Part 7 (1/2)
The comment was said jokingly, but it gave Jordan a sense of unease. She shook it off.
”Good, as long as I can be in the midst of you all, I'll be just fine. I'll just run and change.”
”I'll walk you back,” Raphael offered. ”The Square will be crazy now, so crowded.”
”I'll be all right-”
”I don't mind, and I have a costume to deliver to the Danieli.”
”Thank you then.”
In the dressing room, she wondered if she shouldn't have taken the tall blond man's advice.
”Hooker,” she told her reflection in the mirror. ”But a high-priced one, at that.”
She changed into her street clothing. Downstairs, she found Raphael carrying a garment bag bigger than he was. ”Andiamo!” he told her cheerfully.
”Have no fear; we'll find you right away!” Lynn called as she left the shop.
”Stay close behind me; we'll bulldog our way through!” Raphael said.
She smiled, following close behind. He did know how to move. ”Scusi, scusi, scusi!” he said, creating a pathway through those still in streetwear, as well as the mult.i.tude of historical personages, monsters, creatures, suns, moons, and more. Following him, she again found herself amazed by the elaborate and intricate beauty of so many of the costumes, amused and awed by all that she saw, and once more in love with the city of Venice.
They pa.s.sed the basilica, and crossed the bridge from the Doge's Palace to the Danieli, where they parted in the busy lobby. Raphael kissed her on the cheek. ”You will outs.h.i.+ne them all tonight,” he promised.
”Grazie, ciao,” she told him, and she wondered if Jared was back at the hotel.
He gave her a thumbs up sign. ”Good accent,” he said soberly, then grinned. ”You will truly be splendid. My work of art.”
”I'll try to make you proud,” she teased and started up the stairs.
Ragnor arrived at the palazzo in a hired launch, telling the boatman to wait, even if he were inside for an hour.
He stepped carefully from the launch to the contessa's dock, listening as the seawater lapped against the piling. Long, determined strides brought him quickly to the contessa's door. When his knock wasn't immediately answered, he thrust the door open, heedless of the groaning hinges and the snap as lock and bolt gave. As he had expected, the contessa's servants, a tall, skinny man of about sixty in black livery and a sour-looking woman of the same age with iron gray hair, were standing just inside. They had been more than aware of his arrival, but why they had ignored his knock he didn't know. They must have expected him to enter, whether or not they opened the door.
”Where is she?” Ragnor demanded.
”She is not at home,” the man said, looking at the door with disapproval. ”And you have recklessly broken into this palazzo, destroying the contessa's private property-”
”Call the police,” Ragnor suggested. Ignoring the pair, he started across the marble floor of the entry to reach the landing. Halfway up the stairs, he swung around. The servant had foolishly seized a sword from the arms display on the wall of the foyer and was attempting to lift the heavy metal in a wild swing. The fool. He'd have never reached Ragnor's neck, being nearly a foot shorter, down a number of steps, and absurdly out of his league.
He avoided the first hapless swing, ducking low and sweeping back up to catch the weapon at the hilt. He tossed it to the floor below, where the clatter against marble seemed to echo with a shattering recall. He pushed the fellow against the banister and continued up the stairs. Reaching the entrance to the contessa's bedchamber, he thrust it open.
Apparently, however, the servants had not lied. The contessa was not in. Ragnor strode into the room, throwing open the wardrobe. He stepped into the dressing room and bath, but there was no sign of his quarry.
In disgust, he turned, left her bedchamber, and strode down the hallway to the second- floor ballroom. His eyes swept the scene where her ”merrymaking” had taken place the night before. They had scoured the scrubbed, gleaming marble flooring and columns, the grandly carved great hearth, and the stained gla.s.s doors to the terrace, now closed. He walked on into the room, eyes still sharp, senses keen. He knelt down to touch the floor.
The heavy scents of bleach and disinfectant filled his nostrils.
He rose and turned in a sudden fluid motion. The disarmed servant had gone for backup.
The two men now glaring at him from the ballroom entry were near his own height. Bulky as freighters.
And well armed. Where had she found these two?
He swept out a hand. ”Gentlemen, come and get me.” He glanced at his watch. ”And do it quickly, please.”
If the contessa wasn't here, where was she?
CHAPTER 4.
Unlike the invitation-only party the contessa had thrown, the artist's ball was open to everyone, and it seemed that half the population of Venice had decided to attend. Just walking through the streets, Jordan felt the charged atmosphere of laughter and expectation. Groups of friends rambled through the streets, laughter was continuous, and those beings more reserved due to the character of their costumes and masks greeted one another with silent, polite bows and gestures.
Jordan had linked arms with Cindy on the way to the ball, ignoring Jared who continued to be obstinate. He had tried to dissuade her from coming. ”Jordan, I don't think this is a good idea. After last night-”
”I'm not going to embarra.s.s you in front of your friends.” ”Jordan, you overreact-”
”Are you worried about me, Jared, or your own appearance?”
Despite the dottore mask he was wearing again, she knew he was scowling. ”Does it matter? If you're going to go running out screaming about blood and monsters and cults- ”.
”Jared, guess what? I won't even be with you at the ball.”
That seemed to disturb him. Poor Cindy was torn, at a loss with Jared's harsh manner, trying to be loyal to him and concerned about Jordan at the same time.
Jordan was sorry about what her argument with Jared was doing to Cindy.
She also wished Jared would jump in a ca.n.a.l.
”You're going to go walking around by yourself? In that costume? You think you were scared last night; you'll have every stray dog in Venice at your heels-”
”Thank you, Jared.”
”Jared, stop it, she looks terrific, and it's a costume party-”
”She might as well have just painted her skin-”
”She can wear it! She looks beautiful, be proud of her!” Cindy insisted.
”Cindy-”
”Jared, we're already on our way,” Cindy said.
”Yes, and you know what, Jared?” Jordan said, not wanting Cindy to have to fight her battle. ”I think I'll move on ahead, and then you won't have to worry about me doing anything gauche or ridiculous-such as claiming that people are being murdered-in front of your friends.”