He slowed the pace, walking with her through the wide hall. As they passed the music room, an object crashed on the marble tile. They could hear pieces breaking and scattering across the floor.
Antonietta turned her head toward the sound in alarm. “What is that? Surely not another crisis? Your family will be here any minute.”
“No one should be in your music room. I thought that was your private domain.” His voice was soft. A whisper, no more.
Antonietta stiffened. Her mind was so caught up in meeting his family, she hadn’t considered that someone might be rummaging through her work. “Probably Vincente. He’s so bored without little Margurite to play with.” Vincente had never gone in her private music room. The room, with its perfect acoustics, was considered strictly off limits to everyone in the house while Antonietta was composing, which was nearly all the time.
“I doubt it is the boy. Stay here with Celt.” Byron scanned the music room. He knew exactly who was frantically searching through the musical scores.
Antonietta gasped. “Marita.” She picked the image right out of Byron’s mind. “She must be looking for the Handel piece. I’m not staying here while you confront my sister-in-law. If she’s betraying my family, I want to know about it.”
Byron was astonished. Antonietta was moving in and out of his mind with the touch of an expert. Telepathy was natural to her. She wasn’t afraid of it at all. “It sounds as if there is glass on the floor. I do not want you to be injured.”
“I’m wearing shoes.”
He glanced down at the smooth Italian leather. “Open-toed sandals. That does not count as shoes.”
She made a small sound of annoyance. She had dressed with care, wanting to look her best for his family. Everything seemed to be going wrong. And now Marita was rummaging around in the music room.
Byron moved silently, masking their presence from Marita. He watched as the woman opened cupboard after cupboard and rifled through the contents.
What is she doing? Searching for something.
Byron reached for Marita’s mind, scanning to see her intentions, merging with Antonietta at the same time.
Marita was crying softly, murmuring prayers as she rummaged through papers and musical scores.
“I have the Handel safe,” Antonietta announced.
Byron hastily uncloaked their presence as Marita whirled around. She emitted a high-pitched squeak and covered her face.
“Do not cry.” He ordered it, biting out the words in sheer self-preservation.
“Why would you do this, Marita? You are a Scarletti. If you and Franco needed money, why wouldn’t you come to me?” Antonietta’s heart was aching. “I don’t understand.”
“Franco knows nothing of this. He cannot know. Please, Toni, don’t say anything to him of this.”
The great knocker at the main entrance resonated throughout the palazzo. Antonietta clutched at Byron’s arm. “They’re here. We need a maid in here to clean up the glass immediately.”
“What are you going to do, Toni?” Marita demanded. “If you tell Franco what I’ve done, you will destroy my marriage. He will send me away. You know he will.”
“I can’t help what Franco will do, Marita. You attempted to steal a great treasure from our family. Who were you taking it to?”
“I can’t say.”
The image shimmered in her mind. Loathing surrounded the image. Loathing and fear. Merged as she was with Byron, Antonietta caught the image from Marita’s mind. “Don Demonesini? You were delivering a Scarletti treasure into the hands of that horrible man?”
“How could you know? I didn’t say. I would never utter his name aloud, the name of the devil himself.” Marita crossed herself several times.
Waves of distress and fear swamped them from all directions. Running footsteps clattered down the marble hall. “Signorina Antonietta, may the good
Dio
save us all.” Helena ran into the room, her bosom heaving, her hands fluttering in the air wildly. “We’ve found him. We’ve found Enrico. He’s in the laundry chute, wrapped in your good Irish lace tablecloth.”
Behind Helena a young maid appeared. “I’ve shown Vlad and Eleanor Belandrake and their son, Josef, into the conservatory, Signorina Antonietta.”
The silence was deafening. Byron wrapped a comforting arm around Antonietta. “I take it Enrico is no longer alive.” He had a sudden urge to laugh at the ridiculous situation but was certain Antonietta wouldn’t appreciate his sense of humor.
“Dead as can be,” Helena admitted, pressing a hand to her mouth. “The maids went looking for the missing tablecloth, and the smell was so bad—”
Antonietta held up her hand. “Spare us, please, Helena. This can’t be happening, Byron. I can’t have your family for dinner with a dead body in the laundry chute. What am I going to do? Poor Enrico. He’s very large. I can’t imagine how he got in there.”
“He’s stuck,” Helena reported. “I have no idea how we’re going to get him out.”
“I will speak to my sister and her husband, Antonietta. I am certain they will understand. Call Captain Diego and inform him we have found the missing chef.” We will discuss Marita later, when things have settled down. I’m sorry about your chef, and your mother’s tablecloth.
“We can’t possibly uninvite your family for dinner,” Antonietta was horrified. Poor Enrico. He kept to himself, but he was a fixture here.
Marita gasped aloud when Franco walked in, dressed in a charcoal gray suit. “Gossip travels fast here in the palazzo. Tasha is informing the authorities and asking them to be discreet and use the servant’s entrance.
Nonno
is entertaining your guests in the conservatory, and you know he can be very charming.” Franco squeezed his cousin’s shoulder in sympathy. “We can pull this off, Toni. Don’t panic. Marita, I’m allowing Vincente and Margurite a movie while we’re dining. Please go quickly and get dressed. This dinner means a great deal to Toni, and we won’t fail her.”
“We can’t possibly sit down to dinner with a dead body in the laundry chute,” Marita said.
“Don Giovanni is explaining right at this moment that we’ve had a death in the palazzo. Enrico lived here practically his entire life. He’s one of ours, and he’ll be taken care of. Toni, you look beautiful. Go with Byron and meet his family. I understand there is some hysteria in the kitchen. I’ll go down and see that the new chef, what’s his name?”
“Alfredo,” Antonietta supplied.
“I’ll make certain Alfredo calms down and doesn’t disgrace us. I’ll take care of this, Toni. I know what this means to you. Marita, do as I say.” He glanced around the room, noted the broken glass on the floor and the papers clutched in Marita’s hands.
She looked desperately at Antonietta and Byron as if they might save her, then she turned and ran from the room.
“Helena, calm the maids and make certain this room is cleaned,” Franco ordered.
“Yes, Signor Scarletti.”
Franco took Antonietta’s hand. “It will be all right, Toni. We’ll get through this together, the way our family always does. Byron’s relatives will be charmed by you.”
“In spite of the dead body in the laundry chute, wrapped in my mother’s Irish lace tablecloth,” Antonietta said wryly. “I just don’t believe this is happening. Poor Enrico. Who would want to hurt him?”
Byron hugged her close. “We will find out, Antonietta. I promise you. There is not much we can do for him at the moment. Come meet my family. It will not matter in the least to them if there is no dinner. They came to meet you, not to eat.” Bella,
do not be so distressed. I know you held affection for Enrico, I feel it in your heart. Marita’s behavior is not what it seems. I read her mind, and she does not want money. She detests and fears this man. I could not tell why. She is very emotional, and it was difficult to see past the intensity to the real reason she took the Handel score. When I have time, I will examine her memories and find out what is going on.