078 The Phantom Of Venice by Carolyn Keene Read Free Book Online Page B

flood of orders for the glass animals from American and European store buyers.
    “How did you happen to pick the artist who designed them?” Nancy asked the Marchese.
    “He was recommended by Pietro Rinaldi, and, as you saw, he proved an excellent choice. By the way, your father mentioned a girl friend you would like to invite here to tea. By all means do so, my dear! I am sure she will brighten the Ca’ Falcone, as you and my other two beautiful lady guests are already doing!”
    “Thanks ever so much. That’s very kind of you!” Nancy wondered why her reference to the glass animal designer should lead him to speak of Tara. Did he know that she was the daughter of the artist, Rolf Egan? Or was it just a coincidence?
    Aloud she asked, “May I call my friend now?”
    “Sicuramente! My butler will show you to the phone.”
    “Perhaps I can help.” Isabella Gatti rose from her garden chair with a smile. “Using our Italian phone system is not always easy for American visitors.”
    Signora Gatti accompanied Nancy into the palace. A slender woman with jet-black hair that set off her vivid coloring, she had on a chic afternoon dress that Nancy felt sure was a designer original. Her charming manner won her the teenager’s immediate liking.
    After looking up the number of the Pensione Dandolo, Mrs. Gatti dialed, and a rapid conversation in Italian followed, presumably with Signora Dandolo. Then she handed the receiver to Nancy.
    “Your friend will be on the line in a moment.”
    “Mille grazie!”
    “Ah, you are learning our beautiful language! Congratulations, my dear!” The signora walked off, beaming her approval.
    Tara was delighted at being asked to tea at the palazzo and accepted happily. She was startled to learn that her father had been commissioned to design a set of glass animals for the Vetreria del Falcone. “What a strange coincidence!” she murmured.
    “If it is a coincidence,” was the response.
    “Nancy, what do you mean?! You’re not suggesting that that had anything to do with . . . with what happened to Daddy?”
    “No, of course not. But if we could find out how he came to be chosen as the artist, it might shed a little more light on his work and what he was doing recently, which in turn might clue us in to whether anyone really did have a motive for trying to shoot him.”
    “Yes . . . I see what you mean.” Tara’s voice was thoughtful and troubled.
    “One other thing. Were you by any chance carrying a sea shell in your luggage?”
    “A sea shell? Why, no. What a funny question! Why do you ask?”
    Nancy hesitated. “I’ll explain tomorrow.”
    “Okay, see you then. And thanks for inviting me!”
    Nancy changed for dinner, which was held in a magnificent dining room with dark beams, brightenedby Renaissance murals. Over the seven-course meal, the Marchese described his plans for the upcoming masquerade ball.
    “It must be a famous occasion, if Miss van Holst has come all the way from Amsterdam to photograph it,” said Nancy.
    Francesco del Falcone shrugged but smiled proudly. “It is certainly not the only Venetian ballo in maschera, but ours has been held by my family every year since the palazzo was built in 1595!”
    “I’m sure Katrina’s photos will do it full justice!” Carson Drew’s remark earned him a dazzling smile from the beautiful Dutch woman.
    Before retiring, Nancy decided to write a letter home to Hannah Gruen. The devoted housekeeper had cared for her like a mother ever since the untimely death of Mrs. Drew, when Nancy was only three.
    Later, as Nancy sealed the letter, she glanced up from the antique rosewood desk just as someone was passing by in the corridor outside the sitting room. Her thoughts must have shown plainly on her face.
    “ ’S’matter?” grinned Don Madison. “Surprised to see the hired help walking through the palace?”
    “I . . . I guess you could put it that way,” Nancy admitted, blushing with embarrassment.
    Madison