were going to take a taxi at the Danieli unless . . . damn . . . the maid.”
“What maid? At your hotel? But you asked her to wait five hundred minutes.”
I frowned at Antonia, winding my way to reason. “Not that one.The first maid. She came in earlier. She must have bugged my phone. Right in front of me. I’m an idiot.”
“You led them right to us!” Antonia shouted, slapping me hard on the shoulder.
I stopped in my tracks and faced her down.
“What’s with you? First you punch me in the stomach, then you hit me.”
She looked at me and laughed. “I thought you said you were a stuntman, for God’s sake! Can’t take a little hit?”
“You don’t know anything about what I can take, and I suggest you don’t make it your business to find out.”
“But I have to,” she said, a tear collecting in the corner of her eye. “I have to know.”
I felt as if I’d eaten a bag of nails. “Let’s both take it easy,” I said. “We’ve got a lot to do. All right?”
She nodded.
At the next corner we took a left down a narrow cobblestone street. Each house in Chioggia was a different color, red next to blue next to yellow; they all seemed slightly off-kilter, as if the road had sunk in places. Venice was like that too. I never knew if it was me reacting like a landlubber to the watery feel of the place, or if everything was literally askew. Antonia stopped in front of a garage next to a faded red house and lifted a noisy tin roll-up door. There, in the musty old shed, was a small blue Fiat that must have been twenty years old.
Antonia walked around to the driver’s door. “Good. The key’s in there.” She got in and started it.
“Shouldn’t I be driving?” I said. “You could translate the other page.”
“Reading in a car makes me sick. Come on.”
I stepped around to the passenger side. The Fiat was as roomy as an egg.
Antonia flipped on the windshield wipers and stepped on the washer button. Now each of us could see out through a clear wet patch the width of an open book. She ground the shifter into first, lurchedout of the garage, and swerved down the street in Keystone Kops fashion.
“Why do you keep your car out here?” I said over the whine of the engine.
“It’s not mine. It was Fausto’s.”
“Oh . . . your uncle. Could you slow down, please?”
“You didn’t mind my driving in the lagoon. Am I making you nervous?”
“Absolutely!”
She pulled over and hopped out. We switched places.
I scrunched in behind the wheel and pushed the seat back, practically into the trunk. The car still felt as if it were made for a Muppet.
We parked where everybody parks when they go to Venice and made our way by ferry into town. No one was overtly watching us. The address on the card was for a small Mail Boxes, Etc.–type shop.
We stopped across the street from the place. I pulled my Leonardo page from the red backpack and passed it to her.
“Why are you giving me this?” she asked, puzzled.
“I said before, you shouldn’t be going in there, and I meant it. If I’m not out in five minutes, take off.”
Antonia looked astonished. “You’re trusting me with this?”
“Yes,” I said. “I am. Now put it away.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that she might run.
“Here,” she said, practically forcing the page on me. “Keep it. I’m going in there with you. Don’t argue with me.”
A half-dozen people were going about their business in the building,sifting through mail, filling out forms. Two old ladies badgered the clerk, a young man with long dark hair.
Box 104 was large enough to hold a good-sized toolbox. The key fit. Inside was a brown, corrugated shipping carton that almost took up the entire space. I slipped my fingers in around it and pulled it out. It was unmarked and weighed at least ten pounds. I gave it a shake.
Antonia just about jumped out of her skin. “Are you
“If it was a bomb, they’d be blowing up Leonardo’s notes along with us. Now let go of me.”
“No.” Antonia looked at me pleadingly, her fingers bunching the fabric of my jacket. “I want to get out of here right now. We can open it at the car.”
I glanced at the clerk, who was trying to calm the old ladies. He had three more people waiting impatiently in line. I had intended to press him about the renter of box 104.
We headed out the door and hustled over to the ferry, again watching to see if we were being followed. Though the boat wasn’t crowded, Antonia stood right next to me, leaning against the rail and looking around nervously.
