Page 50 of Bloodlines and Birthright

As with the walk out of Pecco, Oscar and Miss Wheeler were quite talkative on the walk back to Monteoro from the abbey. This time, it was mostly about their theories surrounding the murder, and whether it had anything to do with the missing Scala family wood spell. I had my own thoughts about the spell and wood magic, but I kept them to myself. They’d not fully formed and I didn’t want to sound silly for putting them forward.

I also didn’t want to intrude. While they didn’t exclude or ignore me, they were clearly more interested in each other than in me. They were quite close, Miss Wheeler’s parasol partially covering Oscar, too. Sometimes their arms touched and once, he took her hand to assist her around a large muddy puddle. He held onto her hand for longer than was necessary, and she didn’t attempt to remove it.

After passing the fork in the road where the faded sign pointed to Pecco, we took the busier route to Monteoro. A group of intrepid English tourists had decided to go for a walk up to the abbey, despite being the hottest part of the day. They stopped us when we reached the edge of the village to ask if it was worth it. Oscar informed them that if they wanted to see a working Medieval abbey then they should continue. Satisfied, they touched the brims of their hats in thanks and did just that.

Miss Wheeler had become distracted while we talked to the tourists by two young local women. Their maids’ uniforms bore the emblem of our hotel, but I didn’t think that was what caught Miss Wheeler’s attention.

She fell into conversation with them. Although I couldn’t catch the gist of the discussion, I did understand a few words. Words that had me intrigued, as they must have intrigued Miss Wheeler when she first heard them.

She thanked the maids who went on their way, but not before fluttering their lashes in Oscar’s direction.

“What was that about?” he asked Miss Wheeler as she watched them retreat.

She had an odd look on her face, as if she’d been presented with a complex puzzle she was attempting to solve. “I believe I know why Giovanni Colombo was murdered, and why he and his wife faked their son’s death. And it’s thanks to you, Mr. Barratt, that it all makes sense now.”

“Me? Well, I’m glad I could help. Which of my theories do you think is correct?”

“Don’t look too smug. It wasn’t a theory you came up with at all. You inadvertently helped me by telling me about some of the situations Matt and India Glass found themselves in.”

“Which one?”

“The one with the firework magician.”

Fireworks!

Oscar blinked. “What do fireworks have to do with this?”

Oh my! It was starting to make sense to me, too. “You overheard those maids use some words the Carabinieri said to Signora Colombo after they found her husband’s body,” I said. “Fires and artifice. It didn’t make sense at the time, but now you know those words together in Italian mean fireworks.”

Miss Wheeler nodded. “Fuochi d'artificio translates to fireworks. Artificial fires. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it at the time.”

“None of us did,” Oscar said, watching the two maids head into one of the narrow lanes. “But why do you think fireworks are related to the murder? What exactly did those maids say?”

“They were discussing the fireworks display that is put on in the village every week, and how it’s sad they won’t happen anymore after the Pecco man died. They could only have been talking about Colombo, so I asked them to explain. Apparently, the fireworks started two years ago and have been going off every week since. It’s become tradition and everyone looks forward to it, tourists and locals alike. But the Pecco man whose hobby it was to set off the fireworks died.”

“The maids said he was a firework magician?” Oscar asked.

“Magic wasn’t mentioned. But what if he was? You told me the Glasses met a firework magician who used magic to detonate bombs from a distance, thereby avoiding danger by being too close at the time of the explosion. What if that’s why De Angelis, an anarchist, was sniffing around the boatshed? He was courting Colombo, trying to get him to work for them.”

“Courting or coercing?” Oscar muttered.

I followed that thread through to its inevitable conclusion. “He refused and they killed him. And now they want his son, who has inherited his father’s firework magic. Anticipating he was in danger, even before his father died, his parents faked his death. It was the best way to ensure his safety.”

We continued through the piazza in silence, down one of the steep alleys cutting through the village. I didn’t take in much of our surroundings and found myself jostled by tourists on more than one occasion. I couldn’t help but worry about the terrible predicament Signora Colombo and her son had found themselves in, through no fault of their own. It was no wonder she planned to leave Pecco in secret tonight, under the cover of darkness.

When the alley opened up to the main street running parallel to the lakeshore, Miss Wheeler checked her watch. “I have time before Mr. Defoe is scheduled to return from his outing. Shall we buy gelatos to cool down?” She tucked the watch back into her waistcoat pocket and nodded at the seller’s cart with the green and cream striped awning.

“I’ll pay,” Oscar said. “Which flavor would you like?”

“I’ll pay,” she countered. “Defoe compensates me for expenses, and this is an important expense.”

“Absolutely not. A lady in my company does not pay for ice cream.”

“How many times have I told you, I’m not a lady, Mr. Barratt.”

“You most certainly are.” Oscar appealed to me. “Help me here, Gavin. Convince Miss Wheeler that I’m paying.”

“A gentleman always pays,” I said to her. “Besides, I want to ask you something in private.”