He nodded and ran a hand through his scruffy hair. “Yeah, but I don’t sign autographs here, and really don’t appreciate the interruption. Who told you I lived here? You can catch me at the stage door an hour prior to—”

  “No, I’m not looking for your autograph,” she said, almost too readily, because suddenly he began staring at her with a bit of contempt, as if to say, Why don’t you want my autograph? She quickly backtracked. “I mean, I saw the performance yesterday and I did think you were enormously talented, but I am a friend of—”

  He scratched the back of his head and yawned so loudly, it broke her train of thought. “Look, I’m a little busy. Could you please get to the point? What are you looking for?”

  “It’s about Marcello. I was his . . . friend. He invited me to the performance yesterday.”

  At that, the man’s eyes widened a bit. With guilt? “Are you with the police? I told them everything I had to say. I don’t have anything more.”

  “No. I’m not. I’m a friend of his, that’s all. And I heard the police think it could be murder, that he was poisoned, and I just want answers. Can I come in? I have a few questions. That’s all.”

  He looked behind him, then started to open the door wider. As he did, a male voice said something to him in Italian. He responded in a tired voice and stepped aside to the smell of food cooking.

  It was only when Diana was inside the small apartment that she realized that Luca was only wearing a towel around his waist. His muscular body was like that of a professional weightlifter’s—cut and completely hairless. She averted her eyes as he motioned to a chair in the living area.

  The place was surprisingly neat and modern, a stark difference to the crumbling exterior. It was painted a cheerful light blue with art-deco furnishings, and on the wall were a few large, Andy Warhol–style paintings of Luca, in coordinating color schemes. As she lowered herself into a bright yellow plastic chair, part of a retro kitchenette, she saw the other man, who was just as lacking in the clothing department, standing in front of a sizzling pan on the stove. He had on a pair of tight underwear and an apron, and was holding a spatula.

  She decided her best course of action was to look down at the floor. It was wooden, and absolutely spotless and shiny, like that of a bowling alley.

  “What did you say your name was?” Luca asked her as she fought the furious blush on her cheeks.

  “I’m Diana St. James.”

  He sat on down across from her. “Diana. This is David.”

  She looked up. David smiled at her and wiggled he fingers in a wave. It was the perfect name for him, because he almost looked like that statue of David replica she’d seen in Florence—pale, lean, with abundant curls, and, of course, nearly naked. “Oh. Hi.”

  “Euvo e pancetta?”

  Diana’s eyes shifted to Luca’s. “Um . . .”

  “Bacon and eggs,” he explained. “David makes the best of them.”

  “Oh. No thank you. You speak English very well.”

  He nodded, unimpressed with himself. “Yes. Most of us actors do as we take on jobs all over Europe. David here doesn’t speak a word of it, so I apologize if he doesn’t say much.” He smiled adoringly at David, who smiled back. He shrugged. “David is blissfully ignorant to everything we discuss, which is why I adore him. I like things uncomplicated.”

  David winked at her.

  With that, she now completely lost her train of thought once again, until David came and set a mug on the coaster in front of him. Luca dragged the mug toward him and leaned in close, taking a large sniff. “I’d offer you something to drink, but it looks like you have that covered.” He rolled a hemp coaster over to her. “You had questions?”

  She placed her bottle of San Pellegrino on the coaster. “Ah, yes. I did. I—”

  “Wait . . .” He was back to eyeing her suspiciously again. “You were the one in his dressing room when he died. Right? I remember you being there afterwards when the police were questioning us all. And the dress. Blue. Right?”

  She nodded. “Good memory.”

  He shrugged. “Great dress. Custom? From that little boutique downtown, right? Piazza Bra, yes?”

  “Yes. Thank you. I was really shocked by his death, as you can imagine. And now the police think it’s murder. I can’t get it out of my mind.”

  “I can imagine. Did he just drop dead in front of you?”

  She nodded. “Pretty much. One moment he was talking to me, drinking wine and getting changed, and the next moment, he’d passed out dead on the floor. It was very scary. And I was just wondering if you had any idea who could’ve done something like that?”

  He shook his head, wiped his brow with his hand. “No. I can’t. It’s shocking to me, too.” He looked over at David, who nodded. “I came home and told David, last night, and we just . . . couldn’t believe it. Not Marcello. We both had ourselves a big cry.”

  “You knew Marcello well?”

  He nodded. “I did. David knew him from my association with him. He was a gem. One of my best friends. In fact, he brought me into the Compagnia del Andre. We—”

  “Compagnia del—?”

  “Andre. That’s our troupe. We do all types of Shakespeare productions, at least six a year. It’s the most respected one in all of Verona, maybe even the area. We’re all like family.”

  “And every actor in the play yesterday was part of the troupe?”

  He nodded. “The major roles, at least. The minor roles might go to other people outside the troupe. We are all very close, and we respect each other greatly.”

  This wasn’t leading to any good information, either. From everything she’d heard, everything seemed to be sunshine and rainbows in the troupe. That didn’t explain a dead body. She needed to change her tack. “I saw that you offered to play his role, after he died?”

  He nodded. “Of course. He and I—we run lines together all the time. So I know the Peter Quince part better than anyone. We all know each other’s lines well, because we often trade parts. So obviously Pietro had other plans.” He made a face.

  “You don’t like Pietro?”

  He exchanged a knowing glance with David. “Not particularly. His opinions are too strong, and he doesn’t listen to anyone else. The man’s an obese, bull-headed fool, if you ask me. But he’s our leader, in charge of all the decisions, so I grin and bear it so I have a job. If he don’t like me. . .” He slashed a finger across his neck. “I don’t agree with much he’s said, especially with the latest production. Terrible.”

  “So you weren’t happy with the performance yesterday?”

  He laughed. “Were you? I thought it was a horror. No chemistry. No spark.”

  Diana smiled. Maybe she would’ve had a better idea on what was missing if she’d been able to speak the language and understand what they were saying. “I liked it. I’m by no means a theater expert, though, but I could tell there was talent with you all.”

  “Some of us, more than others?” He asked with a wink. He rolled his eyes. “Pietro has, in the past, made some questionable decisions on who he takes into the company. We all think so. But at least, under his direction, they learn. I’ll give him that.”

  “I didn’t notice. I thought you were all very talented.”

  “Perhaps. But there is more to a production than good acting. It’s a certain kind of magic that can’t always be captured.” He glanced at David again, then leaned back, stretching his arms over his head and flexing his muscles. He looked down at himself in admiration. “It’s the way the different players interact, a chemistry that doesn’t always translate well on the stage. This production was a dog to plod through.”

  “Oh. What do you mean? So some of you didn’t get along?”

  “There was—how shall I say it?” He tented his fingers in front of him. “Tension. Between a few of us.”

  “Marcello? And . . .”

  “Mariana. Definitely.”

  “You mean, the woman who played Titania? What makes you say that?”

  He smiled. “Just a hunch.”

  “So they weren’t friends?”

  David came over with a plate of eggs and slabs of cooked pancetta, which he set in front of Luca. It looked really good. Luca smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. “Wonderful, grazie, David.” He picked up his fork. “Oh, they were friends. Like I said, we all were. I think of everyone, Mariana and Marcello created the most fireworks. They were bickering constantly. Probably because they knew each other too well. Grew up together, went to school together, you know. Very close. Almost too close.”

  “Is that so?” Diana asked, deep in thought. Maybe there was something there. She had left his room with a strange look on her face that day. “You saw them fighting? Before his death?”

  “No. Never fighting. Bickering. And when I say bickering, I mean they were just back and forth. Almost teasing each other, sometimes rudely. You know, like brothers and sisters do. But I think it was starting to get on Mariana’s nerves, to tell you the truth. Maybe that is why she asked me to switch. She didn’t want to be near him for all those scenes that Titania needs to be near Nick Bottom—too hard for her to be close to him.”

  Right, because in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Titania, put under a love spell by Oberon, the king of the fairies, falls in love with Nick Bottom, whose head had been changed to that of a donkey’s, by the mischievous sprite Puck. So there are quite a few love scenes. “She asked you to switch?”

  “Oh, yes. A few weeks ago, before our rehearsals started. I auditioned for and was set to play Quince. It was a role I’d played before, in university. I thought I was better suited for it. But Mariana Massari is a big name, even bigger than Marcello Camillo. She spoke to Pietro, and he had the roles switched. So I got Nick Bottom. I was shocked. Marcello enjoyed the comic parts, so he was suited to it. I’d never done comedy in my life. But me? I like to stretch. So I said yes.”

  Diana’s eyes widened. “And what did Marcello think about this sudden change?”

  “Like I said, it’s normal for switches to happen, even though some of us are better suited to roles than others. If he was upset, he never let on. That wasn’t Marcello’s way. I’ve never seen the man angry. Most actors are dramatic and emotional, but not Marcello. He was, how you say, happy-go-lucky. He never showed the angry side of himself, with anyone, as far as I knew.” His lips twisted. “But I did overhear him saying something, a couple days ago, that did surprise me.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I was walking to my dressing room after a rehearsal, and I had to pass his. I don’t know who he was talking to, but it might have been Pietro, when he told Marcello that she wanted the roles switched. I’d never heard him sound quite so serious. It almost sounded like a threat. He said, ‘That is the mark of an evil person, stooping so low, taking something from someone like that. Mark my words. I don’t let people like that off easily.’”

  Diana played that over and over again in her head. “You think he was upset with Mariana?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. When all of us were around, he was so lighthearted. He teased Mariana that she didn’t want to act in scenes with all of his manliness, things like that. He made fun of her. As always. But when he said that, I thought, hmm. Maybe Marcello has a darker side he doesn’t reveal to others so easily.”

  “Stooping so low. I don’t let people like that off easily,” she repeated, almost to herself. Had he and Mariana quarreled, until she thought the only solution was murder? “Was she angry at him for making fun of her?”

  He nodded. “Probably. She’s a bit of a prima donna, that one. Likes things just so. And she liked to dish it out, but she couldn’t take it so well.”

  “So she asked Pietro to change the roles,” Diana said, more to herself. “But did she tell you that was why she wanted to make the switch?”

  He shrugged. “She told me she thought she and I would have more chemistry, and that it would make the play work better. Guess that tells you who’s the better actor.” Then he burst out laughing and slammed a fist down on the table. “I’m joking, of course. But nevertheless, that’s what she said. And how could I turn her down? Nick Bottom’s a great part. Looks good on my resume, for sure.”

  “Oh, for sure. So . . . you really don’t actually have an idea who could’ve done this to Marcello?”

  “Not Mariana, if that’s what you’re getting at. She’s too sweet.”

  There it is again. Everyone loving everyone in the theater. They are definitely good actors.

  “So there was no one acting strangely, prior?”

  “We’re actors. We all act strangely, dear. It’s when we’re acting normally that you have to worry about us.” He shook his head, and his eyes turned downcast. “It’s terrible. I really can’t believe anyone would do something like this. Marcello didn’t have enemies. He got along with everyone. But then I think about what he said . . . and I have to wonder.”

  The stagehand had said he got along with everyone, too. But maybe that was only one of many characters Marcello Camillo played. Maybe he did have a dark side. But if so, why was he dead? “What was he like?”

  “Big flirt. Ladies’ man. He lived for the women. In fact, it was a running joke for him. He didn’t want any of the other men in the troupe getting more female admirers than he had. It was almost an obsession for him, to amass his posse of groupies. He was always looking out for them. He wanted them all to himself.” He laughed. “But he was serious about none of them.”

  Great, Diana. You fell for another lothario, hook, line, and sinker. Rather than dwell on it, she decided to change the subject. “So you didn’t see where the poisoned wine came from?”

  He shook his head. “I never even saw the wine. I didn’t see Marcello all day, except for on the stage. I told the police this. Why are you going around asking the same questions?” He didn’t seem angry, only curious. “You say you’re a friend of Marcello’s?”

  “Just an acquaintance, really. But he was kind to me when I met him on the train. Offered me that ticket. I suppose he was just trying to add me to his legions of female admirers. But I feel terrible about what happened,” she said honestly. “Tell me, does he have any family in the area?”

  Luca shook his head. “He told me he was an only child, and his parents died years ago. No wife, obviously. I don’t even believe he ever had a serious girlfriend.” He shrugged. “The closest thing he’d have to family around here is Mariana. Like I said, they were close.”

  Diana thought he’d say that. “I’d like to ask her some questions, too. Do you happen to know where she lives?”

  “Yes. Ponte Nuovo, near Piazza Bra.”

  This was where Diana would type the information into her phone. Lacking that, she rummaged through her purse for a paper and pen. Not finding that, she looked around helplessly. “Um . . .”

  He motioned to David, and shouted, “Mi serve carta e penna!”

  David approached with a pen and a piece of note paper and Luca quickly scribbled something down, which he slid across the table to her. He tapped it as she read it: 2719 Via Ponte Nuovo.

  “That’s where she lives. It’s a couple blocks from the Piazza.” He smiled. “Be careful, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She may be sweet to those she knows. But she’s not very fond of outsiders. Especially women. She likes to be the belle of the ball, so you say.” He grinned. “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

  Diana didn’t like the sound of that, but she really didn’t have any choice. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. You might be able to catch her there. Or she’ll be at the theater later. We’re supposed to be there at noon.”

  After what had happened that morning, Diana wasn’t sure she ever wanted to go back to the theater. She looked at the paper. Without her phone, it’d be like finding a needle in a haystack. “Think you can draw me a map of it, so I don’t get lost? I don’t have my phone, and . . .”

  Amused, before she could finish, he took it back and drew her the map. “You really can’t miss it. It’s right at the entrance to the Shakespeare Festival, so follow the crowds and you’ll find it.” Then he passed it over to her. He dug into his eggs as she stood up. “Good luck.”

  David smiled at her as he opened the door for her. “Buona fortuna,” he said to her as she went through.

  Outside, she almost forgot how shaky and precarious those metal stairs were, until they started to shake as she raced down them. Holding tight to the railing, she navigated carefully down them, and picked up the pace.

  Maybe Titania, the queen of the fairies, could sprinkle her pixie dust and give her more answers than she’d gotten so far.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  As Diana headed down the street toward Titania’s address—at least, she thought she was heading toward the address, but it was impossible to tell without GPS—her phone buzzed with a call from Lily.

  “Mom! Where are you?” Lily asked when she answered.

  Diana cradled the flip phone between her shoulder and her ear as she turned the map Luca had drawn in her hands. Nothing looked like the gridwork of streets around her. She needed a compass. A guardian angel. Something. “I’m fine. I—”

  “You disappeared and we haven’t seen you. Gaia said you left even before breakfast! We were worried about you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m sorry, darling. I thought—” Diana stopped walking, confused. Then it suddenly made sense. She’d only told Bea of her plans to be busy in the morning. “Is Bea still sleeping?”

  Lily paused. “Yes. She said it was jet lag, but I don’t buy it. She’s the worst in the mornings. Like the wicked witch. She actually threw a shoe at me when I went into her room to wake her. What is she, like, still twelve?”

  “Oh. Well, she was probably the last person I should’ve counted on to relay the message. But I told her that I had some things to do this morning.”

  “Some things to do? Like what?”

  “Just errands. You know. Annoying things you wouldn’t be interested in,” she fudged, since she really couldn’t think of any errand that made sense. “But I told Bea I thought we could go sightseeing later.”

 

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