2

A few minutes of gentle interrogation in her native Italian clarified the situation, but only slightly. Sister Teresa didn’t mean that the patron saint of her order was under suspicion—a rather difficult turn of events since Santa Crispina, though not her charity, had been dead since the fifteenth century—but that the convent and its pensione were.

“It’s the murder in the Calle Santa Scolastica. Don’t you know? It’s one of our guests! The English photographer! He was stabbed in the heart!”

The Contessa went over and took her hand.

“Signor Gibbon!” the Contessa said. “But it can’t be true! Murdered!”

“It is true, Contessa, God rest his soul. And now all of us at Santa Crispina are suffering as well.”

“A murder here?” Berenice Pillow said, putting down one of the miniature icons she had been examining. “How dreadful! But isn’t that a bit unusual for Venice?”

“And why not here in Venice?” the Contessa asked as if her friend’s comment had been meant as a criticism of the city. “Tell us what happened, Sister. You can speak Italian. My friend understands it.”

Sister Teresa gave Mrs. Pillow a thin smile of acknowledgment as the American woman drew closer so that she could hear better.

“He was found stabbed in the heart in the Calle Santa Scolastica last night or early this morning. The police are asking questions at the Casa Crispina. You can be sure they are thinking the worst thoughts about us all! That’s why I’ve come for you, Signor Macintyre. You must do something! You know Commissario Gemelli. You have experience with murder!”

Berenice Pillow looked at Urbino in surprise.

“Experience with murder!” the Contessa said, allowing herself a little smile. “You make it sound as if he had been the perpetrator. He was involved in an investigation.” She directed this reassuring clarification to her school friend.

“A murder investigation, yes,” Sister Teresa said. “That’s why he can help us.”

“I still don’t understand what it is I can do, Sister.”

“A great deal, Signor Macintyre. And you can start right now. Come back to Santa Crispina with me.”

“A murder!” Mrs. Pillow said as if the reality was only now sinking in. “How terrible! And during Carnival.”

Sister Veronica nodded her head and said, “That’s right, signora. It could not be worse for us all. This would have to happen during Carnival.”

“Milo will take you in the boat,” the Contessa said. She hurried from the salotto.