Chapter 11

Nancy

The morning after the interview was like the morning after a raging fever. I felt stiff and somewhat sore, lying in bed, looking up at the painted ceiling. I knew it must have been late—somewhere around ten o'clock—but I didn't really care. Despite the cold, I had been sweating in my sheets the night before. While I wrestled with insomnia and Helena snored away. While I tossed and turned and tried my best to suffocate the voices and words and looks that swore they didn't deserve to die, not like this.

Goodness, what was wrong with me? I couldn't recall ever feeling like this. I had to keep reminding myself that this was a case. I had to keep pulling my thoughts away from the interview. Of course, there was valuable information I had to relay to Sophia, because that was my job. But somehow, I couldn't just focus on the facts—because they came with their dance partners, who pulled on my mind like children wanting attention. The answers came with the words, which came with the voice, which came with the deep, rich and almost sweet undertones. The card trick, the spearmint, the way he stole my glove and my hairpin without me noticing. The smiles, the mask, the blue eyes behind it. The blue eyes that felt like something I wanted to know. Something I had always been missing out on.

I refocused and got out of bed, grabbing some clothes from my wardrobe and shutting myself into the bathroom. I glanced up and found my reflection looking back at me. Staring at the bedheaded girl in the mirror for a minute, I felt my thoughts wander again.

"I know things about you that you haven't told anyone. And I can tell what you're thinking of."

I closed my eyes, finding only the memory of him in the darkness there. I had to stop this. It was getting to be kind of…I don't know. Ridiculous. So I did. I pulled in a deep breath and turned on the water, deciding that I would sing in the shower to distract myself. I don't know how well that worked.

Really, I had more than enough to distract myself with. Sophia, for instance, was long overdue for a catch-up. I'd have to call her and tell her all about the letter from Scaramuccia and the interview and Josiah Daniau. I'd also have to tell her about the safe and secure store and the code that didn't open the door.

So I called Sophia and went through all the motions like the perfect detective I pretended to be. It was all smooth, all fact, all cold. I told her what had happened. I stepped in and turned up the lights and shut off the music and pried apart the dance partners and handed her the nice, neat, clean, factual ones. I took the smiles out of the interview. I took the raised eyebrows out of the questions. I took the blue out of his eyes. And I gave her the facts.

"Josiah Daniau?" Sophia asked, sounding surprised at the mention of his name.

"Yes…" I said. "Have you heard of him before?"

"No," she declared immediately. "Never in my life. But he sounds like an apprentice, of sorts. I am sure the crime ring cannot have very high hopes for this Josiah Daniau. Perhaps he was hired as a security extra, or something of the sort."

I felt one of my eyebrows raise. I didn't remember mentioning this piece of information before. "Yes, he is working in security, currently. But according to the letter from Scaramuccia, it sounds like Josiah is going to replace Nico. In the near future."

The pager went silent for a long few seconds. A gondolier sang from somewhere outside the open balcony door.

"This letter you mention from Scaramuccia. I would like to see it." Sophia said.

"Oh. Of course."

She then told me to go to Banco dell' Oro and drop off the letter for her to collect later. I agreed, but I couldn't help wondering why she didn't seem to just take my word for it. I mean, I was the one hired for investigation, right? Maybe it was just my imagination, but I was starting to feel like…I don't know. Like I wasn't needed all that much anymore. Which was strange, because I'd singlehandedly helped with progressing this case further than any of the GdiF agents had. And we were this close—this close—to wrapping things up. But Sophia was backing off. Not calling me so much. Not keeping me so up-to-date with developments. It was starting to get on my nerves.

"The safe and secure store is what we must focus on now," she told me, redirecting the topic. "If we can figure out how to unlock that door, Nancy…who knows what we might find? And if we find stolen artifacts, then this case will be closed."

Of course, I knew all of this. Did Sophia think I'd forgotten about the safe and secure store? Oh no, I was only the one who had found it. Maybe it was petty and stupid, but by the time I got off the phone with Detective Leporace, I was feeling my blood coming to a boil. For the next few minutes, all I could do was just stand on the balcony in the bright sunlight with my damp palms pressed against the warm stone railing.

Maybe it was the case and everything I had been thinking about over the past few days. Or maybe it was Sophia and the way she'd cast me aside and deemed me unpromising, Or maybe it was the fact that I didn't know anyone here—I didn't really know them—and it was hard to make friends out of suspects and it was hard to get people to trust me.

As I stood there on that balcony with my hands gripping the railing tighter and my eyebrows dragging themselves closer together and my eyes eventually closing to trap the tears inside, I realized how homesick I really was. I just wanted to get on a plane that afternoon and go back to River Heights. I'd never remembered feeling this way on a case before. Usually I was so focused, with my guard up, my eyes open, my heart beating in my throat. But this time, my heart felt sick. Aching. Pulling the covers up over its head and groaning a fevered, "I really don't feel good." I wanted home. I wanted the faces I knew, the voices I loved. I wanted anything—any fragment of a something that would remind me of home. I was desperate for it. Desperate enough to call Ned Nickerson.

Pulling myself together and pushing the tears off my cheeks, I stepped back into the sun-ripened bedroom and sank down on the floor, taking the rotary phone off the table and into my lap.

I just had to hear his voice. Because it reminded me of home. It reminded me of the Marvin's Christmas party and drinking hot cocoa and talking forever. It felt like only yesterday when I closed my eyes and remembered the smell of snickerdoodles and cedar burning and laughter and champagne. How Ned and I found ourselves sitting on one of the giant, plushy couches in front of the fireplace, me going on and on about all of my travels and him just sitting there and listening to the stories with something bright in his eyes.

One taste of home, I was sure, would heal my aching heart. I was hoping that this one taste would come in the form of his voice. I held my breath as it rang—once, twice, three times.

"Hello, you've reached Ned Nickerson. I'm unavailable right now, but…"

I sighed, feeling my shoulders drop in the sync with my heart. I debated hanging up, but then the beep happened, and I found myself still sitting there, holding the phone like a dummy. I sucked in a deep breath.

"Uh, hi Ned…it's me. Nancy." I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that could shield me from the total awkwardness I was feeling. "I just wanted to check in with you, see how things are going. I'm sorry I haven't been calling you lately, I've just been busy. Y'know, with…the case. And everything. Call me back when you have the chance. I miss chatting about normal stuff like the weather and iPhone glitches and stupid chemistry tests." I took another breath, somewhat shaky. "So yeah. Talk to you later, I guess."

I put the phone back down on the receiver, reaching up to run my fingers across my forehead.

"Gosh, Nancy, that was…pathetic."

Pulling myself up to my feet, I shoved the phone back onto the side table and straightened my dark blue cardigan.

Why hadn't he answered the phone? It was his cell, so he would definitely have it on him at all times. What is wrong with you, Nancy? He's probably in classes, duh.

"Right." I heard myself sigh the word, running a hand through my long titian hair, turning around sharply to face the door like this was some kind of duel. But the door didn't bear a gun—instead? Guess. Another white envelope. I froze. Because I hadn't seen that when I'd come out of the bathroom from my shower.

Numbly, I reached down and picked it up—flap, pull, unfold, read.

You know, I'm never far away.

What on earth did that mean? Who was never far away? Who was this? I had to find out. My inner detective was ignited and suddenly there was this bonfire in my chest. I had to figure out who was sending these notes. There was no way I was going to shrug it off. Not this time.

"Helena?" I asked, bursting out the bedroom door and making her jump, ever so slightly.

She twisted around in her chair. "Vhat is it?" Raising one of her thin eyebrows like she always did.

"Um," I bit back a little smirk, trying to shut the door after me with a little more grace. "Well I was just wondering, since you seem to hang around here in this lobby a lot…"

Helena was getting impatient. She wanted to roll her eyes, I could tell. "Oh please, Nancy. Out vith it."

"Well I was just wondering if you saw...anyone. Like, come in here and…slip a note under my door, or something."

Helena pursed her lips. "Noo, I'm afraid not. Unless it was the new handyman Margherita hired, which I simply cannot imagine." She chuckled a little, like this was funny. "He vas here earlier, but he left a little vhile ago. Lunch break or somezing like zat."

"Ah." I looked around for a second. "Okay. Thank you."

Then I fled to the stairs which led up to the altana, feeling Helena's gaze trailing after me as I disappeared through the dark hallway.

"Ah, Nancy. Buongiorno." Margherita pronounced in that indefinitely bored voice of hers. She was laying in her lawn chair like usual, only this time she was wearing the nice fancy sunglasses from the GdiF.

I smiled half-heartedly, thinking about how I gave her those bugged glasses—and how there was probably no point in bugging them, because she was the most unlikely suspect I'd ever encountered on a case. The only possible motive I could think of was this: she was orchestrating the art thefts to sell them and get some money because she was going to lose her lovely Ca Nascosta pretty soon if she didn't pay off all the debt it had collected over the years. And organizing a crime ring to pull all this off seemed pretty far-fetched for Margherita. Especially since all she did was sit there in the sun all day, when she was perfectly capable of getting a job somewhere.

I pulled in a deep breath of the crisp, yellow light that had the altana under attack. "Goodmorning."

Margherita made something of a discontented face at my horribly American greeting. "You are never without questions are you, dear. Go on, I am listening."

I opened my mouth to ask, but was promptly cut off.

"If this is about that 'phantom thief' you seem to be so very interested in, let me assure you—for I do not know if you American teenagers are accustomed to reading the newspaper—he has been arrested." Margherita glanced over the rims of her shades at me. "And good riddance. I hope he is sentenced to a long, delicious life imprisonment." She sat back in her chair, seeming contented with that speech.

I managed a slightly amused grin. "That's actually not what I was going to bring up, but since we're on the topic…" I could've sworn I saw Margherita roll her eyes behind her polarized lenses. "Do you think he's hiding something from the police?"

She shrugged. "I do not know. I do not care… Does it matter?"

"Well, sort of. I mean, don't you want to know if he's the one who stole your figurine?"

"Of course I do!" She seemed offended by that. "That figurine had a very great value to me—it was a historical artifact, you know. As well as a piece of art."

I nodded. Because I knew this already.

"But to answer your question, I do not need the police or the word of this villain to confirm my suspicions at all. I know he is the thief."

I wanted to ask how she knew, but I could tell it was a matter of pride. So I shrugged off that urge and moved onto a better question.

"Do you think he's being threatened by someone? Threatened to not talk to the police?"

"I find that very unlikely." Margherita laughed. "What would they threaten him with? Death? I very much hope he is already facing that—and getting exactly what he deserves."

I nodded again, slower this time. Not really sure what else to say. So in my usual fashion, I didn't say anything. I just mumbled a "talk to you later," and she said something back in Italian. I glanced around at the small rooftop garden, noticing something else on the table next to the slice of lined notebook paper. It was a Scopa card—I recognized the design on the back. Though I couldn't see if Margherita's eyes were closed, I could tell by her body language. Head tilted back, bored frown on her suntanned face. I swallowed and approached the table, reaching for the card.

"I did not write that for you to read!"

Darn it. I guess I need to practice the art of deception a little more.

"Don't worry, I…wasn't going to read it."

Margherita made some kind of indignant noise as I disappeared through the door, deciding to come back later when she wasn't there and hope that the Scopa card would be.

Helena was back to scratching away with her pen and the tesserae table was still in shambles. I slipped through the front door, and out into the full violence of the sunshine. It was warm out. Had Helena really said that the new handyman was on lunch break? Had I really slept so very late?

The patio looked the same as it had the day before—same shadows, same light, same newspaper, same envelope with my name on it? No, that definitely was not there yesterday.

Feeling my eyebrows embrace, I stepped over to the table and flipped the parcel around in my hands.

Nancy

The letter was no surprise. In fact, I'd been expecting it, in a premonitory kind of way. Curiosity swelled up in my heart all the same. I tore open the envelope.

If you can, please meet me at Rialto Market at eleven o'clock this morning.

I can't stop thinking about you.

Rialto Market. Eleven o'clock. Mystery man was mine. I felt a smile break over my lips. Then I checked my wristwatch. Twelve forty-five. I was late. Would he still be there? I had no way of knowing, so instead I ran. Ran to the river, got the cheapest boat and stepped out on the cobblestone in less than twenty minutes. My hands were tingling the whole time. Until I weaved through the afternoon bustle and over to the flower stand, where there were a few round wooden tables put off to the side next to a wrought iron fence looking out to the river. And that's where my gaze fell.

Because that's where he sat—my mystery man. With his back to me and his head on his fist, staring off at the weather-lashed apartments across the water. White t-shirt.

Though I would never want to admit it or get caught doing it, I smiled. A big, wide, foolish smile. And I pulled my fingers through my own long waves of titian.

I crossed the patio noiselessly, stopping at his table and placing one hand next to his elbow. And I didn't even have to say anything. He looked down, and, throwing my hand a surprised glance, twisted around to jump out of his chair and exclaim my name like it was something royal.

The ache in my heart melted away. The whole thing felt like a blob of yummy ointment and a big fat Band-Aid slapped on my homesick. I felt like a little girl, but I didn't care. I fell into his arms and hugged him so tight, I almost knocked the wind out of him. Then I let my head fall against his shoulder. Cologne. The smile was like the sun—it just wouldn't leave my face alone.

"Oh my gosh, Ned. I'm so glad you're here."

FlightFeathers: Happy Belated Birthday! EEEP I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKE THIS STORY. 3 Your reviews popping into my inbox seriously make my day every time. :') I KNOW RIGHT Joe's POV is definitely my favorite to write. *incoherent fangirling* HE'S JUST TOO PRECIOUS. I hope you enjoy this installment! :D