Meet Me in Venice (31 page)

“I’m sorry I got you all into this,” she said wearily. “It was my fault and I accept responsibility.” She took her phone from her pocket. “I’ll call the police and tell them everything.”

Sam grabbed her arm. “Oh no you don’t. You’ll take Mimi and Grizelda and go back to the hotel. I’ll take care of the police.”

Preshy recalled him saying he couldn’t afford to be connected to another murder mystery, but now he was going to take full responsibility for dealing with the police. She could just see the headlines:
“Murder suspect involved in another death.”

“I can’t let you do that,” she said.

“You have no choice. And for once, Rafferty, you’ll do as you are told.”

“But what about your arm?” Grizelda asked, worried.

“I’m glad to say Uncle Oscar was right about you. I’ve seen more blood from a nosebleed. Now, go. All of you. I’ll see you in a little while. And remember, this was an accident. You know nothing. You were never here. No one will even ask you of course, because your names won’t be mentioned. But just stay cool. Okay?”

The three women drifted slowly back toward Piazza San Marco where they caught the Cipriani launch. Up in Grizelda’s suite they ordered coffee and a selection of little sweet cakes because, Mimi said, they needed a sugar fix after what they’d been through. Then Preshy told them exactly what had happened with Bennett, about how he was the one who had tried to run Aunt G off the road, and what he’d said to her.

“I felt so . . . worthless,” she said tearfully. “I was just another scrap of useless DNA was what he said. Which, if he’d killed me, was all I would have ended up as.”

“It’s men like Bennett who are worthless,” Mimi said fiercely. “He’s never cared for anyone in his life, except himself.”

“And just look where it got him.” Grizelda went to sit next to Preshy. She put her arms around her and said,
“Chérie,
you cannot possibly believe what that dreadful man said. Every word was intended to hurt you. He was throwing verbal spears at you, bringing you down so he could manipulate you. I’m glad he’s dead, Preshy. And you know what? I wouldn’t even have cared if I
had
shot him. Maître Deschamps would have defended me. A
crime passionné,
he would have called it and I’m sure he would have gotten me a couple of years in one of the prettier jails. I would willingly have taken the rap for you, my little girl.”

“But now Sam’s doing it instead,” Mimi said.

And so they ordered some more coffee and more of the little sweet cakes. “After all that’s happened, I think we need a change,” Grizelda said thoughtfully to Mimi. “A world cruise, perhaps?”

“We’ll have to go shopping,” Mimi said. “And just think of all the good things we can buy at bargain prices in China.”

“Mimi!” Grizelda glared at her.

“Oh, well, perhaps we’ll skip China,” Mimi said hastily. “They say Japan is the best for pearls, though.”

Mimi always put her foot in her mouth, Grizelda thought resignedly.

I
T
was dawn when Sam finally left the
polizia
after making his report. He’d told them he’d seen a man fall into the canal near the Palazzo Rendino. He believed his name was Bennett Yuan or Bennett James. The police questioned him, inspected his passport, asked his occupation and what he was doing there and where he was staying.

“I’m with the Countess von Hoffenberg at the Cipriani,” he said. “I was on my way to the ball at the Palazzo when I saw this happen. Of course I ran to see if I could help, but it was too late. There was no sign of him.”

It was all true, Bennett had died in an accident of his own making, he thought wearily, as he made his way back through the party-littered alleys, past tired couples still in their fancy dress,
past the band packing up their instruments in Piazza San Marco; then into the launch to the hotel, floating over the canal that had claimed Bennett James Yuan’s life in a final justice that his wife’s Chinese family might find fitting. The evil Dragon River Gods had claimed him and made him their own. And neither Sam nor Rafferty, nor the Aunts had any responsibility toward him.

Back at the hotel the three women were sitting in a row on the sofa, coffee cups clutched in their hands, eyes wide and alert, waiting for him, when Sam walked in the door.

“Well?” Grizelda spoke for them all.

“It’s okay. Everything’s worked out. The cop said his wouldn’t be the only body fished from the canal this morning. People get drunk, they fight, it happens at Carnevale.”

Mimi poured him some coffee and he sipped it gratefully. He felt empty inside, drained. Rafferty could have been killed and it would have been his fault for leaving her all alone. Just the way he had with Leilani. Suddenly near rock bottom with emotion and fatigue, he slumped into a chair.

As he drank his coffee, he told them everything that had been said at the
polizia,
and that they were free to leave.

“But what will happen to Bennett?” Preshy asked in a small voice. She couldn’t help it, she had to know.

“When they find him, then they will identify him. They’ll ship him back to Shanghai, I guess.” He shrugged. “It’s no longer our problem.”

Preshy felt the weight lift from her heart. She was about ten pounds lighter, a bit like when she’d had all her hair cut off.

“Let’s go back to Paris,” she said wearily. “I need to
go
home.”

•   •   •

BENNETT’S BODY WAS FOUND THE
next morning and identified through his passport and immigration. He was traveling as Bennett Yuan and the Chinese consul informed the Yuan family of his death. After the autopsy, his body was to be returned to the Yuans in Shanghai.

Ironically, Bennett would be buried like the rich man he’d always wanted to be in life.

SHANGHAI

M
ARY - LOU
heard the news about Bennett when she bumped into the girl from the health club.

“Tragic,” the girl said, eyes brimming, “and him so handsome, so charming. Why do bad things always seem to happen to the good people?” she asked sorrowfully.

“Why indeed,” Mary-Lou said calmly, though inside she was trembling.

Of course Bennett Yuan’s death was reported in the media, but unlike his wife’s, it was played down, as was his burial. Mary-Lou felt nothing. Only relief. She wondered what had happened to the necklace but remembering it was the cause of all her troubles, decided she didn’t want to know.

She had her own life now, running Lily’s antiques business. No
one else had come forward to claim it, so she had simply taken over, and since Lily’s death she had lived alone in the pretty little house where once she had plotted her friend’s downfall.

If Mary-Lou had a conscience she would have considered it clear. She had stolen a few dollars here and there—so what? She had not killed anyone, had she? And now she was dating someone Lily had known, a Swiss guy who acted as an agent for rich art collectors. If only she had the necklace now she would have had it made.

VENICE

P
RESHY
sipped a brandy, trying to pull herself together. She still felt pretty shaky. It had all happened so fast, she was only now beginning to recall in detail the sheer horror of being trapped by Bennett, knowing he intended to kill her. The only good thing to come out of it was that she had not fallen all over again for his fascinating blue eyes and his honeyed words of love. She had stood up to him, told him she didn’t want to hear it. What she had wanted was the truth, and thank God that was what she had gotten. It had shocked her to her senses, and Bennett had gotten the end he deserved. An end for which only he was responsible. And Sam, dear Sam, whom she had so unjustly suspected of being involved, had been her hero. He, and the Aunts, had saved her life.

Her eyes met his over the rim of the glass and she gave him a smile. His answering smile was filled with tenderness.

And then the phone rang. And the moment was lost.

Sam answered it. He said very little, asked no questions. When he put down the receiver he turned to them.

His eyes met hers again. “That was my agent, calling from New York,” he said in a dead calm voice that made Preshy uneasy. “He told me a red jacket was found on the rocks near the beach house. The police believe it was my wife’s. They want me back there. I gather it’s a question of my going voluntarily, or they will take me in for questioning.”

Preshy heard gasps from the Aunts. “What will you do?” she asked, shocked.

“I’ll go of course. I know the jacket. It
was
Leilani’s, but it was heavy and why she would have been wearing it on a warm summer night, I don’t know.”

Preshy didn’t hesitate. “I’ll go with you.” She heard the Aunts gasp again.

“No you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you involved. Besides, you’ve been through enough.”

“I
am
involved,” she said fiercely. “I’m involved with
you,
Sam Knight. You just saved my life. Do you really expect me to walk away when you’re in trouble?”

“Hey”—he shrugged—“no obligation.”

“I’m coming, and that’s that,” she said finally.

“Quite right,” Aunt G chimed in.

“We would come too, for support,” Mimi added, “but you’re probably happy with just Preshy.”

Sam shook his head, smiling as he thanked them. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Alone,” he added, looking at Preshy.

“She’s coming with you,” Aunt G said briskly. “Go now, right away. Get it over with. I’ll have a plane waiting for you at Marco Polo.”

He tried to protest but she refused to listen. “And Sam,” she said, as they left. “Our hearts go with you.”

SAM WAS VERY QUIET ON
the plane flying back to his home. His eyes were closed and Preshy hoped he was sleeping. He looked exhausted. Drained, in fact, like a man who had reached the end of his rope. He was no longer drinking. Those days of Dutch courage were over.

OUTER BANKS

T
HEY
finally touched down at the small local airport. From there Sam went straight to the police station, while Preshy checked into a motel. She would be there for him when he needed her.

She lay on the bed, watching CNN, and watching the clock tick the minutes past, thinking about Sam and how they had met quite by chance, and how their lives now seemed to be so inextricably entangled.

Closing her eyes, she saw his narrow lined face, his caring brown eyes behind the retro glasses, his tall lean body, comfortable in jeans and the old leather jacket, now with the rip in it from Aunt G’s wayward bullet. Sam was not the kind of man who would ever let a woman down, and that was why she knew
without a shadow of doubt that he would have protected his gentle Leilani with his life. Just the way he had protected her.

The phone rang. “I’m coming to get you,” Sam said, sounding weary. “We’ll pick up some food, go to the beach house. If that’s okay with you?”

Preshy said it was and went outside to wait for him. When the black Mustang rental pulled up beside her, she hopped in and took a quick look at his face. It was grim.

“How was it?” she asked.

“Okay.” He shrugged. They drove a couple of blocks in silence, then he pulled up at a convenience store and they went in and bought bread, butter, milk, coffee, and a couple of cans of gumbo.

The drive along the coast road was wild and windy, with the ocean surging and foaming, advancing and retreating in the beginning of a winter storm. They turned off down a sandy lane that led between the rows of tamarisk trees Sam had planted ten years ago, to the simple gray-shingled house with its wraparound porch and its wide-open view across the dunes to the sea.

Sam’s shoulders sagged. Different emotions played over his face: pleasure, relief, despair. He straightened up and looked at her.

“Welcome to my home,” he said quietly. And then he took her hand and they walked together, up the wooden stairway into his house.

Inside was simply one big room with a massive stone fireplace in the center, and walls lined with large somber paintings, done, Preshy guessed, by Leilani.

But when Sam opened the electric steel shutters that protected the house from hurricanes and winter storms, it was instantly filled with a magical clear gray light that felt, she thought, the way the first dawn must have. So translucent and pearly, so clean and clear; it was like being on the prow of a great ship in the middle of the ocean.

“No wonder you love it,” she said. “It’s breathtaking.”

“Then come on outside and really breathe,” he said. And they went and stood on the deck, inhaling the cold crisp salty air, hearing the wind tearing through the trees and the surge of the great ocean.

“Yet just down the beach there’s the river and the calm backwaters and the marshes,” Sam told her. “There’s the reeds where the ducks nest and the mangroves with their gnarled roots dug deep in the mud, and dripping with Spanish moss like cobwebs on Halloween. And in summer it’s a different world, sun-filled, with white-sailed little boats skidding across the horizon, and an entirely different light, more golden and blue.”

“I’ll bet it’s humid,” Preshy said, thinking of her hair, and succeeding in making him laugh. That was better she thought. At least he could laugh even though he’d just spent a couple of hours with the cops answering questions about his wife’s disappearance. She still didn’t ask him what had happened though. She knew if he wanted, he would tell her.

While Sam built a fire she heated up the gumbo and sawed uneven chunks off the loaf of bread. He brought out a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“The Carolina red?” she asked, tasting it suspiciously.

“So?” he replied, one brow raised in a question.

“Well, it’s no Bordeaux,” she said, and then she laughed. “But it’s pretty darn good, especially on a cold windy afternoon after a long and grueling journey.”

“And a grueling questioning,” he said wearily, sitting next to her at the white-tiled kitchen counter.