Part 21 (2/2)
She shook her head, thanking him. ”I'm afraid the amount of Italian I can read wouldn't give me much of the story.”
”Well, as I said, it's not something you should worry about. Honestly. My wife, Alyssa-” He inclined his head toward his wife, and Jordan smiled at the attractive, silver- haired woman in acknowledgment, ”-we've been coming here for nearly twenty years, every Carnevale. These are the most wonderful people in the world.”
”Harold, the poor girl is white as a sheet. You shouldn't have been reading so loudly,”
Alyssa said.
”No, no, it's all right. I shouldn't have been eavesdropping. Um, does it say anything about how long the head might have been in the water?”
Harold shook his head. ”I don't believe they know as yet. Unfortunately, when a head is in the sea ...” He hesitated, clearing his throat. ”Well, fish chew at it, you know.”
”Harold! We're at lunch!” Alyssa admonished. ”And this poor dear hasn't even been served yet.”
”No, no, it's all right I'm a pretty hardy soul,” Jordan said. ”I'm Jordan Riley, by the way.”
”Alyssa and Harold At.w.a.ter,” Alyssa said, extending a hand. ”A pleasure. Where are you from?”
”Charleston, South Carolina.”
”A fellow Southerner,” Harold said, as if he had decided beforehand that there was something about her of which he approved.
”We're from Texas,” Alyssa said.
”Oh, look, there's that tall fellow I told you about the other day!” Alyssa said to her husband. She grinned at Jordan. ”I think he must be a European film star.”
”Rocker, probably-look at that hair,” Harold said.
”Rich rocker, Harold, look at the cut of his clothes,” Alyssa rolled her eyes at Jordan. Jordan turned, already aware that it had to be Ragnor Wulfsson coming into the restaurant. He carried a paper; his eyes were s.h.i.+elded behind very dark gla.s.ses. He was wearing black jeans, a tailored s.h.i.+rt, and a fitted black leather jacket, blond hair queued at his nape.
Jordan stiffened slightly and offered Alyssa a return smile.
”Antiques dealer,” she told her.
”Oh, you know him!” Alyssa said, flus.h.i.+ng. ”We didn't mean anything ... he's rather hard to miss, that's all.”
”I agree,” she said pleasantly, adding a soft, ”I don't know him all that well.”
”Big fellow,” Harold said. ”German?”
”Norwegian.”
”He could be a bouncer. Or a tough guy.”
”Oh, Harold!” Alyssa said softly, noting that Ragnor had seen them and was coming their way. ”Don't be ridiculous! There is no such thing as a Norwegian mafia!”
”And this is Italy! Hush up about the mafia!” Harold warned.
”Good morning,” Ragnor said, reaching the table. He nodded to Harold and Alyssa, and looked at Jordan. ”You've just arrived.”
”A few minutes ago. Ragnor, Harold and Alyssa At.w.a.ter. From Texas. Mr. and Mrs.
At.w.a.ter, Ragnor Wulfsson-from Norway.”
”Originally,” Ragnor said, shaking Harold's hand, and inclining his head politely to Alyssa. ”A pleasure to meet you. You must be familiar with Italy, Mr. At.w.a.ter; I see that you're reading an Italian paper.”
”Oh, yes. I was in the service, stationed in Italy,” he said. ”Grisly thing, this, have you seen the headlines? Oh, do you read Italian?”
Ragnor arched a brow, accepting the paper. ”Yes, I read Italian,” he murmured.
”I tell you, Harold, the Europeans have it all over us! He's Norwegian, his English is perfect, and he reads Italian as well!”
”You speak Spanish nicely.” Harold absently complimented his wife.
”Norwegian, Italian, English ... and I'm sure Mr. Wulfsson speaks one or two other languages,” Alyssa said.
Ragnor looked up from the paper long enough to offer her a smile. ”A few,” he agreed, and gave his attention back to the paper.
”There has been a severed head discovered in one of the ca.n.a.ls,” Jordan said.
”Yes, I see that.”
Alyssa gasped suddenly. ”Jordan Riley! Why, you're the young lady who thought she was in the midst of ma.s.s murder at the contessa's party the other night.”
Jordan felt her flesh warming uncomfortably. ”Yes. Were you at the party?”
”I'm afraid we were.”
”And you saw nothing ...”
”We weren't in the upstairs ballroom, dear,” Alyssa said. ”Poor girl! No wonder Harold's words were so disturbing, and this story... but honestly, you mustn't worry. I mean-lord knows! This head might have floated over from Greece or Albania or... well, somewhere.” ”I don't think a head would have made it quite that far,” Harold said.
As he spoke, the waiter arrived with Jordan's omelette. It was decorated with greens and tomatoes. The plate was attractively arranged. But the eggs ...
”Oh!” Alyssa murmured, appearing a little ashen. ”Will you gentlemen please put that paper away!”
”Is everything all right?” the waiter asked anxiously. ”Mr. Wulfsson, may I bring you coffee? Will you be joining Miss Riley?”
”Yes, thank you,” Ragnor said.
Alyssa rose. ”Go eat your omelette, while it's hot,” she suggested to Jordan, glancing at the plate on the table as if it were the severed head itself. She shuddered. ”Lovely to meet you. Harold, we have to leave.”
”No we don't-”
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