A/N: Just a shorty to keep the story rolling and to give you a few things to mull over. Much longer selection tomorrow, I hope. And I'm at it again, brutalizing another foreign language, Italian this time. The North Beach Area, where the story is set, was traditionally an Italian-American Neighborhood. I apologize in advance for any errors.

Lizzy walked in the door accompanied by the sound of chimes. Mrs. Molinaro looked up from the onion she was slicing and smiled.

"How is my bella donna today?"

"Ok I guess, tired."

"Hungry, yes?"

"Always, Nonna*, you know that."

"Then you sit and eat. Pasta Fagioli?"

"Of course." Lizzy laughed as Nonna dish up a bowl of the thick tomato-based soup. Living over a deli owned by an older Italian widow had its perks. Mrs. Molinaro insisted she be called Nonna as her worthless son (her words) Vincenzo had yet to give her a grandchild or even find a good Italian girl to marry. She was always quick to offer a meal and leniency on rent day for her Mona Lisa and Venus, as she called Lizzy and Pam. She had come to love Nonna and appreciated the way she doted on her and her roommate. The time and attention she gave her adopted grandmother was its own reward.

Vince Molinaro worked part-time as a custodian at the Institute. He was the reason the girls had found such a primo apartment within walking distance of the school. A bit oily, Lizzy always felt there was something weird going on behind Vince's eyes and he never failed to turn up in studios when well-endowed models were posing. The perv factor hadn't stopped her and Pam from jumping on the apartment when it came available. The girls were careful to avoid Vince whenever possible.

"You go to work today?"

"Yes, Nonna." Lizzy looked at her watch, "I need to run up and change into my uniform, really soon."

"I no like you wait tables for tourists. How come you no work for Nonna here at the deli?"

This was Nonna's constant tune. Lizzy knew Mrs. Molinaro couldn't afford to have her work there. She wouldn't mind trading work for rent, but it also meant she would have to work with Vince when he manned the counter. She couldn't bear to tell the old woman that her son made her uncomfortable.

The chimes rang again. Vince. It was if the thought of him conjured up his presence.

"Hello, Mamma. What's for lunch?"

"Pasta Fagioli on the stove, help yourself." Lizzy shivered as Vince ogled her on the way to the kitchen. Definitely time to leave.

"You don't want me to work here. Vince can take care of the counter. Plus, if you were my boss we wouldn't have any time to visit, would we. I'd always be working when you were off."

Mrs. Molinaro gave her a motherly hug. "Vero. Be careful, this city no safe for pretty girls like you."

She gave the older woman a kiss on each cheek and headed for the stairs, "Yes, Nonna. Ti voglio bene."

Unlocking the door, she called for Pam and found her sound asleep on the couch. Lizzy went quietly into the bedroom and slipped on her uniform. Looking around for her new outfit for later, she was surprised to find it neatly hung in the bathroom. She covered it with a cleaner's bag and tossed a change of shoes in her purse.

A quick glance in the mirror revealed dark circles under her eyes. Some day she would get enough sleep, but not tonight. She had 8 hours of waiting tables and then there was an A-List party to go to. Lizzy checked the kitchen counter and was startled to find the envelope bearing the invitation sitting there. Geez, two for two. What's come over you? If she hadn't been running so late she would have woken up her normally unreliable roommate to see what was wrong. She left the apartment, locked the door and hoofed the 10 blocks to her job at No. 9 Fisherman's Grotto on the Wharf.

When she got to Fisherman's Wharf, she was surprised. Gary's ad hoc art gallery was not set up on the corner. In fact, now that she though about it she hadn't seen him for a while. Gary Kohler had graduated from the Institute at the end of Lizzy's freshman year. Unable to find work, he peddled schlock canvases of San Francisco landmarks to the tourists. They weren't good friends, but friendly enough to talk from time to time, and she was surprised that he would miss a lucrative Friday night.

"Girl, don't you read the paper?" Mary, the head gossip of the wait staff was busy counting menus. "Gary was murdered by the Da Vinci Killer. They found him on the cable car turnaround. Two victims so far, but I heard on the radio that there might be another one. He poses the bodies like works of art." Lizzy was stunned. This was the first she was aware of it, not that she kept up with the news. Geez, I must be living in hole if I didn't know about a murder in my own neighborhood. She made a vow to pick up a newspaper every once in a while.

00000

Steve hung up the phone and walked into Mike's office. Mike looked up from the report he was reading. "That was Bernie. We finally found our Ophelia. Anna Kearns, 21. Parents filed a missing persons report when they hadn't heard from her. They just made a positive ID."

Mike stood up. "Are they still downstairs?"

"Yep…"

Mike was out the door before Steve could finish his sentence. They found the couple sitting on a battered couch in a small waiting area outside the morgue. The middle aged woman was weeping quietly into an embroidered handkerchief.

"First Mr. and Mrs. Kearns, let us offer you our deepest condolences for your loss." Mike said after he had introduced himself and Steve. He handed Mrs. Kearns a cup of water.

"Thank you. She was such a good girl. She worked so hard between school and her job at the gallery." She gasped, "Oh my God, we have to call Ted!" Mrs. Kearns started to weep again in earnest.

"Who's Ted?"

"Ted's her boyfriend," Mr. Kearns answered the question as he tried to calm his wife. "He goes to school with her. I think he works part time over at Institute of Art."

"Where did they go to school?"

"Berkeley. Anna was getting a degree in Art History. She was an intern at the Charles Campbell Gallery on Chestnut. Gosh, she was so proud when she got the position. That's where she met Ted. He was such a handsome guy, he worked as a model." Mr Kearns swiped his hand over his eyes. "How could this happen, Lieutenant?"

Before he could reply, Steve looked pointedly at Mike and asked, "The Charles Campbell Gallery, isn't that down by the Institute as well?"

Mike knew that victim number one was an Institute alumni. He nodded in agreement with Steve's line of questioning.

"Yes, just 2 block up. Anna was so excited. There is a big opening tonight. Some girl photographer, works for that druggie magazine."

"Annie Leibovitz of Rolling Stone?" Steve had seen a blurb about the show in the paper.

Mike raised an eyebrow at his partner. Steve's range of interests never ceased to amaze him.

"Sounds right. I don't know. I just know that Anna was over the moon about the event."

"Excuse us a minute." Mike motioned to Steve and they stepped out of the room.

"Looks like all roads lead to Chestnut Street. Maybe the boyfriend?" Mike proposed.

"I don't know, maybe, but I have a hunch. Do we have the scene photos from this morning yet?"

"You'll have to ask Bernie. What are you thinking?"

"Stall the parents, I'll be right back."

Steve walked into the autopsy suite, "Bernie do we have photos of the latest vic?"

Bernie went over to his desk and picked up a manila folder. "Yeah. You got a lead?"

"Just a wild guess, but who knows."

Steve returned to the waiting area with a folder containing the black and white head shot. "Mr. and Mrs. Kearns would you mind looking at a photo for me. I know this has been a difficult morning, but it could be important."

"Certainly Inspector."

Steve opened the folder.

It was Mr. Kearns turn to gasp. "That's Ted, you don't mean to say that he's dead too?"

*grandmom