"No," said Santo. "The mastermind pulled off the perfect crime."
"I'd love to catch a mastermind." I imagined standing in front of my class and telling them about it.
It just so happened that Princess Mary was also on holiday in Venice with the prince and their children. They were kidnapped ... but Charlie, Santo and me found the kidnapper's hideout and rescued the royal family.
After the whole class agreed I'd made up the story, I'd hold up the front page of the newspaper with our photo in it.
"Yeah, that's exciting," Charlie said to Santo about the art theft, "but what do you do day to day?"
"As I said, most of the time, I satisfy myself that life in Venice is in order." He pretended to be offended and stuck his nose in the air. "That life is traveling along as it should."
That didn't sound exciting; it sounded boring. "So," I asked, "when do we get to go on the police boat?"
"Soon," he replied.
After walking the streets of Venice with Santo for ages, I wondered if he'd lied to us about having a ride on the police boat. First, we visited his favorite coffee shop, so Santo could have the best coffee in all of Venice. He introduced us to the owner of the café and every single customer who walked in. They gasped when they discovered we were from Australia. So far! they said. Aussie relatives seemed to make Santo feel important, so we didn't mention that we were actually related to Caterina.
Then we dropped in to a church, so Santo could check on Father Francesco, who had been very ill. We discovered Father Francesco had recovered and had been absolutely healthy for the last six months.
After that we followed Santo to a place where gondoliers hung out and waited for tourists. Santo chatted with them in Italian. They might've been chatting about the weather or football, or they might've been planning to lift the whole of Venice up a bit higher so it wouldn't flood. Charlie and me couldn't be sure.
When Santo joined us, I said to him, "I've got a good name for you."
"Yes, Max, what name is that?"
"Mr. Have-a-chat."
Charlie laughed, then, luckily for me, Santo laughed too. Santo rubbed his chin and said with a smile, "Let me think ... whom could I have a chat with now?"
"Someone who sells gelato," suggested Charlie.
As soon as we got our gelato, Santo's cell phone rang. He announced, "The police boat is ready."
On our way to the police boat we saw a shop full of carnival masks, a shop full of colorful Murano glass that's made on one of the islands of Venice, a shop full of colorful marble paper, a shop with miniature gondolas and a shop full of Venetian lace. I reckoned he was taking us the long way so we had to see tourist stuff, and I told him that.
"Be patient," he replied. "Soon we'll see the magnificent Grand Canal."
"What's so magnificent about it?" I asked as we wandered through narrow stone streets.
"There are many magnificent palaces either side of the Grand Canal," he explained. "You'll see them."
"Are you going to chat with the people who live in the palaces?" I was a bit suspicious; his best friend probably lived in one of the palaces.
Santo laughed. "No, no, I don't know anyone personally who could afford to live in a palace. They cost millions and millions of euros."
We kept going through a maze of random narrow streets. It was like the streets were designed to make us feel lost and then suddenly we'd arrive in a square or at a small bridge going over a canal and we'd feel found again.
Finally, we reached the boat and we met Luca, a policeman who worked with Santo. I took a photo of Luca and Santo in the police boat. The boat was pretty cool. I reckoned it could go fast.
"Don't you need this boat to catch criminals?" I asked Luca.
"Not this afternoon. I asked the criminals to take the afternoon off," he replied. He started the engine and steered the boat through all the other boats on the canal.
I had a bad feeling that Santo had been telling the truth when he said there wasn't much crime in Venice.
We reached the Grand Canal. In front of us, on the other side of the canal, stood a line of colorful four-storey palaces. They looked like they belonged in a storybook land.
Charlie pointed to the palaces and asked, "Why are there are so many palaces?"
"Ah ha," said Santo. "Venice had many wealthy, powerful families. They liked to show off their wealth by building grand palaces. They supported architects and artists. That's one reason why Venice is a famous center for art."
Then he pointed out The Cursed Mansion. I sat up straight and Charlie moved closer to us. A sly smile spread across Santo's face.
"The Ca' Dario palace," said Luca.
It looked pretty cool; I liked the round windows. "Why's it cursed?"
"Venetians like to say it's cursed because so many of the owners have died. Even people connected to the palace have died. Very mysterious."
"Well tell us," demanded Charlie.
"Well," Luca said, "the palace was built in the fifteenth century by Giovanni Dario, a Venetian diplomat."
Charlie interrupted, "How'd he die?"
"It was his son-in-law. He was publicly disgraced and murdered. Later his wife died, they say of shame. After that many bad things happened to owners of the palace. There was a diamond merchant who went bankrupt, an English historian who committed suicide or was murdered, many European nobles ... I can't remember the details. There was an eccentric American owner in the 1950s who was thrown out of Italy. There was a count who was beaten to death by his butler. Not so long ago, a manager of a famous rock group died. Then there was Mr. Gardini, a businessman who committed suicide before he was about to be arrested."
"What for?" I asked impatiently.
"Something to do with one hundred million dollars worth of bribes to Italian politicians."
"Wow," Charlie and me said at the same time.
Santo laughed. "The curse is just a good story. It's good for Venice to have a cursed palace. It adds a bit of ... spice to the Grand Canal."
I noticed a whole lot of people and activity in through the windows of The Cursed Mansion. "Is something going on in there?"
Santo's eyes lit up. "A film is being shot there. Venice is a favorite location for TV shows and films."
If the film star got kidnapped, we could rescue her. Not as good as Princess Mary, but a film star would do. "Are there any famous actors in the film?" I asked Santo.
"I don't know. It's a French film. I know the director; he used to make a TV show here. He's well known in Europe."
Suddenly an even better idea came to me. I could see myself standing in front of my class, telling them:
I met this famous film director in a cursed palace on the Grand Canal ... and he happened to need a boy my age for a small part ... so, to help him out, I played the part ... he said I was a natural actor ... then he asked me if I could return to Venice for the opening of the film next year ... and, very humbly, I agreed so Mom could come back with me and see her relatives.
"If you know him," I said, "you can visit him and we'll watch while he's filming. We won't get in the way." At the very least I could get a photo of a famous actor to show my class.