Deep Midnight
Page 28

“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?”
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 Atwater,” 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 shielded behind very dark glasses. He was wearing black jeans, a tailored shirt, 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, flushing. “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 Atwater. From Texas. Mr. and Mrs. Atwater, 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. Atwater; 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 canals,” 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 mass 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?”
“Yes, we do. Goodbye, we’ll be seeing you.” She had her hand on Harold’s arm, he was up, a big man, ready to follow his slender wife.
“Keep the paper!” he said to Ragnor.
“Thanks. Thanks very much,” Ragnor said.
When they had gone, Ragnor slid into a seat at Jordan’s table. She took her chair opposite him.
“I don’t remember asking you to join me for breakfast,” she said.
“It isn’t really breakfast,” he murmured, eyes scanning the paper.
Jordan wished she could read Italian. “What does it say?”
“Not too much. A head was found in one of the smaller canals.”
“Near the contessa’s palazzo?” Jordan asked.
His eyes shot up at her. Not that she could really see his eyes. His Ray-Bans shot up at her.
He stared at her a while. “Yes.”
“People were killed at her party. I’m convinced of it. If only someone else believed it.” He didn’t contradict her. He translated from the paper instead. “Police will call in a forensic artist to try to re-create the face so that bulletins can be sent throughout Europe, as there are no reports of missing persons in the Venice area at this time.”
She sat back, staring at him. “Can you take those off, please?” she asked, indicating his glasses.
“No,” he said flatly.
“Wearing them at the table is extremely rude, something even an American wouldn’t do.”
“I see Americans wearing sunglasses at the table all the time,” he replied absently.
She leaned forward, shoving the omelette aside. “You spend your time warning me that I’m in danger, that I create danger, then you tell me that a severed head means nothing in Venice.”
“I didn’t say that at all.”
“What did you say?”
“That you can’t go assuming that this severed head has anything to do with the contessa. And if you go to the police insisting again that the contessa’s party was full of costumed creatures ripping up guests, they’re just going to think that you’re crazy again. Delusional, suffering from stress brought on by grief due to the loss of a loved one.”
She started to rise; he caught her hand. “Why are you angry with me when I tell you the truth?”
“You’re still not telling me the truth about anything.”
“I’m telling you what you need to know.”
“Well, at the moment, I have work to do. Will you excuse me?” His face was expressionless, but he didn’t release her hand. “Where are you going?”
“What on earth is that to you?”
“Where are you going?” he repeated.
“Down to the front desk?I was supposed to get some work by FedEx today. Then I’m going to my room to work.”
“And then?”
“I’m going to bring the red vinyl costume back to Anna Maria’s and pick up the outfit I’m wearing tonight.”
“I’ll be in the lobby. Make sure you stop by to get me before you go.”
“What if I don’t want you with me?”
“I’m hard to shake.”
“Will you let go for now?”
“You haven’t touched your food.”
“I’m not hungry. And I am awake and aware, and it seems like a good time to get some work done.” He released her hand. His attention was back on the newspaper article.
Jordan took the elevator down to the lobby level and went straight to the front desk, asking if a package had arrived for her. To her surprise, it actually had; it had arrived in almost exactly twenty-four hours.