Frail Barrier by Edward Sklepowich Read Free Book Online

death as well. So as not to risk making the chill any keener, Urbino avoided looking down the Grand Canal to a long, low white building on the right, which housed the Peggy Guggenheim collection. For near the palazzo’s water steps one summer afternoon during the Biennale Art Exhibition the body of a lovely young woman had floated to the surface. Urbino, who had been on the terrace of the palazzo at the time, had realized that one of his investigations had turned deadly serious and that the contessa herself was under a dark shadow of suspicion.
    He checked his wristwatch. He would have to hurry now if he wanted to catch Albina before she left the Caffè Da Valdo.
    The night sky had become thickly covered with low clouds during the past half-hour. Thunder rumbled. It seemed that the city was going to get some brief relief from the heat and humidity, but the storm that would bring it was certain to come with a price.
    Urbino left the parapet of the bridge, made his way slowly through the crowd, and moved toward the steps that would bring him down into the San Marco quarter. Before he reached the steps, however, he bumped into a couple. It was Romolo and Perla Beato.
    â€˜Urbino!’ Perla said with a bright smile. She was a slim, blonde woman in her mid-thirties with smoky brown eyes and high cheekbones. ‘There must be better ways to meet each other. We haven’t seen you in ages. But excuse us. It was our fault. We’re trying to catch the boat.’
    Romolo was a portly man in his early sixties with thick hair that had been snow-white ever since Urbino had first met him fifteen years before. He was dressed in a well-cut suit. Since marrying Perla five years ago, he had shown a much greater interest in his appearance.
    â€˜No, it was my fault,’ Urbino said. ‘I wasn’t looking.’
    â€˜Either you do not look because you are always in your own world,’ Romolo said with a smile, ‘or you are always looking. A man of extremes.’
    Both Romolo and his wife preferred to speak in English with Urbino.
    â€˜Are you going to Harry’s?’ Urbino asked.
    Romolo and Perla were regular patrons of the bar. The vaporetto from the Accademia stopped in front of Harry’s Bar.
    â€˜Harry’s in the month of August!’ Perla cried. ‘Have you lost your wits? With all those tourists sticking their heads in to have a quick look, not to mention the ones taking their time and nursing Bellinis?’
    Perla’s English, perfected when she had studied alternative medicine in London, was much better than her husband’s, although she strained too hard for idioms.
    â€˜I’m going to Santa Lucia now,’ Romolo explained. Santa Lucia was the name of the train station. ‘To see Rocco for a week.’
    Rocco, his son, lived in Padua where he taught art history at the university.
    â€˜Don’t forget the business that goes with the pleasure,’ Perla reminded him. She planted a kiss on his cheek, bending slightly from her greater height.
    â€˜I won’t. I’m having problems with one of my tenants,’ Romolo explained to Urbino with a frown. ‘He hasn’t paid the rent in three months.’
    Romolo owned buildings in Padua that he had inherited from his father, an industrialist. His income from the buildings supported his love for music – and for Perla. What he earned from his voice lessons could barely pay for their frequent trips and her clothing bill.
    â€˜Romolo is much too gentle for a businessman, but that’s one of the reasons I love him. I had to insist that he go to Padua.’
    Perla gave him another kiss and put her arm around his shoulder.
    â€˜Yes, you certainly have been insisting, my dear.’
    Urbino thought he detected a slight edge in his words, but Romolo looked up at his wife with what seemed a warm smile.
    â€˜You should also be happy, Romolo dear, that you’re getting away from another one of