, he flips a cigarette butt into the water. That's the only thing that never changes."

Ah, Cruz. Busted by your smoking habit.

She narrowed her eyes, squinting against the sun. "That building is owned by a Frenchwoman. He must be a relative of hers, or a very close friend. But I haven't seen him in a while. Last night I heard a muffled engine. But it sounded different. Hard to tell, they had the television on." She looked toward the son's place. "Maybe he sold the place to your son's friend." She stared straight into my eyes, and something told me she knew a lot more about what went on across the canal than she let on.

"Maybe he did," I said, and didn't flinch.

A young woman in tight jeans and dark glasses stepped off the bridge and walked toward one of the closed stores. Siesta time was over. We headed back toward the two empty chairs sitting side by side. A turning key clicked from inside the wood and glass door with the lace curtain.

The lace maker's shoulders slumped. "Stop by tomorrow if you are still here," she said without looking at me.

I nodded and kept walking away. When I reached the pedestrian bridge, "California Girls" chimed inside my purse.

"Mom, where are you?"

"Hi, Kyle. I'm walking around Chioggia, not too far from Cruz's condo. It turns out I've been here before as a child, and—"

"Mom. Mom." He spoke quickly. "That's nice, but we are still trying to locate Cruz. Have you seen him at all?"

"No. Do you want me to go talk to that Augusta person?"
Please, say no.

"No need to. I'm only ninety minutes away. Cruz isn't answering his damn phone. What an idiot. His agent tells me he missed work a few times over the years, but never a media appearance. Maybe I'll know more when I get there. I'll be able to tell if something is amiss. Okay, see you soon." A pause. "Did you talk to Larry?"

What?
"I did."

"Good. See you very soon."

Good?
How would he know? For all his success and good intentions, Kyle never seemed to understand much about relationships. Speaking of which, it was odd he never mentioned Pia. Was she his girlfriend, or wasn't she? But what did I care? My son never discussed his women with me. Turnabout is more than fair—
I'm not going to discuss men with him.
He used to talk about girls while growing up, but all that changed after his father's death. Perhaps he felt compelled to be the man of the house, or maybe with his dad gone Kyle didn’t want to discuss matters of the heart with his lonesome mother.

Nothing from Larry. The phone call that interrupted our conversation must have had something to do with why he hadn't called back. I wasn't going to blame Jennifer. No need to call him if she wanted his immediate attention.
Reach out and touch me
crossed my mind.
Here we go again.
Why was I always more suspicious of men's loyalties than of women's?

Walking between apartment buildings built so close to each other reminded me of urban high rises so tall and tightly crammed together that the space separating never got direct sunlight.

At least I had a pretty good idea of the
palazzo
location. Might as well go back and wait for Kyle. Too bad I hadn't stopped to buy a local paper or a magazine to catch up with Italian news or, better yet, Italian gossip.

I made it to the front entrance of the
palazzo
in minutes and noticed the absence of parked cars. Either all the condos were empty, or there was a garage nearby. I let myself in then headed to Augusta's office to ask if Cruz's car was accounted for.

I knocked and waited. Knocked again. On impulse, I tried the handle. The door was locked. What a relief
. Hey, I tried.
I walked to the elevator as fast as I could.

The living room had been vacuumed, dusted, and whatever else…I couldn't tell, but there was no longer the lingering odor of spilt wine. Good. I made a beeline for the window, curious to see if I could spot the lace maker's place. I recognized the row of arches and residences on the upper floors but couldn't see the chairs where we sat and chatted. The arched porch hid it from view.

A noise came from behind me. Cruz? I turned. The concierge was quietly locking Cruz's bedroom door. She pocketed the key. Parts of an odd conversation with Cruz crossed my mind.

"You mean you are not the only one with the keys?"

"I'm told I am, but I trust no one."

"Good afternoon, Augusta."

She spun around, and the scowl on her face told me I wasn't supposed to have been there to witness that. That? What was such a big secret about cleaning someone's bedroom?

"Is Cruz back?" I used my sweetest voice, hoping to annoy her as much as she annoyed me.

"No. I made his bed. Need to go." She walked out before I could come up with some other smart-alecky remark. Damn.

Made the bed? Not likely, since it wasn't mussed when I left that morning.

Yeah
. Like Kyle said, Cruz probably didn't even sleep in his bed last night. Why would she lock the room when it wasn't locked before? Whatever their relationship, it had nothing to do with me.
Stick to your own problems.

On cue, the cell phone chimed. I walked to my bedroom and closed the door, resisting the temptation to lock it.

"Lella." Larry's voice radiated tension. Not his style. Tension and worry were my department. "Lella." He sighed.

"What is it?" Maybe something bad happened to his daughter.

"How far are you from Innsbruck?"

"Innsbruck? That's in Austria. I'm in Italy."

"I understand. I was wondering if you know the distance between where you are and where I'll be."

What?
"Wait, wait. You are going to Innsbruck?"

"I'm flying out of LAX tomorrow at noon with Lufthansa, changing planes in Frankfurt. With layovers and all that, I should be landing in Innsbruck roughly thirty hours after departing California."

I was speechless. I waited.

"I miss you, Lella. I want to fix this—this thing that's caused you such pain. Give me a chance. My life has been hell since you left. And now what's happening with Olivia…I always pictured the two of us traveling through Europe together. You, me. On vacation, though, not like this."

My brain refused to process anything he said with the exception of
I miss you and my life has been hell since you left
. That part eased my tension. I felt vindicated. "I don't know the exact distance, maybe two hundred miles. How about you tell me what's going on?"

"Remember when we were talking and I had to take another call? Well, it was Olivia calling. She's being detained in Innsbruck because she couldn't produce a valid form of ID. At least, that's what she said."

"You don't think she is telling the truth?"

He sighed again, and the sorrow he tried to conceal was so real it snared my heart.

"Five days ago she told me she was in Paris trying to renew her passport at the American embassy in order to get back home. I wired her a large amount of money for her flight back, for the passport, and the hotel." A long pause. "Now she's in Innsbruck broke and still without a passport."

I had to know. "How about her mother?"

"Jennifer? She doesn't have a passport, and she may have to go back to Florida if they subpoena her for her husband's trial." His voice held no empathy or affection when he spoke about the woman, and he seemed bitter. More was going on here than he was sharing. "Besides, I bet she knows a lot more about what's up with Olivia than I've been told."

I knew it.

"I'm so sorry." I really was. The memory of Kyle's brief stint in jail for something he didn't do still lingered in my mind. "Anything I can do to help?" Parenthood is a forever mission.

"Yes, wait for me. My friend Bonnie Fisher was able to locate an Austrian lawyer through her legal practice. He can help expedite the matter with the passport. As soon as that's done, I intend to put Olivia on a flight to the States, then I'll get into my rented car and come to visit you, wherever you are, if you let me."

I found myself speechless again. He sounded so…eager to please me. "Larry, our cell phones don't always work here. You may want to get yourself a cell phone when you get to Innsbruck so we can talk."

"I will. Good to know."

While he didn't seem to want to hang up, he also seemed hesitant to speak, as if he didn't want to say something wrong. This was not the Larry I knew.

"How old is Olivia now?" I asked.

"Twenty-three. The European trip was her present for her twenty-first birthday. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Started out with a college group and a chaperon. When the rest of the group returned home, Olivia said she was staying behind with her best friend from school. In the last twenty-four hours I learned that was a lie. The girlfriend returned to Florida at the end of summer, just as originally planned. My daughter has been wandering around Europe on her own for two years. I feel like her mother had to know all this." His voice was strained, anger and outrage audible.
Whoa!
And all this time I thought he was busy making love to Olivia's mom. "I'm going to be talking to the girlfriend and her parents."

There wasn't much to say, less to do at that point. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could do something. I can only sit here and wait for Kyle. I know it sounds silly, but I feel like…a stranger in my own country. And I'm not about to drive in Italy, no way. You wait. I don't know about Austrians' driving habits, but wait until you see how Italians act behind the wheel. They are, like, possessed. I refuse to drive, period."

"So it's okay if I show up at your door? You are the only reason I would be driving on Italian streets."

I swallowed before answering, not wanting him to hear all that emotion pent up in my voice. "Of course it's okay, but at the moment I don't know where I'll be." I tried to offer some emotional support to his problem. It had to be hurting him terribly. "Don't be too pessimistic. Maybe Olivia had a good reason to stay in Europe. Give her a chance to explain before you pass judgment."

Good advice. Too bad I hadn't been able to follow it myself.

"Mom? Mom?" Kyle's voice.

I must have dozed off. Damn jet lag. "Come in. The door is open." Still holding the cell phone against my chest.
God!
I rubbed my eyes and straightened out the clothes I'd slept in, trying to look dignified.

"Mom!" Kyle hugged me so hard he nearly lifted me off the bed. Oh, how I missed his hugs and enthusiasm. "Let me look at you. I'm so happy to see you."

I choked up. "Hey, that's my line." It was my turn to look at him. While he didn't appear older, he did seem more mature. Couldn't be. He'd only been gone ten months. "You look…different."

"Of course I do. I've been Italianized. You like that word? Sounds so important, doesn't it?" He laughed. "Seriously, though, I need to find out what's going on with Cruz before we go to dinner. You hungry? You want to wait here while I talk to Augusta? Or you can go with me. Your choice."

"I'll join you. Can I have a minute to comb my hair?" I couldn't get enough of looking at him, all grown up, tanned, sophisticated, and so handsome. My little boy.

"Sure, go ahead. I'll go check out Cruz's room."

Good luck with that.

I turned the faucet to a trickle and pretended to wash up while keeping an ear out for the bedroom inspection.

"What the fuck?"

Dear God, I'd never heard my son use the f-word before. Was that what he called Italianization?

He rattled Cruz's bedroom door.

Time to butt in. I stuck my head out of the bathroom door. "The concierge locked the door."

"Augusta? Why would she do that?"

"I don't know. She was leaving with the key when I came back from my outing."

"Damn." He wasn't happy, but he didn't say the f-word in front of me. Not that I'm a prude, but there's something uncomfortable about hearing your offspring swear.

*  *  *

We headed to the first floor, where the concierge's office was located. Some of the initial reunion magic might be wearing off, but all in all, I could tell Kyle was glad I was there. Good.