“Or watching a movie.”
Double doors offered wide access to the exhibit room. As they approached, the voices of the guests became more pronounced, a strange contrast to the silent halls they’d just traversed. Betta paused and took his arm as they got closer.
“Most of the people here tonight will be one of three types, Rick. First will be the city’s upper crust, not all that interested in the artwork, more in seeing who else is here and being seen by the others. Then the local politicians, whom I assume Vitellozzi has invited. They will also pay more attention to the other guests than to what’s on the walls.”
Rick tried to think how he would translate the word schmooze into Italian. “I know their kind from the diplomatic receptions I’ve been to. While talking to you they’re looking over your shoulder to see if there’s someone more important they should be cultivating.”
“Exactly. But you could say that of just about anyone. The third category is the art professionals. They will wander around and look at the paintings, even though they’ve seen them a hundred times before, some of them on the walls of their own museums. What they will enjoy most will be gossiping with each other about who is up and who is down in the art community. There’s always someone ready to retire or rumored to be moving to another job, and they’ll talk about the leading candidates to take their place. Or insinuate that they themselves are under consideration for the position.”
“I trust that you fall into the third category, Betta?”
“Magari,” she said, using a word that could be translated in various ways, including “fat chance.” She pulled his arm and they walked into the room. “Tonight there’s a fourth group, those trying to figure out who possesses the missing drawing. There are only three people who are in that elite company, two if Alfredo doesn’t show up.”
Rick raised his hand to salute. “I understand my mission.”
They stepped through the door and immediately encountered Vitellozzi, who had positioned himself to receive his guests. Despite the bustle of activity behind him, he was as relaxed as when Betta had seen him that morning.
“Dottoressa Innocenti, Signor Montoya, thank you for coming. The hour has finally arrived, after years of planning, and I’m pleased you will share it with us. Please get something to drink and enjoy the exhibit.”
“Thank you, Dottor Vitellozzi,” said Betta as she shook his hand. “And congratulations—it looks wonderful.”
They moved ahead while the director turned his attention to the next group of arrivals. Rick deftly took two flutes of wine from a passing tray and gave one to Betta. “To our search,” he said as they tapped glasses and surveyed the room. When they had been there during the setup, Rick had not noticed that, except for some wood decoration around the doors, the room was completely bare. No doubt the room selection was deliberate, since the stark walls would in no way detract from the magnificent art hanging from them. The star this evening was Raphael, not the architect of the palazzo.
Immediately, they noticed people they knew.
Cosimo Morelli stood in front of a framed female portrait, but his attention was on the woman standing next to him, who displayed more than a minimum amount of cleavage and acted bored. “That’s La Muta, the Raffaello from the collection here,” Betta said. “It appears that the woman talking with Morelli is equally mute. No doubt in awe of his repartee.”
“Or paralyzed by the strength of his cologne. Let’s forget Morelli for the moment and say hello to Bruzzone. That must be his wife with him.”
The art dealer had traded the white dressing on his forehead for a more subtle, skin-colored bandage. The woman standing next to him appeared to be somewhat older, though the strain on her features could have been as much the result of the morning’s excitement as the aging process. The two did not speak as they studied two portraits hanging side by side. The man and woman in the paintings were inclined toward each other but stared directly into the eyes of the viewer with a smug self-confidence.
“Buona sera, Signor Bruzzone.”
His body tensed and he turned quickly. “Ah, Dottoressa Innocenti, buona sera. And Signor Montoya. Let me introduce my wife.” Handshakes were exchanged. “These people came to my aid this morning, cara. You’ll remember I told you about them.”
“Thank you for helping Ettore.” Her face showed exhaustion, but she forced a smile.
“We were just admiring the Doni,” said Bruzzone. He pointed at the portraits and Rick detected a slight shake in his hand. “Agnolo and his wife, Maddalena, he a prominent Florentine merchant of the time. They are the model of Renaissance wealth, don’t you think? ‘Look at us,’ they are saying, ‘we are so rich we can afford to buy not only these fine clothes but to hire Raffaello to paint us.’ The master did a fine job conveying the snobbishness of these two, do you agree?”
“Absolutely,” Rick answered as he gazed at the two faces on the wall. “The scenery in the background, Signor Bruzzone. Am I mistaken, or is it reminiscent of—”
“Leonardo. Yes, very good. It was painted when Raffaello was studying his work. The way the two bodies are posed is also very much like a Leonardo da Vinci portrait.” He moved his eyes from the painting to Betta. “Is the inspector coming this evening?”
“He didn’t say,” she replied. “He’s quite busy on the case, as you can appreciate.”
“I hope it gets resolved soon. Don’t you agree, cara?”
His wife nodded but said nothing.
Betta saw her lack of response as a sign that they should move on. “Signor Bruzzone, Signora, a pleasure to
