“Alone.” Veronica’s eyes widened to underscore my sad state. “But I understand because I was obsessed too—with the clothing stores on Via Condotti.” She inhaled like she could smell the designer fabric on the chic shopping street. “You’d love Italian fashion, Glenda. When we were there, the hot trend was a colored thong underneath tight, sheer white pants.”
Glenda batted inch-long yellow eyelashes. “Pants?”
Most people would question the thong, but my landlady wasn’t most people. “Yes, women have been wearing them for around a hundred years.”
Veronica’s brow and lips lowered into a be-nice look. “What was your favorite thing about the trip? Besides the fountain, that is.”
I ignored the jab. “Eating dough at every meal—a pastry for breakfast, pasta for lunch, pizza for dinner.” Even though ten years had passed, I could remember the carb extravaganza like it was yesterday. “And the bars.”
“I enjoy a good Italian cocktail.” Glenda sounded thoughtful as she played with her pasty petals.
“Bars in Italy serve alcohol, but they’re more like coffee shops,” I said. “Hence the term barista.”
“Pants over thongs and coffee in a bar?” She crossed her legs, revealing tip jar shoes labeled “Rain” and “Dance.” “Sometimes I don’t understand other cultures.”
Veronica giggled. “Well, I understand Italy, and I’d give anything to be exploring Rome with David and Standish instead of preparing to go to court.”
Glenda bounced her leg, shaking the dollars in her shoe. “You practicing law again, Miss Ronnie?”
“No, I was subpoenaed in an insurance fraud case I investigated.” She scrunched her nose. “The trial starts tomorrow.”
I opened my laptop. “Don’t be too envious of the boys. The Rome they’re exploring is different from ours. Instead of charming piazzas, men, and accessories, it’s all about ancient amphitheaters, soldiers, and weaponry.”
The phone rang in Veronica’s office.
“I’d take ancient Rome over the modern New Orleans courtroom any day.” She pushed herself to her feet. “The gladiators didn’t have a thing on NOLA attorneys.”
Veronica exited the room, and Glenda kicked a rainmaker in my direction. “Can we finish booking my cruise?”
I exhaled to suppress a scream and pushed my computer toward her. “You have to pick your, uh, optional activities.”
“I can’t read that thing. What’re my choices?”
I grabbed the laptop. A quick glance at the list made me seasick. “Um, how about Skinny Snorkeling?”
Her shoulders slumped, making her daisies droop. “That involves a mask and flippers, sugar.”
“And the problem is?”
She looked at me like I’d lost my oxygen source. “If I’m wearing all that rubber, how can I be nude?”
I didn’t want to roll my eyes, so I rolled my chair instead. “But you just said that a woman should keep some things covered. In this case, it’s your nose and feet.”
Her face wilted like her flowers. “Then it’s not skinny snorkeling, Miss Franki.”
I gazed at the screen and fantasized about sending her skinny scuba diving—without a tank. “What about Sexy Shuffleboard?”
“Should be a swingin’ time.” She cackled and slapped my arm.
I did my darnedest not to visualize swingin’ private parts and added the item to the shopping cart.
Veronica appeared in the doorway looking as seasick as me. “That was Bill Savoie, David’s father.”
My stomach went from queasy to squeezy. “Did something happen?”
Glenda puckered and plucked at her daisies.
“The boys didn’t show up for their flights home yesterday.”
I scrutinized Veronica’s face. “Because they changed them, right?”
She gave a stupor-style headshake. “They haven’t been seen since Saturday morning when they left the hotel.”
2
Peanuts, pretzels . . .” The blonde Alitalia flight attendant rummaged in an oversized plastic bag. “ . . . or taralli.”
“The taralli, please.” Given the reason for my flight to Rome, I wasn’t hungry. But like a stereotypical Italian-American, I ate my emotions. And I’d never met a food I didn’t bite.
“When do the movies start?” My businessman seatmate directed the question at the flight attendant’s rack.
“As soon as we reach our cruising altitude.” She handed me a package of the savory Italian crackers. “We’re showing Hostage, Taken, and The Missing.”
I recoiled against the window. It was hard not to think about possible scenarios for David and the vassal’s disappearance, but I certainly hadn’t planned on binge-watching them.
After stress-eating my salty snack, I slipped a complimentary mask over my eyes and used a pillow to position myself against the side of the plane. If I was going to be of any use to the boys, I had to get some sleep.
But David and the vassal invaded my mind. They’d been so psyched about the trip that they’d waged a mock gladiator battle in the office the day before they left. They didn’t have Roman swords, so they’d improvised with a weapon common among computer science undergrads, lightsabers—limited edition, no less.
I punched my pillow. Not only was I the one who’d convinced them to go to Italy instead of WonderCon in Anaheim, I’d even made their hotel reservations. If something had happened to those boys, my Catholic guilt would crucify me for life.
I had to remember that Italy was safe. In fact, it had a lower crime rate than the United States.
On the other hand, there were bad people in every country, and all it took for tragedy to strike was meeting the wrong one.
Of course, there could’ve been an innocent explanation for their disappearance. For instance, given the boys’ obsession with ancient Rome, it was possible that they’d taken the bus to Via Appia Antica, the old Appian Way, and gotten lost in the countryside.
But even if they were lost somewhere, it was two a.m. on Tuesday in Rome. So, they’d been missing for almost three days. And with every minute that ticked off the clock, the odds of finding them alive dropped.
The plane hit an air pocket, and I hit my head.
Probably a message from the universe to stop freaking out and get some rest.
I fluffed the pillow and returned to my sitting sleep position. Within a few minutes, the hum of the engine lulled me toward la-la land.
“Mind if we switch seats, Mr. CEO?” The female
