Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,49

insist that I ask. How much?"

"A million lire."

Her hand froze in midair. "Five hundred dollars? Girl, you got robbed."

"Yeah, but I don't smell like raw sewage anymore. What about Brandy Ann and those guys. Did you find them?"

"Did I ever. I spotted them in line at the side entrance of the church, so I played it real cool and spied on them from behind a parked car. And guess who else I spotted standing at the front of the line."

I shrugged.

"Gabriel Fox, my roommate, and our friend, Keely."

I frowned, suddenly bothered by Keely's proximity to the award-winning Jeannette Bowles. "Odd combination. But Keely is sucking up to everyone, so I shouldn't be surprised. So what happened at the top of the Duomo? Were there any words exchanged when Keely ran into Brandy Ann and Amanda? How was Fred holding up? Did he look like he was having a good time?"

"How would I know that?"

I waited a beat, steadying my gaze on her. "Didn't you follow them to the top?"

"Climb those stairs again?" She howled with laughter. "What are you? Crazy? Do you have any idea how hot that stairwell is right now? This late in the afternoon, everyone coming out of that place is gonna be dying from heat exhaustion."

I stared at her, deadpan. I wondered if this would be a good time to tell her who her new roommate was going to be. "Okay, Jack. Here's the thing. When you say you're going to tail someone? YOU ACTUALLY HAVE TO FOLLOW THEM!"

"Hey, I did my part! I stood over by that car in the hot sun, waiting for them to come down."

"And?"

She lifted her shoulders. "And people had to be crawling up and down those stairs because I never saw any of them come out." She curled her lip in distaste. "No offense, Emily, but this surveillance business isn't as exciting as I thought it would be. In fact, it's pretty boring. I'd much rather --"

"EEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

A woman's scream. Loud. Shrill. Terrified.

"EEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Where's it coming from?" Jackie cried.

I turned in a circle, listening. "I can't tell. It's bouncing all over the place." But the horror of the sound was undeniable, causing the down on my arms to stand on end. I saw a man race toward the back end of the Duomo, followed by another man, and another. Curiosity seekers hotfooted past us -- a few stragglers that swelled into a sudden crowd. I looked at Jackie; Jackie looked me -- the obvious remaining unspoken between us.

That scream could belong to anyone, including any of my group of Iowans.

We hurried down the sidewalk, following the crowd toward the east end of the church.

"EEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The crowd stampeded across the street and followed the fenced barrier around the back end of the Duomo. We ran past a massive hexagonal pod that bulged outward from the structure, and after rounding a second one, caught sight of a mound of colorful fabric abandoned on the pavement near the base of the church, in the narrow bay between the south and east pods.

Men stared upward, pointing to the top of the Duomo. Women cupped their hands over their mouths, eyes wide with shock. Mothers scooped up their children and hugged their small heads to their chests, shielding their eyes.

"Oh, my God!" Jackie gasped behind me.

I looked toward the abandoned fabric again, my legs growing suddenly wobbly. I was close enough now to see that the fabric wasn't a random assortment of cloth. It was a one-shouldered coral sweaterdress with a decorative leather shoulder strap, but it had looked better on Jeannette Bowles when she'd been alive.

"That's my roommate!" Jackie cried.

I stared at the dead body, my stomach juices turning sour.

I guessed Jackie wouldn't be moving in with Keely after all.

Chapter 8

No one actually saw her fall," Duncan informed us the next morning on our way to Pisa. "Unfortunately, most of the people on the gallery were congregated around a man who'd collapsed from apparent heat exhaustion, so while they were administering to him, Ms. Bowles, regrettably, fell to her death."

"That could have been me," Jackie whispered beside me.

"Jeannette?"

She gave me a narrow look before covering up a yawn. "The guy suffering from heat exhaustion. Now, aren't you glad I had sense enough not to climb those stairs again?"

"Rough night?" I asked, when she yawned a second time.

"My sleep cycle is really messed up."

Mine was improving. Surprisingly, I'd slept pretty well after Mom had helped me mend my clothes last night, so I was feeling good today. I