Part 21 (1/2)
But the wolf was there again. Silver, huge, it sat a few feet away, much closer than it had been before. Steven, she saw, was beyond the window, walking in the fog.
The wolf was at the foot of the bed.
Steven kept coming. The wolf growled. She saw the great canine teeth.
”I've missed you so much,” Steven said.
She had to explain the wolf. ”The waiter really a.s.sured me. No wolves. I think it's just a malamute, Steven, see the eyes?”
The fog was rising all around her, swirling around the foot of the bed. There shouldn't be fog in the room. It had to be the maid's fault; she had left the window open.
”Jordan . ..”
It was Steven, calling her name.
”I miss you, too, so much, Steven.” Guilt a.s.sailed her. She did miss him. He had been everything good in a man. A cop. He'd cared for victims; he'd wanted reforms; he done everything, given the final sacrifice of his life.
I miss you, but I'm dying to go to bed with another man now, Steven, she thought.
She didn't say the words aloud, but it was a dream. Could he read her mind in a dream?
Was she speaking anyway? Even in the dream, she knew that a psychiatrist would have a heyday with her. This was all perfectly understandable. She'd been in love, deeply in love, engaged. She shouldn't forget so quickly. A year. Steven was dead, and she was not.
There was an explanation, yes, surely . . .
”I miss you, Steven!” she repeated.
”Love me more than the wolf!” he called to her.
”I do love you!”
”Bring me back in your mind, Jordan.”
”You're always in my mind.”
The wolf growled again.
The fog rose over the bed.
She awoke with a start.
Though the shutters were closed, little shafts of light streaked into the room. She could see the motes dancing in the air.
There was no fog in her room.
And there was no wolf.
And no sign of Steven, naturally.
Morning had come and dreams had broken.
CHAPTER 9.
She awoke very late.
Despite the hour, Jordan went upstairs to the rooftop restaurant, desperately in search of coffee. One of the waiters, a pleasant man she was coming to know, greeted her with a smile, and the much needed cup of coffee.
”Buon giomo, Signorina Riley,” he told her. ”It's not morning, but then ... it is Carnevale. I can get you eggs, if you wish.”
”The coffee is wonderful, thank you so much. If it's already lunch-”
”An omelette. Formaggio, eh?”
”That would be lovely, thank you. Have you seen my cousin or his wife?”
”Signora Riley left not long ago.”
”Thank you so much. Oh ... by the way, have you seen a very tall man, light haired?”
”No, signorina, I haven't.”
”Well, thank you.” At the next table, a woman was finis.h.i.+ng a bowl of soup; her companion was reading an Italian paper.
”Even here in Venice,” the man said in English.
”What is it, dear?” the woman asked.
”A head-a severed head was found in a ca.n.a.l.”
”My G.o.d, how awful!” the woman said. Then she added ”Just the head? No body?”
”Not yet-but I a.s.sume you've got to have a body to have a head.”
”Yes, of course.”
Jordan found herself rising, approaching the couple. ”Excuse me, I'm sorry for being so rude. Did you say that a head had been found?”
The man lowered his paper, looking at her over the top. ”Yes, I'm sorry to say. But you shouldn't worry. It was found far from here. This is a wonderfully safe city, young lady.
It's likely that this was a personal vendetta.”
”Oh? Did the man have enemies?”
The man cleared his throat. ”Well, actually, right now, the man is an unidentified head.
The authorities are trying to make an identification, checking missing persons reports and all. Here, would you like the paper?”