dinner was cold. As twilight crept over the city, lights came on and the huge Duomo, to the east of the Hotel Fontana, lit up. We could see the top of it beyond the rooftops from our French doors. I opened them up to the evening air.
“So they must think that Gypsy did it,” Lettie said, stacking the stainless steel plate covers on the desk.
“It would appear so.”
“Do you think he did?”
“Now, Lettie, how should I know? I don’t know any more about it than you do.” I dragged a chair to the table and seated myself in front of the chicken cacciatore. Lettie had arranged everything nicely. “But it is odd, you know. I hate to sound like I’m stereotyping, but this guy is a Gypsy, and they’re infamous thieves.” I paused, not really sure what I did think, quite yet. “If you are a thief, you get used to breaking and entering, taking stuff, getting away without getting caught . . . don’t you?”
“Right.”
“So if you break into someone’s hotel room, you’d have a standard little song and dance you go through if that room turns out to be inhabited, wouldn’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“You know what? He could have used Beth’s own room card to get in! Didn’t he take her room card ang with her money?”
“Yes, but how would he have known what room or what hotel it was for?”
I grabbed my bag off the floor and scrambled through it for my room card. “It’s just a blank card. It doesn’t have the room number on it. But it does say ‘Hotel Fontana.’ Wait. They gave us the cards yesterday in a little paper sleeve that did have the room number on it, didn’t they?”
“Yes, my card is still in the paper sleeve.”
“You really should toss that, or leave it here in the room, Lettie. They do it that way so in case it gets taken, the thief won’t have your room number.”
“But if Beth left hers in the sleeve . . .”
“Which is possible, after all, you did.”
“I’ll take it out right now.” Lettie retrieved her bag from the dresser, slipped her card out of its paper sleeve, and put the sleeve in the top dresser drawer. “There.”
“So it’s likely he did go to Meg and Beth’s room, or at least came here with the intention of doing so, and then what? See, that’s the part that makes no sense.”
“I don’t see.”
“Say he goes into their room using Beth’s card and finds Meg there. He what, kills her? Just happens to find a lovely collector’s item knife—extra-sharp—lying there, so he grabs it and kills the woman?”
“We don’t yet know if she was killed with the knife.”
“Pretty good odds, wouldn’t you say? The knife sure didn’t belong in that fountain. But whatever she was killed with, it’s the same problem: a career thief, a pickpocket, an artful dodger has ways of getting out of embarrassing situations like that. He’s been through it before.”
“Well, I don’t know . . .” Lettie wiped a wine spill off the table with her napkin.
“If murder was how he dealt with getting caught, there’d be a trail of dead bodies, wouldn’t there?”
“Maybe he’s not in the habit of breaking into hotel rooms. This was a fluke, you know. It wouldn’t be every day he’d get a free pass into a tourist’s hotel room.”
I put the tray of dirty dishes outside our door and suggested we take in the night air on the hotel roof. I had heard it had a lovely view, and I had already noticed the elevator had a button for tetto , which I figured, must mean roof.
Just before we closed the door, the phone rang, and Lettie ran back to get it. “They want me back downstairs. I guess I’ll have to take a rain check on that trip to the roof.”
“If I’m not here when you get back, that’s where I’ll be.” I didn’t feel like staying in the room by myself. I’d already checked out the TV; game shows in a language you don’t know are the ultimate bore.
Lettie, oh good, you are here.” Beth stood in the doorway. She looked so tiny; as if her
“So they must think that Gypsy did it,” Lettie said, stacking the stainless steel plate covers on the desk.
“It would appear so.”
“Do you think he did?”
“Now, Lettie, how should I know? I don’t know any more about it than you do.” I dragged a chair to the table and seated myself in front of the chicken cacciatore. Lettie had arranged everything nicely. “But it is odd, you know. I hate to sound like I’m stereotyping, but this guy is a Gypsy, and they’re infamous thieves.” I paused, not really sure what I did think, quite yet. “If you are a thief, you get used to breaking and entering, taking stuff, getting away without getting caught . . . don’t you?”
“Right.”
“So if you break into someone’s hotel room, you’d have a standard little song and dance you go through if that room turns out to be inhabited, wouldn’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“You know what? He could have used Beth’s own room card to get in! Didn’t he take her room card ang with her money?”
“Yes, but how would he have known what room or what hotel it was for?”
I grabbed my bag off the floor and scrambled through it for my room card. “It’s just a blank card. It doesn’t have the room number on it. But it does say ‘Hotel Fontana.’ Wait. They gave us the cards yesterday in a little paper sleeve that did have the room number on it, didn’t they?”
“Yes, my card is still in the paper sleeve.”
“You really should toss that, or leave it here in the room, Lettie. They do it that way so in case it gets taken, the thief won’t have your room number.”
“But if Beth left hers in the sleeve . . .”
“Which is possible, after all, you did.”
“I’ll take it out right now.” Lettie retrieved her bag from the dresser, slipped her card out of its paper sleeve, and put the sleeve in the top dresser drawer. “There.”
“So it’s likely he did go to Meg and Beth’s room, or at least came here with the intention of doing so, and then what? See, that’s the part that makes no sense.”
“I don’t see.”
“Say he goes into their room using Beth’s card and finds Meg there. He what, kills her? Just happens to find a lovely collector’s item knife—extra-sharp—lying there, so he grabs it and kills the woman?”
“We don’t yet know if she was killed with the knife.”
“Pretty good odds, wouldn’t you say? The knife sure didn’t belong in that fountain. But whatever she was killed with, it’s the same problem: a career thief, a pickpocket, an artful dodger has ways of getting out of embarrassing situations like that. He’s been through it before.”
“Well, I don’t know . . .” Lettie wiped a wine spill off the table with her napkin.
“If murder was how he dealt with getting caught, there’d be a trail of dead bodies, wouldn’t there?”
“Maybe he’s not in the habit of breaking into hotel rooms. This was a fluke, you know. It wouldn’t be every day he’d get a free pass into a tourist’s hotel room.”
I put the tray of dirty dishes outside our door and suggested we take in the night air on the hotel roof. I had heard it had a lovely view, and I had already noticed the elevator had a button for tetto , which I figured, must mean roof.
Just before we closed the door, the phone rang, and Lettie ran back to get it. “They want me back downstairs. I guess I’ll have to take a rain check on that trip to the roof.”
“If I’m not here when you get back, that’s where I’ll be.” I didn’t feel like staying in the room by myself. I’d already checked out the TV; game shows in a language you don’t know are the ultimate bore.
Lettie, oh good, you are here.” Beth stood in the doorway. She looked so tiny; as if her
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