Page 15 of Vengeance in Venice (Murder in Moonlight #6)

“Then let us hope history does not repeat itself,” Giusti said flippantly. Then he frowned. “Wait. Do you suspect Rossi of the murder? Why should he kill his customer?”

“Savelli dismissed him the day before he died.”

“Did he?” Giusti’s frown deepened. “Seems to me Savelli was behaving very oddly.”

“Apparently, Rossi had made some remark about women—Signora Savelli in particular—preferring love to jewels.”

“Jewels again.”

“Was Savelli unbalanced?” Solomon asked. “You were his friend at one time—what do you think?”

Giusti came back and sat down. He reached distractedly for his wine glass.

“He was always…obsessive. Which was good for his business. And his studies. But never to the point of madness when I knew him.” He took a sip of wine, then said in a rush, “He was loyal to the government, to Austria, if you like, but only because he believed it was best for Venice at this time. He wanted the unity of Italy too but thought—rightly, as it turned out—that it could not yet be achieved. So he was loyal in his way, to Venice. And to Elena. He always loved her, even when she was betrothed to me. I knew that and thought I had nothing to fear from him. I was wrong. But then later, he feared me because I was first. Maybe. I would never have killed him, you know. I would not do that to her, let alone to him.”

Giusti’s gaze refocused on Constance. “If he was mad, Elena would know. Though she might not tell you. To preserve his reputation. He was always the sanest man I knew.”

As though unaware of the contradictions falling out of his mouth, he took a savory from the plate and ate it in two bites.

“Is Elena capable of murder?” Solomon asked, timing it nicely so that Giusti took a breath and choked on some crumbs.

“No,” he gasped. Which told Constance nothing except that he would defend Elena.

“What about their household? Would someone else kill for Elena? Would those hired thugs of Savelli’s have turned on him?”

“Only if he refused to pay them, I imagine.” Giusti looked thoughtful. “Which I suppose he might have done after they abducted you, signora. But I know little of such men. They are probably not even Venetian.”

“Might we ask your manservant if he has heard any rumors?” Solomon asked.

Giusti glanced at him, an oddly shrewd look in his eye, as if he knew that was not the only question the servant Luigi would be asked. But he said only, “Of course.”

Constance sipped her wine. “Why would Signor Savelli leave the house in the early hours without his coat?”

Giusti laughed with a trace of bitterness. “An assignation? Wouldn’t that turn everything on its head! I almost wish it were true. Only, I can’t see it.”

“Neither can I. But he must have gone to meet someone, and someone was definitely there.”

“Someone he did not fear,” Giusti said, “since he went out alone.”

“Or someone he did not respect, since he went without his coat,” Solomon said.

Giusti smiled. “Like me?”

“Oh, I think he respected you. He sent four men against you, with another two in reserve who came by boat.”

“They were not very good men, since they were seen off by you and me and your gondolier. And the other two picked on a gentle lady.”

“I am not so gentle as you might think,” Constance said, and he gazed at her with frank curiosity.

“We thought,” Solomon said, setting down his glass, “that we might call on Signor Premarin tomorrow. You said he was a rival of Savelli’s.”

“He is. But perhaps I should have said friendly rival.”

“They were friends?”

“Oh yes, Premarin is impossible to dislike. He is a good man and everyone knows it, so he stays friends with everyone.”

“Austrian and Venetian?” Constance asked.

Giusti nodded. “He supported the revolution and made peace when we had to. He bears no grudges, and nor does anyone else against him.”

“And his business thrives?”

“Pretty well.” Giusti cocked his head to one side. “You are wondering if he killed Savelli to take his business more easily. I would find that unlikely.”

“Unless he too has a tendre for Signora Savelli,” Constance said.

“He probably does. She is that kind of woman.” His eyes gleamed at her. “Like you.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Constance murmured. “Was Elena faithful to her husband?”

The smile died in his eyes. “How would I know? I am the last man she would turn to.” He straightened, as though conscious he had given too much away. “But in my opinion—for all that is worth—if she chose a lover, it would not be Premarin.”

“Why not?”

“He is a clever man, an entertaining man, and a wealthy one. But he is old.”

And now Elena did not like him. Was that significant?

*

When they rose to leave, the light was fading, and Giusti yelled for Luigi to show them out, the act of a man who had nothing to fear from whatever his servant might say to them.

Solomon lengthened his stride and caught up with the manservant. “Signor Giusti suggested I ask you if you knew anything against Signor Savelli’s servants.”

“I meet some of them sometimes. They are mostly decent men.”

“What of the new men he hired as bodyguards?”

Luigi shrugged. “I wouldn’t accuse them lightly of cheating at cards. But I’ve known worse.”

“Did you ever hear why he might have hired such men?”

“Protection for the signora.”

“Is that why they attacked your master?”

Luigi curled his lip. The contempt was not for his master. “He is no danger to her. Only to himself.”

“What do you mean by that?” Solomon asked.

“Nothing. Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” Solomon said, ignoring the insolence. “The night your master was attacked, what time did he come home?”

“Not long after midnight. As I already told the police.”

“I am not the police. I have no authority at all. But I need the truth to prove Signor Giusti’s innocence.”

“And your own, from what I hear.”

“You hear correctly. Did you tend his wounds that night?”

“Yes.”

“What time did you leave him?”

“About one, or a little after.”

“Did you see him into bed?”

“Mostly. He is not a baby and can look after himself.”

“Did you go straight to bed?”

“Yes. It was half past one and my father wakes me early in the morning.”

“It is a big house,” Solomon said, “with hardly anyone living here. Would you hear if anyone came in or out?”

“Of course. My father and I sleep near the kitchens, on the ground floor, at the back of the house. I hear both the front and the back doors. They are heavy and the hinges need oiling.”

“Did you hear him go out again that night?”

“No.” Luigi looked him in the eye, and Solomon knew he was lying. “No one went out or came in.”

*

An hour later, they sat on the floor by the window of their drawing room, various pieces of paper covered in Constance’s neat handwriting strewn around them.

The candles were lit and the windows closed, but they could still make out the shifting water of the canal and the lights of the boats still passing up and down.

“Why do people lie to us when they need our help?” Constance demanded. “And I’m sure they are all lying about something.”

“They don’t trust us,” Solomon said. “Why should they? We don’t trust them. And unless they know differently, we are more likely to have murdered Savelli than they are. We are the strangers, and I have the best motive of all.”

“And the best alibi,” she reminded him. “The servants here know that neither of us went out again that night. But I think Giusti did. And Rossi. I even think Elena might have. If we don’t know where they went, then it could easily have been the back of the Palazzo Savelli.

I wonder if the police know more than us. ”

“They can’t know less. I wonder if we can fit in a visit to Signor Foscolo tomorrow.”

“He might well be calling on us.”

Solomon reached out and caressed her hair, the curve of her bent neck. “Shall we go to bed?”

Her eyes softened as she looked up at him. He imagined they glowed, for him. She moved, resting her cheek on his shoulder, her hand comfortable on his thigh.

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go to bed.”