The Body in the Piazza - By Katherine Hall Page Page 0,90

saw it when we got here and they took the sack off.

“The guards who are here now have been hitting the bottle pretty heavily from what I could see through one of the cracks in the boards and they’re asleep. Unless we start shouting, they won’t hear us, but I’ll keep this short. They just want me—and you—on ice until sometime tomorrow. One of the guards speaks English, there are always two, but they change. He keeps telling me so long as we don’t make trouble, no one will get hurt. But, Faith, someone is going to get hurt—unless we stop them. They’re planning to assassinate the French minister of culture, François Dumond, at tomorrow’s matinee in the Teatro Verdi!”

Faith’s mind was whirling as she walked back to the house, not daring to shine the light after what he had told her. The guards didn’t know Tom could speak French, and with that plus a bit of Italian, he’d been able to figure out what was going on. Jean-Luc wasn’t French for a start, or rather didn’t consider himself French. He, and the others, were Corsican, members of the Fronte di Liberazione Naziunale Corsu, the National Liberation Front of Corsica, a terrorist group. Tom said they were dressed in camo with black hoods showing only their eyes. Faith remembered the fatal attacks by the group—deadly bombings in France and French property on Corsica. In the late 1990s the highest-ranking French official in Corsica had been assassinated, and now they had planned another high-profile one on Italian soil. That was what the initials F.D. meant in Freddy’s note: “François Dumond.” The Teatro Verdi was home to the Orchestra della Toscana and they were performing a special matinee program devoted to French composers with the visiting minister as guest of honor.

Seeing Tom at the Web site confirmed what Jean-Luc had suspected—that the Fairchilds, who might be CIA or just very nosey tourists—were on to the plot. He knew they hadn’t alerted anyone, since nothing had happened, and he intended to keep it that way until he and the others were long gone after the assassination. At least, Faith thought, she hadn’t been seeing things. Jean-Luc had obviously switched the notebooks at his villa after seeing her notice it. They must have been scouring it for information.

It was time to call Hope again. Her sister had friends in high places all over the globe. Then Faith herself had to go to Florence in the morning and find Sylvia with the great scarves in the straw market. How could she have neglected to buy gifts for her mother and mother-in-law? But when she announced this to the group at breakfast she wouldn’t add that she also planned to squeeze in a little culture. A concert.

She wouldn’t have pegged Olivia as a shopper, but as soon as Faith said that she hoped there would be time for a quick trip back to Florence to pick up some gifts, Olivia announced she wanted to go, too. That she had promised to bring her friends souvenirs of her trip. She seemed like such a solitary figure, no mention until now of friends—or family. The girl remained an enigma in so many ways, shedding her Goth persona and then adopting it again as the week had gone on. Faith never knew who would appear. Perhaps that was the intent.

“I should have picked up the mosaic frames I saw,” Terry said eagerly. “Plus I want to get more postcards.”

“You’ll be home before they get there and you’ve spent enough of my money,” Len said. He seemed more hungover than usual, and Faith wondered if he had a flask in his room. Even now, his speech was slurred.

“Your money? I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll make a stop at Prada, too,” Terry snapped back.

Francesca quickly intervened. “We can take the van and everyone who wants to come along is more than welcome.”

Faith could have kissed her. Plan B had been sneaking off on Gianni’s Vespa, trusting she could find her way back to the city.

The Nashes were off on one of their jaunts. Faith had passed them on her way into the dining room. Constance had looked particularly cheerful and called out, “We’re so eager to hear all about your husband’s visit to Siena. Such a treat!”

Roderick, as usual, had been mum.

Gianni dropped them in the city’s centro, arranging to pick them up again in two hours. The Rossis had suggested people use the afternoon to pack so they could