The Venetian Candidate by Philip Gwynne Jones

Author:Philip Gwynne Jones [Philip Gwynne Jones]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, International Crime & Mystery, General
ISBN: 9781408715338
Google: AnaCEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B0BBFL4XYJ
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2023-07-12T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

I mooched around the flat, trying to avoid annoying Gramsci, and wondered what to do. Because, on the face of it, there was little left to do. I’d call Stephen Shawcross within a couple of days, just to be sure that Mazzon had indeed reimbursed the money, and that, really, would be that. An accidental death with nothing further to be done beyond the bureaucracy. And yet, a man with a tattoo who’d sat next to Andrea Mazzon as he said his prayers was, almost certainly, the same man who’d punched me in the face in Calvene. I shook my head. Too many coincidences. Or I really just was that unlucky.

I heard the rattle of keys, shortly followed by the door slamming. Gramsci yawned and stretched, and pricked up his ears. He wandered over to see what was going on, and looked disappointed when he saw that it was only Federica. Still, given that he’d gone to the effort of getting up, it was probably time for post-lunch lunch. Or was it pre-dinner dinner? He went and sat down next to his bowl, and looked up at Fede with the saddest little expression he could muster, and gave a piteous little m’yeep.

‘Hello Unfriendly Cat. Ciao, tesoro.’ She kissed me on the cheek. ‘Your cat needs you.’

I shook a modest number of kitty biscuits into his bowl. Gramsci made his ‘is that all?’ face.

‘That’s all. You can have a little more later if, and only if, you’re good. Understood?’

Gramsci rubbed himself against my legs and then flopped over, waving his paws in the air.

I sighed. ‘Okay. Just a little more. But make it last.’

He munched away, happily.

‘As I was saying. Make it last, okay?’

Fede looked at me, and shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you’re still falling for that old one.’

‘Sorry. Is it a bit pathetic?’

She nodded.

‘Anyway, how has your day been?’

She brightened. ‘It’s been good, you know?’ Federica was currently working on a short-term contract at the Palazzo Querini Stampalia, trying to put right some of the devastating effects of November’s flood. ‘I think we’re getting somewhere. I’m not saying it’s back to normal, nowhere near, but there’s progress. I can’t imagine they’ll be keeping me on beyond the end of the month. But it seems there might be the chance of a bit of work at San Polo.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘There might be some restoration needing to be done on the ceiling. You know, the ship’s keel roof?’ I nodded. ‘Hasn’t been touched for two hundred years. They’d like a few of us to do some investigatory work up there.’

‘Scaffolding, hard hats, the usual?’

‘The usual.’ She flopped down onto the sofa. ‘And so, how has your day been?’

‘Well, I had coffee with a fascist. So I guess you’d say it’s been interesting.’

She rubbed her forehead. ‘Okay. It sounds like this is going to need a spritz.’

‘So, then. What did you think of him?’

‘Well, I have to say he wasn’t quite what I was expecting.’

‘No jackboots? No black shirt?’

‘No. He seemed, well, his reading material aside, kind of normal.

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