The Villa

body so that pain woke and cut through the fire like a silver sword. He tried to speak, to protest, to defend himself, but managed little more than a moan as his vision grayed.
    When it cleared again, he found himself staring up into the face of the young woman he'd watched pulling in her wash.
    "You must've worked late tonight." The words came clear in his head, slurred through his lips.
    "Signore, per piacere. Sta zitto. Riposta. L'aiuto sta venendo."
    He listened solemnly, translating the Italian as slowly, as painstakingly as a first-year student. She wanted him to be quiet, to rest. That was nice of her, he thought dimly. Help was coming. Help for what?
    Oh, that's right. He'd been shot.
    He told her so, first in English, then in Italian. "I need to call my children. I need to tell them I'm all right. Do you have a phone?"
    And with his head cradled in her lap, he went back under.
    " You're a very lucky man, Mr. Cutter."
    David tried to focus on the man's face. Whatever drugs the doctors had pumped into him were high-test. He wasn't feeling any pain, but he was hard-pressed to feel anything. "It's hard to agree with you at the moment. I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name."
    "DeMarco. I'm Lieutenant DeMarco. Your doctor says you need rest, of course. But I have just a few questions. Perhaps if you tell me what you remember?"
    He remembered a pretty woman drawing in the wash, and the way the lights glimmered on the water, on the stones. "I was walking," he began, then struggled to sit up. "Pilar's ring. I'd just bought a ring."
    "I have it. Calm yourself. I have the ring, your wallet, your watch. They'll be safe."
    The police, David remembered. People called the police when someone got shot on the street. This one looked like a cop, not as slick as the detective back in San Francisco. DeMarco was a little dumpy, a little bald. He made up for both with a luxurious black moustache that flowed over his upper lip. His English was precise and correct.
    "I was walking back to my apartment—wandering a little. I'd done some shopping—the ring—after work. Had some dinner. It was a nice evening and I'd been shut up in an office all day. I saw a woman in a window. She was pulling in her wash. She made a picture. She was singing. I stopped to look up. Then I hit the street. I felt…" Gingerly, he lifted an arm to his shoulder. "I knew I'd been shot."
    "You've been shot before?"
    "No." David grimaced. "It felt just like you think it would. I must've passed out. The woman was there with me when I came to. She ran down, I guess, when she saw what happened."
    "And did you see who shot you?"
    "I didn't see anything but the cobbles rushing up at me."
    "Why do you think, Mr. Cutter, that someone would shoot you?"
    "I don't know. Robbery, I guess."
    "Yet your valuables were not taken. What is your business in Venice?"
    "I'm chief operating officer for Giambelli-MacMillan. I had meetings."
    "Ah. You work for La Signora ."
    "I do."
    "There is some trouble, yes, for La Signora in America?"
    "There has been, but I don't see what it has to do with my getting mugged in Venice. I need to call my children."
    "Yes, yes, this will be arranged. Do you know anyone in Venice who might wish you harm, Mr. Cutter?"
    "No." As soon as he denied it, he thought of Donato. "No," he repeated. "I don't know anyone who'd shoot me down on the street. You said you had my valuables, Lieutenant. The ring I bought, my wallet, my watch. My briefcase."
    "No briefcase was found." DeMarco sat back. The woman who'd witnessed the shooting had claimed the victim was carrying a briefcase. She had described him very well. "What were the contents of this briefcase?"
    "Papers from the office," David said. "Just paperwork."
     
    It was difficult, Tereza thought, to stand up under so many blows. Under such constant assault, the spirit began to wilt. She kept her spine straight as she walked with Eli into the family parlor. She knew the children were there, waiting for the call from their father.
    Innocence, she mused as she looked in to see Maddy sprawled on the sofa with her nose in a book, Theo banging away on the piano. Why did innocence have to be stolen this way, and so quickly?
    She gave Eli's arm a squeeze. To reassure him, to brace herself, then stepped inside.
    Pilar glanced up from her needlework. One look at her mother and her heart froze. The embroidery hoop slid out of her hands as she got slowly to her feet. "Mama?"
    "Please sit. Theo." She gestured to