Free The Corpse with the Silver Tongue by Cathy Ace

eating linguine—the things he could do with a fork and his tongue! I kept thinking about the eating/seduction scene from the movie Tom Jones . Of course, Beni and I weren’t seducing each other, nor were we tearing at chicken legs as though they were bodices and breeches, but I have to admit that my senses ran at “overload” for quite some time. Maybe the wine was going straight to my head. Maybe that was it. In any case, I loved every minute of it.
    We managed to finish our bottle of wine before either of us had got as much as halfway through our respective meals. Beni motioned to the waitress for another. Should I have stopped him? Probably. Did I stop him? No. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” my mother used to say. I’m pretty sure she hadn’t had such circumstances in mind, but I felt justified in applying it to the situation.
    Despite the overwhelming desire to capitulate to my sensory indulgence and simply enjoy the moment, I thought I’d better try to keep something of a conversation going, so I asked Beni about the mystery necklace. It intrigued me.
    â€œDo you know anything about the ‘Celtic Collar’ that Tamsin said was missing? The police weren’t very forthcoming, and she was wailing on about a curse, or something. It all sounds very mysterious.”
    Beni’s reaction, once again, took me by surprise.
    â€œ Quella collana! ” he shouted angrily, and he slammed his hand onto the table, causing a mini-tsunami in my mussel broth. I must have looked horrified, because he immediately apologized. Profusely, and with lots of hand waving.
    â€œI am sorry, so sorry, Cait,” he cooed. “I must not be angry, but it is this necklace. Alistair should not have it. He has no right to ‘own’ it. I am sure he has come by it illegally. I should have it. In the museum. It is an important piece. It is a piece for the world to see. It has a value beyond being a piece of jewelry! All that Alistair cared about was its monetary value!” His body language spoke of passion and rage.
    â€œ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said apologetically. “How do you mean ‘it is important’?” Now I was really curious.
    Beni took a final mouthful of wine as the waitress swapped our empty bottle for a full one, and brought fresh glasses. Very proper.
    He smiled. He was regaining control and was more at ease. “Ah, I could speak about this piece for many hours, so I must try hard to not bore you. I can try to tell you the story briefly, if I may?” He raised his eyebrows and gestured with his hands by way of a query.
    â€œPlease, tell me. I’ll enjoy every moment,” I said. With him to tell the tale, a second bottle of wine at my elbow, and my delicious mussels to savor I wasn’t lying—every moment was going to be an absolute joy.
    As he began to speak in his rich, low tones, with his delightfully formal vocabulary and fascinating accent, Beni carefully selected a strand of linguine and started to twirl it around the tines of his fork. Instead of stopping to eat it, he just kept twirling absently while he told me about the necklace that Alistair had intended to give to Tamsin for her birthday.
    â€œIt is a piece with a long and bloody history,” he began. “Maybe, after last night, it has another chapter. The necklace is written about in letters by a Roman centurion serving with the Second Augustinian Legion stationed in Isca Augusta, that is today called Caerleon, in the late part of the first century AD .”
    I had to interrupt. “Do you mean Caerleon in Wales ?” It seemed bizarre to be sitting in the south of France, with an Italian, talking about my homeland, Wales.
    Beni nodded. “Yes, the Celts were very troublesome to the Romans, and they had major fortified encampments at both Caerleon and Chester.” Oh, the way he spoke those names—his rolling Italian