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Overview
A stylish, sun-drenched original short story featuring amateur sleuth Amory Ames and her husband Milo, from the Edgar Award-shortlisted Ashley Weaver.
“Amory Ames and her rakish husband Milo might just be the new Nick and Nora Charles.” —Deborah Crombie
Surely mysteries and the Mediterranean must be incompatible. The setting was so idyllic, so tranquil and perfect, that it was hard to imagine anything remotely alarming could happen here . . .
On holiday in Capri, Amory and Milo Ames have expected to trade intrigue for a romantic month of blue seas and sunshine. Things take a strange turn, however, when Amory comes into contact with a mysterious woman and begins to suspect she is the missing opera star whose sudden disappearance has been the talk of Europe.
Before long, Amory and Milo find their peaceful holiday disrupted by the rumor of purloined pearls, a clandestine relationship, and a sinister stranger lurking in the shadows. It soon becomes apparent that wherever Amory and Milo go, mystery is not far behind.
Also out now in the Amory Ames mysteries: Murder at the Brightwell, Death Wears a Mask and A Most Novel Revenge
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781250167439 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | St. Martin's Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 08/01/2017 |
| Series: | Amory Ames Series |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 40 |
| Sales rank: | 91,999 |
| File size: | 817 KB |
About the Author
ASHLEY WEAVER is the Technical Services Coordinator at the Allen Parish Libraries in Oberlin, Louisiana. Weaver has worked in libraries since she was 14; she was a page and then a clerk before obtaining her MLIS from Louisiana State University. She is the author of Murder at the Brightwell, Death Wears a Mask, and A Most Novel Revenge. Weaver lives in Oakdale, Louisiana.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Capri, Italy
March 1933
Surely mysteries and the Mediterranean must be incompatible. The thought crossed my mind lightly, as if borne on a gentle sea breeze, as I sat with my husband Milo on the terrace of a café overlooking the azure water that stretched out into the distance. The setting was so idyllic, so tranquil and perfect, that it was hard to imagine anything remotely alarming could happen here.
Milo and I had left a dreary English spring behind for a blissful holiday in Italy, and our time in Capri had been almost like a dream, untouched by thoughts of the troubling events we had recently been caught up in. That did not mean, of course, that mystery was far from my mind. Perhaps out of habit, I had become more attuned to those around me, keeping a watchful eye for anything out of the ordinary. Little did I know it would lead us into a rather dramatic intrigue.
It had been a busy day, at least comparatively speaking. A great deal of our stay in Italy thus far had been spent lounging idly in the villa we had let, and I had decided that morning that it was time to rouse ourselves and enjoy the sights. Though it was too cool a day for sea bathing, we had spent the morning strolling along sun-dappled Via Tragara, which was festooned with bougainvillea blooms, breathing in the fragrant, salty air, and taking pleasure in the views, the sunshine, and each other's company.
We had stopped to eat our midday meal at a little café attached to a local hotel and sat at a table on the terrace, shaded by cypress trees and pergolas bedecked with wisteria. The pristine white tablecloth fairly gleamed in the afternoon sun as our plates were placed before us. The food was very good, and the sea views were excellent.
"I thought we might explore some of the ruins this afternoon," I said as I took a bite of a delicious pasta, drizzled with lemon and olive oil. I had purchased a map and was eager to investigate the remnants of ancient society on the island.
I looked up from my meal to see that Milo was wearing a look I interpreted as distinctly unenthusiastic.
"You don't care to step into history?" I asked him.
"I'd much rather spend the afternoon in our comfortable villa than in the ruins of a Roman one," he replied.
My husband was not a typical tourist by any means. He preferred evenings spent in nightclubs and gambling establishments to days exploring museums and historical sites. I, on the other hand, was loving everything about Capri and was eager to immerse myself in all it had to offer.
"Where's your sense of adventure?" I challenged him.
"I think we've different definitions of adventure, darling," he said drily.
"Well, I'm determined I shall have an archaeological adventure today," I replied with finality. "If you'd rather go back to the villa, I can explore alone."
His bright blue eyes flashed with mischief. "I dare not let you go alone. I've seen the way these Italian men look at you. I should hate for you to be swept off your feet by one of them."
I laughed. He knew perfectly well that there was no danger of that. If anything, I ought to be the one keeping a close eye on Milo. His dark good looks attracted female attention wherever we went, and Capri had been no exception. Even here on the terrace I noticed the interested eyes of women darting his way.
"You needn't worry about me," I said. "I have a map, an intrepid spirit, and a good deal of common sense. I trust I shall return to you in one piece."
"I don't doubt it for a moment," he replied with a warm smile. "But I'll go along for the pleasure of your company."
I returned his smile. Recovering from a difficult period in our marriage, this blissful respite from ordinary life had brought us closer together than ever. It was almost a second honeymoon of sorts. Things were certainly better than the last time we had been on a seaside holiday.
These contented thoughts were interrupted as my gaze was caught suddenly by the scene over Milo's shoulder. A woman was making her way up the steep white stone steps to the terrace. She was dressed in a becoming and well-tailored black suit that stood out starkly against the vibrant colors of the island behind her, and she carried a small leather valise. There was something very determined in her bearing, in the way she moved up the stairs, and I had the impression that she was a woman charging toward some mission.
It wasn't only her resolute manner that attracted my notice, however. She was familiar somehow. I felt certain I had seen her before, yet I was sure I didn't know her. She stopped for a moment when she reached the terrace and turned to look out at the water, so I had the opportunity to observe her without her notice.
She was classically beautiful, with smooth features, large brown eyes, and a full mouth. She was hatless, her pale blond hair gleaming in the afternoon sun, and I thought the shade of her platinum tresses incongruous with her complexion and the darkness of her eyes and dress.
She spoke to herself suddenly in an undertone, but the words were carried to me on the wind. "I must have help," she murmured.
A passing waiter stopped to speak with her, apologizing that she had been thus far ignored, but something in her tone as she spoke the words had convinced me that wasn't the type of help she had meant.
I listened as she spoke to the waiter. My Italian wasn't excellent, much less fluent than Milo's, but I understood the gist of it: she had reserved a room at the hotel that adjoined the café and wanted to check in, and he explained that the lobby was on the other side of the building, facing the main thoroughfare.
"You have come the back way, signorina. It's a more difficult path. You must have been given poor directions. But if you follow me, I will take you there."
"Thank you. Is there a back entrance?"
"Yes, right this way."
He reached out to take her valise, but she shook her head. "I will carry it."
I was very curious now. I wondered what was in the valise that made her so careful of it. Even such a small bag would surely be heavy after the long climb up the steps. Certainly she must have been aware that the winding path up which she had come had not been the direct route to the hotel. I could only conclude she had come that way on purpose, to avoid the more crowded road.
"Very good. This way, signorina," the waiter said.
They walked toward the building, her grasp on the valise still firm.
"I need to send a telegram," she said.
"We will arrange it for you."
"Thank you. And there is a restaurant in this hotel, isn't there?" she asked him.
"Yes, signorina. They serve a fine dinner. People come from all over the island to eat here."
"I'd like a table for tonight."
"Certainly."
They reached the door, and he pulled it open. Then she did a curious thing. As they were about to enter the shaded interior of the hotel, she took a pair of darkly tinted glasses from her pocket and put them on, as though she wanted to hide her face. Then, with a final glance over her shoulder, she followed him into the building.
"Amory, you haven't heard a word I've said."
I turned my focus back to Milo, who had apparently been talking to me. Handsome, charming, and generally adored as he was, he wasn't accustomed to being ignored.
"I beg your pardon," I said. "I suppose I was thinking of something else."
"So I noticed. I asked you what you thought about going sailing tomorrow. If you're determined to live the life of an adventurer, we may as well take to the seas."
"Yes, that would be nice," I said absently. Though I had tried to suppress my suspicions, I felt very strongly that there was something concerning about the woman's mysterious arrival. It was, admittedly, none of my business, but she had said she needed help, and I had been unable as of late to fight the inclination to come to the aid of those in trouble.
"Is something the matter, darling?" Milo asked.
"No," I said, forcing myself to let my preoccupation slip away. Milo would heartily disapprove of any attempts I might make to involve myself in other people's problems, especially while on holiday. I looked up at him and smiled brightly. "This is a very nice café, don't you think?"
"I suppose so."
"I'm quite taken with this place. It's such a lovely location. In fact, I believe this hotel serves a fine dinner in their restaurant. Why don't we come back this evening?"
*
The matter faded somewhat from my mind over the course of the afternoon. Milo accompanied me with minimal protest to the ruins and we spent a pleasant afternoon roaming around the Villa Jovis, on which excavations had begun the previous year. I marveled at how the ancient stones and broken pillars had once housed an emperor.
Though he would never have admitted it, I was quite sure Milo found the excursion enjoyable as well. He was certainly in good spirits.
As I stood a few feet back from the steep precipice, looking out at the vista of blue water before me, I remarked, "Tiberius certainly had the right idea building here. The views are stunning."
"If Tiberius had had you in Rome, he wouldn't have needed the views in Capri," Milo replied, coming to kiss me.
As dinner approached, I once again began to wonder about the mysterious woman. We had reservations for dinner at the hotel, and the evening sky was clear as we made our way there. I wore a gown of heavy blue silk with an ermine stole to combat the cool breezes.
"I'm not quite sure why you've taken a sudden fancy to this place," Milo said as we were seated in the restaurant. "It doesn't seem particularly noteworthy."
"Someone recommended it."
"Who?"
"Oh, a local," I said casually.
Despite Milo's somewhat disparaging assessment, it seemed that the waiter had spoken the truth about the restaurant's popularity, for the room was crowded with diners. The tables were covered with white cloths and set with good quality porcelain, crystal, and silver. A band seated in a small alcove played popular music and the dance floor was already crowded. It seemed as though it would be a very pleasant place to spend the evening.
That was not, of course, my primary objective. As my gaze moved around the room, I searched for the woman from the terrace this afternoon. I didn't see her, and I wondered if perhaps she had decided not to eat here after all. I was going to be disappointed if she didn't make an appearance.
"Darling?" I realized that Milo had asked me a question about the menu, and I turned my attention back to him, lest he realized I had once again been ignoring him.
I kept one eye on the entrance to the room, however, and a few moments later, just as we had ordered our dinner, my diligence was rewarded. The woman arrived and was shown to her table. She wore a gown of dark gray velvet that I was fairly certain was from an exclusive Parisian couturier and no jewelry. I noticed that, as she had walked across the room, she kept her head slightly down. Though she moved with an elegant grace, she had the air of someone attempting not to draw attention to herself. It was an unusual trait in a beautiful woman.
Almost as soon as the waiter had left her table, a man approached. I watched with interest, but it seemed that he was only asking her to dance, for he held out an inviting hand and nodded toward the dance floor. She shook her head and he went away.
I looked at Milo, leaning toward him. "Do you recognize that woman?" I asked in a low voice. "The one walking to that table over there. No, wait. Don't look now."
As if she realized she was being watched, she had looked my way. For the briefest of moments our eyes caught. Then she turned her attention to the menu.
"All right," I said. "It's safe to look."
He obliged me, glancing casually across the room before turning back to me. "I don't believe I know her," he said. "Should I?"
"I'm not sure," I replied, my gaze returning to the woman before coming back to Milo. "I can't help but feel that she's familiar somehow."
He shrugged. "You've probably crossed paths with her in a dressmaker's shop in London or Paris or some such thing. I wouldn't let it worry you."
It was true that we often encountered people from our social set in far-flung places. Milo's explanation made sense, for I had recognized the designer of her gown. But I knew that I didn't know this woman, not personally. What was more, there was the matter of her strange behavior. It was as though she was trying to disguise herself.
"I saw her earlier today. She's behaving in a furtive manner and I heard her murmur that she needed help."
Milo looked up, an expression of wary comprehension crossing his features. "Amory, don't tell me that you're looking for trouble."
"Of course not," I said. I didn't have to look for it. It came to me with startling frequency. "I just couldn't help but notice that she seems to be worried about something."
"Everyone is worried about something," he said.
Everyone except Milo. He never worried about anything. It made life very easy for him, but often very trying for me.
"You should ask her to dance," I said suddenly.
One dark eyebrow went up ever so slightly. "Why?"
"Because she looks lonely."
"She looks as if she wants to be left alone," he corrected.
I could not deny it, as she had just refused a gentleman's offer to dance, but this did not deter me in the slightest.
"She'll dance with you," I said with confidence. I had yet to see a woman refuse Milo anything.
"I'd much rather dance with you," he said.
I sighed. I knew from a long history of gossip column photographs and insinuating headlines that Milo had no objection to socializing with women other than me — he took to it with a certain zeal, in fact — but he had been making something of an effort to curtail his ample charms as of late. Now it seemed his recent reformation was proving inconvenient.
"You needn't pretend you object to dancing with beautiful women," I said.
"That is certainly not my objection."
"What then?" I asked.
"Frankly, I think it's best that we not involve ourselves."
I might have known he was trying to keep me from a mystery.
"I'm not asking you to involve yourself," I replied. "I'm asking you to ask a lovely woman to dance."
The corner of his mouth tipped up in half of a cynical smile. "You may be able to hide your ulterior motives from others, darling, but not from me. I know perfectly well what you're about."
"You don't mean to indulge me, then?" I asked.
"I sometimes think I have indulged you rather too much."
I gave an incredulous laugh. "As your own life is a study in overindulgence, we won't discuss the matter. I simply thought you might find out something about her. It's really not important."
He rose with a sigh, dropping his napkin onto the table. "Very well. I shall ask the lady to dance. You won't rest until I do."
He knew better than to wait for an insincere denial on my part and turned to make his way across the room.
I watched as Milo approached her table. She looked up, somewhat warily it seemed to me, when he reached her, and I wondered if it was possible she might decline Milo's invitation to dance as well. However, her uneasiness lasted only a moment. He said something to her and she smiled, and then he was pulling back her chair and leading her to the dance floor.
Despite the fact that I had sent him on the errand, I could not help but feel just a tad piqued at how easily he had accomplished it.
They danced, apparently chatting amiably, and I turned my attention to our food, which had just arrived. I didn't want to appear too interested in the proceedings. I only hoped Milo would manage to learn something about her.
A few minutes later he returned to our table.
"Her name is Floria Rosetti and she comes from Rome," he said as he resumed his seat. "She's here on holiday and made no mention of something troubling her."
"You certainly made fast friends with her," I observed.
"Isn't that what you wanted me to do?"
"Yes, I suppose," I replied. "Did you learn anything else?"
"No, aside from the fact that I'm quite certain that is not her natural hair color."
"You noticed that, too?" I asked, momentarily diverted from the fact that we had learned nothing much of use. "She's colored it recently, I think, for the shade of her gown and lipstick are more suited to a dark-haired woman. Those are colors I would wear, though not necessarily in the spring. She must not have had time to purchase new makeup and clothing."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Intrigue in Capri"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Ashley Weaver.
Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Cover,
Title Page,
Copyright Notice,
Begin Reading,
Preview: THE ESSENCE OF MALICE,
About the Author,
Also by Ashley Weaver,
Contents,
Copyright Page,
