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

yet still appeared fatigued. Her eyes were puffy, but her skin glowed.

“Henry has played a rather successful prank on his brothers,” I said. “I’m glad to have learned about it while away, so I can laugh openly instead of having to look stern. Did you sleep well?”

“Henry is a dear boy and I’d appreciate your not mentioning how dreadful I look,” she said. “I was up late.”

“Doing what?” I wondered if she’d gone out with Signore Tazzera after Colin and I retired. It would explain the glow.

“Nothing that concerns you.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “What did Monsieur Hargreaves have to say about the gun?”

“Very little beyond its being Russian,” I said.

“Russian?” She frowned. “Is that significant?”

“Marzo works for the British, reporting to Darius. I don’t know how that could connect to Russia, but Vittoria’s story compels me to think there is something—was something—between Marzo and Signore di Taro. We’ve seen the dead man’s street. Why would Marzo have randomly decided to include it on his walks with the girl?”

“Maybe like Carlo, he was inspired by a pretty face.”

“The description certainly applies to Vittoria, but Marzo showed little interest in her. He was using her as an excuse to be in the neighborhood.”

“And the street was not a place one would go to without a specific purpose,” Cécile said. “I wonder … do you think Lena knows about Vittoria?”

“I can’t imagine she does.”

“Marzo made no attempt to even kiss Vittoria, but he must have wanted something from her, and I agree that something was an excuse to be near Signore di Taro’s house. If he was seen frequently in the vicinity for a period of time before the murder, it would be far less likely that anyone would take notice of him on the day of the crime,” Cécile said. “Given that we have no reason to suspect there was anything romantic between him and Vittoria, he might well have told Lena what he was doing.”

I folded Henry’s letter and slipped it back into its envelope. “Colin said that the manner of Signore di Taro’s murder suggests assassination. Marzo needed money to afford the house Lena wanted. Perhaps in the course of his work for the British, he came across an underground network of odious individuals who offer murder for hire and decided to work for them in an effort to earn something on the side.”

“An underground network of odious individuals who offer murder for hire?” Cécile asked. I braced myself for her reply, but she did not heap scorn upon me as I’d expected. “This, Kallista, sounds most promising. We all know there are evil men who lurk in the shadows, bidding others to do their dirty deeds. I’ve read enough of Monsieur Le Queux’s book to know spies and those who work with them come into contact with this sort of person more than an ordinary man.”

“I admit it’s something of a ludicrous theory, but it may have some merit. Let’s talk to Lena.”

We walked directly to her father’s shop in the Oltrarno, but she was not there, and Signore Bastieri had no idea where she’d gone.

“Marzo’s funeral was yesterday,” he explained. “As you can imagine, she was terribly upset. I struggled to get her home afterward. She could hardly walk. A foreign gentleman offered his carriage and I was glad to accept. When I woke up this morning, she was gone.”

“Who was the gentleman?” I asked.

“I don’t know his name. It was difficult to understand his accent, which was quite heavy. It appeared that he’d been at the funeral, too, so I saw no harm in accepting his kindness. I didn’t have much time to think about it, as I was afraid Lena was on the verge of collapse.”

“What did he look like?”

“He was wearing a top hat and a scarf. I remember his hair was on the dark side and he had a large moustache. Not too old, not too young.”

“Did he accompany you in the carriage?”

“No, Lady Emily, he did not. He said his home was not far away and, as he could see we needed the carriage more than he, he would happily leave it to us and walk.”

“He lives in Florence?” I asked.

“I assume so,” Signore Bastieri said. “He said home, not hotel, and has a carriage here.”

“Did you recognize his accent?”

“It was foreign, but I couldn’t tell you from where. Does it matter?”

“Could it have been Russian?”

“It might have been. It sounded vaguely Eastern.”

It wasn’t firm confirmation, but better than nothing. “Did Lena receive any messages after you got home?”

“No,” her father said, “but something came for her this morning. She left the envelope on the kitchen table. I will get it for you.”

He disappeared upstairs and returned with an envelope that was perfectly ordinary in every way but one: it had been sealed with wax, stamped with an impression of a coat of arms bearing a bat, an arrow, and a caltrap. What could this mean? Had Lena been searching for the treasure hidden in our house? And, if so, had she angered someone else who also sought it?

“Mon dieu,” Cécile said.

“Is this something bad?” Signore Bastieri asked. “Should I be worried?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s necessarily bad, but as to whether you should worry…” I looked at him and saw the concern in his eyes. I had to tell him the truth. “I’m afraid I would be worried.”

“I will summon the police and ask them to start a search for her.”

“She hasn’t been gone long enough for them to believe she’s missing, and it is entirely possible she decided to go for a walk or to the market or something else wholly innocuous. Signora du Lac and I will see what we can find out. Lena told me if she ever needed to contact me, she would leave a note at Dante’s cenotaph in Santa Croce.”

Her father gave a sad smile. “That sounds like her, always looking for adventure. May I come with you?”

“There’s no need,” I said. “Better that