Venice in the Moonlight (16 page)

omewhere between the Grand Canal and her lodging, Marietta decided enough was enough. When she arrived at the inn, her friends disagreed. While Zeta helped strip off Marietta’s opera clothes, Rosina tried to calm her down.

“You don’t know that man was killed,” the innkeeper said. “He was a drunkard. One falls in the canal at least every week.”

“It’s too much of a coincidence. He was the only person I’ve found that saw what happened to my father. He said it was murder, and now I believe him.” She pulled on her father’s breeches and shirt before Zeta could stop her.

“What are you doing now?” Zeta grabbed at the white half mask that Marietta picked up from the table.

“I’m going to search the Fenzi villa. My father told his friend about a book. If I find the book, I’ll find his murderer.”

Rosina let out a frustrated groan. “You’re not making sense, child.”

Marietta reached under the mattress for her father’s journal and held it high in the air. “My father wrote about seeing a secret ceremony. That’s why he was so afraid. He knew the men at the ceremony would do anything to keep him quiet.”

“What men?” Zeta took the book from Marietta and flipped through the pages. “Did he write down who was there?”

“No. All I know is he was at the house of someone who owed him money for a painting, so it could be Palladino, Foscari, or Fenzi. I don’t think it is Palladino, but it could definitely be the elder Foscari. He seems cruel enough to kill. I don’t know Fenzi, and I don’t have any way of being introduced to him, so I’m going to sneak into his house.”

“And what if you’re caught?” Rosina asked. “What then?”

That was the serious flaw in Marietta’s plan, but she ignored the question. “When the drunkard said there were spies everywhere, I thought it was the wine talking. But what if there
were
spies, and they saw him with me? Then I’ll be next. I don’t want to end up dead. If I find the proof my father sought, I can bring it to the authorities and we’ll all be safe.”

To accuse such powerful men, she needed undeniable proof, and even then the authorities might not believe her. She’d deal with that when the time came. First, she had to figure out who to accuse.

Rosina took Marietta by the shoulders and shook her lightly. “This isn’t wise.”

“Listen.” She stared intently at the older woman. “Living with the Gattis, I’ve been afraid for the past five years. I thought I’d feel safe in Venice, but now this has happened. I’m tired of being scared.”

Rosina pulled her mass of curls in frustration. “Your father wouldn’t want you to run around like this.”

“I’m doing this for my father. Don’t you see? I can’t ask his forgiveness. Finding his killers is all I can do.”

She finished putting on her father’s clothes and left her friends and their protests behind.

Marietta already knew the way to Signor Fenzi’s villa. She had walked by the house several times after she discovered he had cheated her father. If luck were on her side, maybe she’d find the painting he refused to pay for, as well as the devil-worshiping book.

Passing several groups of boisterous carnival revelers, she kept her head down and her eyes forward as she crossed Campo San Gallo and turned down Calle de Fiubera. At the end of the deserted street, the villa stood smaller than the extravagant Foscari mansion, but bigger than Palladino’s. Its white façade combined rough stones and smooth pillars with a dozen arched windows.

She moved through the shadows around the house to find a way in. Several windows on the upper floor were open to the night air, but the memory of her previous trellis climb was too fresh in her mind. At the back of the house, she eyed the double doors that opened onto the veranda. It was worth a try, she thought. When the brass knob turned easily under her hand, she almost cried out in surprise.

It was well past midnight and the house’s heavy silence made the hairs on her neck tingle. In the main foyer, she peered into several rooms until she found the library, which seemed the logical place to start. Her plan began to fall apart, though, when she realized it was too dark to search the bookshelves that lined the room. Despite the risk, she used a candle from a wall sconce in the hallway to light the oil lamp on the desk.

Before she could take a step toward the nearest shelf, a despondent sob broke the silence. Fear stopped the breath in her lungs. With heart pounding, she turned toward the noise. In the far corner of the room, a woman sat curled in a chair. A wine glass dangled precariously from her fingers.

“Why don’t you love me?” The woman’s drunken tongue stumbled over the words. “I do everything you ask, yet you’d rather be with
her
.”

Marietta didn’t know if she was expected to answer, but her brain and mouth no longer worked. She stood mute and waited.

“Other men find me desirable.” The woman ran the back of her hand over her cheeks. “Just the other day, Signor Bassi offered to be my lover. Did you know that? No? I didn’t think so. You are too busy to know anything about me.”

The woman pulled herself out of the chair with some difficulty. She found her balance and then staggered to Marietta. Tears mixed with her white powder and rouge, so it seemed her face was melting.

She gestured with the wine glass. “You never thought I was good enough for the Fenzi name, did you? Admit it! I’m just a stupid country girl.”

With her free hand, Signora Fenzi slapped Marietta with enough force to knock her back a step. Clutching her cheek, Marietta swore at her own stupidity. She should have known that was coming. A few months ago, she would have dodged such an obvious blow.

When the woman peered more closely at Marietta, her eyes widened and the wine glass fell to the rug. “You’re not my husband.”

Marietta pressed a finger to her lips, hoping Signora Fenzi would remain quiet.

Panic seeped into the woman’s muddled mind and she began to tremble. “What do you want?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Marietta held out her hand. When Signora Fenzi took it, she pulled her close and twirled her around the room in a lovers’ dance. Near the door to the hallway, Marietta stopped, kissed the woman tenderly on the lips, and then ran from the room.

he next morning in the salon of the Foscari mansion, Marietta fidgeted on what she bet was the most expensive chair her bottom had ever touched. Despite this, she let her fingers impatiently trace over the grooves of the delicate scrollwork carved into its arms. When her sweaty palms left a watermark on the robin-egg blue silk fabric, she jumped up and prowled the room. She was studying a pastel of Signora Foscari by the popular Rosalba Carriera when Nico rushed into the room. His brow furrowed in concern.

“Kitty, is anything wrong?”

She shook her head. “No, I only wanted to apologize for my rudeness last night and to ask a favor, if possible.”

His face relaxed. “Of course, I would be happy to help you in any way.”

“It is nothing grand. I was hoping to borrow a book. Despite my unpleasant life at the Gatti villa, I did enjoy their library.”

“Hmmm, I’m not sure if you will share my father’s taste in literature, but come.”

When he took her hand to lead her from the room, his touch once again scorched her skin. She tensed and fought the hunger he brought out in her. It was only because Dario had never been as caring and thoughtful toward her, she reasoned. Though she wanted a loving husband and family, she could never let herself have romantic feelings for a man like Nico. Not after everything she had been through with Dario and his numerous lovers. If she did, she would be insane.

She wasn’t really here to borrow a book to read, however, and her stomach fluttered from the guilt. She figured this was the safest way to see if the elder Foscari owned the book her father saw that fated night, but it was still all a lie. Worst of all, it was a lie to someone who, though she may refuse as a lover, she considered a friend.

In the study, Nico motioned at his father’s collection. “Take anything you like.”

When he moved to sit in a chair facing the bookshelves, she quickly said, “Please don’t let me keep you from your daily business.”

He gave her half a smile. “I don’t have any daily business.”

“Oh.” She wished she knew how well he could see. With a glance heavenward, she walked to the nearest bookcase.

On any other occasion, Marietta would have spent hours picking and choosing, but she only wanted one book, the one that cost her father his life. She scanned the shelves and passed over anything thin and small. Unfortunately, the titles of the bigger volumes that she pulled seemed innocent enough. Of course, she had no idea what a demon-worshiping book would be called, but she hoped it would be sufficiently obvious. About the time she was beginning to admit defeat, a servant appeared in the doorway.

“Excuse me, Signore, but Signora Foscari wishes to see you.”

Nico rose from his chair. “Forgive me, Kitty. My mother’s been ill. I’ll only be a moment.”

“Take your time.” Her overly cheerful voice rang false in her ears. “Don’t worry about me.”

With hands on hips, Marietta considered the study. Maybe the book was hidden. She narrowed her eyes at Savio Foscari’s desk and nodded. She tugged at the only drawer big enough to conceal a large book, but it didn’t budge. Every other drawer opened easily, though none contained a key to the locked drawer. She muttered a few choice words under her breath. She picked up a silver letter opener and stuck it between the wood of the desk and the drawer. After a few pulls on the opener, the drawer began to give, but then the blade snapped in her hand. Her mutterings turned to curses.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. She shoved the broken pieces into her pocket and took a book from the nearest shelf. Nico entered the room, and she held up the slim volume. “Found something.”

“Good. You can take more than one if you’d like.”

“Oh, no. This will do for now.” She hurried toward the door.

Nico followed and grabbed at her elbow. “Why are you always running from me?”

Her face flushed at the seriousness of his expression. Gone was the seductive teasing she’d grown to expect over the past few weeks. “I’m not. I have another appointment.”

Since Nico kept his eyes covered at all times, she watched his mouth to determine his thoughts. The tight lines of his lips and jaw showed he didn’t believe her.

“You worried me last night when you ran away. Raul tried to follow but lost you in the crowd.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you concern.”

Unsatisfied, he pressed on. “Did you know the man? Raul said you looked grieved.”

“I . . . I thought I did but was mistaken.” Her stomach flipped again at yet another lie, but it didn’t matter. Even half-blind, he saw through her.

“He was a friend of your father’s.”

She couldn’t tell the truth, so she turned the tables instead. “Is this an inquisition? Have I done something wrong besides commit a lapse in good manners?”

His mouth softened. “Of course not, Kitty, I only wanted to offer my condolences.”

If she told him enough to satisfy his curiosity, maybe he’d drop the topic. “I spoke with the man a few times regarding the last night of my father’s life. They had been drinking together.”