The Prisoner of Paradise by Rob Samborn

Author:Rob Samborn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TouchPoint Press

XXXVI

Julia hit the call button on her cell. She sat on the bed, her back supported by pillows propped against the headboard. To her right were a notepad and pen.

As the phone rang, she tapped the pen on her thigh, waiting for Lionel Benton to answer. She figured she may as well seize the opportunity while Nick was at the police. She prayed she’d made the right decision to not meet him there. She preferred his familiar, overprotective nature, but the mood swings were getting old fast. She wanted—needed—to trust her husband. They worked better as a team.

Shaking her head and body, she scattered the drops of nerves.

“Hello?” A man with a crisp London accent answered.

An adrenaline surge prompted her to stand. “Hello, Mr. Benton?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Yes, Mr. Benton.” Julia ran her hand over her skirt, smoothing it out. “My name is Julia O’Connor. I’m calling about your blog.”

“My blog?” Benton asked with annoyance. “Remind me to send a holiday card to WordPress this year. As stupendous as being an English journalist may be, none of my other ten thousand followers have taken the time to phone me. How on Earth did you get my personal number?”

“Pierre Gold gave it to me. I—”

“Why would he do such a thing? How do you know Pierre?”

“I’m an artist. A photographer.”

Benton burst out laughing. “Oh, my, this is rich. Is it play-a-practical-joke-on-an-art-critic day already? I must’ve missed that on my calendar. Pierre should’ve known better. Good day, miss.”

“Wait, please!” Julia started pacing. “I’m really sorry to bother you. My husband and I, well, we’ve been involved in some events at the Palazzo Ducale, and I’m hoping—”

“What sort of events?”

“For starters, we were kicked out. And, well, you can say we were harassed.”

Benton inhaled deeply. “Why were you ejected?” He asked.

“They claimed he got too close to a painting, but he wasn’t gonna damage it. Forgive my language, but it’s B.S. They’re definitely hiding something.”

“And you think he’s gotten mixed up with the group I’ve written about.”

“There’s a good possibility, but I don’t know how or why. Please, Mr. Benton, I just have a few questions.”

“How do I know you are who you say you are, Mrs. O’Connor? That you’re not enquiring on behalf of the Palazzo?”

“I’m not sure how I can prove it.” She stood still. “I’m American. From Boston. My husband, Nick, works for Fidelity. You can Google him. And me. And we’re both on LinkedIn.” She couldn’t think of anything else.

“You sound charming, if not distraught, Mrs. O’Connor, and typically, I’d be happy to assist a friend of Pierre, but I’d insist on having this conversation in person, and you caught me at a terrible time. I’m about to leave Venice. A water taxi’s taking me to the airport in twenty minutes.”

“Which hotel are you in?” Julia grabbed her purse.

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