The Dark Heart of Florence by Tasha Alexander (ebook reader screen TXT) 📕

have been made since her death. I don’t doubt that she knew how to address outside threats, but in the ensuing years, those threats may have changed.”

“That’s entirely possible,” Colin said, “especially given that Darius and I are working from the palazzo.”

“I want to think more about what Vittoria and the couple at the market told me. Forgive me if that means I’m treading into forbidden territory. Marzo demonstrated odd patterns of behavior. He bought flowers every Tuesday, but only sometimes knocked over a display, often enough that it was noticed. I’m wondering if his clumsiness was deliberate, meant to send a signal to someone. His regular pattern of appearing in the market at noonish once a week would seem innocuous, unremarkable. But to someone watching, the occasional deviation in his actions could have a specific meaning.”

“You’re quite right,” Colin said. “It’s a variation—admittedly an unnecessarily complicated one—of a common enough technique for signaling a message.”

“Could Darius shed light on it?”

“He may be able to. Marzo was his contact, not mine. I can tell you it was not how he communicated with Darius. They used a different method.”

We both fell silent as the waiter brought Colin’s whisky. Once he’d gone, I continued. “I see a resemblance of sorts in the walks he took with Vittoria. They followed the same route each time, changing only after she brought up the murder. He may have been trying to establish a regular habit of being seen on the dead man’s street. Once he’d killed Signore di Taro, he had no further need either for Vittoria or the walks.”

Colin frowned. “That’s more of a stretch. First, we have not established any connection between Marzo and di Taro. Second, it would be careless to stop the walks so quickly after the crime. Better to keep taking them until more time had passed.”

“Perhaps he’d intended to do so, but being murdered prevented him,” I said. “I agree we need more evidence, but it taxes credulity to suggest that coincidence led him to walk out with Vittoria, who lived so conveniently near the victim, particularly as Marzo did not actively pursue the relationship in any meaningful way. She did not strike me as the sort of girl who expects every man she meets to fall madly in love with her. He was engaged to Lena. Why would he start a flirtation with someone else but make no move to so much as kiss her?”

“He could have been hoping to find a friend.”

“I do hope you’re being facetious,” I said.

“I am.” He drained his whisky, returned the glass to the table in front of us, and drummed his fingers on the wood. “Your observations about Marzo’s behavior are insightful, Emily. Good work. We should return to the house. I told Darius I was going to collect you after you’d had tea here at the hotel.”

“Does he think me too fragile to make the five-minute walk on my own?”

“No, of course not. I told him you’d been ambushed by an unwelcome acquaintance we’d made on the train and needed my help extricating yourself from the threat of a dinner invitation.”

“How complicated your life is,” I said.

“My dear, no loving husband would leave his wife under obligation to the dreadful Baroness von Hohensteinbauergrunewald.”

“The Baroness von Hohensteinbauergrunewald?” I beetled my brow. “Why is that name familiar?”

“Five years ago, when we were searching for Estella Lamar in Paris, you and Cécile stumbled upon the name in a hotel registry. The Meurice, I believe. The baroness had nothing to do with the case, but Cécile described to me a rather hilarious account of the lady’s adventures in Egypt. There was some sort of archaeological controversy. The surname was so outlandish I could not help but remember it. I’ve long hoped for the opportunity to use it.”

When we reached the house, Colin went straight to the top floor to talk to the staff, leaving me to find Darius in the Sala dei Pappagalli, reading. He leapt to his feet when I entered the room.

“What a lot of rot this is,” he said, waving the book. “Please tell me it’s not yours.”

It was my volume of William Le Queux’s stories. “I abandoned it soon after our arrival, but Cécile picked it up. She’s finding it rather diverting.”

“I suppose that’s what fiction’s meant to do,” he said. “In this case, I object, however. Le Queux isn’t interested in entertaining his readers. He’s trying to stir up fear among the British people.”

“I don’t think anyone takes him that seriously.”

“Forgive me. I have a tendency to outrage when I feel the citizens of the empire are being misled. How did you get on with the Baroness von Hohensteinbauergrunewald?”

“I’m surprised you can recall her name.”

“I met her once, nearly ten years ago, while hiking in the Bavarian Alps.”

“The baroness is an outdoorswoman?” I asked.

“Heavens, no. I was with friends from university, one of whom was acquainted with her family. Their estate was near the village we used as our base to access the mountains. She invited all of us to a positively appalling garden party, where she served the worst tea I have ever tasted and droned on about her collection of Egyptian antiquities. She was quite taken with me. It was appalling.”

“It sounds it,” I said. “Fortunately Colin bustled me out before she could invite me to dinner.”

“Well, I shall be giving the Savoy a wide berth as long as she’s there,” he said.

“No need, Darius,” Colin said as he entered the room and crossed to the end table upon which he’d placed the bottle of whisky he’d brought from home. “She’s leaving on a late train tonight, headed for Venice, I believe.”

“Heaven help La Serenissima,” Darius said. “Pour me a glass, will you?”

“If I’d known that before I sent my message, I wouldn’t have begged to be rescued,” I said, smiling at Colin. “One dinner would not have been too much to bear.”

“Oh, Emily, I assure you it would,” Darius said. “Not even the promise of her