Vampire - Dead By Dusk Part 33

"We can't be a success if we're all in the hospital, sick, or-as in Doug's case-at death's door!" Suzette said. "The pasta is delicious!"

"Yes, it is," Stephanie murmured. And it was. Still, it was hard to enjoy her food, she was so aware of the man, just staring at her.

She forced herself to look at Suzette. "We will get to the bottom of what's going on. Lena has been getting better on her own, you said that you feel better already, and Dr. Antinella has taken good care of Doug." She hesitated a minute. "You know what, though? I think it might be a good idea if you moved in with Lena, or if Lena moved in with you."

"Why?"

"Because if you guys are getting fevers in the night, tossing or turning with dreams, you can wake one another up, get aspirin for one another... just be there for one another."

"Maybe that's a good idea," Suzette murmured slowly. "We became really good friends quickly here, but... we both enjoyed our own s.p.a.ce. The little cottages are so special, you know? But you're probably right. And it will only be for a bit... I'll talk to her tonight. What about you? Oh, silly me, never mind. I forgot. There's Grant."

Yes, there was Grant.

"Here comes our fish... wow, smell it! This place is like the find of the century. And you know what? I don't even think we're going to wind up really fat. I read a column on AOL News that said the Italians don't put all the bad stuff into pasta, the way we do in America."

"Probably not," Stephanie murmured.

The group of men was rising. She felt a tremendous relief. But the man who had been staring at her didn't walk out along with his friends.

He finally came toward their table.

Stephanie set her fork down.

He rested a hand on the table, facing her, and speaking so quickly she couldn't catch so much as a word he was saying in his deep, urgent voice.

He was angry.

At one point, he raised his fist, then lowered it.

She shook her head. "Per favore! Non capisco!" she told him, trying to make him comprehend that she didn't understand a word.

But he didn't stop speaking. At the end, he suddenly pulled something from his pocket. At that point, she jumped. He was so adamant that she thought he was about to pull a pistol.

It wasn't a pistol. It was a beautiful little piece of jewelry. A small silver cross.

Suzette, stunned, just sat with her mouth open.

The old man pressed the cross into Stephanie's hands.

She tried to tell him no, that she couldn't take it. He became even more excited.

At that point, a young man came out of the kitchen. He bore a resemblance to the woman who had served them, and Stephanie a.s.sumed that he had to be her son. He spoke soothing words to the old man, then smiled ruefully at Stephanie. "Thank you for your... patience. Adalio Davanti is old, yes, and he fears that you have brought bad things down upon us, with the theater.

Please, don't take offense. He wants you to have this. To wear it. To make the town safe for all of us."

Stephanie stared at the young man. "I-I-this is a beautiful piece. It is obviously worth something. I can't take it from him."

The young man grinned. "He's a jeweler. It's what he does. The cross is not so expensive for him, and he really wants you to have it, to wear it. Please do. It's all right, really. My mother is about to get really angry with him, and he's actually a good man.

My mother likes the customers that come into the new resort. Please, you will make both my mother and an old man very happy."

Stephanie stared at the old fellow. He was still watching her so intently, so urgently.

She forced a smile. "Mille grazie. Thank you, thank you so very much." She took the cross and put it on, clenching her teeth when he came to life and helped her with the catch.

She let her hair fall back into place and smiled again. "Thank you."

He found some English and told her, "You-you wear. Not off. Capisce?"

"Si, grazie," she said solemnly.

At last, he seemed satisfied. He turned and left the restaurant. The young man sighed. "The fish is good, yes?"

"Excellent," Suzette a.s.sured him.

They smiled at one another.

They were smiles of appreciation. The young man lingered, watching Suzette. At last he returned to the kitchen.

Suzette burst out laughing.

"What on earth was funny about all that?" Stephanie demanded.

"Sorry. Most people just get a pinch on the behind. You wind up with a gorgeous piece of jewelry! Steph, did you really look at that? The handwork on the silver is just beautiful."

"Um, beautiful," she murmured. "Let's hurry up and get back to the hospital. We can spell the others so they can get a late coffee or drink, maybe. Then they can come back... and I guess we can head back and get some sleep then. It will be nearly late enough-or early enough," she murmured.

Grant didn't see Clay Barton or Liz anywhere when he returned to the resort.

There were people still in the restaurant, but they were mostly locals, and the head waiter told them that they had people down from Northern Italy and even France, but only a few.

It was a quiet night. It was Sunday, and in Southern Italy, Sunday still meant a day of rest for most people. Besides, tomorrow was Maria Britto's funeral, and many of the local populace would be attending it.

Grant walked into the club cafe, but the theater was, of course, closed for the night, and it was empty. He walked around anyway, where so much activity happened, feeling the strangeness of such a place when it was dark, actors and audience gone.

He walked out on the beach, but still found no sign of Clay and Liz. He realized that he didn't know if Liz was in a cottage or if she had a room in the actual resort building, but he did know where Clay's cottage was. Not sure of just what he was going to say to the man, he still walked to his door and banged on it, then rang the bell.

There was no answer.

He didn't have a key to Stephanie's cottage since he only entered it with her and hadn't thought to suggest that she give him one.

She probably would have refused.

Still, a few words in the Italian language that was coming more and more naturally to him as the days pa.s.sed helped to secure him a second key to the cottage from the young man working the front desk.

He went into Stephanie's room, not certain at first what he was doing there.

Then, he knew.

Trying not to disturb her belongings, he searched through them until he found the resumes that she had on the cast. He was fairly certain that Reggie had done the hiring, and sent the resumes on to Stephanie so she would know who she was working with. It didn't seem plausible that she would have had enough time to advertise the positions and then sift through the applicants before coming over here.

He found them in a canvas shoulder bag she brought to rehearsals. Sitting on the edge of her bed, he scanned them with a practiced eye.

Suzette... she'd spent some time studying with a school of mime in Paris, and she'd worked various clubs in both Europe and America. Lena... her letter of introduction made note of her Italian background. Drew's letter began with the fact that he knew absolutely no Italian, but would be delighted to learn. Doug's was similar... Gema's was extensive and somewhat boastful. And then... there was Clay Barton's. It was a very normal resume. Educated at Tulane... worked in a number of New Orleans clubs... a stint in New York, and a few gigs in London.

There was no mention of his knowledge of Italian.

He scanned the resume again, replaced it in Stephanie's bag, and headed out, anxious to reach his own cottage.

As he neared his doorway, he stopped.

There was something lying there, right on the mat before the front door.

He came in a little closer, then stood dead still.It was the lower half of an arm. A human arm. The flesh was mottled and gray... the fingers were contorted. They seemed to be reaching out.

For him. The hand pointed toward his door.

The flesh on the arm was withered... as if the human being to whom it had once belonged had been dead for a fair amount of time. And yet... yet there was flesh to it.

For a moment, he was still, frozen with the shock. Then he thought that someone had wanted him to find the arm, and to feel this horror.

Was it a warning? Or a taunt?

He came closer, bending down, and determined that it had belonged to a woman-and that it was not so old that it might have come from the excavations or the dig.

He was not about to touch it and leave any imprint on it.

He turned around sharply and headed back to the resort, hoping that Merc or Franco would be sitting in the restaurant, and if they weren't, he'd have the young man at the registration desk call the police.

He felt ill.

He was suddenly certain that he had found the missing Gema Harris.

Part of her, at least.

Stephanie had almost dozed in a chair when Drew burst into Doug's room, obviously in a high state of agitation.

He glanced at Doug where he lay on the bed, and then at Suzette, who was sleeping in the plush, convertible chair-bed on the far side of the room. He motioned to Stephanie to follow him out.

Curious, she did so.

In the dimly lit hospital hallway, he cleared his throat.

"You know that stuff I told you about dreams?"

"About Gema?"

"Yeah, yeah. And we were talking about how Suzette had thought that she'd seen her, and maybe she was coming around, and she had some flu, and we were all getting it from her?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I was wrong. Dead wrong. No pun intended," he said, and laughed dryly.

"Drew, you're not making any sense."

"Sorry, sorry." He hesitated, inhaling deeply. "I don't think Suzette saw Gema, and I sure as h.e.l.l don't think she was ever standing at my door. Nor could she have had any wild nights with Doug.""Why not?"

He inhaled again.

"Grant just called the hospital. There was an arm in his doorway."

"You're really not making sense! An arm?"

"An arm-just an arm. A human arm. The police came and picked it up, and there were no real identifying features on it, but...

they think it might be Gema's."

Ice became an eddy in the pit of Stephanie's stomach. She shook her head in denial. "They found a human arm in front of Grant's door?"

"Yes. Grant found it."

Grant. Again.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Maybe someone is playing a cruel joke on him. Maybe it came from the dig."

Doug shook his head emphatically.

"No. It's not an old arm. Not that kind of old. There was... there was flesh. But apparently, the flesh... well, I don't know anything about forensics, but the person has been dead a while. A week at least!"

A dull pain hit her. She hadn't met Gema. The woman hadn't been a favorite in this group. But that didn't matter. There was another woman dead.

"Maybe... it's not Gema's arm," she said hopefully.

"Well, from what Grant said, so far the coroner hasn't had much to say. But it appears to have belonged to a young woman, somewhere between twenty and thirty."

"Still," Stephanie said desperately, "maybe it's not Gema's arm."

"Tomorrow they'll try fingerprints, but if Gema didn't have them on file anywhere, they may not know. I'll get down to the morgue with the coroner and... and look, and see if there's something that I can identify, but... we may never know for certain.

Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Well, unless the rest of the body appears," Drew said miserably.