Page 46 of Bloodlines and Birthright

Miss Wheeler and Oscar set a brisk pace that I couldn’t maintain. Each time they noticed I’d fallen behind, they stopped to wait, but they didn’t always notice immediately. They were so focused on each other that everything else became irrelevant. They were quite at ease as they chatted.

Snippets of their conversation drifted to me on the breeze. They discussed Italy and England, their thoughts on the politics of magic and how the world had changed in the last few years. Miss Wheeler listened intently to Oscar’s stories about India and Matt, and how their efforts brought magic into the open. While their conversation covered a lot of ground, there was a distinct lack of anything too personal. Oscar touched on his friendship with the Glasses, but did not mention his romantic entanglement with Lady Louisa nor his family squabbles. Miss Wheeler didn’t discuss her background or family at all. I knew Oscar wanted to know more about her, so I was a little surprised he didn’t ask. Perhaps he didn’t want to ruin the comfortable air that had settled around them on the walk.

I caught up to them when they stopped at the top of the steep shortcut through the trees into Pecco. The ever-present smell of fish struck me on the descent well before we reached the tiny piazza. As with our other visits, the village seemed almost empty except for a few women going about their business, and small children playing on the shore. Most of the boats were out, the men with them, but one had been pulled out of the water. The two men fixing a net stopped what they were doing when they saw us.

Oscar nodded a greeting. The men did not nod back. The younger one made sure we couldn’t fail to see the knife in his hand. The village was more on edge after the murder. No matter what the Carabinieri’s official report claimed, Pecco knew the truth. Our visit to Signora Colombo on the morning the body was discovered may have led them to suspect we were involved.

“Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea,” I said, keeping an eye on the younger of the two men.

The door next to Signora Colombo’s house opened and Maria emerged. She scolded the men, shooing them with one hand and indicating us with the other. Whatever she said made the men return to their work.

Miss Wheeler greeted her in Italian, thanking her for encouraging the men to leave us alone. That was all I understood. I could only guess that she then went on to ask Maria about the Colombo boy.

Maria didn’t answer at first, but she didn’t seem shocked by the question. She glanced at the Colombo house, then shook her head, defiant. She went to walk off.

Miss Wheeler stepped in front of her. She spoke quickly, her tone imploring. When Maria didn’t answer, Miss Wheeler added a few more words. I recognized ‘London’ as she indicated Oscar and me.

The fishermen once again stopped what they were doing and watched us. The younger one took a few steps in our direction before Maria put a hand up, warding him off.

She replied to Miss Wheeler who then interpreted for us. “We were both right and wrong. The entire village isn’t party to the lie about the Colombo boy’s death, but Maria is quite sure it is a lie. The Colombos claimed they conducted a private funeral in the evening and buried him in a secret location, but no one believed them. Maria thinks he’s still alive, confined to the house by his parents lest he’s seen. Now it’s just his mother keeping him out of sight, of course.”

“Does Maria know who they’re hiding the boy from or why?” Oscar asked.

“No. Signora Colombo hasn’t confided in any of her friends or neighbors. Maria says she’s scared.”

“For the child?”

“Yes. Doubly so after the murder of her husband. Maria went to take her some food this morning, but Signora Colombo wouldn’t even open the door.”

My gaze connected with Oscar’s worried one. “Is Maria certain she’s still alive?”

Miss Wheeler posed the question to Maria. The elderly woman clutched the cross around her neck and shrugged her response. Miss Wheeler said a few more words, then informed us she’d told Maria we would check on Signora Colombo.

Maria followed us as we approached her neighbor’s house. She clutched the cross harder as she murmured into it, repeating the same words over and over. At first I thought she spoke a spell into the wood, then I realized it was more likely to be a prayer. There were no wood magicians in Pecco. That’s why Signore Colombo wanted to hire one.

Yet both Oscar and Miss Wheeler had felt magic in the hull of the boat in the boatshed on the night we’d found the body. Had Signore Colombo managed to hire one and the magician had already started working before Colombo’s murder? Or had he found one already living in Pecco?

“How did you encourage her to confide in you about the boy?” Oscar asked Miss Wheeler.

“I promised her we’d help the Colombo family and find Signore Colombo’s killer.”

“I heard you say London.”

“She thinks you’re detectives with the London police.”

“You lied to her?” I asked.

“She’ll never know, and you are going to solve the murder, along with me, of course.”

It was no wonder she and Oscar got along. He would have no compunction about the small lie to get the result he wanted. He was also just as confident.

Unsurprisingly, our knocks weren’t answered. Oscar tried peering through the window, but the curtain was drawn. “I’ll try the back,” he said. “Miss Wheeler, can you ask Maria if I can reach the rear of the houses that way?”

As Miss Wheeler translated his question into Italian, I told Oscar why I thought it was a terrible idea. “What if Signora Colombo has a gun? She might be pointing it at the door as we speak.”

“Where would the widow of a humble boatbuilder get a gun?”

“Anarchists.”