HI GUYS! :) Guess who's back? I am :D I have fully broken up with my too-freaking-long hiatus for this story, from now on I'll whip out the chapters as fast as I can! It's easier now that my novel is done. I spent aaaaall day today working diligently on this chapter, and I really hope you enjoy it :) See you at the bottom! ~DP55


Seven

Dessert for Breakfast

I'd never eaten gelato before we sat down in the adorable little shop the Marlborough brothers pointed us to—and I was pleasantly surprised by it. "This is amazing," I mumbled between licks of the mouthwatering strawberry-flavored dessert. The shop was charming: it had a little courtyard in the front with several little tables for sitting with your dessert, and it was all outlined by a short metal fence, small green shrubs sitting in the corners. I was in love with Venice—there was an air to everything that made it all seem so magical, even if we were chasing after a couple of sibling murderers.

Tintin was holding his bowl of strawberry gelato, the top layer of the dessert softened and dripping in the warm air. He was consumed by his thoughts: eyes unfocused on the green metal table and chairs we were sitting on outside. His mouth opened and closed several times, and every once in awhile he would mumble something muddled that I couldn't understand.

"Tintin," I said softly, hoping to break him out of his thoughts. When he didn't budge, I tried again. "Tintin."

He jumped at the sound of my voice, giving me a wild look, as though I'd completely surprised him. In a way, I had. "Oh, sweetheart, forgive me." He shook his head, setting his bowl on the table. "I seem to have…" He furrowed his brow, trying to come up with the right word to say. "I seem to have…"

"Gotten distracted?" I chuckled as I finished his thought for him. "I understand. What have you concluded?" I ran my finger through my bowl, scooping up the melted remains of my gelato, and popped my finger into my mouth.

"I'm just trying to figure out why those gentlemen were preying on those poor girls." He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "I'm completely stumped. Every idea I have just…doesn't make any sense."

"Well, what's your first idea?" I leaned towards him, resting my elbows on the ornate table and crossing my ankles beneath my chair. As bothered as I was by these two men ruining my perfect Italian honeymoon, I at least wanted to get to the bottom of those poor girls' murder.

"It's not a pretty one…I think the men met those girls upon their arrival into the city, the girls were very taken by their appearances, and flirted with them. And then…" He hardened his gaze on me, and I caught the worry in his eyes. "The men kidnapped them for their own use. I feel as though they were going to be sold into prostitution… I can't figure out why they were killed on the street, though. And it wasn't just an easy kill—they were shot several times.

Then there's the idea that the girls may have stolen something of importance from the men, and the brothers retaliated in a brutal way by taking their lives. This one seems a little far-fetched, don't you think? I mean, I'd rather go to the police to report a crime than kill the people who stole from me." He bit his lip and stared at his gelato. "Oh. I seem to have let my dessert melt into a puddle of goo." He buried his spoon into the bowl, letting it sink beneath the sugary liquid. He then proceeded to drink his gelato, rather than actually eat it. My husband was quite the clown.

He sat back the moment his bowl was empty and stared at me, his gaze unwavering. I flushed at the intensity of his stare. "What is it?" I asked meekly.

"I can stop investigating the murder," he said, leaning forward, "If you think that this is taking away from our honeymoon, I can stop worrying about it." An endearing half-smile tugged at his lips, "Honestly, I would love to solely focus on you for the remainder of the vacation."

His words made me flush harder, and I felt my skin prickle with glee as I grinned at him.

But as quickly as the joyous feeling had come over me, it was gone, replaced by the knowledge that the mystery needed to be solved.

"No," I sighed, "You can't do that."

"I can't?" His voice was an echo, a sliver of pain laced in.

"No. Because if you give up now, then nobody will care about what actually happened to those girls, because they will be buried and gone and nobody will know their story. And besides, even if you gave up now, their mystery would still haunt and consume you for the rest of the trip." I swallowed back the sad sigh that threatened to escape from my throat. "May as well keep investigating."

There was no hiding the excitement in his eyes as he nodded at my words. "All right. But promise me that if you feel as though I'm ignoring you, you will tell me, and I will call this entire investigation off and forget about it." His voice was intense, and my heart beat faster at the thought of him calling everything off just because I felt ignored.

"I love you," I said with a smile.

"I love you, too."

I purchased another bowl of gelato—this time raspberry—and scooted my chair closer to Tintin so I could lean on him while I ate my dessert. He was lost in thought again, and one look at him showed all of the little gears in his head were turning at a massively fast pace. "Do you want to discuss?" I finally heard myself say. He had been biting his lip so hard I was expecting blood.

His eyes focused back on me and he held my expectant gaze for awhile before nodding. "I believe I would."

"All right, shoot."

"I was thinking about the stealing idea. I don't think it's correct. The girls were in tattered clothes, remember? Like they hadn't been able to change in days. Criminals wouldn't…although it could've been a costume to make them seem like poor girls…" He cupped his face with his hands and leaned forward on the table, considering his next sentence. "What if that's what it was? What if they were tourist girls who, I dunno, lost all of their money in a gamble and tried to siphon money from the natives in order to get back home?"

"Then why would their clothes be so worn and dirty? Wouldn't they have a suitcase?"

"Yeah…" He leaned back, hesitated, and was opening his mouth to say something when a group of gentlemen passed by the courtyard fence. It took me a moment to realize they were the same ones we'd seen earlier, and I stood abruptly to call out to them.

"Aroldo!" I called, and one of them stopped in his tracks, whipping around to face me. His face lit up when he recognized me, and he quickly shouted something in Italian to his friends.

"Hello, Signorina Nollie," he said as he approached us, "How is the gelato?"

"Wonderful, thank you," I smiled. Tintin was by my side now, his posture stiff.

"It's Signora Nollie," he grunted, "She's married."

"Oh," Aroldo looked uncomfortable at this. "Forgive me, Signora." Quick as a flash, he straightened and changed the subject. "How are your friends?"

Our friends. My mouth went dry at the memory of Tintin's lie to get the brothers to speak to us, but he was quick to answer when I wasn't. "They seem to have gotten lost themselves," he chuckled. "I doubt we'll see them today." He shrugged.

"Would you like to join us?" I piped up, gesturing to our table. "We can pull up a chair for you."

Tintin stared daggers into the side of my head, but I ignored him. I knew he wanted to think, but with Aroldo here, we could ask him questions.

"I would love to," a smile flickered at the corners of his lips. "It's rare occasion for me to eat gelato."

My husband laughed at me for purchasing another bowl of gelato, but I didn't want Aroldo to feel awkward as he ate his gelato while being drilled by a couple of honeymooning tourists. So I scooped the chocolate treat into my mouth as Tintin began to ask the man about his profession.

"I run a business," he said. "We get a lot of tourists, so I can speak English pretty well. Along with a few other languages." He shrugged.

"What do you sell?" Tintin rested his hand on my knee and leaned closer to Aroldo. "In your business, I should say?"

Aroldo took too long to answer. Way too long. Tintin squeezed my knee right as the man spoke. "I uh, I sell convenience items. Tourists, you know, they forget so many things so often, è pazzesco!" I shot Tintin a look of confusion. Did Aroldo just switch into Italian mode?

"Is it crazy?" Tintin laughed uncomfortable. I knew immediately he was on to something.

"Yes, very crazy. What do you do, Signor Tintin?"

"I'm a journalist," Tintin shrugged. "You may've heard of me. I've done a few stories in some provinces of Italy, before I met my wife. I always stayed in rather nice hotels, which has been pleasing. The one we are staying at is quite lovely—the Red Hotel. Your brother said you'd stayed in it recently?"

He nodded and took a bite of his gelato. "Yes. A few of our friends came from Rome, and they wanted us to stay nearby."

"Say, there were a couple of young women who stayed on your same floor. Did you ever meet them?"

Aroldo stiffened immediately at Tintin's question, his gaze hardening and his spoon clattering back inside of his bowl. "How did you know about those girls?" His tone was as dark as the stare he gave us a heartbeat later, and chills ran up my spine.

"We uh, we met them." Tintin tugged at his collar, "They were very pretty, I'd be surprised if you didn't catch them." I stared at my husband warily from the corner of my eye. He'd only seen the girls dead. If he thought those dead girls were pretty…

"Oh, I saw them. Very pretty, yes. Unfortunately, they died a few days ago."

Tintin sat back in his chair dramatically, running a hand through his red hair in mock shock. "Dead?" He whispered mystically, "My God! How on earth did they die?"

"Honestly, why do you care? They're just a couple of damn annoying tourists like the lot of you." His voice came out a snarl, and I reached for Tintin's hand that was still resting on my knee. "Good riddance to them. They were pesky, annoying girls. Damn brats. And if you think I had anything to do with their deaths, then…" Aroldo stood, throwing his gelato bowl onto the table, "Dovrò mettere via!" With that, he stormed off, and I turned to Tintin, petrified in fear.

"What on earth…" My voice came out a squeak, "What did he say?"

"He'll have us put away. That's what he said." He leaned forward, ran his hand across his mouth, and nodded. "Nollie, his actions just now… that was his confession."


Oooh dang Aroldo! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! If you did, leave a review! :) And if you want to hear about my novel, I LOVE to talk about it, so shoot me a PM and I'll tell you all about it! :) See you next time!

~DisneyPrincess55