Black Bridge by Edward Sklepowich

grabbing her elbow more roughly than was necessary.
    â€œBeware the monster jealousy, Hugh,” Oriana chided. “Remember, this is the city of Othello. I thought you’d bite off poor Marie’s head when she asked John for a picture from his modeling days. It will drive sweet little Marie away—or much worse! You can give us a sad example, Marco. What about that poor woman slaughtered in one of your treatment rooms?”
    It would be difficult to say who was more upset by her words—Moss, who looked as if he wanted to slap her, or Zeoli, whose sallow face had paled. The assistant medical director mumbled something about the impeccable reputation of his spa and excused himself.
    10
    When Urbino finally met Orlando Gava and Livia Festa half an hour later, Urbino recognized Gava as the “Roman senator” from the Abano pool. Gava gave no indication that he remembered Urbino, however. With his moon-shaped, unhealthily flushed face, pendulous lower lip, and drooping eyes, he was as homely as the Barone was handsome. He wore a black crepe armband. Sadness seemed to emanate from him in dark, powerful waves.
    In contrast to Gava, Livia Festa radiated health and good spirits. She had a plumpness suggestive of an odalisque pampered in a sultan’s harem. Dyed-red hair sprang from beneath a black lacy snood, and a dark green silk robe, with a cabalistic design across the top, bestowed the look of a priestess. A cape had been thrown over an armchair to accommodate a small white dog.
    â€œI leave the renegade to you both,” the Contessa said, stunning in a gold silk bias-cut Vionnet, “but I warn you, Livia dear: Don’t try to squeeze any money out of the poor boy. He lives far beyond his means. I have to go off to convince those men over there that having their boats diverted by my bridge of boats isn’t the same as sending them around the Cape of Good Hope!”
    When the Contessa had left, Festa said in a smoke-hoarse voice: “This is my little baby. His name is Peppino.”
    She took a treat for Peppino from her purse. He gave it a few unenthusiastic nibbles.
    â€œYou write biographies,” said Gava dolefully, as if this must be the saddest endeavor imaginable. “Barbara says you’re good at it—and at solving crimes, too. You’re looking into the threats against Bobo.”
    â€œBobo told us the other night at dinner,” Festa quickly explained. “He joked about them but I’m sure he’s upset.”
    â€œOh, he’s upset,” Gava said. “I knew it as soon as he said he wasn’t. Actors! You always have to assume they mean the opposite of what they say.”
    â€œSpoken just like a man of business! Orlando has some factories in Torino that make him a bundle of money!” Festa explained for Urbino’s benefit. “I think I’m a better judge of actors, Orlando dear. They’re more like children than anything else.”
    Suddenly, over the music and the other voices, came Bobo’s magisterial voice: “ Dama Venezia is a beautiful corpse, giving off the flush of the grave. Camille of the waves, the consumptive heroine of the sea, the painted lady of—”
    They looked in Bobo’s direction. He was the center of a group of admiring women.
    â€œWell, he acted the spoiled child often enough with my poor sister, may God rest her soul! She never complained, not even at the very end, as you remember.”
    Gava touched his armband and tears welled in his eyes. Festa considered him with an inscrutable look that might have been irritation or uneasiness, then started to chatter about D’Annunzio and the Barone’s miraculous reincarnation of him.
    â€œD’Annunzio!” Gava almost spat it out. “Rosa couldn’t bear to hear his name mentioned! An immoral man!”
    Gava’s raised voice drew a long stare from Bobo.
    â€œD’Annunzio was mentioned in the threats,”