Turned to Stone (25 page)

Jaime grabbed a pillow and rested his head against it. The fresh smell of the sheets was tempting him to take a nap when Paloma came back out and planted herself on the bed in front of him.

It was hot in the room, and she’d taken off her woolen pullover, leaving her in a black nylon top that showed off her small, firm breasts. Jaime looked at her in surprise. Her eyes gave nothing away, but her parted lips suggested she had something to say, despite the silence. A question was trying to find its way to his lips, but he bit it back and sat up on the bed, leaning so that all his weight was supported by his left arm.

Paloma moved closer, her messy, ebony-colored hair falling against her cheeks. Jaime studied the stretch of smooth skin left exposed by the black top, from Paloma’s neck to the top of her breasts, and he felt something he hadn’t expected.

Paloma stretched out her bare arm toward the bed and Jaime did what was expected of him. He took her by the wrist and gently pulled until she was lying on top of him. “Hello,” he whispered.

“Hello.”

Paloma’s lips brushed against his and Jaime felt his desire grow. He pulled her closer to him as she let go of any last misgivings. He had almost forgotten her nibbles, the way her lips and teeth devoured his mouth with tiny, exciting bites. Her soft, moist tongue slid over his in little circular motions. They kissed passionately as two pairs of hands searched desperately for a way past clothing, to naked flesh.

The first two buttons on Jaime’s shirt flew off through the air seconds before Paloma pulled off her top. While she unbuttoned the rest of his shirt more carefully, Jaime concentrated on the fastener of the navy-blue bra that held Paloma’s hidden charms.

The first time, he failed, but the second attempt was a success, and he uncovered the two delicate mounds, their nipples rising provocatively. While Paloma wrapped her arms around his neck, Jaime slowly savored those delicacies, seasoned with a sharp layer of nostalgia. Tears of yearning rolled down Paloma’s cheeks as her fingers slid into Jaime’s pants, searching for the fruit that had been so abruptly snatched from her years before.

“Does this mean you accept my apology?” he asked.

Paloma laughed and climbed onto Jaime as they kicked away the comforter, which fell to the floor like a parachute.

37

Verona

Verona, along with Venice, is one of the tourist destinations favored most by lovebirds travelling to Italy. If those lovebirds are also art lovers, then experiencing Verona is like walking among the clouds.

Twelve years earlier, two such lovebirds had walked among the clouds on the same streets that, according to tradition, were once walked by Romeo and Juliet. The bright young lovers ate gelato on the Piazza delle Erbe, enjoyed the panoramic view from the Lamberti Tower, and drank white wine at the Castel San Pietro as they watched the sun go down. They visited Roman monuments, medieval churches, the vast Castelvecchio Museum, and the breathtaking gothic tombs of the Scaliger family. And as tacky and as touristy as some traditions may be, there was one these two lovers couldn’t skip. So before they left the city, on the railings on the same side of the square as Juliet’s historic balcony, they locked a padlock inscribed with the names Paloma and Jaime along with a date that now seemed as distant as the time of Shakespeare’s tale.

Their current trip to Verona bore little resemblance to the first, thought Paloma, as she walked with Jaime. Once again, he seemed both distant and alert, as if the episode in the hotel had never happened. Or perhaps precisely because it had. They walked in silence, as if they were simply enjoying the stroll through the medieval streets, though the same question was in both of their minds: What now?

It was October, so the streets were clear of the hordes of summer tourists, and the walk to the Pontecorvo House Museum was quick. After crossing the river by the Garibaldi Bridge, they walked down Via Rosa and turned left toward the Church of Sant’Anastasia, beside which stood the palatial old house. It was a two-story building with a façade that was white at the bottom and reddish at the top. Some of its windows were triangular, and others featured curved finishes. As they walked through the entrance, a curly-haired young woman behind a desk asked if they wanted to buy two tickets. Paloma was about to say yes, but Jaime talked first. “We’re Jaime Azcárate and Paloma Blasco, from the Center for Historical Research in Spain. We wanted to see the director.”

The young woman seemed surprised. “Do you have an appointment?” she asked in excellent Spanish.

“He’s not expecting us.”

“He couldn’t be,” she said. “Signor Ugolini isn’t here right now. He’s at a conference at the University of Milan.”

“I see. When would it be possible for us to speak to him?”

“If you go to Milan and he has time, he might see you there. Or you could wait and see him here, but he won’t be back for five days.”

Jaime and Paloma exchanged a look that said
Where there’s a will, there’s a way
.

“If you tell me what it is you want to discuss and how to contact you,” said the woman, “I’ll pass the message on to Signor Ugolini. He checks in most days.”

“It’s about the Medusa that was stolen from here,” Jaime said before Paloma could stop him. “We’re helping the EHU with the investigation, and we’d like to talk about the night the theft took place.”

The museum employee looked taken aback. “Seriously? The police came when it happened and they questioned all the staff.”

“We know. But none of those investigators was an expert on the piece in question. Señorita Blasco, on the other hand, is a specialist.”

“Oh, really?”

“Very much so.” Jaime kept talking without letting Paloma so much as open her mouth. “It was a strange case. Someone went to a lot of trouble to break in and make off with the bust in the middle of the night. I understand a security guard was killed.”

“Poor Massimo! He was a good man.”

“Did you know him well?”

“I was with him the afternoon before the robbery. I went home at closing and left him here alone. I felt awful later, but I never imagined things would end like that.”

“Can we come in?” Jaime asked.

The young woman looked at her watch.

“It’s nearly closing time, but we can stay awhile longer if you want. By the way, I’m Sabina.”

The museum was built around a central courtyard surrounded by Doric columns, and its exhibits offered a concise but complete overview of the history of the city, including archeological remains, artifacts from the Roman era, and other works of considerable artistic significance. Jaime had never seen the Medusa exhibited there, but Paloma experienced a profound feeling of emptiness when they entered the room where it had once stood.

“Do you remember anything in particular about the night of the robbery?” Jaime asked Sabina.

“Just what I told the police. Massimo had to stay to keep watch that night, and that always put him in a bad mood, but he was having financial difficulties and needed the extra hours. That night he was particularly grumpy, but that was nothing new. He was always a cantankerous old devil.” Sabina gave a sad smile. “A big heart, but a bad temper.”

“From what I hear, he liked a drink.”

“I imagine whoever said that was exaggerating. He was sober whenever I saw him. Maybe a drink every once in a while, but I never saw him overdo it.”

“I’m not judging him. But I understand that on the night of the theft, he took a flask of liquor to work.”

“It was Spritz. Just mineral water with a little wine and liqueur.”

“Spritz laced with hallucinogens.”

“That wouldn’t be Massimo’s doing. Someone must have spiked his drink.”

“Where did he keep his things?”

“In a room upstairs. I’ll show you, if you want.”

They stepped into the courtyard and climbed a timber stairway that led to the upper floor, where there were more exhibition rooms. In one corner was a door with a “Staff Only” sign on it. Sabina opened it and led them into a small room that looked like it was used partly as an office and partly for storage.

“This is where we leave our things when we come to work.”

“Who has access?” Jaime asked.

“Just the staff. It’s usually locked.”

“And was it locked on the night of the theft?”

“Yes. Massimo was very cautious; he had a thing about privacy.”

Jaime looked at Paloma. “Are you sure you’re not related?”

“Very funny.”

“Did you have many visitors that day?”

“The museum never has a lot of visitors. People prefer to go and grope Juliet’s statue and stick a padlock on the railings. That day was as boring as any of them. I remember clearly that the only thing that broke the monotony, at least for Massimo, was a smudge on the glass cabinet containing the Lombard crowns. That, and the noise that strange visitor made with his feet.”

“What visitor?”

“Just a guy wearing rubber soles that squeaked. It drove Massimo crazy. He even gave the man a nickname: the Pirate.”

“The Pirate?”

“Massimo was always calling people things like that, based on how they looked or acted. He thought this guy looked like a pirate, because he wore an earring and a red handkerchief on his head.”

Jaime swallowed hard. “What did this Pirate do at the museum?”

“I don’t know, exactly. He arrived at about seven that night and spent about an hour here. It was a relief when he left. I thought Massimo was going to throttle him.”

“You didn’t know him from anywhere?”

“No. Should I have known him?”

“And Rosa Carrera? Do you know her?”

“Rosa Carrera . . . Do you mean Rosa Mazi?”

“I mean the woman who was director of the museum until a year ago.”

“Yes, Rosa Mazi.”

“Dark-haired, attractive, big eyes?”

“Yes, that’s her. I didn’t know her for long. I don’t think she was happy here. She had dreams of setting up her own business, expanding a gallery her father had in Sardinia or something. Plus I think she had a fiancé, and it was hard for her to live so far away from him.”

“Have you heard from her since?”

“Not much. She has my email address and sometimes sends me things, but they’re invitations, petitions . . . the kinds of things people send out to everyone in their address books. In fact, a couple of days ago she sent an invitation to an exhibition opening this Saturday at her gallery. It’s of a graphic artist, Giuliano Fiore; I don’t know if you’ve heard of him.”

“Sure, Giuliano Fiore. He’s very well-known,” Jaime lied. “Do you still have this invitation?”

“I think so. Just a second.”

While Sabina sat at the computer and searched for Rosa’s email, Paloma gave Jaime a questioning look. He threw back an expression that said
I’ll explain later
.

“Here it is. Do you want me to print you a copy?”

“I’d be very grateful if you could,” said Jaime. Before long he held the printed sheet of paper in his hands. “Thank you very much for your help, Sabina. I’m sorry to have bothered you. You must be starving by now.”

“Not at all. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more useful.”

“On the contrary,” Jaime said in a cheerful voice. “You’ve made our visit well worth the trip.”

Outside the museum, the temperature had dropped a few degrees and the sky was overcast. Without asking permission, Jaime put his arm around Paloma and pressed her close to him. As they walked back to the hotel over the Garibaldi Bridge, she asked, “Are you going to tell me what all that was about? I can’t see how that girl was any use to us.”

“She was nice, wasn’t she?”

“Hey, if my presence is getting in the way of your plans, you can pretend I’m not here.”

“Not at all. My plans are coming together quite nicely. Now we know what door to knock on next.”

“Rosa Mazi’s? How do you know she’s dark, attractive, and the rest of it?”

“Because I’ve seen her up close. You’re not jealous, are you? I’m absolutely certain now that she and her handkerchief-wearing brother were behind the theft of the sculpture. I’d bet the pension I’ll never get that he was the one who drugged poor Massimo’s drink and stole the statue. He had access to the museum because his sister was the director. He must have stolen or copied the keys. All the cool kids are stealing keys these days, you know.”

“Very funny. But why would they steal the sculpture from their own museum?”

“It wasn’t Rosa’s anymore. And to tell you the truth, I’m not completely sure that she was involved. The statue had been a gift from her father: Angelo Carrera.”

“Angelo Carrera?” Paloma said. “The historian?”

“He’s not a historian. He was a shady businessman.”

“But a history enthusiast. He wrote an article about the Medusa kept at the Capitoline Museums. I went to visit him when I was in Rome, and he was very interested in my theory that Bolgi’s sculpture could have been Bernini’s.”

Jaime stopped and grabbed hold of the bridge’s handrail.

“You know Angelo Carrera?”

“Was I not speaking clearly just now?”

“I understood everything. But why didn’t you say this before?”

“I did. The other day, at
Arcadia
, when I told you and Laura everything.”

“Sorry but no. I’d remember something like that.”

“You’d remember if you actually listened to me.”

“I was listening to you. I’m sure you never said the man’s name.”

“I did!”

“Shit, Paloma. It’s a shame I didn’t have my tape recorder on me at the time. At least now we know how he found you and why he was so interested in Bolgi’s Medusa.” Jaime looked up at the sky like an illuminist who’d just received the favor of the gods. “He also verified that, as you suspected, it wasn’t Bolgi’s, but was from Bernini’s workshop. That was why he bought the Medusa and donated it to his daughter’s museum, to keep it safe. And later he stole it back, probably because he found a buyer. For some reason, Rosa must have refused to return it to him and—”

“What are you talking about? There isn’t enough evidence to claim all that. And anyway, I think Angelo Carrera died a few years ago.”

“Yeah, another victim of the famous curse of Medusa.”

“The curse!” Paloma held her hands to her head. “For God’s sake! How can anyone be expected to do serious scientific work with theories like that getting thrown around?”

“You say that, but you’re the one who’s in this mess because you’re convinced the Medusa possesses magical blood.”

“But I’m talking about a legend. You actually believe that stuff.”

“You know what your problem is, Paloma? You don’t consider every angle. A lot of people died because of the supposed evil influence of this creature, including poor Massimo, who was poisoned, and Angelo Carrera, murdered on board his yacht.”

“How do you know he was murdered?”

“Well, it sure wasn’t an accident. He was a nasty piece of work, and a lot of people wanted him dead. But there was one man in particular who wouldn’t stop until he saw Carrera’s boat sink to the bottom of the sea.”

“I see bad luck, but I don’t see curses anywhere.”

“There’s also the janitor who died of a heart attack while watching soccer, and the EHU investigators who were burned to death on board the
Artemis
. Not to mention Domenico Corsini, the supposed original owner of the piece. And now if we’re not careful, Preston, Roberto, you, and I will be next on the list. The next issue of
Arcadia
is going to be packed with dead bodies.”