Chapter 9
Oscar didn’t leave my side. One hand gripping my arm, he wordlessly urged me forward, ever upward.
In his other hand, he clutched the knife.
He could have left me behind, but he kept pace with my slower steps.
Miss Wheeler’s long, athletic strides widened the gap between us.
Thank God she would get away if our pursuers caught up.
At about halfway, she stopped and waited. I wanted to urge her to keep going, but I had no breath to spare. Sweat dripped from my brow and dampened my clothes, and the veins in my neck throbbed in time to my pounding heart.
“Keep going!” Whether Oscar spoke to Miss Wheeler or me, since I’d also stopped, I wasn’t sure.
Miss Wheeler tilted her head to the side, listening. “No one’s following.”
I closed my eyes in relief.
Oscar released me only to give me a little push in the back. “You can do it, Gavin. It’s not far.”
It bloody well was. Not that I told him so. I needed to save all my breath for the rest of the journey.
“Match my pace,” Miss Wheeler said to me. She set off again, slower this time.
I drew in a deep breath, then timed my steps to hers.
With Oscar behind, pressing my shoulder whenever I slowed, I managed to reach the top of the climb.
We took the branch of the road that led downhill to Monteoro, our pace faster now.
I still didn’t speak, however. I wanted to conserve my energy.
At any moment, I expected to have to run.
By the time we reached the village, it became clear we hadn’t been followed, yet my heart still hammered with fear. We’d been seen at the scene of a murder.
“We have to leave on the first ferry out of Monteoro,” I said. “And we have to pray those witnesses don’t go to the Carabinieri tonight.”
“I agree that Miss Wheeler should leave first thing,” Oscar said. “You too, Gavin. I’ll stay and sort this out. If I can’t find the killer—”
“Oscar,” I hissed at him. I would have shouted but I didn’t want to wake anyone in the neighboring houses. “It’s madness to stay. We can be identified.”
“Those witnesses don’t know where we’re staying, nor do they know our names. Even so, I do think you two should go, just to be cautious.”
I threw my hands in the air. He was a stubborn fool. “Miss Wheeler, please add your voice to my argument.”
She was still clutching her knife, but with a final glance around, she tucked it into her belt. “If anyone stays, it should be me.” She put her hand up to ward off our protests. “I can speak Italian fluently. Can either of you?”
“Where did you learn to speak Italian?” Oscar asked.
“My father sent me to Rome to study art for a year. I received an excellent education, and not just in art.”
Oscar stumbled to a stop, his mouth ajar.
Miss Wheeler touched her gloved finger to his chin to close it. “Honestly, Mr. Barratt, how you do like to leap to conclusions. My education consisted of learning the language and culture of this beautiful country, not just art. Now, to the matter at hand.”
“We’re not leaving you to face the Carabinieri alone,” I said sternly. “You were only in Pecco because you followed us there.”
“Some would say I get what I deserve for following you.”
“We are not that unkind.”
“Indeed we are not,” Oscar said. “Also, I wanted you to be involved in this excursion from the beginning. From last year, in fact. It seems to me that you being caught up in this with us is fate agreeing with me.”
“I don’t believe in fate, Mr. Barratt.”
“Nor do I,” I said. “So, since we’ve decided that we’re all staying here, how should we proceed?”
“You start by telling me what you were doing in the boatshed,” Miss Wheeler said.
Oscar and I exchanged glances. At my nod, Oscar turned to her. “Promise not to say a word of this to Defoe.”
“I promise.”
“We were looking for a wood spell that was stolen from Signore Scala. It’s a family heirloom, of sorts, and he wants it back in exchange for the name and address of the antique dealer who bought the book containing the tattoo spell.
Scala says the Pecco boatbuilder stole the spell because he planned to hire a carpenter magician to speak it so he can make better boats and expand his business. ”
“Then he must have already hired the magician, and the spell has already been used. I felt magic in the hull of the nearest boat.”
“We didn’t find the spell. It could be hidden or kept in Colombo’s house. I wonder if the dead man was Colombo.”
“Perhaps it was the magician.” I looked behind us, peering into the darkness of the road and seeing no one. Not a soul.
“Did you hear something?” Miss Wheeler asked.
I shook my head. “It’s odd that those men didn’t chase us.
The question is, why didn’t they? I can think of two reasons.
One, they didn’t know about the dead man and also didn’t think there was anything worth stealing in the boatshed, so they dismissed us as vagrants in search of a place to stay for the night.
Or, two, they did know there was a body there but decided not to pursue us because they knew we weren’t the murderers.
And there’s only one way they could know that. ”
“They murdered him,” Miss Wheeler whispered. “I think your second theory may be right, Professor.”
Oscar clapped me on the shoulder. “My clever friend often is.”
“So we report them to the Carabinieri in the morning,” I announced.
“No,” both Oscar and Miss Wheeler said.
“We find the killer ourselves,” Oscar added. “Only then do we go to the Carabinieri. It’s the only way to ensure we’re not arrested on sight for breaking and entering at the very least. Murder at the worst.”
“If we uncover sufficient proof.” Miss Wheeler’s grim tone held as much hope as I felt.
Only Oscar seemed confident of success. “We should begin by finding out who the victim is. Get some sleep and we’ll meet again in the morning. Miss Wheeler, can you avoid Defoe?”
“I’ll tell him I’m following you two all day. He’ll agree to that.”
We parted in the hotel foyer. Oscar and I continued on to our rooms. Neither of us spoke until we reached his door. As he inserted the key into the lock, I placed my hand on the handle to get his attention.
“Gavin? What is it?”
“Is your motive for staying in Monteoro really to uncover the murderer? Or is your true purpose to retrieve Signore Scala’s spell and exchange it for information about the location of the book with the tattoo spell?”
“There’s a third option.” At my frown, his lips twitched with his half-smile. “Do I simply want to spend more time with Miss Wheeler? May I go to my room now?”
I released the door handle and moved aside.
He unlocked the door and stepped into the room. “Perhaps it’s all three.”
Nothing seemed amiss the following morning.
The Carabinieri weren’t waiting for us in the hotel foyer and guests ate their breakfast in cheerful ease.
I suspect the terrible news of a murder in the neighboring village would be kept from the tourists.
The last thing the businesses of Monteoro wanted was their greatest economic resource leaving in panic.
“There, you see?” Oscar said to me over a full English style breakfast of eggs, sausages and toast . “All is well.”
I leaned forward so he could hear my whisper. “A man is dead.”
He lowered his cup of coffee. “You’re right. I’m sorry for being glib. I’m just relieved we can investigate and search for the spell without the police watching our every move.”
“We may not need to investigate. Perhaps they’ve caught the killer.”
Oscar’s gaze shifted to a point beyond my shoulder. I turned to see Miss Wheeler enter the dining room. She sat at a table with Mr. Defoe who’d arrived ten minutes earlier. She gave us both a nod of greeting.
I nodded back and turned to Oscar again. “We can trust Miss Wheeler when she said she won’t tell Defoe about our agreement with Scala, can’t we?”
“I believe her,” Oscar said. “You must come to your own conclusion.”
I wanted to believe her, too. I considered the dilemma as I finished my breakfast and decided it didn’t really matter whether she told Mr. Defoe about our agreement with Signore Scala.
We would find the wood spell, we would be the ones to return it to him, and he would then tell us who he’d sold the books from the abbey to.
Even if Mr. Defoe knew, there was nothing he could do about it.
After breakfast, Oscar and I left the hotel and headed out of Monteoro.
At the fork in the road, well out of sight of the village, we waited for Miss Wheeler to catch up.
Dressed in pale cream and light blue, with a matching parasol in one hand and guidebook in the other, she looked like a tourist out for a stroll.
Other tourists were out, too, so we greeted her with formal nods and pretended to inspect the guidebook together before taking the road down to Pecco.
Since Miss Wheeler tended to draw gazes wherever she went, it would seem as though we were all out sightseeing.
“Did Defoe suspect anything?” Oscar asked.
“Give me some credit, Mr. Barratt. I know how to handle my employer.” With that, she angled the parasol to block out the sun and tucked the guidebook back into the bag hanging from her wrist by a leather strap.
Did Oscar notice that she had not answered his question? Going by the look of admiration he gave her, I didn’t think so.
Seeing an officer of the Carabinieri stationed outside the boatbuilder’s shed made me feel oddly relieved. A part of me had been worried that the proximity to the tourist hub of Monteoro would encourage them to sweep the murder under the carpet. His presence meant they were looking into it.