Death in a Serene City by Edward Sklepowich

one from Maria’s tray, went on to explain. “Not completely deaf, you understand, but with seriously impaired hearing. Well, with whatever problems she had or thought she had, big or small, she’s gone from us now, and there’s much that needs to be done because of it.”
    While Voyd had been talking, a man in his mid-twenties came up to them in time to hear the last words. He was dressed in a dark-brown velvet suit and had a shock of unruly blond hair over his smooth forehead. It was the man Bellorini had collided with earlier at Florian’s.
    â€œAs usual you exaggerate, Clifford,” he said with a slight accent that sounded vaguely Germanic. “There’s not that much to do, is there? You’re almost finished, in fact. You work fast.” He looked at Urbino. “Excuse me, my name is Kobke, Christian Kobke.” He extended his hand.
    â€œUrbino Macintyre.”
    The good-looking young man turned again to Voyd, who was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and irritation.
    â€œYou do go on, Clifford. You give the impression that you are absolutely inundated with things. But the truth of the matter is, Mr. Macintyre, that everything has been done that needs to be done. My friend here is most efficient when it comes to these things. He brought everything out this afternoon in several large boxes. I was staggering under their weight.”
    â€œNow who is exaggerating?”
    â€œNonetheless—”
    â€œYes, nonetheless, my dear boy,” Voyd interrupted, “it’s a disturbing duty I must perform. I’m Quinton’s literary executor, Mr. Macintyre. And in addition to all her writing, her niece has asked me to help go through her other things and kindly said I might take what I want.”
    â€œWhich was about twenty or thirty letters he’d written her—or were there even more?”
    â€œThey fall within the domain of my literary executorship, Christian, as you well know. This is a duty I would most gladly relinquish, believe me. As for poor Quinton’s objets , I’ve limited myself to a painting, a few books, and a trinket here and there, none of them worth much. The painting’s a Riva degli Schiavoni in the manner of Sargent, a bit heavy-handed but the two of us found it on one of our many forays together.”
    â€œIt has what you might call sentimental value,” Kobke said with a little smile.
    â€œSentimental value can often make up for a lot of mediocre art,” Urbino said, thinking of some of his own favorite pieces at the Palazzo Uccello.
    Kobke looked at him sharply.
    â€œYou aren’t an art critic, are you, Mr. Macintyre?”
    â€œNot at all.”
    â€œI’ll leave the explaining to Clifford. Meanwhile, I’m off in search of that glowering old woman with the tray, the one who looks like the witch in ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ I wonder if she’d let me do a sketch of her.”
    â€œYou’ll have to excuse Christian,” Voyd said when the young man had left. “He’s rather out of sorts at the moment. He just learned about a poor review back in Copenhagen. He’s an illustrator. Believe me, his work is absolutely of a charm. Perhaps if you come by some time he’ll be in a better mood and show you what he has with him. We’d be delighted to see you.”
    â€œWhere are you staying?”
    â€œThe Europa e Regina. We can almost see right through the doors of the Salute from our balcony when we’re brave enough to venture out in this weather. You’ll have to visit us. Perhaps we can continue our conversation about my friend Quinton if you’ll allow an old man to indulge himself. You seem a sympathetic listener, so rare to find in any man. And I would be interested in your own impressions of her. Give me a ring but don’t wait too long. We leave before carnival.”
    â€œI thought that might have been why you came.”
    â€œYou