“Mariana Massari,” he said quickly, pulling out a notebook and flipping back a few pages. “She said she couldn’t remember the physical description, but she saw an older female as she was leaving. Must be you. Eh?”
A forgettable older female with no striking characteristics whatsoever. Yep, that’s me, Diana thought sourly. “I suppose.”
He read from the notebook. “She said she thought it was possible that you were carrying the bottle of wine when you arrived.”
Diana’s eyes went wide. So apparently, Titania didn’t have the same qualms Diana had about casting suspicions around recklessly. “What? I wasn’t. I couldn’t even tell you what kind of wine it was.”
“Castello Rosa Vino. Local brand, very popular around here,” he said. “Well, she wasn’t entirely sure if you had the bottle. She just seemed to think there was something in your hand, which might have been a bottle,” the officer said with a shrug.
“No, actually, it was my . . .” She looked around, realizing she’d long since lost it. “It was my program. I was nervous, about meeting a famous actor and all, so I’d been rolling it up in my hand.”
“Ah . . .” He pressed his lips together, thinking. “You say Signore Camillo invited you backstage? Are you saying he sent you a note sometime before the performance?”
She nodded, checking her purse. She couldn’t find the origami invitation either. “It was on my seat after intermission. But I seem to have lost the note. It was here just a moment ago, I’m sure. It was folded. Into a flower.”
She looked around her feet helplessly, knowing it wouldn’t be there. Her purse was huge, and she was nervous. It was probably in there somewhere, but she had butterfingers.
He held up a hand. “Just give it to me when you find it. But in any case, I hope you weren’t planning on leaving Verona anytime soon?”
“I . . .” she said, knowing exactly where this was headed. I was, but I guess I’m not now. She shivered. Would she be able to find a hotel around here at such short notice? “No. I’m not planning on leaving.”
“Good. Could you let us know where you’re staying? Because I think we’re going to have a few more questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
Diana swallowed. She had a feeling that even if she did mind, it really wouldn’t matter. She was a suspect, and that meant . . . questions. Police poking about. Phone calls. Suspicion. She’d been through it all before, in France.
She didn’t even want to think of it, much less deal with all of it. She grabbed the cup of water and in one long gulp, drained the entire thing. Poisoned or not, she needed it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When the police questioning extravaganza finally came to an end, darkness was settling over the open-air theater, and stars were popping out overhead, dancing among the fairy lights strewn about the theater. The director was clapping his hands and shouting loudly in Italian, trying to organize the group for an impromptu rehearsal with the new Quince, and looking ever more like he was quickly heading for a heart attack. As Diana climbed the steps of the theater to head outside, a sliver of moon shone overhead, and the stars were bright in the clear sky. The silhouettes of large dark forms, maybe bats, were swooping through the darkness, giving the place an eerie feel.
So much for an exciting, romantic trip to Verona. In fact, this was pretty much the exact opposite of what she’d been hoping for. Creepy, macabre, sinister.
In the lobby, she spied a promotional poster for the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Titania and donkey-headed Nick Bottom took up the majority of the real estate on it, but in the corner, there was a small photograph of Quince with the other mechanicals. She leaned forward and looked closely at him, his rakish smile such a stark contrast to the expression on his face the last time she saw him.
She shuddered and pushed open the door into the cool night. Though the theater had been open-air, the specter of death had made the place stuffy and suffocating. Around her, crickets sang. She looked about the street, still bustling with people, and sighed. She’d hoped Marcello would be her guide and tell her where to go in this vast city. Now, without him, without her iPhone, she felt lost.
Remembering her girls, she reached into her purse to fish out her phone when a hand suddenly clamped on her arm.
Gasping, she looked up to see Bea. “Hi, Mommy! I love your dress! Those shoes are killer. You look so pretty! How was the play?”
Diana patted her madly beating heart and took in a breath, trying to recover from the fright as Bea and Lily hugged her. “Oh, you scared me. What are you doing here? Weren’t you at the wine bar? I thought I was meeting you at—”
“That was hours ago! We were wondering where you were. The play let out a long time ago, and we—”
“What’s going on here?” Lily asked, her eyes following a police officer toward his patrol car. There were three of them, actually, parked nearby, and one ambulance. “Is everything okay? Why are there police here?”
Diana held out her hands before her eldest, the worrier, could get too wound up. “Yes. Everything is fine. There was just a little bit of excitement . . . that’s all.”
“Excitement? Like what?”
“Someone—one of the actors—died.”
Bea’s eyes bulged. “Died? What happened? Like a heart attack?”
“They don’t know. But of course, they had to question everyone, and—”
“They questioned everyone in the theater?” Lily asked, skeptical. “So they’re suspecting foul play?”
“I suppose they are. They didn’t question everyone, of course, just—”
“And they questioned you?”
“Yes. But I actually knew him. You see, I met him on the train and he was the one who gave me the ticket to the play.”
Bea’s mouth hung open. “Oh my gosh. How crazy! What, did he just drop dead on stage while reciting his lines, or what?”
Diana was just about done. She didn’t want to talk about this ever again, though she knew, with the police on her tail, it’d be following her around every moment she spent in this town. Another town, ruined.
Stop, Diana. You’ll be fine. They don’t think you did it. And Verona isn’t ruined. That last murder didn’t ruin Paris for you. You’re here on vacation with your two favorite people. It’ll be great . . .
“I don’t know. It’s a long story. And I’m exhausted. I’m sure the police will find the answers and that will be that. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Great. What are we going to do? Want to get dinner?” Bea asked. “Then maybe we can walk—”
Diana sighed. “I’m actually really exhausted.”
“What?” Bea’s face fell. “But we came all the way up here to—”
“Yes, I know.” She didn’t want to tell Lily that she was a suspect in the murder and that the police had told her she needed to stay nearby. She’d have to find a hotel somewhere. Knowing Lily, she’d have a conniption if she found out her mother was a suspected murderer. Bea would probably come up with all these wild theories that would make Diana’s head spin even more. “I was thinking I’d stay overnight here, get a good night’s sleep, and head out later.”