Free Death Under the Venice Moon by Maria Grazia Swan Page B

should have left for Milan. And, according to Kyle, the gorgeous assistant was driving him to the airport. And here I was, crossing Piazza San Marco by moonlight.
    All the windows under the arches were lit, and a somewhat smaller crowd strolled the square.
    As many times as I'd visited Venice, I'd never stayed overnight. My hometown was only fifty miles away.
    My son and I walked arm in arm. The pigeons must have been tucked in for the night, partly due to the hour, partly due to the season.
    "Kyle, do you remember when we came? Piazza San Marco was flooded, and we had to walk on those wooden planks. You thought it was a fun game. We bought you that silly velvet jester hat with little bells. Your father and I thought the bells were brilliant. They kept you from catching any pigeons. You were determined to bring home a live one."
    "I'll take your word for it, Mom, but honestly, I don't remember. What happened to the hat?"
    "We forgot to pack it, and my mother gave it to a cousin for Carnevale ." He didn't seem to remember much, so I added, "It's the Italian version of Mardi Gras."
    He laughed. "I know what Carnevale means. I even bought a mask."
    "You did?"
    "How can you come to Venice and leave without a mask?" He laughed again and nudged me toward a brightly lit bar, where Carolyn sat waiting for us at a table by the window.
    So my son had just signed a contract for a movie to be filmed in the United States, a romantic comedy. He would be the "other man." That and Cruz's disappearance were the main topics of the evening. Carolyn's friends were American-born owners of a local restaurant popular among tourists, but the dinner was at their home. It was a mix of American and Italian food, a taste of local cuisine along with barbecue ribs—an interesting combination, probably requested by some of the guests. No one smoked. I was grateful for that.
    "Is someone going to call the police to report Cruz missing?" I asked the group lingering around the table. I'd been told he was an orphan, which meant there was no family to make a missing person report.
    "Roberto is the one with the vested interest." Carolyn didn't sound too concerned. "If he did make the call, where would he file? Is it like the States? Do you report where the person went missing from?"
    "Carolyn, can we wrap up my last day and get out of here before the police get involved?" Kyle asked. "As far as we know, my mother was the last one to see Cruz, and honestly, I don't want her harassed about it."
    Mio Dio , I never thought about that. How was it possible for the same perfect stranger to ruin my visit to Italy twice in a row? I wouldn't let him do it this time.
    "Who is that awful De Bernardi man?" I asked.
    Carolyn nodded as if she agreed he wasn't a likeable person. "He's the associate producer, handles the money. But he likes to act…hey, Lella, did you notice his assistant?" How could I not? "She has a thing for our kid here." Carolyn punched Kyle's arm, laughing that laugh of hers.
    I expected my son to blush at her remark. He didn't, only shrugged. What happened to my sweet, modest Kyle? He seemed to take Giada's attention for granted. At a muffled ringtone, Kyle fished his phone from his pocket, glanced at it, excused himself, and left the table.
    A chorus of, "Uh-oh, it's her," followed him until he disappeared into another room. Once Kyle left, the men at the table turned to me. "Well, Mamma, your little boy isn't coming back to your hotel tonight."
    Did they really assume I was that unaware?
    "What is she going to do when he flies home?" Carolyn didn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular.
    I asked her, "Do you think you and Kyle will be going back to California soon?" I needed to know.
    "Lella, he's the one in a hurry. I'm perfectly fine in Italy, for now. Okay, maybe not perfectly fine, but I'm in no rush. Of course I didn't anticipate the problem with Cruz. But yeah, I think your son is homesick."
    Homesick? What was his definition of home these