Pasta Imperfect (19 page)

“It is! But you didn’t know that yesterday! Why didn’t you warn her?”

She stared me in the eye, her gum fattening her cheek like a giant matzo ball. “You unpublished people don’t have a clue about the business. It’s cutthroat. Dog eat dog. If Jeannette got a rash and was too miserable to finish her proposal, that’s one less person I’d have to compete with. Get it?”

“But you have a business where you help people with their writing! How can you help them with one hand and stab them in the back with the other?”

Keely smiled. “M-O-N-E-Y! Prepublished writers will pay
anything
to have someone help them get into print. I’m not stupid. I know how to make a buck off the system.”

“How much did you make off Cassandra when you critiqued her writing?”

Keely gave her elbow a vigorous scratch before eyeing me curiously. She snapped her gum with a loud, juicy crack. “How did you know about Cassandra? My client list is confidential.”

I shot her a steely look. “I have my sources. Tour escorts have access to a great deal of information.”

Keely fanned her fingers through her hair. “Well, you know something? I don’t like it that you know so much. And I
really
don’t like it that you’re sniffing around me like you think I had something to do with the deaths of those two women. So how about you go do what escorts are supposed to do and leave me alone.”

“No problem.” I’d let her know I had my eye on her. I guess that’s all I could do at the moment. “Are you going into the cathedral?”

She waved off the suggestion. “I’ve seen churches before. I don’t see what the big deal is.” She capped off her statement by working her gum to the front of her mouth and beginning to blow.

Okay. I didn’t need any instant replays. I headed across the terrace, but had only taken a half dozen steps when I heard an angry, “UHH!” behind me. Pausing, I glanced over my shoulder to find Keely grabbing a fistful of her long red hair and whining pathetically as she regarded the bubble - gum - coated strands. “UHH!” she grunted again, stomping her foot.

I guess her bubble had burst. Literally. Always disappointing when that happens. I brandished my camera in the air at her. “You want me to get a picture of that?” I asked helpfully.

I guessed her scowl meant no.

The morning was so wonderfully warm and sunny, I couldn’t face the coolness of a dark cathedral right away, so I followed the path around the outside of the structure, realizing for the first time that the cathedral was built in the shape of a Roman cross, with a huge dome popping up from the transept. Another dome. God, I hoped no one tried to climb it. I stopped to snap some pictures of the intricate geometric patterns and spiky niches carved into the cathedral’s facade and realized these were the same arches and columns and curlicues used in the design of the bell tower and the circular building west of the cathedral. I loved all the replication in the building designs. It was so well coordinated. Kind of like having your belt, shoes, and pocketbook all match.

I rounded the corner at the rear of the church, mulling over my conversation with Etienne and thinking about patterns, because I saw the makings of a definite pattern hidden within the information he’d given me. And it all boiled down to one thing.

“Emily!” I glanced straight ahead to see Fred barreling toward me in an outright panic. Sweat beaded his brow. Alarm strained his voice. “Where
is
everyone? Do you know? They’ve disappeared. How could they disappear on me like that?”

I recalled my episode at St. Peter’s and smiled. Déjà vu all over again. I pointed to the cathedral. “They’re getting the grand tour. Take a deep breath and calm down. No one left you behind.”

“Geesch, I went to the men’s room and when I got out, I couldn’t find the group anyplace.” He mopped his forehead with his sleeve, looking slightly less frantic now. “Gave me a scare.”

His hat was hanging by its chin strap around his neck, which looked kind of dangerous to me. If he accidentally caught it in one of these five - hundred - pound cathedral doors, he’d choke to death. “How come you’re not hanging with Brandy Ann and Amanda today?”

His eyeballs quivered in their sockets. He fiddled with his chin strap. “You know how it goes. Three’s a crowd.”

Now this was interesting. He’d turned pale at the mention of security cameras on top of the Duomo and was looking
really
uncomfortable at the mention of Brandy Ann and Amanda. Hmmm. “I’m going to pop into the cathedral to catch what I can of the tour. You want to join me?”

He hesitated. “You go on without me. As long as I know where everyone is, I’d just as soon wait out here. I don’t want to bother anyone.”

I guess this is what could be referred to as withdrawing back into your shell. But what had prompted it? “Hey, Fred, did the police stop you for questioning yesterday?”

He inched back a step. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondering. They apparently questioned a lot of people. Were you able to help them at all?”

“I didn’t see anything! How many times do I have to repeat myself? I saw nothing. Now leave me alone, would you?” Looking fitful and anxious, he headed off in the opposite direction.

I had such a knack for getting people to open up to me.

The center door of the cathedral swung open, and in the next moment I saw familiar faces start to exit the building. Quick tour. I shot a couple of photos of the mosaics over the doorways and the four tiers of arched colonnades that climbed to the roofline, then found Nana in the crowd, talking to the twins.

“Was that the abridged tour?” I asked them.

“Well, would you lookit you?” Nana chirped, circling around me to get the full view of my hair. “I seen you when you got on the bus, but I couldn’t believe my eyes. I like it, dear. I really do.” She patted the ragged strands and intermittent bald spots on her own head of professionally cut hair. “Kinda reminds me a my own hair…now that I got the good cut.”

I hung my head. Oh, God.

Britha, still attired in my cigarette pants and body suit, nodded toward the cathedral. “We would have had a longer tour, but there was a funeral going on, so we just got the highlights. The fancy pulpit. The big mosaic in the apse. The crooked chandelier.”

Barbro chimed in. “And an altar on two angels’ backs. Tell it all, Brit. Don’t be lax.”

“You follow me now,” we heard Giovanna call out. “I show you someting around duh corner of duh catedral.”

“Where’d you leave George?” I asked, as we moved en masse with the group.

“Him and Osmond needed to use the potty, so they had to duck out early.” Nana looked up at the church, beaming with excitement. “Your mother’s gonna be sorry she missed seein’ all this, Emily. There’s no way you coulda talked her into comin’, hunh?”

“Nope. A whole bunch of new entries were in the box this morning, so she decided she needed to stay behind to read them so she could pass them on to Gabriel and Sylvia later this evening. I guess they speed-read, so they don’t need as much time as Mom. Good thing they’re going to announce the winner tomorrow night. If they extended the contest any longer, Mom’s photo album of Italy would consist of interior shots of hotel rooms.”

“That reminds me.” Nana tapped Britha’s shoulder. “Can I show Emily?”

Britha handed over her camera to Nana, who pressed a couple of buttons and flashed me a picture of her and George standing in front of the tower. “Isn’t this somethin’? That’s exactly what the picture’s gonna look like and after it’s downloaded, they can erase it and use the film over again. It’s digital. You think I could use somethin’ like this, Emily?”

We came to a halt at some nondescript point along the side of the cathedral and gathered around Giovanna, who stood next to the building with her hand on the facade. “I give you all a chance to see, but what I show you is duh liyttle holes in the stone here. You all step close now so you can see.”

“I thought you said digital cameras were too expensive,” I whispered as I took the camera from Nana.

“They are,” she whispered back. “But this one’s got all sorts a fancy gizmos on it. I can’t help it. I love them gizmos.”

I glanced at the photo displayed on the viewer. Aw. The Leaning Tower of Pisa with a miniature Nana and George standing in front of it.

“Press that button to see the next one,” she instructed me.

I pressed the button to find a close-up of a smiling Nana and George in front of some crooked colonnades.

I looked more carefully.

EHH!

Giovanna ran her finger down the cathedral wall. “If you try to count duh liyttle holes, you won’t be able to, because duh number never comes out duh same way twice. It’s because of duh day-vil.”

I angled the camera toward Nana. “What happened to George? WHERE’S HIS FRONT TOOTH?”

“Duh day-vil plays with duh liyttle holes,” Giovanna continued. “He changes duh number and moves dem around. You can try to count, but duh day-vil, he won’t let you.”

“What’s a day-vil?” asked Nana.

“Devil,” I fired back. “Where’s George’s tooth?”

“He’s keepin’ it in the front pocket a his trousers. But it’s not a real tooth, dear. It’s only a cap.”

“Why isn’t it in his mouth?”

“It got knocked out,” she said sheepishly. “Accidentally.”

Oh, Lord. “You want to tell me how?”

“It was on account a my knee.”

I leveled quizzical eyes on her. “Your knee?”

She motioned me close and whispered in my ear, “I got to play the barbarian last night…but I got carried away some. I think it was the leather boxers that done it.”

Oh, God. Good thing leather hadn’t been popular in Brainerd. Grampa Sippel might have had to file for permanent disability at a very young age.

“Duh cloister behind you is Pisa’s main ceymetery,” Giovanna remarked, indicating the massive rectangular building north of the cathedral. “It was built between duh tirteent and fifteent ceynturies and eart’ from duh Holy Land was brought back to bury duh bodies of prominent people.”

Nana tugged on my arm. “What’s eart’?”

“I think she means earth.”

“Maybe she should try sayin’ soil.”

While Giovanna continued to talk, I punched the button on Britha’s camera to catch a peek of what other pictures the twins had taken. Euw. Very nice artsy composition. A statue of a naked man with a beard, bulging muscles, and an extremely large…Yup. I punched the button again. A statue of a beardless naked man with big hands, big feet, and a
really
big…Unh. Next photo. A statue of
two
naked men with beards, killer physiques, and appendages the size of — I studied the display more carefully. Wow. I wondered if either of these guys was related to Etienne.

“I take you now to duh baptistry,” Giovanna announced, working her way back to the head of the group.

I kept punching the display button. Oh, look at that. A picture of the Stolees, Teigs, and Lucille in front of the hotel in all their Florentine finery. Alice and Osmond at an outdoor café, showing off their camcorders. Duncan standing outside the Duomo. The rooftops of Florence. The picture I’d taken of the twins on the gallery. Boy, it had come out really well. And the close-up. Even better. You could see every feature on their faces with perfect clarity. This camera was really good…and I nearly dropped it when someone whacked me in the arm with a handbag an instant later.

“Eh!” I bobbled the camera, catching it in the crook of my arm at the last minute.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Gillian Jones apologized, thwacking me again when I turned around. Looking abashed, she clamped her hands around her shoulder bag like a pet owner controlling a frisky pup. “I’m sorry, Emily. I bought this new, and it’s quite a bit bigger than my usual pocketbook, so I’m a little out of control. But I couldn’t resist. It’s one of a kind. Isn’t it beautiful?”

I eyed the bag. Triangular. Purple leather. Euw boy. It was beautiful all right. It was also exactly like the one Marla Michaels was carrying. I guess the divas hadn’t yet run into each other this morning. “Yeah, that’s a great-looking bag,” I agreed.

“Damson leather,” said Gillian. “It’s so scrumptious. You can’t find leather like this back in the States.”

Nope. Not unless you were living in the same town as Marla Michaels.

“And I found the most gorgeous leather jacket in a little shop by the San Lorenzo street market. For a hundred and fifty dollars! What a steal. They had to shorten the sleeves, but they did it in an hour. Can you imagine?”

I regarded her hair, thinking it looked the same as it had yesterday. She must have discovered a shop where they’d eliminated the blowtorch demonstration.

“Duh baptistry was completed in twelve eighty-four and is duh largest in all Italy,” Giovanna called out, before we started our march across the field. “Duh circular shape was inspired by duh Church of duh Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem and dee acoustics are beytter dan some of duh finest opera houses in Europe. It is very particular and very suggestive. You follow me. Duncan will give you your teekets at dee entrance.”

As the group surged forward, I handed Britha’s camera back to her. “You’ve taken some nice shots there.”

“Thank you, Emily. You can’t find good nudity like that back home.”

“There’s George,” said Nana, waving to him and Osmond as they strode back from the restroom amid a scattering of other people. George waved back and flashed a wide grin that highlighted the newly acquired space between his teeth. I winced. Oh, God. How many days left on this tour?

I slowed my pace, allowing the group to pass me so I could hang out at the back and keep a better eye on things. Of course, the chances of something happening when the group was all bunched up like this were probably slight, but being isolated was better than getting clobbered by Gillian’s damson shoulder bag again.
Damson.
I guess purple wasn’t descriptive enough. Boy, you could sure tell she was a writer.

“Psssst.”

I glanced sideways to find a tall, ponytailed man in an untucked oxford shirt, slouch cap, and sunglasses beckoning to me with a curling motion of his right index finger.
Curling motion. Right index finger.
Oh geesch. Did that mean he wanted to boff me? I quickened my pace and kept walking.