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She had the strangest sensation that this was the man she had followed last night, thinking he was Jared.
She sipped the last of her espresso, reminding herself that the dottore costume was one of the most popular in Venice. There was no reason whatever to assume that she was seeing the same man.
Nevertheless, she quickly left the bar, anxious to reach the street, and confront the man.
When she emerged, he was gone. She looked to her left. A small bridge crossed a narrow canal about a half block down. She saw the man in the black cape passing a couple in Victorian dress. She hurried that way.
Not at all sure what kept her footsteps so dogged, she followed the next passage along the canal.
Once again, ahead of her, she saw him turn the corner.
She passed by shops selling Versace, Dior, and Ralph Lauren, stores with handsome facades and fine goods within. The streets were crowded again; the party-goers of the night before had done their sleeping and were up and about, again some costumed, some not She felt bold, not crazy, and not afraid; there were still a few hours of daylight left.
No matter how fast she walked, though, he seemed to remain ahead of her, always in front of several groups of people. She quickened her pace again and turned a corner. She passed under an archway between two buildings.
A balcony with gargoyles and stucco lions suddenly seemed familiar; she realized that she had walked this way the night before.
She paused, surveying her surroundings. As she did so, she looked ahead.
At the end of the pathway, off the busy and beaten track, there was another bridge. The black-cloaked figure stood upon it, looking back at her.
“Hey!” she called out. “Who are you!”
Apparently he didn’t hear her. Once again, the man turned and started walking.
One more bridge, she decided. Then she was giving up this silly chase.
On the next bridge, she paused. She couldn’t see the man anymore. Ahead, right after the bridge, was a piazza. At the far end of it was a beautiful old church. The walls were peeling; stained glass windows were broken and covered with boards. The structure, however, was very handsome, with marble steps; stone angels guarded the double doors of the entry, and the wooden doors themselves were carved, and apparently, at one time, gilded.
Jordan forgot the cloaked figure for a moment and approached the old church. Just as she crossed the bridge, she heard someone call to her.
“Signorina!”
She turned. A gondola was about to slip beneath the bridge. She recognized the handsome young gondolier she had seen two days earlier.
He’d said that his name was . . . Sal D’Onofrio, she remembered?and that she should come to him, of course, when she was ready for a gondola ride. He had sung so cheerfully the last time she had seen him near the Danieli. Now, he had no customers in his craft, and he looked grave and tired.
“Hello,” she said, looking briefly back to the church, and surveying the corners of the piazza. The cloaked figure was gone. Following him had been foolish anyway. He probably hadn’t even been looking at her. It was impossible to see a man’s eyes through a mask like that at a distance.
The gondolier was shaking his head. “Beautiful lady, you should not be wandering here. This is not the area where there are people, not much to see. ”
“Haven’t you heard? All tourists want to see what other tourists don’t see!” she told him.
He didn’t laugh; he didn’t even smile.
He shook his head, maneuvering his pole to bring his gondola next to the low wall fronting the piazza.
“Venice is wonderful. But now, you should be back with the crowds, by San Marco. You should feed the pigeons?all visitors must feed the pigeons. ”
“I’m not even sure where I am right now. ”
“I’ll take you back. ”
“You know, I do intend to take a gondola ride, and I’m sure you’re the best. But I was thinking more of a time near sunset?”
“No charge, signorina. I will bring you back to the Danieli. ”
“I’m sure I can find my way. ”
“Please. Allow me. ”
“There’s no dock. ”
“You can jump the wall. ”
“Is that legal?”
“No. But please, this is not . . . this is not where people roam. ”
“I had thought to explore that church?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head impatiently. “It is abandoned. Not a church anymore, you understand?
Please, let me take you back. ”
Because he seemed so earnest, and so sincerely concerned for her, Jordan found herself relenting.
“Step on the wall,” Sal encouraged her.
She did so. He had perfect coordination, and amazing agility, leaning to grasp her hand, then lifting her by the waist to set her into the gondola.
She teetered a little as the gondola listed from side to side, as the water lapped at the hull. He seemed relieved when she took her seat, and then he pushed off from the wall.
The gondola shot down the canal with startling speed as he wielded his pole.
They had entered a larger body of water when he turned to her. “Venice is a good place, a really good place. Little crime, but always, when you have so many people from so many places, people with money, jewelry . . . there will always be criminals who want what isn’t theirs. ”
“Thank you for being concerned,” she told him, studying him. She wondered suddenly if she was a total fool?if he could be among those criminals, planning to bring her down a deserted canal, lift her purse, bonk her on the head with his pole, and toss her into the water.
No. He was moving quickly, not singing, not pointing out the sights, bringing her bit by bit to more heavily traveled areas. Soon, she realized that they were back in the area behind St. Mark’s Basilica. She knew these waters; they were lined with restaurants, hotels and shops.
“You’re so serious today; is something wrong?” she asked him.
He hesitated, but smiled, shaking his head. “No. But you must be careful. There are so many people. All people are not good. There are thieves, maybe . . . worse. ”
“I am very careful. ”
“Be more so. Please. Stay with people you know. ”
He was so somber that she nodded, not at all tempted to tell him that she was independent and capable.
Or that she had already been scared enough to make sure that she was doubly watchful in all that she did like following a stranger in a cloak and mask? she mocked herself.
“I’ll be more careful, Sal, really. ”
About to pass beneath a bridge, she noted that Ragnor was standing on the calle to her left side; she saw him immediately because he was taller than those around them, his light hair a beacon against the black leather of the cape he was wearing.
He wasn’t alone, and he hadn’t noticed her, or the gondola.
She smiled slightly. Tiff had found the object of her desire. The brash American woman had halted his travels; she was speaking to him earnestly, her hands on his chest.
“I’ll be careful,” she repeated, a strange sensation tingling at her nape. Ragnor had warned her about danger in Venice. Now Sal was doing the same, while Jared’s belief was that she was losing her mind.
Maybe. She was seeing a dead man’s face on a mannequin. Wolves in the shadows. She was hearing the whisper of wings in the night.
She should just fly home. That would be the intelligent thing to do.
No. . .
She couldn’t go home. Something was going on.
And though she had been afraid, she was also compelled, determined, and . . .
Beguiled?
That was the term Tiff had used earlier. As to her reason for staying, it seemed to fit perfectly. She would be careful, she told herself, as she had promised Sal. And she knew for
a certainty that bad things did happen. In a real world.
“The Danieli,” Sal said, sliding next to the side entry of the hotel. “Please, you will not be alone?” A bellman waited to assist her from the gondola. As she stood to disembark, Jordan kissed Sal’s cheek.
“I promise, I’ll stay close to friends. And thank you for being so sweet. You are the best gondolier. ” He offered her a deep smile. “Grazie. Ciao, bella!”
“Ciao, bravo,” she told him.
She thanked the bellman as well and entered into the lobby of the hotel. It was busy, filled with laughter, languages, costumes, and an air of camaraderie and warmth. She surveyed the lobby for a moment, smiling slowly.
People were so beautiful.
They were having so much fun.
She felt oddly protective of Venice. If something was happening here to mar the wonder of this city, it had to be stopped.
Sal D’Onofrio poled his gondola out of the narrow canal, heading around the vaporetto that waited at the dock in front of the Danieli. He passed the Square and the Doge’s Palace, entering into the waters of the Grand Canal. He hadn’t spoken of his discovery that morning to any of his friends, he had delivered his grisly find to Roberto Capo at the police station. And now . . .
He still did not feel like singing. He was going home.
Tomorrow, after a night’s sleep, he would be himself again.
Gondolas were out in masses. He passed by one of the landings. Giuseppe Donati, a friend, waved at him; he had just picked up a young couple in full costume. He waved back. Giuseppe indicated a lone costumed figure on the dock, a man seeking a gondola.
Sal waved a thank-you to his friend. He had not really intended to pick up another costumer, but it might be a good thing to help shake off his unease. He slid to the bank, forcing himself to talk cheerfully to the man in English.
“Alone, signore? And you wish to ride?”
The masked man nodded gravely. He hopped into the gondola, needing no assistance. He spoke in a low voice; indicating the route he wanted to take. He spoke in English, with what accent, Sal couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. He was glad?he’d drop this passenger near his own home, and then he’d be a little richer for the night he intended to remain home.
They moved along the busy canal, watching pedestrians, shopkeepers, children, dogs and dog-walkers.