Rendezvous in Rome (14 page)

N
ANCY'S HEART FELL
. “I don't see her anywhere.”

“Do you think she stopped to get something to eat?” Mick suggested.

“I'm sure she's meeting someone,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “But it's weird—she didn't seem to be looking for anyone. She didn't even look around on her way here to see if she was being followed.”

“If her contact isn't here, why come at all?” Mick asked, looking puzzled.

Good question, Nancy thought. “Maybe she was waiting for some sort of signal,” she suggested.

“A signal we missed,” Mick said, grimacing. “Thanks to those tourists.”

In her mind Nancy played over everything they had seen Paola do. “Wait a minute,” she said.
“Maybe one of the artists tipped her off. Let's find out.”

Karine was still hard at work, her dark hair hanging over her face as she concentrated on her chalk sketch. As Nancy and Mick approached Massimo greeted them from where he was sitting.

“You have come to see Karine's work?” Massimo asked.

“We've been so busy that we haven't had a chance before,” Nancy said politely. “It's really beautiful, isn't it?”

“These drawings take hours.” Massimo watched Karine's broad strokes with approval.

“Karine,” Nancy began, trying not to be too abrupt. “Paola Rinzini was just here. She stopped to see your drawing. Did she say anything to you?”

Karine didn't bother to look up. “Just what she always says. ‘Nice work,' or something like that.”

It seemed odd to Nancy that someone as sophisticated and self-absorbed as Paola would come all the way to Piazza Navona simply to compliment Karine on her work.

What she always says, Nancy mentally repeated Karine's words. Gazing at the sketch, she saw that it was a copy of one of Michelangelo's greatest works,
The Creation of Adam
, which he had painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

Could Karine's artwork be a clue? Nancy wondered.

“Well, Paola's right, it's beautiful. And I'm glad we came by to see it,” Nancy said sincerely. “How did you decide what to draw today?”

“My father suggested it this morning,” Karine said, still bent over her work.

That strange request again, Nancy thought. Why would Karine's father want her to draw something that he never came to see? But
Paola
had come to see it, she realized.

Nancy's heart leapt. Karine's father was an import-export trader, she remembered. That was a perfect business for smuggling jewelry out of the country. He could be Paola's contact!

“Let's go,” she said in a low voice, practically dragging Mick away. “I know where Paola is going.”

Calling a hasty goodbye to Massimo and Karine, Mick and Nancy ran into the street, trying to hail a cab.

“Where are we going?” Mick wanted to know.

“To the Vatican Museums,” Nancy said. “I'll explain on the way. You could say I just got a divine message!”

• • •

“Which way is the Sistine Chapel?” Nancy asked urgently as she and Mick bought tickets at the museum entrance.

The ticket seller frowned at Nancy's impatience. “We have signs posted with directions in every language,” he told her.

Moving into the museum, Nancy saw that the ticket seller was right: There were four different tours, organized according to time. Their routes were coded neatly by color on diagrams posted inside the entrance.

Not wanting to lose a minute, Nancy and Mick
picked the shortest route, which led almost directly to the Sistine Chapel. They hurried up the wide marble stairway into a hall that sloped gently downward. The hall seemed almost endless.

Searching left and right for Paola, Nancy and Mick dashed down the hall. Their roving eyes passed over huge woven tapestries and glass cases full of handwritten Bibles lettered in gold. On one side tall windows stood open, letting a breeze flow into the museum. Through them Nancy could see the Vatican gardens below. Perfect geometric flower beds looked as if they had been cut out with a pair of scissors—but no Paola.

When they finally reached the end of the hallway, they took a sharp turn and found themselves in the first of a series of rooms that had been painted by the artist Raphael.

The rooms were small and quite dark. Limited light filtered in through tiny windows. Nancy blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. The walls and ceilings were painted in rich colors. Scenes of old Rome and stories from the Bible stretched out before them, displaying figures bigger than life.

The masterworks had drawn a crowd of art students, who looked up at the pair's noisy intrusion. Nancy and Mick slowed to a fast walk, trying to look like eager tourists.

“Where is it?” Mick asked impatiently, striding through the rooms a few steps in front of Nancy.

She looked past Mick's shoulders to the series of doors ahead. There was Paola Rinzini, wandering through the room directly in front of them!

Nancy grabbed Mick's arm, making him yelp in surprise. “Ow,” he said, turning around. Mick's protest had caught the attention of a few tourists. “Why are you stopping? Aren't we in a hurry?”

“She's here,” Nancy hissed, pulling Mick into a corner. “Paola's in the next room.”

A short man with brilliant green eyes looked over at them. He must be a businessman on his lunch hour, Nancy thought, noting his double-breasted suit. He looked vaguely familiar. She smiled blankly at him until he turned back to the painting he'd been admiring.

“Do you know him?” Mick whispered.

Nancy shook her head. “I thought so. But I can't place him. He must remind me of someone.”

Cautiously Nancy and Mick entered the next room. It was the last of the Raphael rooms. Paola was nowhere in sight. Nancy realized that the woman had gone right into the Sistine Chapel.

Mick surveyed the winding hallway leading into the chapel. “She'll see us the minute we step over the threshold,” he pointed out.

“Not if we go in with a lot of people,” Nancy said, her eyes on a group of students approaching. Mick caught up with a tall, black-haired girl in the group. Nancy followed behind him, letting Mick's broad shoulders block her from sight. Footsteps and shuffling were the only noises in the room.

Admiring tourists crowded the chapel, covering Nancy and Mick's entrance. Guards posted at every door warned the visitors to talk quietly and not to use the flash equipment on their cameras.

Overhearing the students' guide, Nancy learned that the Sistine Chapel was one of Michelangelo's most awe-inspiring masterpieces. He had spent more than four years lying on his back, painting the scenes from the Bible's Old Testament that graced the ceiling. Then he had turned his energy to the wall behind the altar and created
The Last Judgment
, the forty-five-foot fresco that dominated the room.

As she listened Nancy searched out Paola. She was standing in front of a sign that explained the fresco technique.

“Miss! Miss!” A man's booming voice broke the silence. Nancy jumped. He was speaking English.

The security guards immediately shushed him, but he ignored them.

“Miss, is this yours?” he called again. This time Nancy detected a trace of an accent, although she couldn't tell from where.

The security guards left their posts at the doors, elbowing their way through the tourists. They were coming toward their group, Nancy realized. She tried to duck behind Mick. Why did they have to be coming this way? she thought.

“Miss!” the man repeated insistently. “You, with the red hair!”

He couldn't mean me, Nancy thought in panic. But he was walking straight for her. It was the short, pudgy businessman she'd seen earlier, she realized. The one with the brilliant green eyes.

Worse yet, his yelling had drawn Paola's attention. She saw Nancy and froze for a moment, her eyes darting between Nancy and the man who was
approaching her. Turning on her heel, she fled the room, leaving Nancy watching helplessly.

We've really lost her this time, Nancy thought. The security guards and the man with the brilliant eyes were almost upon her.

“Silènzio!”
one of the guards ordered, grabbing the businessman's arm. Then, to her astonishment, the man grabbed Nancy!

“Silènzio, Signore!”
the guard demanded again.

With his hand still on Nancy's arm the green-eyed man turned to the guard and spoke to him in a low voice. They argued briefly in Italian. Finally the guards moved off after receiving assurances that the man wouldn't cause trouble again.

“They certainly are touchy, aren't they?” the man asked Nancy in a normal tone. For the first time he seemed to notice that he was holding Nancy's arm, and he released her immediately. “Is this yours?”

He held out a small green guidebook. “I saw you running through the rooms back there and figured you must have been the one to drop it.”

“No, it's not ours,” Mick answered for Nancy, his eyes flashing angrily.

“I was sure it was,” the man said. “You were in such a hurry.”

Nancy looked at the book. It was a tourist's guide to Italy—but written in French!

Suspicious, Nancy asked the man, “How did you guess we spoke English? This book is in French.”

“Oh, well,” he said smoothly, “English is the language of tourists, isn't it? And you look American.
At least your friend here does.” He gestured to Mick.

“Then why would we drop a
French
guidebook?” Nancy pressed.

“I'm sorry!” the man said, throwing his hands in the air. He looked offended. “I was only trying to help.” He shrugged and walked away, swinging the guidebook in his hand.

Mick was fuming. “We almost had her, and some Good Samaritan had to bungle the whole thing!”

“That was no Good Samaritan,” Nancy said grimly. Suddenly she realized where she'd seen those green eyes before. “That was Mr. Azar—Karine's father!”

K
ARINE'S THE ONE
who made the chalk drawing, right?” Mick asked.

Seeing his confused expression, Nancy remembered that he wasn't as familiar with this case as she was. “Right, and her father asked her to draw it,” she explained. “That must be how he let Paola know where to meet him.”

Mick whistled softly. “You mean, he's Paola's contact? But why didn't he just call her?”

“Phones can be bugged, and calls leave records. No one could trace him through a chalk drawing.”

“You've cracked the case!” Mick burst out, swinging her around in a circle. “Let's call the police and have them round up the criminals!”

Nancy smiled at his enthusiasm. “We don't have any proof,” she pointed out. “All Karine's father did was try to return a guidebook.”

“He'll have to try again to get the necklace from
Paola,” Mick said, nodding. “Next time we can have the police there.”

Nancy wished it were that easy. “We'll never have time to tip off the police unless we know in advance when and where she's meeting him,” she said. “Even with police help we can't just watch them both twenty-four hours a day. Besides, they're going to be much more careful now to make sure they aren't followed.”

Nancy and Mick found a telephone and called Preziosi to tell Claudia and Bess what had happened. Nancy described the green-eyed man carefully, and Claudia confirmed her guess.

“That sounds like Mr. Azar,” Claudia said. “Is Karine in on this, too? I am surrounded by criminals!”

“She could be, but I don't think so. She wouldn't have told us her father requested the painting if she was. There's a good chance Mr. Azar doesn't even realize we figured out his secret signal,” Nancy said, thinking aloud. “He probably thinks we just followed Paola from the store. I bet he'll use Karine's drawing again for their next rendezvous. His system has been foolproof so far.”

Claudia's frustrated voice wailed back over the line. “But he could wait for days!”

“I think he'll move right away,” Nancy told her, “and we'll have to be ready for him when he does. Even if they use the drawing again, Paola and Mr. Azar need to fix a rendezvous time, so stay by the phone and tell Bess to follow Paola if she has to.”

“What if Paola goes home instead of coming
here?” Claudia asked. “Should I call Sandro and ask him to cover her apartment?”

Nancy thought for a moment. “No. Mr. Azar is worried about being connected to Paola, and trying her at the store is less risky. Just watch her, Claudia. We're on our way back to that café across the street.” Saying goodbye, Nancy hung up.

Bess was pacing around outside the café when Nancy and Mick returned to via Condotti.

“Paola's back,” Bess reported. “And boy, is she in a foul mood! When she saw me she said I was bothering her employees and practically shoved me out the door.”