that leak, she completely lost it.”
“In Arabella’s version you were superheroic, leaping out of the boat to pull it to shore and her to safety. She even compared you to Aquaman.”
“Yeah, not so much with the swimming-to-shore heroics. God, she had an imagination.” The side of his mouth started to curve into a smile, then got tugged back. “She was a really good little sister.”
“I bet.”
“Quirky, though. I used to tease her like crazy about her weird habits.”
“You mean like how she used a different color pen for each day of the week?”
He chuckled. “I’d forgotten about that. But, yeah. Did you know about the orange juice? How she had to have three ice cubes in it every morning or she’d get bad news?”
“No, she didn’t tell me that. But she did explain you always had to make sure to eat your food in even numbered bites or you’d get indigestion.”
“When we were growing up, all the knife blades in the house had to point to the right or someone would be mean to her. And she bent the corner of every piece of paper she wrote on because otherwise she thought the message would be misunderstood.”
“I saw her do that, but I hadn’t realized what it was about!”
“She was a kook, my sister. But I loved her.”
After that, things got silent. Dead silent. I decided to try some conversational CPR. “So you came to Venice to visit her? From America?”
“No, I’m spending the year at Oxford. Got to Venice last night. I had a date but I decided to bag it, came here instead.”
“Was she here when you got here?”
“No, I let myself in. She’d sent me a set of keys a few months ago. I crashed on the sofa to wait and—” He stopped himself. It was like he suddenly became another person, his expression going wary and a little mean. He got up and took a step away from the armoire toward me. “Who did you say you were again? And what are you doing here? And why should I be answering any of your questions?”
“Arabella was a friend of mine. From Italian class. She asked me to come.”
He was standing about a foot from me now with his arms crossed. “Oh, really? Did she also ask you to snoop around? And answer her phone?”
I had not been snooping! I was an invited guest! I scoffed at such innuendo. “Excuse me, but which of us wasspying on people from the armoire?”
“Yeah, that would be both of us.”
Screeeeeech went the brakes on my Scoffcedes. “That was—never mind. I was here because of this.” I pulled the note from my pocket and handed it to him.
He read it, flipped it over, read it again, then kind of squinted at me. “So this is what you were looking for? Her goldfish?”
I nodded. “And I found it.”
“Where? She doesn’t have a fish.”
“There,” I said, pointing to the glass sculpture on the desk.
He looked at me scornfully. “You expect me to believe that? Tell your boss this was the weakest excuse ever. I know you didn’t get any photos, that’s why I was watching from the armoire, but if anything private about my sister comes out in whatever rag you’re working for—”
“Is there some medication you should be taking?” I asked him. “Do I seriously look like a reporter to you?”
“No, you’re right. You look like one of those parasites who pretended to be her friend because of who our father was.”
“Why, thank you, MAY BE JERKY.”
“What did you just call me?”
“Nothing. Refresh my memory of who your father was so I can remember why I was using his daughter.”
“Nice try.”
“I’m serious, I have no idea.”
“Arabella Neal? You have no idea?”
“Her last name was Randolph.”
That stumped him for a second. “I guess that’s right. She was using Mom’s name here. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t tell you. You’ve heard of Ned Neal?”
“The globe-trotting tycoon? Who started the space airline?”
“You got it. Billionaire. Businessman. Bastard. That’s our dad.” He was starting to
“In Arabella’s version you were superheroic, leaping out of the boat to pull it to shore and her to safety. She even compared you to Aquaman.”
“Yeah, not so much with the swimming-to-shore heroics. God, she had an imagination.” The side of his mouth started to curve into a smile, then got tugged back. “She was a really good little sister.”
“I bet.”
“Quirky, though. I used to tease her like crazy about her weird habits.”
“You mean like how she used a different color pen for each day of the week?”
He chuckled. “I’d forgotten about that. But, yeah. Did you know about the orange juice? How she had to have three ice cubes in it every morning or she’d get bad news?”
“No, she didn’t tell me that. But she did explain you always had to make sure to eat your food in even numbered bites or you’d get indigestion.”
“When we were growing up, all the knife blades in the house had to point to the right or someone would be mean to her. And she bent the corner of every piece of paper she wrote on because otherwise she thought the message would be misunderstood.”
“I saw her do that, but I hadn’t realized what it was about!”
“She was a kook, my sister. But I loved her.”
After that, things got silent. Dead silent. I decided to try some conversational CPR. “So you came to Venice to visit her? From America?”
“No, I’m spending the year at Oxford. Got to Venice last night. I had a date but I decided to bag it, came here instead.”
“Was she here when you got here?”
“No, I let myself in. She’d sent me a set of keys a few months ago. I crashed on the sofa to wait and—” He stopped himself. It was like he suddenly became another person, his expression going wary and a little mean. He got up and took a step away from the armoire toward me. “Who did you say you were again? And what are you doing here? And why should I be answering any of your questions?”
“Arabella was a friend of mine. From Italian class. She asked me to come.”
He was standing about a foot from me now with his arms crossed. “Oh, really? Did she also ask you to snoop around? And answer her phone?”
I had not been snooping! I was an invited guest! I scoffed at such innuendo. “Excuse me, but which of us wasspying on people from the armoire?”
“Yeah, that would be both of us.”
Screeeeeech went the brakes on my Scoffcedes. “That was—never mind. I was here because of this.” I pulled the note from my pocket and handed it to him.
He read it, flipped it over, read it again, then kind of squinted at me. “So this is what you were looking for? Her goldfish?”
I nodded. “And I found it.”
“Where? She doesn’t have a fish.”
“There,” I said, pointing to the glass sculpture on the desk.
He looked at me scornfully. “You expect me to believe that? Tell your boss this was the weakest excuse ever. I know you didn’t get any photos, that’s why I was watching from the armoire, but if anything private about my sister comes out in whatever rag you’re working for—”
“Is there some medication you should be taking?” I asked him. “Do I seriously look like a reporter to you?”
“No, you’re right. You look like one of those parasites who pretended to be her friend because of who our father was.”
“Why, thank you, MAY BE JERKY.”
“What did you just call me?”
“Nothing. Refresh my memory of who your father was so I can remember why I was using his daughter.”
“Nice try.”
“I’m serious, I have no idea.”
“Arabella Neal? You have no idea?”
“Her last name was Randolph.”
That stumped him for a second. “I guess that’s right. She was using Mom’s name here. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t tell you. You’ve heard of Ned Neal?”
“The globe-trotting tycoon? Who started the space airline?”
“You got it. Billionaire. Businessman. Bastard. That’s our dad.” He was starting to
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