Venetian Vendetta by Merryn Allingham (The Tremayne Mysteries Series 2)
English | 2020 | Mystery/Thriller| ePUB | 2.9 Mb
A terrible accident—or the murder of someone keeping dangerous secrets?
While watching the opera at La Fenice, Nancy Tremayne is shocked to see a woman fall to her death. But was it really an accident?
Newlywed Nancy is accompanying her husband, Leo, on a work trip to Venice. As she explores Italy’s beautiful city on the water, she finds herself compelled to uncover the mystery of the woman’s death, reluctantly helped by Leo’s assistant, Archie. Together they discover a Venice as sinister as it is beautiful.
Plunging more and more deeply into the city’s secrets, Nancy realises she may be forced to make a choice—the truth or her life?
The building was at the end of yet another narrow calle, its rear entrance protected by huge wooden doors that opened onto a narrow strip of garden and to one side, a flagged courtyard with an antique well head, its stonework sodden and glistening in the teeming rain. As with so many in the city, the palazzo had seen better days, the garden wild and overgrown, the brickwork crumbling. Nancy imagined this must be the true Venice she was to experience, and couldn’t help hanker a little for the anonymous hotel.
Archie pushed open the studded wooden doors and stood back to wave her in. Somehow he made even this harmless gesture seem an affront. Ignoring him, she stood still for a moment, looking up at the stone windows, gossamer in the misty air. A light burned on the first floor—Leo still working on his speech, she guessed. He was passionate about conservation and eager to establish an Art and Archives Rescue Fund, and though Nancy admired his strong commitment to a cause still in its infancy, she had wished very much for his company tonight.
She almost ran to the side door and, once inside, shook out her skirts. A slow drip of water trickled from the organza onto the lobby’s uneven tiles, dribbles of water following the old geometric pattern of swirls and waves. She waited for the dripping to stop before she made for the marble staircase, keeping to the middle of each step where hundreds of years of use had hollowed a concave.
At the top of the stairs, she headed directly for the light, crossing an immense open space, its floor thick oak, its walls filled floor to ceiling with books. Then through gleaming double doors to the main salon. Most often Leo took his work to the tiny room he’d commandeered as his office at the back of the palazzo, but tonight he sat at the large oval table beneath two immense Murano glass chandeliers suspended at intervals from the frescoed ceiling.
He jumped up as soon as he saw her, scattering the pile of papers on which he’d been working.
‘Nancy—you’re back. Thank goodness! I saw the fog coming down and was getting worried.’
‘You shouldn’t be.’ She went up to him and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I had the faithful Archie leading the way.’ She wondered if he heard the tinge of sarcasm she couldn’t quite suppress.
‘Where is he?’ Leo adjusted his glasses and looked vacantly towards the doorway.
‘In his room, I imagine. Changing his clothes.’
‘And so must you, my darling. You’re wet through. Go and change and I’ll ask Concetta to make us hot drinks before she leaves.’