"Okay, Lola," I said. "I'm Lara. Lara McClintoch."
"Lara and Lola," she said. "I think we're going to make a good team."
"Perhaps we are," I said as I got up to leave. "See you later."
I tried Antonio's cell phone. Still no answer, much to my annoyance, so I stomped out of the hotel. I'd told Lola that I had things to do, and I suppose I did, although nothing of any urgency. I checked out a couple of antique stores on the Via Garibaldi, got myself some money from a bank machine, had some lunch, and then did a little grocery shopping. I treated myself to a rather fine bottle of Tuscan wine, a Rosso de Montalcino, plus bread, cheese, and some prosciutto and melon. It was starting to rain, and I thought if it really got miserable, I'd have a picnic in the room that evening.
My heart was in none of these activities, and I thought that perhaps I should have gone looking for Lars Porsena's tomb with Lola. As unlikely a task as it was, it seemed to serve more purpose than simply marking time, which was exactly what I was doing, waiting for Lake to call. I decided I might as well go back to the hotel and have a nap. Sleeping might make the time go faster.
As I approached the hotel, I saw a shape I recognized. It was Antonio, I was sure, and I went dashing after him. He was well ahead of me, moving along the Via Cavour toward the Church of San Francesco, and while I called his name, he didn't appear to hear me. He turned right onto Via Cesalpino, striding uphill quickly toward the Duomo, the high point of the town, with me in hot pursuit. I was gaining on him when he reached the top, but he got into a car parked there and drove off as I came puffing up. I watched in dismay as the car turned the corner a block or so from my position, heading down the Via San Lorentino, presumably for the city gate.
I dashed back to where I had parked my car, and although I knew it was hopeless, I tried to follow him. I got caught in traffic near the city gate and sat pounding the steering wheel in frustration. From there, the road out of town went steeply downhill, then on to the main road between Arezzo and Cortona. There was no sign of Antonio's car. He could have turned either north or south, and for no particular reason, I chose south. The road was not all that busy, but the visibility was obstructed by the rain and the fog that was rolling in from the fields on either side of the road. I passed a couple of sodden people on bicycles and one on foot. After several minutes of this, I decided to give up and turned the car around to head back to town.
I was almost back to town when I passed the person on foot a second time, and this time felt a twinge of recognition. I was in such a bad mood that I tried to ignore it and drive on, but a hundred yards or so past the hapless walker, I stopped, pulled over to the side of the road, and backed up.
I leaned over to open the passenger door. "You look like someone who could use a ride, Lola," I said.
"You have no idea how grateful I am for this," she said after she'd climbed in and I pulled away. "Looking for Lars was not particularly entertaining on this occasion, I must say. I am soaked right through to my undies." She was shivering as she spoke, and I turned up the heat. Her trousers were covered in mud up to her knees, and she had a smudge on her cheek. The rain had made its way past the collar of her wind-breaker, and there were streaks of wet down her flowered shirt.
"No tomb today, I guess," I said.
"Not today," she agreed. "Have you seen any of the Etruscan tombs?" she asked. "You really should, you know, while you're here."
"I've seen an Etruscan tomb of a sort," I said. "Someone I met in France was painting his own tomb in the Etruscan style, modeled on the tombs in Tarquinia. I've only seen pictures of the real thing, but this one looked pretty authentic."
"Painting his own tomb? Where would he be doing that?"
"In his basement," I said.
She laughed out loud, a deep, rumbling laugh that seemed to come from her toes. "Another victim of Etruscomania," she said. "Has to be. It's an incurable mental disease, I'm afraid, although I haven't heard that it's been properly documented as such by the medical profession. But what do they know? I'd like to meet this person."
"Unfortunately, he's dead," I said.
"What happened?"
"He fell into the tomb—from the main floor."
"Oh," she said. "That's terrible." Then she started to giggle, and much to my amazement, I did, too.
"It's really not funny," I said, gasping for breath.
"No, indeed it is not," she agreed between fits of laughter. "It just sounds so ridiculous. I've always said that Etruscomania is a terminal condition. I've just never thought of it quite that literally."
"He was absolutely bonkers, I have to tell you. He just kept maundering on about the Etruscans, and some Societa he was a member of," I said.
"An academic group of some kind?"
"I have no idea. There can only be thirteen members, twelve plus one, whatever that means."
"One for each Etruscan city state, I'd think," she said. "The Dodecapolis. It was a loose federation of Etruscan cities. They met every year at—"
"Velzna," I said.
"Yes," she said. "Velzna or Volsinii to the Romans. I think you know more about the Etruscans than you're letting on. There are any number of organizations that get together to study the Etruscans. If it's not expensive, I'd probably like to join."
"Somebody has to die before you can get in," I said.
"Then maybe I don't want to join. Come to think of it, though, there's a vacancy, isn't there, now your friend is dead? Maybe someone killed him so they could take his place. Now there's a thought," she said.
We both dissolved into giggles again. "This really is silly, isn't it?" I said.
"Silly but creepy," she said.
Lola's teeth were chattering by the time we got back to the hotel. "You've caught a chill," I said to her, sounding like my mother. "I think you should go to your room and have a hot bath right away."
"Good idea, but there is a flaw. There's no hot water this time of day," she said.
"That's true," I said. In fact, the only way to get a hot shower was to leap out of bed the moment you heard the pipes clank, about six in the morning. That's when the water got turned on, or at least got up to a half-decent temperature. After that, it was pretty much tepid, if not downright cold, water for the rest of the day.
"Too bad," I said. "Are there any messages for me?" I said, turning to the young man at the desk.
"No," he said, checking my box.
"Are you sure?" I demanded. "Did someone not come and ask for me this afternoon?"
"I wasn't on duty," he said.
"Then could you check with someone who was, please," I said.
The boy, with some reluctance, opened the door behind the counter and poked his head around the corner. "There was," he said a moment later. "A man. We rang your room when he came, but there was no answer.
He didn't leave a message. He said it wasn't urgent, and he'd come back later."
Not urgent? It was, from my point of view. "Did he say when?"
"I don't know," the boy said. I glared at him. He poked his head around the door again. "No," he said. "He didn't."
Annoyed, I turned back to Lola. She was taking some olives from a small bowl on a table in the lounge. I was about to go to my room in a snit and leave her to fend for herself, but she looked so pathetic in her muddy, rumpled clothes that I couldn't do it.
"I have an idea," I said, taking her arm. "How does a glass or two of a really fine red wine sound to you? A little cheese, a little bread, and maybe even some prosciutto and melon."
"You're toying with me," she said.
"It's in my room," I whispered, signaling we should be quiet so the kid at the desk wouldn't hear.
"I'm your slave for life," she said.