Whispering Bones Read Online Free PDF

preliminary discussions regarding the hotel.
     
Sincerely,
     
Paolo Falcone
     
    Anna folded the note and slipped it in her purse. After registering, she told the concierge she’d be meeting a Mr. Falcone for dinner and inquired about making reservations.
    “Ah, yes. Signore Falcone telephoned this morning. An outdoor table has already been reserved.”
    “Oh. Thank you.” This Falcone fellow certainly seemed to be on the ball. She found herself wondering about the man. She’d have a better idea of who she was dealing with after dinner.
    The concierge rang for a hotel employee and Anna followed the small man who arrived to gather her luggage onto the elevator. On the fifth floor, he ushered her into her room...and what a room it was. Decorated in the old style with exquisite antique furniture, the place looked fit for royalty. A tall bed nestled in a niche dominated one side of the room, its wooden headboard hand-painted with a floral design. The back wall of the niche was covered in pale green wallpaper, and from the large window next to the bed hung brocade drapes of a darker shade of green. Two armchairs flanked a green-tinged marble-topped table, on which a vase of white flowers had been placed. A hand-woven carpet covered the center of the marble floor. Above it, suspended from the high ceiling hung a chandelier of Murano glass. On the other side of the room, a settee, two heavy side chairs and a delicate-looking table fronted a bank of tall windows overlooking the canal.
    Anna went directly to the wall of windows and gasped at the incredible view of the Grand Canal and the distinctive structure on the other side, the famous Santa Maria della Salute church. The view even offered a glimpse of St. Mark’s in the distance. Then she remembered the attendant and grabbed her purse to tip the man.
    After he thanked her and left, Anna kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the cushiony bed. A nap, followed by a shower to perk up, would be just the ticket before her dinner meeting with Falcone.
    * * * *
    At five minutes to eight that evening, Anna sat at a table on the Bellavista Terrace, the hotel’s outdoor dining area overlooking the Grand Canal. The muggy evening air hung still and heavy, and Anna was glad she’d chosen the sleeveless black dress—sophisticated but comfortable—to wear for her dinner meeting with Falcone. Her fingers ran up and down the stem of the wine glass she’d been sipping from as she studied the octagonal exterior of the domed Basilica across the canal, admiring its classical Byzantine design.
    She adored the timeless feeling of this city. No matter that the world had moved on, this place seemed rooted in the past, and she could easily imagine what life must have been like for people centuries ago, could almost picture the peasants and courtesans traveling along the canal. She was in the middle of wondering why her grandmother had never felt the desire to return to this jewel of a city when someone spoke beside her.
    “It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?”
    She looked up to see a tall man, his black hair tinged with silver at the temples, and impeccably attired in a lightweight navy suit, crisp white shirt and silk tie. Anna guessed his age to be near her own.
    “Yes,” she replied. “You must be Mr. Falcone.” She rose and extended her hand. Her thighs brushed against the white tablecloth, pulling it with her. The glass of wine toppled, spilling burgundy liquid across the pristine white linen.
    “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. Anna moved to mop up the mess with a napkin.
    “Please, don’t distress yourself.” Falcone gestured to a waiter and immediately the man arrived to retrieve the soiled tablecloth and replace it with a fresh one. Anna felt her cheeks burn at the bad first impression she must be making.
    Falcone ordered another glass of wine for her and one for himself, then shook her hand. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Ms. LaServa,” he said, his voice