5 - Her Deadly Mischief Read Online Free PDF Page A

Since half of Venice is madly in love with her, I must constantly chase callers from the door. The messages I refuse in just one week could paper the walls of this theater.”
    Messer Grande nodded, sighed, then said in a more kindly tone, “I’m afraid I have bad news for you.”
    “What?” Pamarino’s eyes, small and the ochre color of mud, popped wide open. “Has something happened to my mistress?”
    “This way, if you please.” Flanked by constables lighting the way, Messer Grande conducted Pamarino through the dark auditorium. As soon as the dwarf caught sight of the body beneath the brass-buttoned jacket, he vaulted an overturned bench to reach it.
    He must have recognized the vivid blue of her skirts for he uttered a guttural cry as he dropped to the floor on hands and knees. In the twinkling of an eye, he had pulled the covering from Zulietta’s still form.
    Even knowing exactly what lay beneath the jacket, I still felt a jolt when I again saw the beautiful death-struck face, the pallid whiteness of neck and shoulders. How much more shocked her faithful servant must have been. Pamarino rocked on his knees, cried hot tears. He shook and slavered.
    Above him, Messer Grande explained that Zulietta had been stabbed, then fallen or been pushed over the box railing. I wasn’t certain the little man heard until Messer Grande himself guided the dwarf away. Drooping forward over a bench with his face pressed into a bent arm, Pamarino continued to sob as the chief constable repeated his tale.
    Torani, Benito, and I traded uncomfortable looks as the dwarf gradually collected himself.
    When Pamarino came to his feet, he had just one thing to say. “Pino. Alessio Pino. He did this. He killed her.”
    “Were you in the box?” Messer Grande asked quickly. “Was Alessio Pino there?”
    “My mistress was supposed to meet Alessio in his box half an hour before curtain time, but we were late. Since this was an important night, she had dressed with great care and changed her mind about her gown several times. All the way to the theater, she’d muttered and grumbled, fearing that Alessio would be angry. But when we arrived, we found the box locked and empty. Alessio was late, too.”
    Messer Grande narrowed his eyes. “How did you get in?”
    “Alessio had given my mistress his key. Apparently, he had an errand to perform before the opera began and suspected he might be delayed.”
    Ah, I thought, that accounted for the key in Zulietta’s pocket.
    “What was this errand?” Messer Grande asked.
    Pamarino shook his head. “My mistress seemed to know, but the details weren’t explained to me. In all her fretting, she mentioned a tavern. Something to do with the sea—I can’t recall the exact name.”
    Torani and I were standing shoulder to shoulder. I cupped my hand and whispered, “Do you think he means the Pearl of the Waves, just across the square?”
    “He must,” my old maestro replied. “There’s no other tavern nearby with a name that would fit.”
    “What happened then?” asked Messer Grande.
    “We waited. My mistress ordered that the curtains remain closed, and we sat in silence while the orchestra played the overture. I was getting bored, so I put my eye to the slit and watched the woman in the golden gown. As she droned on and on, my mistress became more upset. She paced the box, talking to herself. ‘What is keeping him,’ she kept saying, ‘Alessio will ruin everything.’ Next came a flourish of trumpets and the castrato—that one there—paraded out like he owned the stage.”
    The little man drew breath as if to shout, but only a moan escaped his lips. “My mistress could stand no more. ‘Pamarino,’ she said, ‘Alessio must have concluded his meeting and returned to the theater by now. Someone has detained him. One of his friends is bending his ear over some nonsense. Search the lobby and the corridors and fetch him to me at once.’”
    “You left the box?” Messer Grande