Death Under the Venice Moon (9 page)

"I'll take your word for it, Mom, but honestly, I don't remember. What happened to the hat?"

"We forgot to pack it, and my mother gave it to a cousin for
Carnevale
." He didn't seem to remember much, so I added, "It's the Italian version of Mardi Gras."

He laughed. "I know what
Carnevale
means. I even bought a mask."

"You did?"

"How can you come to Venice and leave without a mask?" He laughed again and nudged me toward a brightly lit bar, where Carolyn sat waiting for us at a table by the window.

So my son had just signed a contract for a movie to be filmed in the United States, a romantic comedy. He would be the "other man." That and Cruz's disappearance were the main topics of the evening. Carolyn's friends were American-born owners of a local restaurant popular among tourists, but the dinner was at their home. It was a mix of American and Italian food, a taste of local cuisine along with barbecue ribs—an interesting combination, probably requested by some of the guests. No one smoked. I was grateful for that.

"Is someone going to call the police to report Cruz missing?" I asked the group lingering around the table. I'd been told he was an orphan, which meant there was no family to make a missing person report.

"Roberto is the one with the vested interest." Carolyn didn't sound too concerned. "If he did make the call, where would he file? Is it like the States? Do you report where the person went missing from?"

"Carolyn, can we wrap up my last day and get out of here before the police get involved?" Kyle asked. "As far as we know, my mother was the last one to see Cruz, and honestly, I don't want her harassed about it."

Mio Dio
, I never thought about that. How was it possible for the same perfect stranger to ruin my visit to Italy twice in a row? I wouldn't let him do it this time.

"Who is that awful De Bernardi man?" I asked.

Carolyn nodded as if she agreed he wasn't a likeable person. "He's the associate producer, handles the money. But he likes to act…hey, Lella, did you notice his assistant?"
How could I not?
"She has a thing for our kid here." Carolyn punched Kyle's arm, laughing that laugh of hers.

I expected my son to blush at her remark. He didn't, only shrugged. What happened to my sweet, modest Kyle? He seemed to take Giada's attention for granted. At a muffled ringtone, Kyle fished his phone from his pocket, glanced at it, excused himself, and left the table.

A chorus of, "Uh-oh, it's her," followed him until he disappeared into another room. Once Kyle left, the men at the table turned to me. "Well, Mamma, your little boy isn't coming back to your hotel tonight."

Did they really assume I was that unaware?

"What is she going to do when he flies home?" Carolyn didn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular.

I asked her, "Do you think you and Kyle will be going back to California soon?" I needed to know.

"Lella, he's the one in a hurry. I'm perfectly fine in Italy, for now. Okay, maybe not perfectly fine, but I'm in no rush. Of course I didn't anticipate the problem with Cruz. But yeah, I think your son is homesick."

Homesick? What was his definition of home these days?

As the dinner guests predicted, Kyle walked me back to the hotel but made it clear he was going right back out. I wanted so badly to ask about Giada without sounding like a snoop. "Kyle, was Mr. De Bernardi serious about an accidental shooting? Would the wronged husband kill her?"

"Mom, noooo. It's all good. Between Roberto and De Bernardi, they got the man's mistress a part in an upcoming movie. Everyone is happy."

"Wait. Wait. This is making my head spin. By 'man' do you mean the husband of, you know…Cruz's love interest?" I could see the marquee of the Century Palace, and still neither of us had mentioned Giada.

He stopped and turned to face me. "Okay, here's the way it worked out. Cruz was sleeping with Mrs. X. Mr. X found out and wasn't happy. Roberto and De Bernardi asked Mr. X what it would take for him to forgive and forget about the affair. He wanted his young mistress, an aspiring actress, to be in a major motion picture. And so everyone was…satisfied."

"You think or you know for sure? And this whole story is just wrong on so many levels. It's…immoral."

"No, it's Italian. Please, Mom, don't take it personally. But I found the degree of corruption in your country deeply disturbing. Probably because they've had more time to practice here."

Your country
. Like I didn't know how things were done. It was as if he had disowned me. We walked the rest of the way in silence—painful silence, at least for me.

We took the elevator with the boring music up to our floor. He entered through my door and used the open connecting door to get to his room. Night service had come by to turn down the beds, and a white envelope rested on my pillow. I wasn't sure what to do about it. Was it for me, or had the maid confused the rooms? "Kyle, do you know anything about this envelope?"

He came back to my room, holding his cell. "What is it? Open it."

I did. It was from the hotel spa. Apparently I had a morning appointment for a massage and a facial. I smiled at Kyle. "Thanks. That's sweet, but…"

He glanced at the card. "This isn't from me." He spoke into his cell. "My mom found a gift card on…oh…okay…I'll let her know. Later,
ciao
."

He put his phone in his pocket and spread his arms. "Well, Mom, it's a peace offering from Mr. D. He felt he behaved badly in front of 'my mom,' so he set up an appointment for you to get pampered. I think it's terrific. Let me tell you how it works." He walked me into my fabulous bathroom, showed me the plush bathrobe and matching slippers embroidered with the hotel's logo. "These are yours to use. Put them on in the morning. When you get to the elevator, push the dedicated button that says SPA. You'll land in the luxurious lobby, where estheticians and masseuses are waiting for you. You'll be served juice and snacks, and they'll pamper you to the point you'll think you've died and gone to heaven. When they are done, they put you back into the elevator. You come straight up and back into your bedroom. So remember, wear the robe and slippers so you don't ruin your own clothes with the oils they use on you."

I was stunned. "How do you know so much about this…spa? And I feel funny taking something obviously extravagant from Mr. De Bernardi. How will I be able to repay him?"

He laughed out loud, clearly amused, and then he hugged me. "Mom, I went down there to talk to Giada a time or two when she was the one getting pampered. Since I was the only man, the…
personnel
were having fun keeping me from leaving, and…De Bernardi probably has no idea what he gave you. He tells the assistant to 'do something nice' for someone. I'll make sure Giada knows you appreciate her choice."

He finally mentioned Giada. I sighed. Mission accomplished. So why was I not feeling good about it?

"Okay, I'm taking off. Lock your door. I'll lock mine. Keep your cell phone on just in case. If I'm not back by spa time, don't you dare miss your appointment. A lot of women down there depend on your presence to get their paychecks. Don't tip them; I'll call in with a credit card and take care of it." He kissed my cheek and left.

I had no idea where he was headed. Did Giada have a room in the same hotel? And where was Larry? He should be arriving at Innsbruck by late morning. Would he call me? So far, most of my Italian vacation had been spent waiting for people to call me. Not just any people—people I loved.

The spa looked exactly as Kyle described it, staffed by a dozen young women, all soooo perky! I finally found the perfect fit for that strange adjective.

A welcoming chorus of "Kyle's mamma is here" had me wondering if my son really visited this place only when Giada was around.

Soon they had me wrapped in a warm blanket, naked and content in a cozy room that smelled of citrus and vanilla. They explained that first came the body massage and skin cleanser, then a delicious Italian brunch, manicure, pedicure, and last a facial. At that rate I'd be there all day, but I wasn't about to complain. I had no place to go, no people to see. I left my cell phone back in the room knowing that Larry wasn't due to arrive at Innsbruck for a few more hours. And Kyle? Well, Kyle could call the spa if he needed me.

By the time I relaxed in the special recliner for facials, I could have just closed my eyes and drifted away. Every inch of my body sang praises for De Bernardi and this heavenly spa. My skin felt soft and moist and smelled of lemon. With my eyes shut and my mind in a happy place, I let the esthetician's magic fingers work on my face. She even massaged my scalp. One could easily get addicted to this kind of luxury.

When I thought the pampering was over, she decided to put a little makeup on me. Mental pictures of Giada's glossed rosy lips crossed my mind, so I agreed. What did I have to lose but a few skin blemishes?

After she was done and had removed the bandana that kept my hair away from my face, she handed me a mirror to admire her work. Lucky for me, I was still sitting.
Oh my God!
I looked like a clown, a clown with raccoon eyes. I forced a smile and nodded, too upset to talk. All the ladies gathered around making, "oohs" and "aahs."

All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there, run back to my room, and scrub my face clean before someone else saw me—that as well as make sure I didn't miss Larry's phone call.

The staff escorted me to the elevator and gave me a cute little bag with skin products. I prayed there would be a good makeup remover among them, pushed the button, and up I went to my room floor, or so I assumed.

The elevator stopped at lobby level. Why? Obviously this wasn't a dedicated lift, as I originally thought. I backed into the farthest corner of the square cubicle and kept my eyes down as the door slid open. A familiar voice cheered me up.

"
Basta, non ho niente da dire
." Kyle talking in his musical Italian, telling someone to stop. Stop what?

I was so far back in the elevator he hadn't noticed me.

"Kyle…" I stepped behind him and touched his shoulder. "Kyle."

Surprise and—frustration?—sparred in his eyes when he turned to look at me. He pushed me back into the same corner while cameras clicked and people shouted. He frantically pressed the button to close the doors and finally succeeded. The elevator went straight up to our floor. Neither of us spoke.

I couldn't, too humiliated by the way he treated me. Nostrils flaring, he was past sulking.

When the lift came to a stop he said, "Wait. Stay put." He looked outside both ways then grabbed my hand, and we practically ran to our rooms. He opened my door first, and we rushed in.

What was going on?

"Damn, damn." He ran his fingers through his hair and went to close all the drapes.

I stood in the middle of the room in my robe and hotel slippers, feeling like the unwanted guest who showed up at the wedding reception dressed in her gym clothes. Kyle sat on the edge of the bed the maid had already made up, pulled what looked like a folded newspaper page from his pocket, and spread it out on the top cover. "We need to get out of here, now."

"What happened? You look…angry, very angry."

He pointed to the paper on the bed. "This happened. Take a look. Recognize anyone?"

I picked up what seemed to be the front page of some cheap magazine, not even in color. There was a dark photo, and the caption said, "Cruz's love nest exposed."

"Oh, they found him? Good. I guess now you can finish your movie, right?"

"Mom. Look at the photo." He spoke with the same tone of voice as when he picked me up at the airport after his father's accident, a mixture of sadness and defeat.

The poor-quality photo took up most of the page. It showed part of a boat and what looked to be a couple. The people were little more than dark silhouettes—a man lying on the bow and the back of a woman bent over, kissing him?

Mio Dio
, the trespasser.

That evening on the boat, Cruz was right. The man took pictures. That was me elbowing Cruz to get him up from his state of moon contemplation, but from the angle the picture was taken and because of the poor lighting, one could assume I had other intentions.

No wonder my poor kid was upset.
Maledizione
. Damn Cruz. I read the byline. It claimed the paparazzi discovered where Cruz kept his lovers, in a condo in Chioggia, and he liked to have his moonlight trysts on his speedboat
Gemelli
. They labeled the woman "a mysterious lover." Thank God, no one would recognize me based on that photo.

"This is terrible. I'm so sorry, Kyle. You know this isn't really what happened? Well, at least they don't know it was me on that boat."

"That was yesterday. Today, like the song says, 'everybody knows your name.'" His face was void of emotion.

"Me? My name? How?"

"Augusta, the concierge. Reporters showed up at the
palazzo
. She got her face in the paper, even made the local news. She's telling a tale of the woman on the boat, the woman who had a wild evening with Cruz and spilled wine all over the rug. And she's saying that wicked woman was the last one to see Cruz. I'm afraid to turn on the TV, Mom, afraid what the Italian press is calling you. It was you the reporters downstairs wanted to talk to, not me. We're lucky security will keep them at bay, but we need to get out of here before the circus comes to town. I need to make some calls. Can't get hold of anyone, not even Pia. Where is everyone?"

From my night table came the "California Girls" jingle. I went to answer, but Kyle beat me to it. "
Pronto
. What? Who is this?" He looked at me, twice. "Larry? Oh, it's me, Kyle. No. No. Mom is—fine. Yes, she's here. I'm screening her calls because—oh, what the hell, here, I'll let her tell you. I just wish you had locked her—never mind. Here." He handed me the cell and stormed into his own room.

"Hi, Larry." After my son's introduction I wasn't sure what to say. "Are you in Europe yet? How was the flight?"