reached this point, Berenice Pillow seemed about to say something. Urbino suspected it might be about the dubious appropriateness of such an allegoryâa woman positioned seductively between two handsome menâas a wedding gift from husband to wife.
Urbino was prepared to give a few more details about the painting when Berenice Pillow said, âI donât remember seeing it in that article in Casa Vogue , Barbara.â
âOh, but it definitely was, Berenice dear. I would have insisted on it even if they hadnât wanted it.â
âIâm sure you know what youâre talking about, but I just donât remember.â She narrowed her eyes for a few seconds. âBut of course! I donât believe I saw the whole article.â
âThe Veronese was on the very first page.â
âThatâs it! Iâm afraid the copy I hadâit was at my lawyerâs in New Yorkâwas a bit mutilated. Now that I think of it, the first part was missing. Thatâs why I didnât recognize the Veronese.â She looked at the painting again for a few moments and then sat down on the sofa beside the Contessa. âYou wouldnât have a copy of the magazine, would you, Barbara? I would so love to see the whole thing.â
âI have hundreds! Urbino, would you be so kind as to go to the library? You know where they are.â
Tonio Vico got up.
âYouâll have to excuse me. Iâm meeting someone at Harryâs Bar. Iâm sure Iâm leaving Mother in good hands. Sheâs been so anxious to see you again, Contessa. We couldnât keep her down in Napoli when she knew you were up here. I hope youâll be kind enough to share your memories of St. Brigidâs with me on another occasion, without Mother around to try to deny everything, however.â
After he left, Urbino went down the wide central hall to the library, a large room that overlooked the walled garden. The da Capo-Zendrini book collection, most of which dated back to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, had some of the most important works about the Venetian Republic.
Urbino went to the glass-doored cabinet, noting that a copy of Lorenzettiâs Feste e Maschere Veneziane lay open on the table. Could his friend be more interested in Carnevale than she pretended to be? She was probably looking forward to her costume ball much more than she was willing to let on.
He searched through the magazines until he found a copy of Casa Vogue . Despite what the Contessa had said, there were only three copies.
When he returned to the salotto , the women had been joined by Sister Teresa. The sister, a tall, dark woman in her early fifties, was standing nervously in her gray coat. She turned to him with a worried expression.
âSignor Macintyre, you must help us!â
Sister Teresa, who had recently become tour guide at the Casa Crispina, had good English, but Urbino could tell that she was in danger of losing it. Usually calm and in control, she was now very nervous. Her bony hands were tightly clenched. Putting the magazine down on the table next to the tea service, he went over to her.
âWhat is it, Sister?â he asked in Italian.
âSanta Crispina is accused of murder, thatâs what it is!â
2
A few minutes of gentle interrogation in her native Italian clarified the situation, but only slightly. Sister Teresa didnât mean that the patron saint of her order was under suspicionâa rather difficult turn of events since Santa Crispina, though not her charity, had been dead since the fifteenth centuryâbut that the convent and its pensione were.
âItâs the murder in the Calle Santa Scolastica. Donât you know? Itâs one of our guests! The English photographer! He was stabbed in the heart!â
The Contessa went over and took her hand.
âSignor Gibbon!â the Contessa said. âBut it canât be true! Murdered!â
âIt is true,