Free Venice in the Moonlight by Elizabeth McKenna

know what to do about it. Maybe she should go to La Mascareta and talk to the patrons. The councilman said several people saw her father drinking. Perhaps his friends would tell his daughter more than they told the authorities. It was worth a try.
    She stood and gave Nico a small curtsy. “I have another appointment. Thank you for the chocolate.”
    Nico stood also. “Wait, Carnival starts tonight. You must tell me the look of your mask.” He reached out and found her cheek with the tips of his fingers.
    She brushed his hand away. “My mask represents my married name. Capisci ?”
    Nico nodded and, though she wouldn’t swear to it, she thought he meowed as she hurried away.

n her suite at the Minerva Inn, Marietta explained her plan to Zeta and Rosina. “I’m hoping someone saw something the night my father died but was too afraid to say anything. Rosina, do you know if he went anywhere else besides La Mascareta?”
    The older woman sighed. “If he wasn’t drinking at that tavern, he was losing what few ducats he had at Il Ridotto.”
    “Then I’ll start with those two places. Everyone should be out celebrating the start of Carnival, so maybe I will find someone he was friends with.”
    Zeta helped Marietta dress in a red silk gown with a matching velvet cape. For the final touch, she brushed Marietta’s blond hair until it shone and then swept it into a pile of loose curls that cascaded down her neck.
    Marietta adjusted her golden cat mask and asked, “How do I look?”
    “Beautiful,” Zeta replied, inspecting her own handiwork. She grabbed a few pins from the dressing table and jabbed them into Marietta’s hair. “There, that should do it.”
    Rosina took Marietta’s hand and spun her around. Though she smiled, there was sadness in her eyes. “If only your father could see you now. He would be so proud.”
    If only . Marietta could sum up her whole life with those two words. If only her mother hadn’t died. If only her father hadn’t stopped painting. If only she hadn’t met Dario . . .
    “Are you sure you should go alone?” Zeta asked. “La Mascareta doesn’t sound like a place for a lady at all.”
    Marietta took one more look in the mirror and saw the worry reflected in the other women’s faces. “I’ll be fine. Everyone will be too busy having fun to take notice of me. Besides, I think I’ll have better luck getting someone to talk if I’m alone. Too many people asking questions might scare them off.”
    “La Mascareta is one of the worst places in Venice,” Rosina warned. “I loved your father, but as his income dwindled, he resorted to cheaper and cheaper wine. And he owed quite a large sum of money to Il Ridotto, so they won’t welcome you there if they know you’re his daughter.”
    “Everyone owes money to Il Ridotto. Venetians gamble more often than they make love. But why was he so poor? He recently sold paintings to the Foscaris—one of the wealthiest families in Venice.”
    The innkeeper shrugged. “Venice has changed. The rich no longer are so rich, yet they act rich.”
    “What do you mean?” Marietta asked.
    “Several patricians commissioned paintings, but when it came time to pay, they refused.”
    “So they cheated my father? Why didn’t he bring charges against them?”
    “Bernardo was never one for being bold,” Rosina said. “Besides, it was their word against his. All they had to say was he spent the money on wine or gambling. The patricians still rule this city—even with their coffers half empty.”
    “But it isn’t right.” Marietta’s hands balled into fists. “We must make them pay.”
    Rosina gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s too late. No one will believe you.”
    “We’ll see about that.” It would have to wait until another day, though. Tonight, she meant to walk in her father’s footsteps and find someone who saw or heard something that would prove his death wasn’t an accident. She tucked a fan and several coins into her pocket.