Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,79

book, he studied it intently. "I still have her name penciled in under L. Address. Phone number."

He held the book up for my perusal. I squinted at the name printed in tiny block letters. MOLLY LAZARUS.

"I've tried to erase it a few times, but I can't bring myself to do it." He touched a hesitant fingertip to the page. "It'd be too much like saying...she never existed. As long as she's still in my book, I figure --"

He cleared his throat self-consciously and threw a distracted yet composed look back toward the police car and nodded. "Your mother obviously has the touch, Emily. I'd hate to ruin her efforts by separating her from Gillian and Marla."

I watched the divas sobbing into Mom's ample breast and realized how satisfied this must be making her feel. She was being helpful. Doing something positive. Making a difference. This might go down as the highlight of her trip. "I expect she'll want to go with you, but you have to promise me you won't let her out of your sight. You'll be there with her at the hospital, then escort her back to the hotel?"

He raised his fingers in the air in a familiar salute. "Scout's honor."

"I don't want her left by herself until they find Gabriel Fox."

Duncan eyed me curiously. "Why ever not?"

I hesitated. Did I dare trust him with my theory? What the heck? I was offering theories to everyone. Why not him? "Okay, it might sound a little off-the-wall, but --"

"Four dead," Officer Piccione announced as he rejoined us. He shoved his cell phone back into the holster on his belt and trained his black eyes on my face. "None missing."

"You found Gabriel Fox?" I croaked.

"At Fiumicino Airport in Rome. You right, signorina Andrew," he said with grudging respect. "Signor Fox, we find him trying to leave country."

Curiosity seekers crowded the balustrade to watch a black bag containing the body of Philip Blackmore being lifted onto a gurney and deposited in the rear of a modified station wagon. The divas, along with Duncan and Mom, had been carted off to the hospital, and Officer Piccione and his minions had already departed. But the crime scene people had taken a long time with the body, so I'd stayed behind to watch the proceedings from the street above. I realized my presence did Philip Blackmore no good now, but being here while they fussed over his body made me feel as though I was paying my respects to him in some small way. This wasn't part of my escort duties. I figured it was simply part of being a decent human being.

Before he'd left, Officer Piccione had informed us that the Rome police would be detaining Gabriel Fox for questioning about his disappearance from Pisa. Questioning, he emphasized. There was no law against leaving a tour group early. But I suspected there probably was a law about skipping out on a tour after you'd murdered three of the guests. Odds were, if Fox wasn't dead, he was guilty. I still didn't know what would possess him to commit triple murder, but --

Chirrup chirrup. Chirrup chirrup. Chirrup chirrup.

Everyone around me went for their phones, but it was mine ringing. "Hello?"

"I got that information you was asking about," Nana said. "You want it now or later?"

"Now is fine. But hold on a minute." I squirmed through the glut of onlookers to a quieter spot near the columns of the arcade. "Where are you calling from?"

"A phone outside the cybercafe. I bought me one a them phone cards, but it's taken me five tries to get the call through. It's easier hackin' into the National Security Agency."

A chill stiffened my spine. I was going to pretend she hadn't said that. "Okay, Nana, what do you have for me?" I thought I caught a glimpse of Fred's hat in the crowd by the balustrade, but when I blinked, it disappeared.

"I done what you said, dear. I found some news articles and interviews in the archives a some trade magazines, and you'll never guess what Sylvia Root done before she began her literary agency. She was a romance author! Pretty successful, too. Wrote what they called erotic series romance under the name Elizabeth Hampton."

"No kidding?" Is that what she'd been trying to hide when we'd had lunch together two days ago?

"No kiddin'. Some articles said she had the talent to become more popular than some famous romance author by the name a Barbara Cartland, because Sylvia was a