Jordan decided not to mention the fact that the contessa had insisted she must come by again. “To use an American expression, Tiff, I’m afraid that I consider the contessa to be an absolute ... slime bucket!” Tiff laughed, pleased as punch again.

“Well, you tend to be so honest?I thought that I’d be honest, too,” Jordan said.

Tiff smiled and went on. “Back to Ragnor?if I’m able to talk to him, and invite him over, may I use you as bait?”

The term Tiff used disturbed Jordan. “Bait?”

“Well, if I’m able to say I’m having a dinner?or a lunch, breakfast, or even drinks?and that you’re coming, I can at least get him here, to my lair, you know. There’s just something about him that’s so ...

beguiling. If I get the chance, I’m just going to ply him with oysters and liquor. Did you know, oysters do have an effect?”

Jordan laughed out loud, setting down her glass. “Tiff?you’re horrible!”

“Yes, I suppose so, but honest, at least, as you’ve said. May I use your name in my pursuit?”

“Sure.”

“Great! Thank you. I mean, I’ll be careful?I won’t plan anything too close to Anna Maria’s ball or anything like that. Hey, I promised you a ghost tour. Want to hear my favorite story?”

“I’d love to.”

“Once, I think it was during the sixteen hundreds, the youngest daughter of the house, a beauty, fell in love with the wrong fellow. Her uncle had been elected doge at the time, and this fellow was the son of a rival politician.”

“Sounds like Romeo and Juliet.”

“You haven’t heard the ending. The two fall in love, and there’s a rumor that the family just won’t have it Anyway, such a young man can’t just disappear, so you know what happens?”

“What?”

“He supposedly falls off the balcony and breaks his neck.”

“How terrible. So now he haunts the house?”

“Of course. Unfortunately,” Tiff said with a sigh, “I’ve never seen him.”

“Too bad.”

“Now, of course, the daughter is certain her family caused the accident. So she decides to kill herself as well and jumps off the same balcony.”

“I guess that’s why you never get to see him haunting your bedroom. The two of them are haunting the place as a pair.”

Tiff shook her head. “Nope! The daughter jumps off the balcony?but hits the canal. She means to drown, of course, but she’s rescued by a young gondolier. She marries the fellow, and they move to Rome, and live happily ever after. Isn’t that a happy ending?”

“Sure?except for the original young man the daughter was in love with.”

“Oh, well, there can’t be a happy ending for everyone!” Tiff said. “There’s more; come on, we’ll walk around the place and I’ll give you more history.”

The palazzo was beautiful, with the master bedchamber being exceptional. The original owner meant to make money renting the place. A large room had been converted into a bath with a marble Jacuzzi tub large enough to accommodate several people, a shower with multi jet sprays, plush rugs, and massive double sinks. The bedroom itself had a sitting area, a breakfast table by a window, and a huge bed covered in rich maroon silk.

“Seductive, eh?” Tiff said, her smile gleeful. “Now ... if I can only get the young blood in here that I want to seduce ...”

“Well, then, I hope you get it,” Jordan said and glanced at her watch. “Thanks for the breakfast, Tiff, and the tour. The place is really wonderful. It should definitely do.”

“Thanks. I hope so. I mean, I’m doing all the right things. Of course, I have help here, but only every other morning. I’m actually quite a fine cook, and I’ve always been detailed, organized, and neat. Anal, even!” she admitted with a smile.

She went downstairs with Jordan, showing her out On the streets again, Jordan was surprised to realize that she laughed each time she thought about Tiff’s brash honesty. Tiff was indeed something.

She’d enjoyed the morning, and walking back, she felt again just how much she loved Venice.

The city was uniquely charming.

And by day, there were no shadows.

Ragnor sat at an outside table in St. Mark’s Square, watching.

The day was cool, and last night’s snow had vanished as if it had never been. The sun was out, the bandstand was quiet for the moment, and he had a good view of the people coming and going from the Square.

As the day was bright, he wasn’t the only person wearing dark glasses. He’d always been fond of shades anyway, ever since he’d gotten his first pair. They were great when you wished to see, but didn’t want your thoughts seen in return.

He’d never been particularly fond of costumes and had no intention of wearing one by day. He sat in his long, black leather cape with a black turtleneck beneath it. Black boots kept his feet warm.

He was very fond of black.

It was the color of the night.

And the color of his coffee. It was good. He liked this particular cafe because they did brew large, strong cups of what they called American coffee, though he knew few Americans who drank their coffee quite so strong. Over the years, however, he’d acquired a taste for heavy, rich roasts, and this place brewed them well.

It was also an excellent vantage point. He could see from the Basilica to the newest part of the Square, the length erected by order of Napoleon Bonaparte, and gazing in the opposite direction, he could see those coming and going from St. Mark’s and the Campanile, and even coming in from the pillars on the canal.

There were jugglers performing, and dotting the area, everywhere, were makeup artists, bartering for the privilege of securing clientele. Children loved the work; butterflies drawn on cheeks in vivid color, cat faces, kiss faces, diamonds, glitter, and sparkles. Adults weighed the value of makeup versus a mask.

The pigeons were everywhere. Vendors sold little bags of corn to be thrown to the birds, heedless of the fact that they tended to inhabit the Square for whatever tidbits of food could be found.

It was an interesting place for people-watching. As always, during Carnevale, those who were especially stunning, odd, or unusual paraded around in their costumes, posing by the pillars, faces bland as they met camera after camera. There were those who came only to watch, who oohed and aahed over a performer, then over a costume, then over a sparkling display in a shop window.

He shifted, sipped his coffee, and leaned back, certain, if he waited long enough, he would be able to accost Nari. She would pretend, of course, that she seldom wandered into the streets. Especially by day.

He knew her better.

An American woman started screeching near him; he smiled, watching her. She and her husband had been attracting pigeons for their two young sons.

The pigeons had done what pigeons often do?on her arm.

Her husband did his best, running around, grabbing napkins.

Then he saw her.

Nari was across the road in a long dress, sweeping cape, and theatrical mask. He cast a pile of lire on the table and took off in pursuit.

She reached the walkway to the streets beyond the Square. He followed, making his way through the crowd. He walked down a length of shops, around the corner of a restaurant, closing in on her.

Back on a narrow canal, he nearly reached her. Then, suddenly, someone ran straight into him.

Searching the crowd over the woman’s head, he caught her shoulders, apologizing swiftly.

“Ragnor! Hello, ciao! It’s me, Tiff Henley, fancy running into you.” He stared down into the woman’s face, trying to remember her. Yes, Tiffany Henley, the very rich American, well-kept, attractive, widow of a man three times her age, a powder puff blond but not at all stupid. She’d used her assets and gotten where she’d wanted to go.

“Yes, Tiff, hello, how are you?”

He looked beyond her, his temper rising.

“I’m so pleased to run into you.”

“I’m sorry to have collided, and I am awfully sorry, I’ve got to run?”

“Of course. But I would love to have you over for drinks tomorrow, before Anna Maria’s ball?you are going, of course.”

He barely heard her?he was still searching through the crowd ahead of him. Her hands were on his chest, stopping him from moving forward. He was tempted to shove her aside. There were crowds all around them. Seething at the interruption, he forced himself to hold his temper, and his anxiety, in check.

“Tiff?”

“The American girl will be there.”

Distracted, he looked down at Tiff. “The American girl?” He knew exactly whom she meant, and also that she had meant to distract him.

“Jordan Riley. And her family ... a few others.”

Watching Tiff, he was certain that she was making up her guest list as she spoke.

“Will you come? Truly, I’d love to have you.” She was still determinedly touching him, stopping him from moving on. “I mean, of course, you’re welcome to come by any time at all. The palazzo is really quite charming?”

“I know.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Years ago.”

“Please, do come.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll try, but if you’ll excuse me ...” He kept staring over her head. He meant to find Nari.

He was going to have to find her.

Dusk was closing in again.

CHAPTER 7

Though Jordan had intended to head straight back to the hotel, she found herself wandering instead, and looking into shop windows. She found a place with beautiful leather goods and bought a jacket that just happened to fit her perfectly.

On a roll, she found a pair of knee-high low-heeled boots in five and a half?an amazing find. Both shopkeepers were happy to have her purchases sent on to the Danieli, and so she wandered into a coffee shop for an espresso. It was while she was standing at the counter, idly noting the wood-framed mirror above the bar, that she saw the man in the dottore costume and mask?staring at her. She thought she saw the eyes within the mask?of course, she didn’t, couldn’t, he was too for away?but she knew that he was staring into the espresso bar, and that he was looking specifically at her.