Free The Veils of Venice by Edward Sklepowich Page A

shuttered windows, and at one point, faint and far off, someone whistling a phrase from an aria of Verdi.
    He wandered into Florian’s, but stayed only long enough for a quickly drained glass of wine before setting out for the Riva degli Schiavoni. He had vaguely in mind the Public Gardens at the eastern end of the city, where he often went, even later at night, to sit on a bench and think as he looked out across the lagoon.
    The Danieli, where Eugene would be staying, spilled light on the pavement from a golden but decidedly deserted interior. The staff members had the air of elegant and slightly bored caretakers.
    He was about to break into his stride along the wide Riva when, on an impulse, he hurried to the circolare that was about to depart from the San Zaccaria landing.
    He went out to the unoccupied stern and seated himself beside the door.
    Soon, the Basilica, the Doges’ Palace, and the broad sweep of the Riva seemed to be floating, brightly illuminated, between the dark waters and the night sky.
    For the next hour and a half, as the boat made its circuit through the Giudecca Canal and into the lagoon past the cemetery island to Murano, then back to Venice, Urbino indulged in speculations about Olimpia’s murder in which the dynamics of the Palazzo Pindar – or what he knew of them so far – and Gaby’s fears played prominent roles.
    Only a few days ago Gaby had been the focus of his and the contessa’s concern, and she still was, perhaps even more so now that her sister had fallen victim to the fate she seemed to have feared for herself. Whether she was actually in mortal danger or only imagined she was, was something that he needed to find out.
    Now it was Mina who needed their immediate help, and in helping her, they might be able to help Gaby – or at least get to the source of her fears. As the contessa said, Mina had to be saved – saved from many years in prison, and he had only a relatively short time to do it in. So much was against the girl. She had been discovered next to Olimpia’s dead body by no less a witness than the contessa herself, she had been grasping the murder weapon, and she had initially insisted that she had killed Olimpia.
    No, it did not look good for Mina, who also had the history of her emotional disturbance against her.
    Another fact, almost as damning as the others, was certain to be exploited. Mina and Olimpia had been involved in what the clever Jesuits had warned Urbino against at boarding school. A particular friendship.
    Had Olimpia had any particular friendships before she met Mina? Urbino had little doubt that she had. It was logical to assume that Olimpia – unlike Mina, who was hardly more than a girl – had had an earlier relationship, and even more than one.
    A former particular friend might have been seething with jealousy about Mina. It was not hard to imagine those feelings leading to the fatal attack. Nor was it hard to imagine what Apollonia, the upholder of rigid moral values, had thought about her niece. The Palazzo Pindar must have crackled with the tension between the two women. And Apollonia’s disapproval would have extended from Olimpia to Mina and to anyone else she had been involved with.
    Urbino needed to know more about Olimpia’s past. Vital clues to the murderer usually lay in the victim’s past, in his relationships with others.
    At least this had been Urbino’s experience. Although murder could come to those who were in the wrong place at the wrong time or who had been selected randomly, this wasn’t the world that Urbino’s sleuthing carried him into. His passion for order, a passion that left him unsatisfied until things were set right, was exercised on a smaller, more intimate, but no less dangerous stage.
    Urbino warned himself, however. It was premature to be making any assumptions about the murder and the Palazzo Pindar. Yet he had made a huge one.
    The answer to Olimpia’s