Miss Atwater . . .
During the fifteen minutes it took for me to clear my head, find the right direction, and walk to the warehouse, I prayed I wasn’t too late.
50
Remi waited until darkness shrouded the Italian countryside before changing in the backseat of the car. She stepped out, smoothing the silk gown down her legs, then adjusted the plunging sweetheart neckline embellished with a tiny rosette made of Swarovski crystals—elegant yet simple.
Sam gave a soft whistle when he saw her. “I was right. You look amazing.”
“Right down to my feet.” The gown was meant to be floor-length and worn with heels. She lifted the hem, revealing her black lace-up hiking boots.
“Like I said, no one will be looking at your feet. Walk in like you own the place.”
&nbs
p; “Wish me luck.” She leaned over, kissed him, checked to make sure no one was watching before she made her way to the motorized cart the guards were using to shuttle the guests from the parking lot to the villa’s front gate. Sam was right. No one noticed her feet. Even so, she was careful to keep her boots tucked beneath her gown on the ride over. The shuttle stopped at a wide path paved with terra-cotta tiles, potted cypresses spaced evenly on either side. It led to the first flight of stairs cut into the hillside, and a landing where stone benches lined the travertine balustrade, perhaps to give the guests a place to rest before they tackled the longer second flight up to the massive front doors, which were standing open to allow the guests entry.
Remi walked up the path and stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyeing a few guests on the first landing, dismayed to see Luca, sitting on a bench at the landing of the first flight, smoking a cigarette, waiting for her and Sam. Bluffing her way into the party was one thing. Getting past him, something else altogether.
“You look lost.”
She turned to see a man standing where no one had been a moment before. He wasn’t a guard, since he was clearly dressed for the party, the cut of his jacket impeccable, the sheen of the cloth saying money was no object. She put him in his late thirties, though his brown hair was peppered with gray. He regarded her with a mix of curiosity and wariness, almost mirroring what she felt at the moment.
Her instincts told her that being an American at this event might make her far too noticeable. “Parla italiano?”
“Sorry, no. English only.”
She looked up the stairs, saw Luca looking at her. Not sure if he’d sound the alarm or demand his fee, she stepped into the shadows of one of the cypresses.
Apparently, the man standing next to her noticed. “You might consider using the lift.” He waved to his left, where she saw the narrow door to the elevator cut into the rock, a few potted cypresses positioned to make it look less noticeable. “Quicker,” he said, reaching over, pressing the button. The door slid open with a quiet whoosh, and he reached out, holding it so it wouldn’t close on her.
“Grazie,” Remi said, smiling. In her best Italian-accented English, she added, “You are very kind.”
She stepped on, expecting him to let go of the door. But he stood there a moment, looking out toward the path. A younger man, wearing a gray suit, no tie, his shirt open at the collar, carrying a slim briefcase in his right hand, ran up.
“You’re late,” the man standing next to her said.
“Sorry. Took a wrong turn.” He handed over the briefcase and, without another word, turned and left.
Out of the three levels on the control panel, the top one could only be accessed with a key. He pressed the first button and, a moment later, the elevator rose. When the door slid open, he held it for her.
Remi, grateful that he seemed to be in a hurry, moved to the side, allowing him to pass her as he exited. He gave a polite nod to her quiet “Grazie,” then strode off toward the front doors, clutching the briefcase in his hand.
Sadly, Luca, the man she’d hoped to avoid, had definitely noticed her presence, taking the steps up two at a time. He blocked her way, his back to the house. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Looking for my husband,” she said, keeping her voice low. “He came up with the briefcase maybe ten minutes ago. I broke the heel of my shoe and had to go back to the car to change,” she said, lifting her gown so that he could see the toes of her boots.
“You’re expecting me to believe that he let you walk back to the car alone?”
“Since we were late, we worried we’d miss you. He was right here by the elevator when I left him. Surely you must have seen him if you were waiting?”
Luca studied her face, as though trying to gauge her truthfulness. “I wasn’t watching the elevator,” he finally said.
“Is it possible he somehow got in without you?”
He looked back toward the door, past the man checking invitations, then down toward the parking area, spying the few late stragglers walking from their cars to the shuttle. Remi followed his gaze, grateful that Sam was well hidden behind the oleanders. “Possibly,” he said.
“I say we go in and look. He has to be here somewhere.”