Lagoon Lure: What Happens in Venice: Book Two (Trinity Ghost Story (Romance Novel & International Crime Mystery) 2) Read online

  Copyright © 2014 by Diana Cachey

  Interior Photographs Copyright © 2014 by Diana Cachey

  Th is is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, locations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1500334529

  ISBN 13: 9781500334529

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014911793

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, South Carolina

  Other Books by Diana Cachey

  Love Spirits -- What Happens in Venice: Book One

  Magic Island -- What Happens in Venice: Book Three

  For my parents.

  CONTENTS

  Clues from The Ghosts of Venice

  Chapter 1 Uno (1)

  Venetian Shortcuts

  Chapter 2 Due (2)

  Island of Glass

  Chapter 3 Tre (3)

  No Clue

  Chapter 4 Quattro (4)

  The Swim

  Chapter 5 Cinque (5)

  No Ship of Fools

  Chapter 6 Sei (6)

  Sin, Sin, Sin

  Chapter 7 Sette (7)

  Vittorina

  Chapter 8 Otto (8)

  Pigeons

  Chapter 9 Nove (9)

  Gondolier

  Chapter 10 Dieci (10)

  Bastardo

  Chapter 11 Undici (11)

  No Heat

  Chapter 12 Dodici (12)

  Rouge is Birthed

  Chapter 13 Tredici (13)

  Cleo Gets Her Carnival On

  Chapter 14 Quattordici (14)

  Rialto

  Book Club Questions

  Cicchetti Recipes

  At night is when we walk the grounds,

  To find the places all around,

  Where we live a sober life,

  Free from watchful eyes and strife,

  We wondrous Venice ghosts abound.

  Beyond the sound of tolling bells

  But not so far from Venice swells

  Lies a ship of fishing fools,

  Lies a ship’s brass cutting tools,

  There sits a plate with tails that tell.

  The story is an ugly one,

  The story that is far from done.

  Clue from Venetian Ghosts found by Louisa at Ca’Foscari library.

  (Love Spirits -- What Happens In Venice: Book One)

  Calm in the evening, quick in the morn,

  Days end here as they dawn.

  Curtains drop or raise, lovers come and go,

  Within the master’s framework, the waters of life flow.

  Neglected at the onset, savored when it’s gone.

  Her knowledge grows thick and taut

  With every rook

  And pawn.

  In lures unknown to foreign shores,

  They frolic and jump.

  Sad eyes lost, tossed in nets,

  Killing the smallest and the poor.

  Words Whispered in the Wind to Barbara in Seattle.

  (Love Spirits -- What Happens In Venice: Book One)

  Venice always over-delivered. For thousands of years, she spread out her bounty for swarms of people to feast upon her beauty. Her admirers stayed in ornate palaces and paraded in stylish fashions. They rode in sleek, black boats helmed by prestigious gondoliers. They viewed diverse art, listened to sweet music, sampled delicious food.

  They also enjoyed plentiful romantic opportunities.

  Ah, the romance of Venice. From ancient times to modern day, the Venetian sensual allure continues. Indeed, soon after Barbara’s arrival, Venice offered her no less than three handsome men. Her sister, Louisa, the police department’s new Interpol liaison, begged to hear all about Barbara’s adventures with two of the men. Louisa knew nothing of the third man, the one whom Barbara wanted most.

  She planned to keep him a secret.

  Barbara looked around and tried to take it all in, all that Venice had to offer. Across the lagoon sat the placid island of San Giorgio and it proudly displayed its huge monastic bell tower. Yet the massive tower was dwarfed by the one it faced -the more famous one -- the one that housed the bells of Saint Mark Square. Barbara gazed across the water and, while the sun warmed her face, both of these Venetian towers began to toll their bells. Behind her and before her, the towers bellowed and their bells echoed throughout the tranquil setting.

  Barbara took note. She’d been trained by her Italian friends to pay particular attention to what she’d been the thinking during the precise moment a bell chimed.

  She’d been thinking about secrets. The third man. He must remain her secret.

  And so began her diversion.

  “Back home in Seattle,” she said, “my twin orange cats confuse and distract me during morning meditation, just like those two Venetian men did my first night in Venice. The inquisitive cats circle my cushion then jump on the table where I offer blessings of flowers and candy. They sniff and inspect as if they’ve never seen the ritual before.”

  Louisa frowned.

  “Those cats seem to see me anew each day, as a thing they need to supervise, approve or inspect. Eventually, they settle nearby to meditate on their own. They observe my struggle to quiet my mind while they remain perfect little meditators. Those two Venetian men were the same. While I was nervous and disquieted, they just purred.”

  Louisa yawned.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking that we sisters are as similar in our contrast as are my twin cats and those two Venetian men. One of them -- vivacious, impetuous, rambunctious and adventurous. The other -- methodical, patient, happy to sit and wait until the time is right to strike.”

  Louisa pouted.

  “I expected more,” she interjected when Barbara took a breath.

  More about a sexy Venetian three-way and less of these Seattle cat analogies, thought Louisa. All Barbara would tell her -- all the dirt she would dish -- was that she had a kissing contest with two eager Venetians then refused to sleep with either of them. Exciting in the beginning, boring in the end. Typical Barbara.

  “Doesn’t Venice astound in new ways with each new day?” Barbara’s monologue continued to meander like the Venetian mazes they negotiated.

  Soon they entered a narrow passageway that wound around like a watch spring, which was part of the shortcut from Louisa’s apartment to the boat dock. Shortcuts can be much trickier to negotiate than the routes plotted out by yellow signs that help tourists find major sites. These alternative routes abound in the jigsaw puzzle of a city and hold secrets, surprises and dead-ends.

  “Last time I walked here, I didn’t notice the lion on that concrete wall,” said Barbara, pointing up. The many shortcuts of Venice provided endless new observations. Each time they ventured out, the cafes, bridges, houses and stores they passed before revealed unfamiliar details -- unique carvings on buildings, statues atop gates, door knobs with faces and animals, a flower pot recently filled or a shop window that changed fashions or showed a novel combination.

  Louisa nodded.

  “That boutique owner must re-outfit those mannequins several times a day. I’m sure the one over there was wearing a black dress this morning,” said Barbara. She pointed to one wearing a white, impeccably tailored pantsuit.

  Louisa rolled her eyes.

  “Yesterday that bridge,” Barbara said, “was covered with tour
ists taking photos of the canal. We couldn’t see that its iron bars are molded into leaves.”

  Louisa passed the bridge and saw cafes filling with clientele. Finally she spoke.

  “Are the French always on vacation? Here’s another group of them,” she said, “lording over my favorite window table.” Barbara’s disappointing narrative had made her hungry.

  Yet Barbara’s musings on Venice rang true. Bridges sported new dressings and details missed before came to life in a different light. By steering the conversation away from her recent out of character, romantic interludes -- her sexcapades, as Louisa had called them -- Barbara hoped to refocus Louisa’s attention back into the Venetian streets.

  She’d succeeded. It was easy to lure Louisa with Venetian intricacies, those oddities of a town sensually loaded with lights, sounds, smells that were impossible to discover on a first, second or even third pass. Like life was for her cats, who saw the same things anew as toys, such was how the lagoon town revealed itself to the sisters in an ordinary day or walk to a cafe.

  Relieved that she’d diverted Louisa’s attention back into the dreamworld that was Venice, Barbara’s thoughts drifted to another secret she held -- a line from the poem Louisa found in the Ca’ Foscari library harkened back to haunting words whispered in the wind to Barbara during her winter strolls in Seattle before she left for Venice.

  She connected the words she’d heard, sad eyes lost, tossed in nets, to the phrase, with tails that tell, in the Ca’ Foscari clue and, although Louisa hadn’t noticed it and Barbara wasn’t talking about it, she knew: The use of the word “tails” in place of “tales” meant something.

  Whose tails tossed in nets told the story? What tales did they tell?

  It’s easy to get lost in Venice when scenes change and Venetians keep moving the breadcrumbs. What most visitors don’t understand is that it’s okay to get lost and it’s usually impossible not to do so while weaving a winding way through the Venetian labyrinth. It can be fun to explore the lagoon town without a plan and go off the beaten path on shortcuts.

  Once when Louisa was taking Italian lessons in the student hangout area, Campo Santa Margherita, she’d been staying on the other end of town in a quiet but very Venetian section and thought she’d found the shortest route to school. After several mornings of getting lost on her way there, she thought she finally mastered the shortest route -- which ironically meant passing through San Marco, climbing Accademia bridge, winding through walkways, and, of course, stepping up and over assorted bridges.

  One day she overslept and hurried to school on her shortcut. She soon came upon an elderly Venetian woman hobbling in front of her. Although Louisa kept passing her, the woman would appear a few minuted later in front of Louisa. Louisa continued to pass the slowpoke anyway, but the woman, barely moving and carrying groceries, resurfaced ahead of Louisa each time. When Louisa finally reached the school, the Venetian had already arrived there, a few strides before her.

  Louis laughed.

  If I knew she was going my way, I would’ve followed her on her even shorter shortcut then I could’ve taken my time, like her, and enjoyed my walk to school instead of rushing.

  Many times Louisa guided her friends on shortcuts through Venice but she was often rewarded with whines, complaints, doubts and questions:

  “You’ve gotten us lost, haven’t you, are you sure this is the right way?” Or they might say, “It looks like your shortcut just became the long way,” and, “I can’t cross another bridge, walk another step, this route isn’t shorter.” And Louisa’s least favorite, “I am absolutely sure the boat would’ve been faster.”

  Sometimes she’d throw up her arms up and say, “Okay, you lead the way,” which usually shut them up. If not, they were easy enough to lose. They might not see her again for the rest of the trip.

  The proverbial Venetian shortcut. It turns many corners, goes left, then right, then left again and bypasses the odd bridge, such as one that leads into a private home. According to most Venetians, the shortcuts are always faster than the boats, unless panic sends the rambler in circles. These shortcuts swirl about like a whirlpool, feel nothing like shortcuts to novices and take a lifetime to learn. They save hours of time but are frustrating to master. Louisa and Barbara were always looking for new shortcuts.

  Thus, it was through the confusing Venetian streets that Barbara and her sister roamed their routine route, their shortcut, to the nearest dock. Fascinated by new and old details on the way, they made haste to catch the boat.

  To the cemetery.

  The small island of San Michele lies between Venice and Murano, the glassmaking Mecca of the world. The San Michele cemetery, dedicated to dead souls and surrounded by a tall brick wall, hides many secrets scattered amongst trees, flowers, chapels and graves.

  Oddly, neither Barbara nor Louisa had visited the cemetery during any trip to Venice. They’d often passed the island of graves during numerous crossings from the boat launch area known as Fondamenta Nove. En route to the islands of Murano, Burano or Torcello, but they’d always missed a visit to San Michele. Whenever they tried to go into the graveyard, they barely had time to peek inside that gates. It seemed each time they arrived there, Venetian guards were closing it.

  “Got to go home, we’re tired and need a caffe,” the guards would say. It was the usual excuse for the guards to close the cemetery early, or for any proprietor, anywhere in Venice, to close shops, churches, tourist venues at any time, whenever they felt the whim to do so.

  “It’s lucky these boats come often,” Louisa said when they approached the waiting line of passengers on the dock, “or we might not make it to the cemetery again before it closes.”

  Five minutes later, they stepped onto the boat at the dock nearest to Louisa’s flat, but they immediately regretted the choice. Taking the boat from there meant they’d be forced to ride north down the Grand Canal to its end. They’d then pass San Marco and connect with another boat with another long ride -- down the mouth of the lagoon, around the fishtail tip of Venice, past Arsenale, Giardini, San Pietro and the hospital, to finally arrive at Fondamenta Nove and catch a third boat, to San Michele Island and cemetery.

  As the crow flies, Louisa’s apartment is a short walk to the Fondamenta Nove, which would’ve avoided this circumventing boat ride. Had they planned it right, they could’ve strolled across Rialto bridge and zigzagged to Fondamenta Nove in ten minutes (ten minutes also known as thirty minutes if a wrong turn is made). Even with a stop for coffee or running into a friend, it still would’ve been the fastest route to the cemetery boat. It’s another shortcut.

  Not today. They were on the slow boat to San Michele. They sat in the back of the ferry where the Venetians go to get some sun outside and, with no roof to block the majestic views of palaces along the way, they began to enjoy a leisurely float.

  The long way, thought Barbara, more time to daydream about my new men. Three men. Did Louisa say Poe? Edgar Allen Poe? She heard Louisa chattering about the scenery, about her bad-boy Matteo then about famous people buried in the cemetery. She feigned listening.

  She could see Louisa’s mouth moving but didn’t hear much, not because the boat motor was too near, but because the noise in her head was too loud. Her thoughts bounced from Massimo to Sebastiano to Giavanni, oh my. With each slam of the boat on passing wakes, Barbara’s mind bounced too and Louisa remained a silent movie to her. She didn’t care about Poe or any other dead poet in the San Michele cemetery. She cared only about the memory of a few evenings in Venice with three willing men. Those nights had maybe been the best nights of her life. So far.

  Two strangely opposite men had wanted to make love to her, and both at the same time, on her first night this trip. Then, while lost on the way to Louisa’s apartment, she met perhaps the most magnificent creature of all, the mysterious and memorable, Massimo, the rich and sensual medical examiner. He held her attention the most. He held it riveted.

  Barbara mulled over the tarot c
ards she’d read this morning regarding Massimo. She’d asked the cards to tell her about their potential future together. Her interpretation of the cards told her to take action:

  Very tired of starving yourself while feeding others. Expect and act like you will be taken care of in return for former acts of caring towards others. Acknowledge how far you have come and how well you are doing. Throw seeds of success.

  Because her sister was not engaging with her, Louisa had moved to converse with other passengers on the back deck, unmistakably tourists. Barbara could see Louisa explain something to the tourists. She saw Louisa point out at the land and Barbara turned away. That is your next assignment, Throw seeds of success at Massimo, thought Barbara. Throw seeds of success then sow them.

  She strained to envision her morning tarot spread for the answers to her questions about Massimo. Why hadn’t she written it all down?

  Recall, she told herself then she thought, oh, yes, recall, that’s it.

  She remembered what the tarot cards had said:

  Recall the time when you began this current path or endeavor. Remember your sincerity, your innocence and your original vision. Find hope and a sense of self-confidence in the situation.

  While she continued to ruminate on her tarot card spread, she thought she heard a man in the boat speaking to her, saying something about her “powers.”

  It is true, my lovely lady, lady. The power of attraction, you have it, she heard him say. She turned to the direction of the sound but saw no one.

  I’m over here. Inside, she heard the man say.

  She leaned towards the back window to peek inside the boat. There stood a tall man smiling at her. He wore a grey overcoat with his hands buried in its pockets. A baseball cap covered his hair. She could barely make out his face but she could see happy eyes and his mouth moving at her.

  I am inside you. It is so warm. I don’t want to leave that fiery place. Lady, lady, you are making me all red in the face.

  Is that what she heard him say? Was Venice offering her yet another, eager man?

  Soon the boat arrived at their connecting stop. The vaporetto, the public boat, banged into one of the Fondamenta Nove docks that faced Murano and San Michele Islands. The crew secured the boat and Barbara ran to catch up with the tall man. Exiting passengers blocked her path.