An uncomfortable look spread across Santo's face. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "The film director is a busy man. Time is of the essence when shooting a film."
"We wouldn't get in the way," I repeated.
Charlie told him that'd be great, because then he could tell his friends at home and they'd all be envious. But I reckoned Santo was exaggerating to make himself look real important. He might've met film director once, maybe twice. I reckoned he was better than me at making up good stories.
I went over to where Luca was driving the boat. I asked real casual, "Were you a policeman with Santo when that big art robbery happened?"
He frowned. "Si. Crimes like that make us look bad. The bosses in Rome think we should've known something suspicious was going on. Only after, Santo noticed that the thieves were wearing the same silver ring on their right middle finger." He shrugged. "How could we know?"
"You have to trust your gut when you have a bad feeling," I replied as though I were a famous detective.
"Si," he admitted.
Luca steered the boat alongside the platform. Santo jumped out and went to talk to the film director while we waited. Eventually he returned and said they were having a break, so we could take a look around. Luca stayed with the boat, while we followed Santo up the stairs and into a mega-big room filled with lots of people. It was easy to tell the crew from the actors, because the actors were dressed up in old-fashioned clothes and the crew were all in jeans and T-shirts.
I couldn't believe it. Half the people on the set knew Santo. They nodded, shook his hand, said Buongiorno or whatever. Did he know almost everyone in Venice?
The crew and the actors were all getting something to eat and drink from a long table with heaps of food on it. My tummy rumbled. I tried not to stare at the food.
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and a man introduced himself as André, the film director. He looked normal, even though he had a wild gray beard and funny glasses, because he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. After a minute, it was obvious he and Santo were friends. Maybe Santo wasn't such a big storyteller. André virtually forced us to have something to eat. As if we were going to say no. He also told us that we should take a look over the mansion while we were here.
Santo, I reckoned, had the best job in Venice. Would a half-Italian from Australia be allowed to become a policeman in Venice? I could own a shiny-red speedboat and race up and down the Grand Canal.
After Charlie and me had stuffed ourselves full of pizza slices, Santo took us on a tour. Lots of the rooms just looked like a normal house - well, sort of normal. There were old paintings on every wall and all the furniture was real posh. It didn't feel like a home. I liked Caterina's hotel better. A few of the rooms were filled with stuff for the film. One room had racks and racks of women's dresses and shoes. Some of the doors were locked.
Santo told us about some of the old paintings hanging on all the walls. He seemed to know something about art. He said the security guards standing round were there to protect the artwork. The big vases sitting on tables were copies of the original valuable vases, in case they got broken.
We took the stairs down to the water-level floor and wandered into another room where there was lots of equipment. As we entered, a guy from the crew wearing a green Save the Planet T-shirt threw a blanket over something and turned to us. He gave me an evil glare before he noticed Santo, then he smiled and mumbled something to Santo in Italian before he began to rearrange portable lights and leads in another corner. I wanted to see what was under that blanket. But the guy with the evil glare didn't leave the room and we did. That guy gave me a bad feeling.
What could be under that blanket? A million euros? A photographer who wanted to get a photo of one of the famous actors and sell it to a magazine for lots of money? Yeah, that'd be it. Or maybe he was the photographer and it was his camera with a mega-big lens under the blanket. Should I tell Santo? He wouldn't listen to me if I told him I had a bad feeling. I'd need evidence. I had to get a look under that blanket. And if the guy with the evil glare was one of those bad paparazzi guys, then everyone would thank me and the Venice police force would probably beg me to work for them. Maybe I should start checking out shiny-red speedboats.
Santo led us back down the hallway and up the stairs. I glanced back down the hallway and noticed the guy with the evil glare leaving the room. That gave me an idea. Once we reached the big room where all the people were, I said to Santo, "I've got to go. Back in a minute!"
Santo nodded, but Charlie gave me one of his weird looks because he knew I was up to something. I turned and took off.
When I was within sight of the landing where I had to go down the stairs, I noticed another weird thing. One of the crew walked past a painting hanging on the wall and he stopped and pressed on the bottom right-hand corner. He wore a Save the Whales T-shirt. That was weird; did everyone want to save the world today? As soon as he noticed me, he stopped what he was doing and continued walking.
My heart thumped real loud. I felt all hot. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Still, I'd got this far. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what was under that blanket. When I reached the staircase, I crept down without making a noise. The hallway was clear. I got to the room without anyone seeing me.
My bad feeling told me my whole life was about to change. I took a deep breath and lifted the blanket. My hopes vanished. It wasn't a camera; it was nothing. Seven nothings, actually. Seven silver tubes sat upright. As I picked one up to see if I could open it, I heard footsteps.
I put the tube back, threw the blanket back over the tubes and looked round for a place to hide. There was a door I hadn't noticed before. I tried it and it was unlocked. When I stepped inside, I realized it was a small room like a storeroom. I closed the door behind me, which meant I couldn't see a thing. Everything was black. Lucky I wasn't scared of the dark any more.
The footsteps entered the room. There were two men. They began to whisper in Italian. They sounded excited.
A million what ifs raced through my head. What if they opened the storeroom door? What would they do? What if Charlie and Santo began to worry because I hadn't come back? What if they came to find me when the two Italian guys were still in the room? I began to feel sick. What if I ran out of oxygen?