Alibi: A Novel (21 page)

I looked across at her for another minute, not saying anything, then nodded.

“Hold on to the sides. Keep the boat steady.”

She placed her hands on either side. I knelt forward, took up the front end of the tarp, and lifted it over the edge. It didn’t matter where you grabbed it. It was no longer a body, just something heavy wrapped in tarp, pushing the boat down with its weight. Claudia shifted to the other side, as if she could counterbalance the slide.

“It won’t tip,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

And then, before it could settle, I heaved up, lifting the back end with a grunt and swinging it around until its own weight was pulling it over and all I needed to do was push, then quickly right the boat as the tarp plunged into the lagoon. There was a splash, rocking the boat. For a few minutes we just sat looking over the side, as if the body would bounce back up again, but then the ripples died down and the water was smooth all the way to the buoy, just a gentle lap at the side of the boat. I looked around. No other boats. Claudia was still staring at the water.

“So,” she said.

I didn’t say anything, suddenly tired, as if the adrenaline were draining away, a kind of anemia.

“How long before we know—if it’s down?”

“It’s already down.”

“What do we say? We have to think what to say.”

“Nothing. We never saw him.”

“But they’ll ask. Where were we?”

I pulled the cord, grateful the motor started right away, not wanting to talk. I hadn’t thought beyond the body, getting rid of it. But of course we weren’t rid of it. People would ask, the police would be called, we would be part of it. You called him at the hospital. When did you see him last? Where were you? The body was only the beginning.

Now I did feel the cold, the wet air hitting my face in little stings, then harder ones as the mist turned to rain again. Almost as cold as Germany, the terrible sharp wind and people fighting over pieces of coal. You didn’t think about anything except staying warm. Not bodies, not what you were doing there, just getting in out of the cold. The black water streamed past the side of the boat, pelted with rain. We’d be coming up to San Giorgio soon.

I slowed the boat, unable to see more than a few yards ahead. Claudia hunched down under her coat, shivering, folding herself up against the rain. I followed the markers, still looking around for other boats. But who would be out now? No fishermen, no water taxis. Only someone who didn’t want to be seen, hidden by the emptiness of the lagoon.

I wiped my eyes, feeling the cold rain seeping down my neck, the shocked alertness of a cold shower, no longer caught up in a blood heat. What were we doing? A body wrapped in a tarp, dead, not an accident. I saw the tarp sinking, dragged down by stones, deliberately made to disappear. What explanation could there be now? Claudia was right—we had to think what to say. They’d look for him. He had a daughter. Doges in the family. Why would a man disappear? They’d hear about the engagement party. They’d talk to Claudia. And somehow it would come out. Somehow. Only people like Gianni
got away with murder. I felt queasy again. But she hadn’t hesitated. Both of us. There was a sudden burst of rain in my face; it was really coming down now, sheets of it. Mimi’s party would be chaos.

The trip back was longer, and by the time we reached the Giudecca channel we were soaked through, my fingers frozen on the rudder. I killed the motor when we were almost at the Zattere, letting the boat bob for a minute, then rowing back under the footbridge to our canal. The sound of the rain now covered the plash of the oars. I didn’t have to let the boat drift. Claudia lifted the coat off her head and looked around.

“It’s okay. No one’s out,” I said.

“I won’t go back to that camp,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard me, another conversation.

“No.”

“Never. No matter what.”

“It’s not there anymore, Claudia,” I said quietly.

“That one. Another. Any of them.”

“Ssh,” I said. “No one’s going anywhere.” I put a finger to my lips, then pointed at the lighted window across the canal. I used the oar to swing around to our gate, catching the mooring pole and tying the boat before I helped Claudia out. She was shivering, her lips moving involuntarily. I helped her up the stairs, then closed the grilled door on the canal. She was standing near the pile of paving stones, staring at the tarp. I looked down to where the blood had been, just a streak of wet now.

“Come on, let’s get you dry,” I said, taking her arm.

She was still looking at the tarp. “What are we going to do?”

“A bath. You’re freezing.”

“No, I mean, what are we going to do?” She motioned toward the pile.

“I know what you mean. A bath. Then we’re going to go to Mimi’s.”

She looked up. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking—it’s the safest thing we can do. Hundreds of witnesses. When anyone asks, we were at Mimi’s.”

“Are you crazy?”

“We can do it. People will be late. Everything’ll be a mess in the rain. We go in the back. Then we’re in the ballroom, dancing. That’s all anyone will remember.”

“Dancing,” she said, shocked. “After we just—”

I took her arms. “I know what we just did. And now we’re going to Mimi’s.”

“I can’t.”

“We have to,” I said, still holding her. “Otherwise, where were we?”

“How can we go?” she said nervously. “Like this? What do we wear?”

“Borrow something of my mother’s.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Claudia,” I said, gripping her now. “There isn’t time. I’ll run the bath. We’ll pick something out. It’ll be all right. It has to be.”

“But my hair, it’s all wet,” she said, putting her hand up to feel it.

“Your hair.”

She stopped, hearing the absurdity of it.

“Everybody’ll be wet,” I said. “Come on. We have to hurry.”

She didn’t move.

“We can do it.” I looked toward the tarp. “We can’t let anyone know.”

“And we’re supposed to smile? After this?” She shook a little.

“Yes. As if nothing happened.” I took her shoulders again. “Because nothing happened.”

She looked at me, then nodded, still shaking.

“All right. Hot water. Come on. Leave the lights. I want to check later. If there’s any blood we missed.”

“Oh,” she said, stopping. She looked back toward the steps, her face slack.

“You all right?” I said softly.

She nodded. “It’s just—I forgot about the blood.”

T
here was only enough hot water for one bath, so we took turns. While I was drying off near the space heater, Claudia went through my mother’s closet, her head wrapped in a towel, her skin flushed from the warm soak.

“You’re young. That already puts you ahead. Wear anything.”

“To a party like this? It’s easy for you.”

“If it still fits,” I said, picking up my jacket from the bed. “I haven’t worn it in three years. That’s nice.”

She was holding up an evening gown with a scalloped neck, as creamy and soft as lingerie.

“It’s from before the war.”

“Here, let me help.”

She slid the dress over her head.

“It’s loose,” she said.

“This much?” I pinched in some fabric at the back. “We can pin it. You’ll look wonderful.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she said, flouncing out her damp hair. “Everyone will see it’s old.”

“They’ll still be looking at you. That’s all we want.”

“Look at all this. Powder, everything. How can she have so much?”

I left her at the mirror, patting her face, and went to dress, hurrying, even managing my tie in a few minutes. Then I headed
downstairs to check the water entrance, running a flashlight along the edge of the tarp. There were a few dark splotches of dampness on the stone floor, possibly from our dripping clothes, but nothing that looked like blood. One more check tomorrow in the daylight. What else? The ashtray in the hall. Not even a trace. When I got back to my mother’s room, Claudia was still at the dressing table, putting her hair up.

“We have to hurry.”

“There’s nothing else I can do with it,” she said, ignoring me. “This way it doesn’t matter if it’s wet.”

I saw the white back of her neck, like a girl’s, then looked into the mirror as she blotted her lipstick. The room was warm now, close with the smell of perfume and powder.

“You look beautiful.”

She met my eyes in the mirror, then looked down, suddenly upset.

“I can’t do this. All the time thinking—” She stopped, then reached for another tissue and raised her head to look at me again. “Where are the pins?”

It needed only two, which I covered in the back with the sash. The shoes were more difficult—we had to stuff wadded tissue into the toes to make them fit.

“So,” Claudia said, standing in front of the mirror, smoothing the skirt. “It’s okay?”

“Almost.”

I went into my mother’s closet and pulled out the false panel in the glove drawer that hid her jewel case. You had to lift the top tray of rings out to get to the bigger pieces. I took out a necklace.

“I can’t wear—”

“She’s not wearing it,” I said, fastening it behind her neck. “She won’t mind.”

She fingered the stones, just gazing into the mirror for a minute.

“My god. Are they rubies?”

“I don’t know. Garnets, maybe. Anyway, they suit you. Your coloring. Ready?”

But she stood there, still looking, then made a wry grimace. “All
my life I wanted to go to those parties. In one of the palazzos. With jewels. And now—like this.”

Mimi’s ground-floor layout was similar to ours; a long hall stretching from the Grand Canal to a calle, flanked by old offices and storerooms converted tonight into cloakrooms and little parlors. As I’d expected, there was a crush at the water entrance, a swarm of flashbulbs and dripping umbrellas and harried maids running back and forth. Most of the maids were new, borrowed from friends or hired for the evening, and none of them recognized me. We were just part of the crowd in evening dress streaming in from all directions, handing over wet coats, adjusting hair in powder rooms, stamping our shoes dry on the marble floor. In the confusion of arrival, with everyone talking at once and music coming from upstairs, no one noticed us. We might have come in at any time. I glanced up to see if Mimi was on the stairs, receiving, but she had evidently already joined the party. Better still.

At the top of the stairs was a landing, an anteroom before the main
sala
, a place to catch your breath and gather your skirt, and for a moment we stood there, dazzled. Mimi’s ballroom was one of the grandest in Venice, as large as the Rezzonico’s, and tonight every inch of it seemed alive with light. The center chandeliers were electric, but the walls were lined with sconces holding real candles, hundreds of them, backed by mirrors, so that the effect was watery, constantly in motion, the nighttime equivalent of sunlight reflected off the canal. At the end of the room the high windows tapered to gothic points, but the walls themselves were rococo, paneled Arcadian scenes framed in gilt, moldings of swirling plaster. Waiters passed trays of champagne. Women glanced at themselves in mirrors. After the dark lagoon, the bulky tarp splashing over the side of the boat, I felt we had stepped into another world—not this one, maybe the one the room had been meant for, not real even then.

“Adam, you did come.” Mimi after all, standing guard at the door. Her hair, swept up, was sprinkled with jewels, not a tiara but tiny
diamond pins, bits of starlight. Could she see it on my face? Washed now, but still somehow streaked with his blood? I felt my hands shaking and dug my nails into the palms. We could do this, had to.

“Hours ago,” I said, nodding toward the crowd below.

“And you’ve brought Miss—”

“Grassini,” Claudia said.

“Yes, I remember. So glad,” she said, shaking hands, her eyes sweeping down to take in Claudia’s dress. She turned to me. “How nice you look. Out of uniform.” A raised eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t have evening clothes. Grace said you couldn’t find—”

“And then I did. I hope it’s all right.”

“Darling, don’t be silly. I’m desperate for young people. Half the men here seem to have canes. When did we all get to be such an age?” She paused. “You’re supposed to say,
You
didn’t.”

I lifted my head, focusing, digging my nails in again. “You didn’t.”

“Charm itself, isn’t he?” she said to Claudia. “And so quick. I don’t suppose you’ve brought Gianni.”

“No. Isn’t he here?” I said, not looking at Claudia.

“Not yet. I don’t know how Grace puts up with it. I wouldn’t. He’d be late to his own funeral.”

Claudia moved involuntarily, catching Mimi’s eye. “Well, a doctor,” she said.

“Yes, but at this hour. Oh dear,” she said, looking over my shoulder toward the stairs. “Count Grillo. I never thought—the stairs.” I turned to see a white-haired man making his way up slowly, gripping an attendant with one arm and the banister with the other. “Maybe I should have him carried. But so embarrassing. My god, when I think how he used to—”

“An old flame?”

“How he used to
dance
. Don’t be fresh. Go and be conspicuous. Maybe you can get the orchestra to liven things up a bit.” She turned to Claudia. “We’ll talk later. I’m so glad you came. You look lovely.” She moved over to the head of the stairs. “Ernesto, how marvelous. No, don’t hurry. Oodles of time.”

A waiter came by with champagne.

“They’re going to start wondering where he is,” Claudia said, looking at her glass. She shuddered suddenly, like someone caught in a draft.

“Cold?”

She shook her head. “I’m nervous. I don’t know why. Not before, not even in the boat. And now here, a place like this.”

“Have some champagne.”

“Oh, just like that. Champagne—as if nothing’s happened.”

“I want people to see us having a good time,” I said, spreading my hand, steady now, toward the ballroom. “He won’t be missed for hours. He’s a doctor. They’re like that. Things come up.” I put down my glass on a little table. “So let’s be conspicuous. Dance?”

She looked up at me, biting her lip. “It’s my fault, all this.”