078 The Phantom Of Venice (3 page)

As the two girls finished looking over his work, Angela clapped her hands and exclaimed to Tara with a smile, “Ah,
si!
Suddenly I remember now!”

“Remember what?”

“There is something your father wanted very much for you to have! In fact he was planning to send it to you just before his terrible accident!
Aspetta uno momento!
I shall go and get it!”

As she rushed off, Tara and Nancy exchanged curious glances, both intrigued by her words.
What special gift had Rolf Egan left his only daughter?
The two girls waited with keen interest to see what Angela would show them.

To Tara’s and Nancy’s surprise, Signora Spinelli soon returned, carrying some bright-colored fabric. It proved to be a chef’s apron with an attractive pictorial design in blue, yellow and green.

The design showed a figure in a chef’s hat, flipping an egg in a skillet over the stove. Above this was scripted a motto in Italian:
Per fare una frittata, si deve spaccare un uovo!

Angela Spinelli was watching Tara with a sympathetic smile. “No doubt you are wondering how your father came to give you such a thing,” she said. “The answer is simple. Recently he was hired by a pottery firm in Milan to design a line of kitchenware to be sold in American department stores. Along with the dishes and bowls and cups, Rolf insisted the complete set
should also include an apron—and this is how he saw it. His client was delighted with the results! But do not ask me why he wished to send one to you.”

“I think I know why,” said Tara, and Nancy saw that her lashes were once again wet with tears. “Daddy used to
love
to play chef!”

“Ah,
si, cara!
You are so right!” exclaimed Angela. “Here in Italy, most men would be ashamed to take their wife’s place in the kitchen. But Rolf
loved
to cook! His fettucini was exquisite and so were his American—how do you say?—
hamburgers!”

Tara nodded and took out her handkerchief to dab her eyes while she went on, “I can still remember when I was little, before my parents were divorced, we’d have cookouts in the yard, at the summer cottage where we were staying. Daddy loved to put on an apron and a big old chef’s hat while he prepared the meal—and then do funny things to make me laugh. . . . Somehow I knew the whole thing was a show he was putting on, just to amuse
me!”

Her voice broke again, and she blew her nose to hide her emotion.

Nancy had learned a few words of Italian during an earlier trip abroad, but not enough to translate the motto. To give Tara time to regain her composure, she pointed to the lettering on the apron and asked curiously, “What does it say?”

“To make an omelet, one must break an egg,”
Angela replied with a smile.

A faintly puzzled expression flickered over Tara’s face. Then she sighed and gathered up the apron. “May I take this with me?”

“Of course, my dear. Rolf meant it for you.”

“I’ll come back later for the rest of the things.”

“But,
cara,
why must you go?” Angela flung out her arms impulsively. “Surely you will stay here with me while you are in Venice! Gianni comes to visit and keep me company at times, now that Rolf is no longer here. But that is no problem! He can easily return to his regular quarters, so there will be plenty of room! To me you are like a daughter,
mia poverina,
surely you understand that?”

Tara hesitated uncertainly, and Nancy saw her eyes swing from Angela toward Gianni as her lips parted in a shy smile.

Gianni beamed a look of irresistible appeal at her, adding to his sister’s plea. “Ah,
si!
Angela is right! You must certainly stay here with us . . . after all, you are like one of the family,
non è véro?
Please say that you will do so, Tara!”

Nancy could see her wavering. She could also imagine what was going through her friend’s mind. If Tara stayed with Angela Spinelli, she was bound to see more of Angela’s handsome young brother.

As she thought of Tara’s unhappy home life and her obvious need for affection following the loss of her father, Nancy felt another sudden pang of mistrust. It would be so easy for a smooth, macho operator like
Gianni to take advantage of a girl in Tara’s present situation and state of mind!

Even more disturbing were the mysterious circumstances surrounding her father’s tragic accident . . . On the spur of the moment, Nancy spoke up before her friend could reply. “Tara has already checked into a
pensione.”

“But that is no matter!” said Angela. “I am sure they will let her check out again with no charge when they learn that Tara has been invited to stay with relatives.”

Nancy looked doubtful. “Maybe, but she didn’t just take the room today. It was reserved in Tara’s name before she left New York. We’ll see what they say,” she went on smoothly. “Whatever happens, Tara will be coming back here for her father’s belongings, and meanwhile she’ll have to see about her own things at the
pensione.
There’s no need to decide right this minute.”

Angela glanced at Tara, who still looked hesitant but apparently was swayed by Nancy’s words.
“Ebbene,
just as you wish, my dear,” Angela said. “But please remember that you are always welcome here.”

Nancy promptly moved toward the door. “Well, shall we be going then, Tara?”

“Y-yes . . . I guess we’d better.”

“Let me come with you!” Gianni volunteered eagerly. “Then if Tara should decide to return to my sister’s, I can assist with her luggage!”

There was no polite way to refuse.

As they went outside, Nancy’s sharp eyes noticed a figure lurking on the other side of the
rio
, or side-street canal, on which Angela Spinelli’s apartment was located. The man was standing in a shadowy passageway, so that it was impossible to make out much of his face or appearance, but she was sure she had glimpsed the same person standing there when she and Tara had arrived.

Gianni talked brightly and entertainingly as they made their way back over the quays and little bridges to the Pensione Dandolo. When they arrived, Nancy said to him with a smile, “Thanks so much for coming with us. And please tell your sister how much I enjoyed meeting her!”

“I shall be glad to wait until Tara decides what she wishes to do.”

“No, thanks,” she replied firmly. “We have some things to arrange, so we may be quite a while. If she does decide to stay with your sister, she can phone to let you know—right, Tara?”

“Uh, y-yes . . . I guess that makes sense.”

“Va bene,
let me give you Angela’s number.” Gianni wrote it down and handed it to Tara, then held the door of the
pensione
open for the two girls.
“Ciao
then, Signorine!”

As the girls entered the
pensione,
his lustrous amber-green eyes met Nancy’s sapphire-blue ones for
a moment. His bold smile seemed almost mocking, as if to say:
I can read you like a book, Nancy Drew! Don’t think you can keep me away from Tara forever—or from you either, if I should decide that you are the one I want!

Upstairs, in the comfortable but old-fashioned-looking bedroom Signora Dandolo had assigned to Tara, the blond girl exclaimed to Nancy: “Oh, my goodness! Isn’t Gianni
gorgeous?!”

“That’s for sure. He’s so handsome, I don’t quite trust him.”

“Is that why you stopped me from accepting Angela’s invitation, because you thought he might make a pass at me?”

“Well, partly that, perhaps, but . . .” Nancy paused to marshal her thoughts. She was also wondering how to say most tactfully what was on her mind. “Tara, can you think of any reason why someone might have wanted to harm your dad?”

“No, not at all! That business about someone shooting at him sounds crazy! I’m sure Daddy never hurt anyone, at least not intentionally. So why should anyone want to hurt
him?”

“If we could answer that, we’d probably know exactly what happened, but we can’t and we don’t,” Nancy said ruefully. “That’s what worries me, Tara. Let’s just suppose some nut did want to shoot your father, for revenge or whatever. How do we know he may not try to hurt you too?”

Tara stared in amazement at the teenage sleuth. “Are you serious?”

Nancy shrugged drily, “Anything’s possible.” She went on to describe the faceless watcher she had seen lurking in the shadows, across the canal from Angela’s flat.

Tara shivered. “That does sound a bit scary!”

“Then stay here, at least, overnight, and we’ll talk some more tomorrow. Maybe the trouble just involves Angela, so if you’re here at the
pensione,
you’ll be in no danger.”

“All right, if you say so. But what about you, Nancy?”

“I have to go on to a place called the Palazzo Falcone. My dad’s expecting me there. It belongs to a wealthy Venetian who owns a glassworks on the island of Murano. Daddy’s a lawyer, and he came here on behalf of a client who wants to buy the glassworks. But there’s been a kidnaping that may affect the deal. That’s why Daddy sent for me. He hopes maybe I can help solve the crime.”

“Wow!”

Nancy’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Yes, I know. Sounds pretty far out to me, too. But I’m willing to try.”

“I bet you’ll succeed, too!” declared Tara.

“Don’t count on it. But that reminds me of something I wanted to ask you, Tara.”

“Go ahead.”

“When Angela translated that motto on the apron—you know,
To make an omelet, you have to break an egg
—it seemed to me you looked sort of puzzled for a second or two. Why?”

Tara gave a shrug. “Golly, I don’t know exactly. It . . . it’s just that . . . well, Daddy
hated
omelets. He never made them. In fact, I remember him saying once that the only people who made omelets were cooks who didn’t know how to make nice fluffy scrambled eggs.”

Nancy chuckled. “Sounds like my father. He and James Bond are both crazy about bacon and scrambled eggs. It’s practically the only way Daddy will ever eat eggs.”

“Why did you ask?” Tara inquired curiously.

It was Nancy’s turn to shrug. “Search me. Whenever there’s a mystery, I guess I’m always looking for clues, and one never knows where they’ll turn up.” She rose from her chair. “Well, I’d better get going, Tara,” she said, “but I’ll call you tomorrow, if not sooner.”

Tara accompanied her downstairs to the parlor of the
pensione
and gave her an affectionate hug and kiss. Nancy asked Senora Dandolo if she could phone for a gondola or
motoscafo,
one of Venice’s motorboat-taxis. The landlady said she could, but that it would be much quicker simply to walk a block or so to the Grand Canal and hail one.

Nancy had packed only a duffel bag and a light
suitcase for her trip to Venice, so she declined Tara’s offer to help and started out alone for the Grand Canal.

She had gone only a few steps when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Scusi,
Signorina Drew! May I have a word with you?”

Nancy paled, then felt a warm flush seep upward from her neck to her cheeks. She knew, without even turning around, who had spoken. It was Gianni Spinelli.

How handsome he looked as he strode up alongside her! He was the sort of guy, thought Nancy, whose physique would catch a girl’s eye as quickly as his face would—both were devastatingly attractive.

Once again his smile played tricks with her heart. She tried not to notice the dimple at the corners of his mouth.

“What do you want?” Her voice sounded strained and unnatural to her ears.

“To walk with you, and talk with you. What else?”
As he spoke, he reached out to relieve her of her luggage. “Please! Let me carry those for you, Signorina!
Prego!”

It seemed idiotic to resist or struggle with him on the street over such a matter. Nancy kept her duffel bag, which was slung over one shoulder, but allowed him to take her suitcase—even though she realized this provided him with the excuse he needed to accompany her.

“You were waiting outside for me all the while I was in the
pensione
with Tara?” Nancy inquired with a hint of exasperation, then immediately regretted asking. It sounded as though she were accusing him of some wrongdoing.

“As you see.”

“Why?”

“Cara!
Do you really have to ask?” With a dry little laugh, he looked deep into her eyes, as though at that moment there was no one else in the world but the two of them. “I waited because you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, -and therefore I desire to be with you as often and for as long as I can!
E così
, does that answer satisfy you, Miss Nancy Drew?”

She tried to ignore what his words and his eyes were telling her, but it wasn’t easy.

“How many other girls have you said that to?” she retorted, angry at herself for falling into his trap by asking.

“A good many,” Gianni grinned and shrugged, “but this is the first time I ever meant it.”

“From the way you acted at your sister’s, I thought you’d fallen in love at first sight with Tara Egan,” Nancy said tartly.

Gianni chuckled. “Do not worry,
cara.
You have no need to be jealous.”

“Jealous!”
Nancy gasped with indignation. “What on earth makes you think I’d be jealous of anyone you flirt with?”

“It was you who brought up the subject, my dear Nancy. Anyway, I assure you there is no reason at all to feel so. What I say or do with your little friend Tara means nothing. She is like a homeless puppy, grateful to anyone who shows her the least bit of attention or affection. The poor child does not even realize yet that she is a woman. She is ready to give her heart to any halfway attractive man who shows interest in her. Do you really think that I, Gianni Spinelli, could fall in love with such a
poverina?”