There were propane heaters set up to keep the guests warm. A long table, draped with the finest damask, had been covered with plates of canapés, bowls of iced caviar, and other delicacies of antipasto. Mingling among the guests was another waiter, this one holding a tray of frosted vodka glasses, which Sydney declined. Tex immediately went for the vodka, leaving his wineglass on the tray. At one end of the spacious loggia, a tall, dark-haired man, perhaps in his late forties, broke away from a cluster of guests and approached them.
“Ah! Signore Jamison,” he said to Tex, who was using the name Roger Jamison instead of James Dalton. “I am so happy that you and your charming friend could attend my small gathering.” He turned his attention to Sydney, saying, “I do not believe that I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
“This here little lady is Cindy Kirkpatrick,” Tex said, putting his arm around Sydney. “And this, honey pie, is our host, Carlo Adami.” Sydney eyed the man who was allegedly behind the killings. He didn’t fit any stereotypes, unless one was trying to pigeonhole the suave, debonair multimillionaire murderer. His dark eyes swept over Sydney, and she imagined that if one didn’t know his background, one might easily be charmed by his easy smile and the slightest of dimples on his chin.
But she did know his background, which made it all the harder to appear pleasant, neutral.
“Your home is magnificent,” she said, falling on the only truthful statement she could think of at the moment, and she held out her hand. “Thank you so much for inviting us.”
Adami took her hand in his, bowing over it, before turning his attention back to Tex. “I cannot wait to show you my Tiziano. I am certain that once you see the painting, you will not regret your journey. Perhaps after I see to my guests?”
“Looking forward to it,” Tex said, lifting his vodka glass, then downing it.
Adami excused himself, and continued welcoming new guests as they arrived. After about a half hour of Tex making a show of drinking more alcohol than was good for him, with much of it discreetly poured into the potted persimmon trees that were conveniently located at the corners of the loggia, he made a loud declaration of going off to find the “little boys’ room.” And since his words made little impression on the guests, who were unfamiliar with the term, he announced in stentorian Texas Italian, “Dough-vay eel gaaby-netto?” The principessas and politicians politely pretended not to hear, and one of the waiters immediately ushered Tex out of the salon and presumably to the room in question. Sydney was thus left to wander and to gather bits and pieces of conversation that could be recorded by Griffin and the others monitoring her and Tex from the van.
A number of fine paintings had been hung between the mirrors of the salon, and Sydney decided she’d use them for her cover. She stopped to view a portrait over the marble fireplace of a girl in red velvet, wondering if it was really by Leonardo da Vinci. If it was merely an exquisite copy, she’d have no way of knowing. She’d never seen a real Leonardo outside a museum. Moving on, she strolled the perimeter of the salon, admiring each work of art, pausing by first one group of guests, then another. Tex’s pretended ignorance of Italian had the desired effect. The guests continued their conversations, paying her little attention. Unfortunately, Sydney’s limited understanding of the language made it difficult to know if she was picking up anything useful. She figured Griffin would notify her via the receiver if something came up, so she continued on, perusing a painting or statuette, attempting to stand close enough for the transmitter to pick up what the guests were saying, before moving on to the next piece of art. Finally she spied Carlo Adami with several men near the winding double staircase, and wandered in that direction, hoping to capture something there as well.
Adami held court among a group of distinguished-looking men, and no one glanced her way. As she stopped to admire a marble bust of the Emperor Nero set on the left balustrade of the double staircase, the conversation seemed to change course, more of a hushed whisper, urgent, and one word caught her attention. Massonico. Considering that part of Tex’s cover was that he was a Mason, and Adami was suspected in dealings in