The Body in the Piazza - By Katherine Hall Page Page 0,21

dared to hope that the room had not been cleaned, but the first thing that greeted her was the sight of the unmade bed. Knowing Freddy wasn’t coming back immediately, the staff must have skipped making it up, pressured by other housekeeping demands.

Yet aside from the bed, the room appeared not to have been occupied at all. There was nothing in the wastebaskets save a spent tube of Italian toothpaste, Pasta del Capitano. Faith was sure Freddy would have told her he used that brand because of its captivating name and the picture of the Capitano himself, complete with nineteenth-century mustachio. It was a large tube, indicating that Freddy had been in Italy for some time, or it could just have been his preferred paste.

The armoire was empty, as were all the drawers. Nothing under the bed. The minibar looked untouched. The room had to be, no question, the nicest in the hotel. Freddy was right about that. The ceilings above the bed and the small marble altar in the alcove that had once been a private chapel were covered in celestial frescoes, a giant sunburst positioned above the letto matrimoniale. The only clue that Freddy had been there was the faint smell of the lime cologne he wore. She knew that the scent would always bring him, and those awful moments, back.

Faith went to the window. It was at the front of the hotel and looked straight across into the French embassy. The embassy shutters were closed, but the street was starting to come to life. She pictured Freddy looking out yesterday morning. He had taken the time to draw the drapes and fold the shutters back, seeing what she was seeing now before he left. Left to go where? She turned away, closed and locked the door, before taking the stairs to the lobby. She didn’t want to smile at anyone in the elevator.

For once Paolo was not at the desk. A young woman who seemed to know who Faith was introduced herself. “I am Carolina, what can I do to help you? The breakfast is over, but I can get you and your husband anything you want to eat.”

“Grazie, but we are fine for now. Here is the key Paolo gave me. Please tell him I thought it was a very beautiful room, very special.”

“Our best. Signore Ives always had it.” Carolina’s face fell. Faith broke the somber silence voicing a thought she’d had on the way down.

“Did Freddy, that is Signore Ives, leave a suitcase or anything else in your storage closet when he checked out to pick up later in the day? If so, I wonder if I might look to see whether he had packed the book he was going to lend me.”

“Sì. His case is here. I put it away myself. I must remember to ask Paolo what we are to do with it now.” Carolina gave a deep sigh.

Faith followed her to a closet beyond the bar and watched as Carolina unlocked it. There were a number of bags in it. The one Carolina pointed out as Freddy’s was a good-size one behind the others. It didn’t have a luggage tag or anything else to distinguish it.

“I must go back to the desk. If you will put it back when you are finished, I will lock the door again.”

Faith set the case flat on the floor and unzipped the outside pockets, which were empty, before opening the main compartment. She felt like a voyeur as she went through Freddy’s things. Invading his personal space. But she had to.

He packed neatly. Extremely neatly. And, like the room, the contents offered nothing. They were impersonal to what she was sure was a considered degree. No one could ascertain anything from it except that what Faith had seen Freddy wear was what he wore all the time—there were duplicates of the two outfits, including an extra pair of his signature shoes. His toiletry kit revealed he preferred an American nonelectric-brand razor and the cologne was made by Penhaligon’s, a nod to his British roots? And very expensive ones at that?

She sat back on her heels to think about what this lack of information might mean. Both the room and now his suitcase were devoid of receipts, stamps, a souvenir postcard, letter, crumpled note on the hotel stationery, not even a used biglietto for the bus, although she and Tom had been surprised to see that no one ever used these tickets, hopping on and off