Meet Me in Venice (21 page)

“To
kill
you? What do you
mean,
Lily? Why would anybody want to
kill
you?”

Sam dropped all pretense and began to listen.

“I can’t talk on the phone,” Lily said.

“But where
are
you? And
who
is following you?” Preshy glanced worriedly at Sam. She shook her head, frowning, obviously puzzled.

“I’m in Venice,” Lily said, and the mention of that fateful city sent a shiver down Preshy’s spine.

“But I thought you were coming to Paris.”

“I was. That’s why I had you book me into the Ritz under your name. I thought he wouldn’t know where I’d gone, that he wouldn’t be able to trace me. I thought he’d never look for me in Venice . . . .”

“Just stop for a minute,” Preshy said, bewildered. “Think about it first then tell me exactly what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about murder, Precious.”

“Murder?”
Preshy’s eyes bugged. All she’d thought was that Lily was coming to visit and that maybe she wanted something from her. “But
why
would anyone want to murder you?”

“I have something he wants and he’ll kill me to get it. And this also involves you. Precious, you might be the next to be killed.”

“What?”

“I’m in great danger. I need your help. You must come here immediately. Please,
please,
I’m begging you to meet me in Venice. Only you can help me—”

“Lily, I can’t just—”

“But you must.”

Preshy heard real terror in her voice.

“I’m at the Bauer Hotel,” Lily said. “I’ll wait for you there.” There was a long pause and then, “It has to do with the man you know, called Bennett.”

The line buzzed in Preshy’s ear as Lily rang off. Shocked, she turned to look at Sam.

“What kind of long-lost-cousinly talk was that?” he said.

She sank into a chair, hands tightly clasped between her knees. “I could hear
the fear
in Lily’s voice,” she said, stunned.

“What exactly did she say?”

“That somebody is following her. That he wants to kill her because she has something he wants. She said / might be next.” She shook her head, still disbelieving. “She wants me to meet her in Venice, as soon as I can get there. She said she’s in Venice because she thought he’d never look for her there.”

“And did she say who
he
was?” Sam asked. Preshy shook her head, and he said, “Of course she didn’t, they never do.”

“You mean crazy people. But I’m telling you, Sam, she’s not crazy. She’s terrified. Besides,” she added quietly, “she said it also concerned a man I knew. His name is Bennett. We were getting married and he left me at the altar. In Venice. Just a couple of months ago.”

M
AOW
yawned loudly into the silence, stretching out along the back of the sofa. Preshy got up and took the fire tongs, poking at the smoldering logs. She stood with her back to Sam, staring into the flames.

“That’s probably more information than you needed to know.”

“It was very brave of you to tell me. You needn’t have.”

“It’s the simple truth. I was ditched at the altar by a man I believed loved me. He disappeared without a trace. Aunt Grizelda tried to find him but the detectives said he must have been using an assumed name. He lived in Shanghai, or at least that’s where he told me he lived.”

“He worked there?”

“He claimed to have an export business, James Export Company, but it turned out not to exist. He told us he manufactured components for furniture companies in North Carolina.”

“I know people in that line of business. Want me to check on him?”

Preshy shrugged. “I don’t care anymore, except about Lily. The real mystery is I’ve never spoken to her before. I don’t even know how she knows Bennett’s name.”

“He probably has several. Men like that usually do.”

“Men like what?”

“Con men, criminals.” Sam shrugged. “Do you really think Lily believes it’s this Bennett who’s going to kill her?”

Preshy shook her head and said, frowning, “Oh no, it couldn’t be him. Bennett was a gentle man, he was never violent.”

“And do you know what it is she has, that someone is willing to kill for?”

Preshy shook her head, she had no idea. She slumped into a chair and took a gulp of her coffee, thinking. It all sounded crazy, but there was no doubt Lily was terrified. And if it had something to do with Bennett she needed to find out.

“Lily’s in trouble,” she said to Sam. “She’s my cousin and she needs my help. I’m going to Venice to meet her.”

“And exactly how do you propose to get there? Have you forgotten the airport’s closed.”

“Then I’ll drive.”

“In
that
little car? In
this
weather?”

She gazed defiantly at him. “I’m a good driver, I’ll get to Monte
Carlo, stop off at Aunt Grizelda’s. I can get a flight out from Nice.”

“I’m not driving all that way in that Smart car,” he said coolly. “We’ll have to rent one.”

Preshy gawped at him. “You mean you’re coming with me? Why would you do that?”

“Hey, I’m stuck here in Paris anyway, so why not Venice? At least I’ll get a better hotel room.” He grinned disarmingly at her. “Besides, I can’t let you go alone, not after an intriguing story like Lily’s. So . . . Venice here we come.”

S
AM
took Preshy’s car and went to pick up a rental while she called her aunts. She knew the two women always raced to be the first to the phone, and this time they picked up simultaneously.

“Hi, Aunts,” she said, smiling. “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve decided to come visit you after all.”

“When?” they asked, in unison, then Mimi got off the phone and let Grizelda do the talking.

“I’m leaving right now, driving through the night. I’ll be with you by lunchtime tomorrow.”

“But Presh, you can’t drive all that way alone.”

“I’m not alone. I’m bringing a man with me.”

“What
man?”
Aunt G sounded pleased.

“Oh, just some guy, an American writer I met in La Coupole last night.”

She heard Aunt G yell to Mimi, “She picked up a man in La Coupole again last night.” And then Mimi yell back, “It’s becoming a habit, I hope he’s better than the other one.”

“I hope he’s more trustworthy than the last,” Aunt G said. “Anyhow, how long can you stay?”

“I don’t know if I can, we might go straight on to Venice. But I’ll definitely get to see you.” She winced, wishing she hadn’t told her about going to Venice, now she would have to explain everything. Well, maybe not
everything,
but some kind of explanation was needed.

“She’s off to Venice,” she heard Aunt G say in a shocked aside to Mimi. “With the new man.” Then, to her, “But
why
are you going back there?”

“It’s Lily. Her flight got diverted. She ended up in Venice and said she needed me, it was important.” Preshy hesitated then took the plunge. “She said it was something to do with Bennett.”

“You mean Lily
knows
Bennett?”

“All I know is what she said; that it has to do with the man I know called Bennett.”

“But can it possibly be the same man?”

“Who knows? That’s why I have to go to Venice, to find out.”

“Wait just a minute.” Preshy heard Aunt Grizelda in urgent muffled consultation with Mimi, then she got back on the line.

“Okay, so we’ll expect you tomorrow. We’ll discuss this then. Call us when you get close and we’ll meet you in Nice. Le
Chantecler at the Hôtel Negresco does a good lunch. You can introduce the new pickup and tell us all about it.”

IT WAS SUNDAY AND PRESHY
knew Sylvie would be at home so she gave her a call to fill her in on what was going on. Sylvie also answered on the first ring. She listened, horrified, while Preshy told her the Lily story, and what she’d said about Bennett.

“You can’t go,” she said firmly. “You absolutely must
not
go, Presh. I forbid it.”

“It’s okay, I have a ‘protector,’ “ Preshy said. “I’m taking him with me.”

“Him?
Who?”

His name’s Sam Knight. I met him yesterday at La Coupole—”

“Merde,
Presh, are you completely mad?” Sylvie ‘s voice rose to a shout. “Don’t you ever learn? You met a man last night and next thing we know he’s driving to the South of France with you, and helping you investigate some lunatic who says she knows Bennett and that somebody wants to kill her and you? Are you crazy, Preshy Rafferty, or what?”

“I promise you it’s okay,” Preshy said soothingly. “Sam’s a bit of a mystery man, I admit, but he’s a nice guy. And he’s one of Daria’s favorite writers. I mean, he’s not like Bennett, he’s very well known, so there can’t be anything wrong with him, can there? Besides,” she added as an afterthought, “he’s married.”

She heard Sylvie groan. “So you’re going off with a married
man to find what Lily has to say about Bennett, and who Lily’s so-called wannabe killer is? Tell me right now, Preshy Rafferty, does this sound like a nice normal scenario to you?”

Preshy giggled. “It sounds exactly like the basis for a Sam Knight mystery story,” she said. “Now I think of it, that’s probably the reason he offered to go with me. The writer on the scent of a good plot.”

“More likely he wants to seduce you.”

“Well if he does, it must be the new haircut. And anyhow I’m currently unseducible. Once bitten, a dozen times shy.”

“How long are you going for? I want to come with you.” Sylvie sounded really worried.

“No need, I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“So where will you stay?”

“Lily said she’s at the Bauer, so I guess I’ll stay there too.”

“Hmm, just make sure you get a single room,” Sylvie said. “And promise to call me when you arrive, okay?”

Preshy promised and rang off. She shoved the reluctant Maow into the travel carrier. Grumbling, the cat twirled a few times before settling down, just as Sam returned with the rental car.

“What’s that?” he asked, eyeing the carrier suspiciously.

“It’s Maow, of course.”

“You mean the
cat’s
coming with us?”

“Maow comes everywhere with me. Anyhow, what else would I do with her at this time on a Sunday?” He gave her an exasperated stare and she said, “Let’s get this straight, Sam Knight. Where I go, Maow goes. That’s all there is to it. You don’t like it, you know what to do.”

He rolled his eyes but said nothing, so she picked up the cat and led the way downstairs to the street where the rental car was parked.

“Here.” She handed him a pack of folding travel litter boxes and the bag of litter. “Put one of these on the floor by the backseat,” she instructed. “Then fill it with litter.”

Sam groaned but he did as she asked while she arranged the carrier on the backseat. She wedged her own hastily packed duffel next to it and Sam put his small bag, that he’d picked up from the hotel, next to that.

Preshy made to get in the driver’s seat but he grabbed her arm. “Nope,” he said, guiding her back to the passenger side and opening the door for her. “I’m driving.”

“But I know the road well,” she protested.

“But I don’t know how you drive.” He got behind the wheel, then he glanced sideways at her and gave her a grin. “Okay, Rafferty, so we’ll take turns,” he said generously.

She was fastening her seat belt when she had a sudden flash of the crusty bread and the good cheeses still sitting on her kitchen counter.

“Hang on,” she said, sliding out again. She ran back through the courtyard and up the stairs, grabbed them and a couple of glasses, plates, knives and a bottle of wine, then ran back again.

“Just in case frostbite sets in and the Saint Bernards can’t reach us,” she said, stuffing them into the already crowded backseat, before sliding into the passenger seat next to him again.

Sam was silent as he followed her directions, negotiating his way out of snowy Paris’s complicated one-way system onto the
périphérique,
then onto the autoroute. For once, the cat was also silent.

On the motorway Preshy thought there was something very intimate about driving through the dark frosty night, the two of them alone in the quiet cocoon of their car. She rummaged in her bag and found the CD
Zucchero & Co.,
her current favorite. Zucchero was the Italian singer-composer, whose mix of classic and pop reminded her of long-ago summers in South of France beach clubs with her aunt. Soon her eyes closed and she fell asleep.

When she awoke a couple of hours later it took a few seconds to remember where she was. She glanced quickly at Sam’s profile as he drove, concentrating on the road. He looked stern and she realized she knew virtually nothing about him except that he was a writer with a house on the Outer Banks. Remembering Sylvie ‘s words of warning, suddenly suspicious, she wondered exactly why he’d bothered to come with her, but then supposed he was simply bored waiting for a flight to New York.

Still, she thought he was kind of cool in his narrow blue jeans and black sweater. She peeked at him again from under her lashes, taking in the broad forehead, the shock of spiky brown hair, the firm stubbled jaw—he still hadn’t managed to have a shave. Even the gold-framed glasses were kind of retro chic. He was definitely growing on her.

The CD had finished and all was quiet. She was still thinking about him and wondering what his story really was. “Tell me about your wife,” she said into the silence.

He turned his head fractionally to look at her.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

I was.

He said nothing.

“Sorry,” she said, “I don’t mean to pry, I’m just curious about you.”

“Her name is Leilani,” he said. “I met her on one of those author’s jaunts organized by the publisher’s PR department. I was in Santa Fe, signing books. Leilani came in, she stayed around and we got to chatting.” He shrugged. “Three months later we were married.”

“How romantic.”

“Yes. It was.” He fell silent, concentrating on the road.

“What does she look like?”

He was silent for a long while, then finally he said, “She’s kind of low-key beautiful. Half Hawaiian; long black hair; golden skin; slender; graceful. She’s an artist, that’s why she liked living in Santa Fe. There’s a big artists’ colony there. We bought a house out in the desert a little bit. Just the two of us with my dog, a German shepherd by the name of Cent. Leilani painted and I wrote. It was ideal for her, but I’m a Low-Country boy born and bred and I pined for the smell of the ocean. I missed the way the rivers flow slowly through the marshlands, and the sigh of the reeds and grasses in the wind. I missed the call of the seabirds and the scudding of the low clouds in the gray skies, and I yearned for the brilliance of the sun glinting off the ocean. It’s in my blood and I needed it for my peace of mind, for the energy of my writing. So, though she hated the ocean, Leilani agreed to move, and we bought my dream house on the beach.”