A Fashion Felon in Rome (7 page)

“Um, yeah,” I fibbed, too embarrassed to tell him I needed a bigger waistband to fit my bloated belly.

“I guess I should get you back to your hotel room.” Massimo drove on as we passed the
Fontana di Trevi
, my favorite landmark in all of Rome.

“Ooh, look how it’s lit up at night! It looks magical! All golden and shimmering,” I marveled as Massimo slowed the car down for me to get a better view.

“Have you thrown any coins into the fountain yet?” He asked.

“No, I haven’t.  But I know about the legend.  If I toss a coin into the fountain, that means I’ll be returning to Rome some day, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Then I’ll have to be sure to throw a coin in before I go back home.  Because I definitely want to come back to this beautiful city,” I breathed,
noticing a pair of children licking monstrous
gelato
cones that dripped onto the cobblestone.

“Yes, make sure you do that,” Massimo said with peculiar formality.

He stayed stubbornly silent for the next few minutes until we arrived at my hotel.  The prospect of returning to my room alone seemed very lonely. 
You’re just missing Richard, that’s all
.  I tried to convince myself.  Richard! I realized with horror that I had forgotten to call him back like I had promised.  Maybe he wasn’t on my mind that much after all…

“Here we are.  Get a good night’s sleep.  We have a lot of work to do tomorrow for the crazy party.” He grinned crookedly before resetting his features in stone.

“I’ll try.  And thank you for dinner.” I resisted the temptation to kiss Massimo on the cheek…or somewhere else. 

My jelly belly and I bounced out of the car and back to the hotel room.  Before I turned out the lights, I checked my cell phone, surprised to see that Richard hadn’t called.  What time was it in New York?  It was after 11 pm in Rome, meaning that it was around quitting time at home.  Knowing Richard, though, he was probably still holed up in his office.  So I set my phone down on the nightstand, vowing to call him as soon as I could the next day.

***

“A party? Really? But what will I wear?” Sophia asked in all her shallow vainglory the next day.  The woman was really starting to grate on my nerves, and I didn’t care anymore whether she chose my design for the Cannes Film Festival.  Did I really just say that? No, scratch that.  I cared very much, but I wanted to get her all stitched and buttoned up in my creation and then run for the hills.

“Massimo and I are calling it a party,” I explained.  “But for the guests who aren’t in the know, it’s a memorial service for Tomaso.”

“Fine, fine, whatever you call it.  But I have nothing to wear.” Sophia pouted like a child as she picked up my sketch pad and flipped through the pages.

“Is that why you asked me to come to the Sheraton today?” I wondered aloud.  A text from Leonard at 8:30 am had woken me from my blissful carb
-induced coma.  The message had been curt, simply stating that Sophia wanted to meet with me personally to discuss something.  I had promptly texted Massimo to tell him to meet me at the Sheraton, but he had yet to arrive.

“Actually, yes it is.  I’m very impressed by your designs, Gianna.  From the first day, I’ve had my eye on you.  It’s really a pity if someone killed Tomaso to eliminate him as competition because I didn’t care for his ideas at all.  Really, you’re the one who’s a threat to the others.  If someone wanted to weed out the competition, they might have done better to kill you.” Sophia’s tone was even more venomous than her shocking words.  Seriously, someone needed to give that woman a movie role before she completely lost her mind. 

“Well, thank you,” I struggled to find appropriate words.  “I’m glad you like my designs.  And I really do think that scarlet mermaid dress would look amazing on you.”

“So do I!” Sophia’s demeanor switched like a faucet to cheerful as she absorbed the compliment. “I am going to wear your dress to the award ceremony, Gianna.  You just have to bring the design to life for me.  But don’t worry, I won’t tell the others.  I wouldn’t want someone to come after you before you even create the dress!” Sophia gurgled with laughter.

My jaw tightened with distress.  The woman had a truly sick sense of humor.  Glancing across the room, I spotted Massimo strolling in, flanked by Tomaso’s parents.  Gratefully, I met them in the center of the ballroom as Sophia noisily trailed me in her pointy Prada heels. 

“You must be Tomaso’s parents!” Sophia exclaimed in Italian as the couple looked at her in confusion, clearly not understanding the language.

Jumping in as our unofficial United Nations interpreter, Massimo translated Sophia’s words as she continued, “Don’t they know who I am?”

“Of course they do,” Massimo assured.  “You’re famous all over Europe.”

“Well they don’t seem very excited to meet me,” she complained as my eyes widened.

Really, her behavior was too grandiose even for a woman who had spent more than half her life in the spotlight.  Revisiting the possibility that she could be the murderer, I thought of how icily and insensitively she had spoken to me.  Someone with such a cavalier attitude about life could easily be the instigator of premature death.

“If you don’t mind, we are going to steal Gianna away for a few hours.  We have a lot of planning to do,” Massimo said politely as Sophia’s eyes flamed.

“Well, I suppose that will be fine,” she said frostily.

“The party is tomorrow,” Massimo announced.  “Be there at 7 in the evening.  The pier where…the tragedy occurred,” he said gently. 

“Yes, I will be there.  I wouldn’t miss it,” Sophia
promised, her glacial voice awakening a chill in every cell of my body.

Chapter 8

Dressed from head to toe in mourning black, Tomaso’s parents contrasted sharply with the turquoise waters and brilliant sky.  Together, they gazed up at that radiant sky, perhaps sending love to their lost son.  I breathed shakily, feeling like a fraud as I set up bottles of Limoncello and Pellegrino on a buffet table.  Expressionlessly, Massimo unloaded a box of plates and flatware.

“Did you see Tomaso’s parents?” I asked sadly.

“Yes, but I’d rather not think about it,” he answered roughly. 

“I really hope something comes out of this big charade,” I sighed as Massimo nodded curtly but made no reply. 

A brief moment of peace was shattered by Sophia’s sweeping entrance alongside Leonard who followed her like a puppy as he always seemed to do.  I wondered if Leonard had ever had an affair with Sophia.  He wore no wedding band, so perhaps intimate romps were on the menu.  Waving to Sophia and Leonard, I returned to the task of setting up the “party.”

“Where is everyone?” Sophia demanded.

“It’s only 5:30.  The party starts at 7,” Massimo replied darkly.

“But I thought there would at least be a pre-party!” Sophia
exclaimed.

“This isn’t the Oscars.  There’s no pre-party.  And there will be no after-party.  Unless of course Tomaso’s murderer reveals himself tonight.  Then I’ll be celebrating like it’s New Year’s Eve,” Massimo said, but he didn’t sound very optimistic.

Rebuffed, Sophia declared, “Then I’ll go for a spin in one of the speed boats until the party gets started.  Or perhaps I could rent a yacht.  Leonard, could you see about renting me a yacht for an hour or so?”

“I think yacht rentals are by the day, Sophia.  I don’t think you can rent one for just an hour.”

Sophia regarded her assistant defiantly as if to say, ‘I’m Sophia Pucci and I can do anything I want!’ “Leonard, don’t be a fool.  Go get me a yacht.  The paparazzi will have a ball filming me and publishing the pictures in the tabloids.”

“The paparazzi?” I questioned.  “That’s funny.  I haven’t noticed any photographers around.”

“That’s because they hide in the bushes!” Sophia hissed.  “They only come out from hibernation when there’s a good photo op that they can sink their claws into.”

Or maybe the paparazzi aren’t here at all except in your imagination.
Maybe you’re such a washed up, delusional fool that you think the world is watching you when really everyone is looking away.

“Oh, okay,” I shrugged.  “Well enjoy your yacht ride.  It’s a beautiful
evening to be on the water.” I had to be civil towards the shrew if I wanted her to follow through and wear my design to Cannes.  But I wasn’t going to grovel to her.  Not on her fancy schmancy life.

None too discreetly, Massimo rolled his eyes as Sophia and her loyal dog walked off the pier.  “I’ll be really happy when this case is over.” He massaged his temples in a circular motion.

“She seems to be getting worse and worse,” I pointed out.

“That’s because the attention has shifted away from her.  She can’t stand it.  Attention and approbation are like food and water to her
.” Massimo rolled his eyes again as I grinned.

“That’s sad but true,” I sighed. 

An hour later, the guests started to filter in as Sophia waved theatrically to everyone from her yacht. Tomaso’s parents seemed disgusted as they watched her attention-begging sail.  With drooping shoulders, they walked over to my station near the buffet, looking at the tempting array of appetizers and grimacing.  Compassion pulsed through me as I knew they were too distraught to eat even one bite.  I poured each of them a glass of sparkling mineral water, which they accepted with a simultaneous “
gracias
.”

Massimo didn’t stay in one place for more than a minute, sleekly combing through the growing crowd and presumably eavesdropping on every nugget of conversation.  Leaving my station at the buffet, I drifted over to the bar, sensing that more details would emerge over alcoholic beverages than over plates of olives and cheese. 

“Are you playing bartender tonight?” Denise asked pertly, pointing to a bottle of Pinot Grigio and gesturing for me to pour her a glass.

“I guess you could say that,” I replied neutrally, handing her a glass of the chilled white wine.

“This is the weirdest memorial service I’ve ever been to,” she said scornfully, touching her lips to the rim of the glass.

“Well, this is how Tomaso’s parents wanted it.  They didn’t want it to be all
gloomy and depressing. They wanted it to be a celebration of his life.” The lie poured out of my lips as smoothly as the Pinot Grigio had cascaded out of the bottle.  Maybe Massimo was right.  Maybe I wouldn’t make such a bad detective after all.  Hmmmm…

“It’s still bizarre to me,” Denise insisted, glancing up.  “Oh hey, look, there’s Evelyn.”

Cloaked in a black wraparound knit sweater, Evelyn looked somber as she approached us at the bar.  “Hi ladies,” she said in a voice scarcely stronger than a whisper.

“Are you okay?” Denise inquired softly.

“Not really.  This is so sad.  I don’t even want to be here.”

“Then why did you come?” Denise asked.

Evelyn’s frowned deeply.  “To pay tribute to Tomaso. Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

“Maybe not all of us…” Denise pointed to Sophia whose yacht was docking at the shore.  Laughing and flailing around like an insane ragdoll, she looked
as though she had already paid several trips to the bar.

“She’s so inappropriate,” Evelyn shuddered.  “I don’t even want her to pick my dress anymore.  And if she did pick my dress, I might not even let her wear it.  I have integrity.”

I peered at Evelyn quizzically, wondering where her sudden rush of emotion and conscience was coming from.  I no longer suspected that Denise had been involved with Tomaso, but it seemed increasingly likely that Evelyn had.  Her emotions were raw; this was no pitch-perfect performance like the ones Sophia had been staging.

“Why are you all dressed in black, Evelyn?” Leonard asked coldly.  “Are you in mourning?”

Ignoring his question, Evelyn walked away from the bar, heading towards the water with her head bowed.
That was strange.  Why does Leonard care what Evelyn is wearing?
No one else seemed to notice the odd exchange as Sophia clapped her hands together like a seal would slap its flippers as she spotted a bottle of Prosecco, the Italian version of champagne.

“Pour me a big glass, barkeep,” she squealed as I obediently filled a flute with the bubbly liquid.

“Mmmmm, so divine,” she crowed, gulping rather than sipping the effervescent wine.

Abandoning the bar and the guffawing disgrace known as Sophia Pucci, I went in search of Massimo.  He needed to hear about the inexplicable incident that had just transpired.  Evelyn’s cold shoulder towards Leonard had been so subtle that I doubted anyone else had noticed. 

“Massimo!” I called urgently, interrupting his conversation with one of the yacht captains.

“Excuse me, please,” Massimo said to the captain while taking my arm.  “What’s going on? Did you hear anything suspicious?” He led me down a long pier where we could talk privately.

“Yes, I heard Leonard ask Evelyn why she’s wearing black.  He made some sarcastic comment about her being in mourning.  It just seemed really strange for him to care what she’s wearing.”