Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics (24 page)

The vast square was filled with groups of tourists clustered around tour guides holding colorful umbrellas high, despite there being no clouds visible. Then a guide would dart toward one of the sights, the group following right behind them, struggling to keep up, heads swiveling to see everything as they moved this way and that through the piazza. Just then the bells on top of the tall tower started to ring and caught Claire’s attention until they had finished striking eleven. She sighed; the day was moving very slowly. Earlier she had gone into the Basilica, which was very ornate and decorated with lots of gold, but the crowds of tourists discouraged her from staying long. She didn’t want to feed the pigeons on the piazza as she saw many of the tourists doing. She remembered Ruth’s encounter with a pigeon in Florence and, while she had dropped some laundry off this morning, she felt she didn’t have enough clean clothes to risk the pigeons. She was able to get a good view of the outside of the Bridge of Sighs and spent some time finding the best camera shot.

Now she decided it was time for a snack. She had been warned the Venetian breakfast would consist of hard rolls and coffee, so she wasn’t surprised. But her stomach felt betrayed. She wandered down the edge of the piazza to the wharf and sat down at the same café she visited yesterday when she got off the vaporetti. Now she could see another cruise ship was docked. This one was gigantic. No wonder the tourists were thick. She ordered herself a coffee, orange juice and something called a ‘toasta’. Happily it turned out to be the equivalent of a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. It was just what she needed to make up for her skimpy breakfast.

She glanced at her watch again but it wasn’t even eleven-thirty. When would she hear what happened to Kristen? Her imagination was driving her crazy with all sorts of scenarios she hoped were not even close to the truth. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the day. James had promised her a message and she was sure it would arrive, but she just didn’t know when or even how it would be delivered.

She sipped her coffee while she went through the little guidebook she carried determined to stay busy and keep her mind off unpleasant thoughts. She noted the bell tower on the piazza was called Campanile di San Marco, and you could take the elevator to the top for a terrific view. Remembering the crowds in the piazza she decided to forgo that pleasure. Maybe tomorrow or the next day she could go with her mother and Ruth. She studied the book. What she needed was something away from the square where tourists were less likely to roam.

She saw the listing about the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. That would be interesting until she noticed it was closed on Tuesdays. However the Accademia was open. She decided to visit it and then ride around the entire island on the vaporetti, which would help her become familiar with the layout of the city.

She walked slowly towards the Accademia, looking in shop windows, watching the pedestrians. Then she slowed to a stop, turned around and looked at the shop she had passed. She wondered if she had the nerve. She remembered how Kristen’s extreme haircut had grown on her until she had finally admitted it looked young and fresh. She smiled. It would take more than a new hairstyle to make her look fresh, but on the other hand she didn’t want to turn into a Ruth. While Ruth wore the latest in clothing fashion, she kept her hairstyle and makeup the same style she used as a young woman. It looked a little garish, but that was Ruth. Now she decided she would just look in and see what they could do. After all she was on vacation and, if she didn’t like the results, she had time to change it back.

Claire was overwhelmed by the display in the Accademia. Room after room had been filled with a dazzling collection of Venetian paintings, but unfortunately, they had all run together. She couldn’t remember one outstanding one, rather a colorful blur of a different time; a different life. Standing here near the entrance she was reluctant to go back into the present day of Venice. She needed some time to transition from the Venice she had been inundated with from all those paintings inside. While she stood there she was startled to realize the attractive woman reflected in the glass covered bulletin board was her. She looked critically, turning this way and that. Her hair looked good. It was hard to accept she paid someone to make her hair look like she had just gotten out of bed. Still she knew from the magazines it was top fashion these days.

Then a notice caught her eye.
Concerto
was in big letters. It was in Italian, but she could see it was scheduled for tomorrow night at the Basilica Dei Frari. She thought she recognized the name and, thumbing through her guidebook, found she was correct. It was a church she had marked to visit because of the art works it housed. She found her pen and noted the date and time in the guidebook. She thought it would be fun to go and see the church and its art works while hearing some music. She thought her mother and Ruth would like that. And it would be a different way to spend their first night in Venice. She chuckled, thinking how shocked they both would be to see her new look.

Finally, she was ready to enter the world again and wandered down to the dock to catch a vaporetti.

She rode the entire vaporetti route twice. The first time she just looked at everything, enjoying the cool breeze, relaxing. The second time around she snapped picture after picture of the palaces, the canal scenes and enjoyed just watching the people get on and off. It was obvious that this was the method of transportation the natives used, although she did see many private boats on the water, so assumed the wealthier citizens had their own. By the time they arrived at the dock closest to her hotel, she was ready to go back to her room for a rest and to write a few postcards before venturing out for dinner. She decided to ask Senora Sorenson for a suggestion. The place she had tried last night catered to tourists and it was honestly the worst meal she had eaten on this trip. She needed to do better tonight.

The dock was crowded with people waiting to get on the vaporetti at the same time passengers were attempting to alight. Claire tried to move with the crowd, murmuring,
“Grazie,” “scusi”
and
“per favore.”
Somehow she managed to get on the dock with no major injuries. She watched as the vaporetti pulled away, scanning the faces for one who looked familiar. Then she turned slowly looking at each face still lingering near her, but couldn’t identify who could have thrust the piece of paper in her hand which she now clutched tightly. And as no one was passing out flyers or advertisements she knew it must be the message she had been waiting for.

She knew better than to open it there, no matter how anxious she was. It had been slipped to her in such a furtive manner she needed to look at it in a private place. She hurried down the road towards her hotel. Finally she found a secluded spot in a sheltered doorway where she could pause a moment. She looked around once more and found herself alone, so she unfolded the note.

Tonight, 7:30, Restaurant Alla Madonna — near Rialto

This was it! The message she had been waiting for. She glanced at her watch and saw it was only five. She sighed. Two and a half more hours until she knew whether or not Kristen was safe. She carefully folded the note and tucked it into her backpack pocket where she kept the map and headed once more toward her hotel. She had time for a shower, a change of clothes and writing some postcards. But she gave up all thoughts of a nap. She wouldn’t be able to sleep until she knew what had happened.

Millie checked her list of “To Do” items then glanced at the clock. So far so good, tasks were being checked off in appropriate order. She still couldn’t believe she had drawn the honor of acting as head chef for today’s work. She would have been much more confident acting in that capacity yesterday for the wine selection or even this morning at the market. But today was their final day, and her group was assigned the main course. Not only did they have to select a menu of items which had not been done in the previous nights, but they had to do their choices better than the groups before them. The groups had become very competitive over the course of the Retreat.

She realized she was dallying, letting her worry interfere with what she had to do. And she really didn’t have time for it now, she told herself sternly. She went to the far work station where the mushrooms sat. She needed to start prepping them now.

“LiAnn, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be making the cabbage rolls with Randy.”

When LiAnn actually jumped at her scolding tone, Millie realized her voice had been sharper than she intended. But LiAnn’s guilty look startled Millie in turn. She immediately felt suspicious. She had been a mother too many years not to recognize trouble when she saw it.

“LiAnn, why aren’t you working with Randy?”

“I was just checking the mushrooms. I needed a break, so I decided to see what you and George selected.” Her manner was defensive, her voice almost whiny.

Millie didn’t even question why she was so suspicious. She pulled the large basket of mushrooms away from LiAnn’s grasp and examined them closely. They looked fine to her. Idly she picked up a few and saw something strange.

“Wait, I don’t remember buying this one.” It was a beautiful white mushroom, so perfect in shape it almost looked as if it was a fake. She dug into the pile deeper and saw two more of the odd mushrooms.

She looked at LiAnn and then the accusation came out her mouth as the thought popped into her head. “LiAnn, did you put these mushrooms in the basket?”

LiAnn’s face set into an obstinate expression. “What are you saying? There is nothing wrong with those mushrooms.”

“I didn’t say there was. I just asked, did you add some mushrooms?” Millie used a firm tone. LiAnn was dissembling, if not outright lying, and she noticed she had not answered her question. Millie picked up one of the mushrooms in question in order to examine it more closely.

“For heavens sake, stupid woman! There is nothing wrong with the mushroom.” LiAnn snatched it from Millie’s hand. “Why are you meddling, you fool? Do you think you’re really the boss? Do you think any of us will follow your orders?”

Millie was shocked into silence at the venom in LiAnn’s tone.

“There is nothing wrong with this mushroom!” And before Millie could move she popped it in her mouth. Her chewing motion was exaggerated and finally she swallowed the whole mouthful. Her lips spread into a grotesque smile sending shivers down Millie’s spine.

“Delicious!” she announced. Then her face changed, her scorn became apparent. “You don’t know anything,” she announced with contempt. Then, drawing herself up to her haughtiest height, she announced. “I will not work with you. You are an idiot.”

With that she turned and stomped out of the kitchen while Millie stood there with her mouth hanging open.

“Millie, I’ve finished filleting the fish. Renee is rolling them with the spinach and leeks and says he doesn’t need my help. Do you want me to start on the mushrooms?” George was at her elbow.

Millie shook herself out of her shocked state. “No. No, I want to talk to Chef Martin about them first. Do you know where he is?”

“Sure, he went into the office with Chef Geno a while ago.”

“Would you find him and tell him I need to see him and then go help Randy with the cabbage rolls?”

“Thanks,” she called after him. She grabbed the table for support, because her knees suddenly felt weak. She was just realizing the enormity of her confrontation with LiAnn. She didn’t look forward to telling Chef Martin she had so offended LiAnn she had caused her to walk out of the kitchen during the last session of class. She looked at the container of mushrooms. Had she been a fool?

She just didn’t know.

“Aah, Ms. Gulliver. You needed me?” Chef Martin, as always, was so charmingly formal.

Millie felt tears spring to her eyes. She really didn’t want to tell him how badly she had screwed up. She took a deep breath and then, keeping her voice low so the others wouldn’t overhear, she explained what had just happened.

He looked incredulous. “She just walked out?”

He then looked at the closed kitchen door as if he expected LiAnn to appear, returning as if nothing was wrong.

“And where are these mushrooms?”

Millie showed him the basket of mushrooms. “I don’t recognize these. I’m sure we didn’t buy them in the market. It was one of these that she took out of my hand and ate.” She was embarrassed by her earlier suspicions. Obviously the mushrooms were harmless.

“George, could you join us here?” Chef Martin waved George over, leaving Randy looking curious.

“George, what are these mushrooms you picked up at the market?”

George looked in the basket and separated the mushrooms into groups of the same kind, naming them as he added them to each pile. The two odd ones he picked up again. Then he looked at Millie confused. “Frankly, I don’t remember this one. Is it one you picked out, Millie?”