“… so then we paid the five-hundred-euro fine and went our separate ways and I never saw her again. And we were sort of … uh … banned.”
“Uh-huh.”
“From the city of Venice.”
“Oh.”
“For life.”
“Ah.”
“Our kids, too. They were pretty mad—the cops, the mayor, the guy in charge of keeping the park sex-free…”
“That’s not fair,” Lillith protested. She tossed the latest wet washcloth on the floor for emphasis. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t want to be banned. What if I want to go to the Accademia di Belle Arti?”
All Rake could do was shrug an apology and wonder, yet again, when he was going to wake up.
“So you did know Donna,” Delaney said, blatantly ignoring the beauty of the tale of tender lovemaking to hone in on one teeny insignificant detail.
“Briefly.” He wasn’t sure how much of this was appropriate in front of Lillith. None of it would be his first guess. “Okay, so—I was wrong, I did know your mom.” And to Delaney, because it was time to face up to the inevitable: “You said the DNA results will be back in a couple of days?”
“Yep. But that’s not your only problem.”
“My missing money,” he said glumly.
She waved away the looming problem of his vanished fortune. “Not that, either.”
“There are bigger problems than a mystery kid—no offense, Lillith—and finding myself broke in a forbidden city with dried shit in my hair?”
“Yes. Because we don’t know if Donna’s death was an accident. Myself, I’m not a fan of coincidences. But I don’t like conspiracy theories, either. Here it is: Donna found out something, either by accident or because she was falling into old habits. That I can tell you for sure. But I don’t know what it was. She sent me some paperwork the week she died.…”
“What kind of paperwork?”
“Some letters, and the fact that she thought you might be Lillith’s father. She also referenced a flash drive … but that’s it. I don’t know where the flash drive is or what was on it. And I couldn’t make that my first priority, because finding Lillith was my first priority. And now that she’s with me, there are still questions to be answered. And if Donna’s death was an accident, that still leaves the issue of Lillith’s minority.”
“I can take care of myself.” The child sniffed.
Delaney smiled. “I don’t doubt it, but that’s not what your mother would have wanted. Right?”
“Right.”
“All that sounds bad,” Rake observed.
“Tell me. So we have to figure out what’s going on pretty damned quick, because we’re way behind. And we have to keep Lillith safe, because she could very well be in danger.” To Lillith: “Sorry to be so blunt.”
“You don’t have to apologize. Mama always said it’s worse to keep quiet about trouble.…”
Oh, is that what the thieving blackmailer taught you?
“… and pollomerda to pretend it’s not there.”
Rake blinked and wondered if society’s rules against children saying chickenshit in casual conversation applied if the child in question swore in another language.
Best not to dwell.
“And that’s where I come in,” he guessed.
“Unfortunately.”
“Hey!”
“You’re plan D,” Delaney continued, “the backup plan to the backup plan’s backup plan.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve never been plan D in my life,” he said hotly. “I’m always plan B!” Huh. This is a weird thing to brag about.
“And we need you both for this.” She gestured to the room with candy on literally every surface. Even the windowsills!
“You said it was cover.”
“It is. But that doesn’t mean there’s not work to do. Don’t worry, the charities are real, and we really will deliver the Easter baskets.”
“I can honestly say I wasn’t worried about either of those things.”
“But we need the bad guys looking in the wrong direction.”
“If there are bad guys.” He knew it was childish to cling to the hope that the people who might or might not have murdered Lillith’s mother didn’t exist and this was all some odd misunderstanding culminating in his reversal of fortune, but he couldn’t help hoping.
“While my friends and I are investigating, you’ll be here doing this, which, while tedious, is safer than you and Lillith being out and about on your own. Now listen, Rake—this is important.”
“As opposed to all the unimportant stuff you’ve already told me?”
She ignored the sarcasm as well as Lillith’s giggle. “You have to look like you’re doing anything but protecting someone incredibly valuable. You have to make people believe you’re an oblivious American idiot who’s just in town to have fun and you aren’t worried about a thing except getting everything in your wallet replaced because you jumped into the canal—”
“Fell!”
“—like a typical American moron. And you lost your passport during your drunken shenanigans in Lake Como the night before. And you can’t go to the cops because you defiled—”
“Hey!”
“—a public park. So you’re earning your keep by filling and delivering Easter baskets and just killing time until your paperwork’s replaced.”
“This sounds like the plot of a terrible on-demand series.”
“Tough nuts.” Delaney shrugged. “It’s what we’ve got.”
“But that’ll take—” All the chocolate and pastels and Peeps
(they’re STARING at me)
were making it hard to think. “Hours.”
“Longer.”
“Maybe a couple of days, depending.”
“Yep. And remember: Lillith is the priority, and you don’t exist.”
“I totally agree.” Wait. “Of course I exist!”
“Nope.”
Were he and a woman he’d just met really debating his existence in a room full of eggs and baskets and fake Easter grass and Peeps while his possible illegitimate child looked on? And, speaking of that, wasn’t it past Lillith’s bedtime? What was her bedtime? And shouldn’t she be in school, instead of hiding in hotel rooms? Who was in charge of that stuff? Given how self-possessed and mature she seemed, Rake wouldn’t have been surprised if Lillith was in charge of that stuff. “Delaney. I absolutely exist.”
She shook her head so hard, long dark waves of hair tumbled into her face, and with a flick of her head, she jerked them back. “Not without paper. Not without plastic, not these days. You’re officially a nonentity—at least as far as the Italian government is concerned.”
“You leave them out of this. And what the hell is with that accent, anyway?” he demanded, aware that he was deflecting even as he deflected like crazy. “Where are you from?”
“Minnesota.”
“Oh.” That explained it. Not really a twang, and not quite Canadian. A drawl, but not really. A twang, but not quite. It was like the people there couldn’t make up their mind, and the only news that ever came out of Minnesota was weird news. Or updates on the Mall of America. “I really don’t get Fargo. The movie or the show.”
“Yeah, I’m not surprised, but see, the thing about the movie— Wait. Really? This is what you want to talk about?”
“No,” he admitted.
She’d leaned forward to discuss Fargo but now settled back. “Besides, even if you weren’t persona non grata, even if you had tons of ID to show the consulate, which you don’t, which is your own fault, which they’ll think is hilarious—”
“I wouldn’t tell them the truth, duh.” God, what was it about the woman that brought out his inner middle schooler? He only used duh with Blake, and then only under enormous provocation. Like when Blake spoke. Or breathed. “I’d say I was mugged.”
“So your very first instinct, when dealing with the Italian consulate, is to lie like a rug. When you’re already in their black books for defiling—”
“Hey!” He nodded toward Lillith. A little respect, please, for the child who might have been conceived during the defiling.
“Fair point,” she said and, to his surprise, dropped the subject. Except not really, because the follow-up was, “And think about this: Even if you had lots of backup ID to prove you’re who you say you are, which you don’t, it would still take a while for them to get you a new passport. What would you do in the meantime?”
“Starve and die?” he guessed.
“Or work for your room and board, help me with Lillith, and help us figure out what’s going on. And if all three of those sound like too much, at least the first two.”
“Fine. I’m in.”
She smiled, an utterly wicked grin that was as charming as it was off-putting. Off-charming? “Wise choice. And I’ll tell you something else—you can use the shower first. In fact, I’m gonna have to insist on it.”
Lillith coughed politely. “Me, too.”
He grimaced. By now the vile water had dried and his hair was in clumps he was afraid to touch. The thought of a shower was almost enough to make him sob. Or shout—but a glance over at Lillith, who had somehow dropped off to sleep in the middle of the negotiating—put paid to that idea.
Poor kid, he thought, almost knocking Delaney over in his haste to get to the bathroom. Tough breaks. Tough life.
A sad story, sure. But hopefully not his problem. From a genetic standpoint, anyway.