Текст книги "The Raven"

Автор книги: Sylvain Reynard

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Chapter Eleven

Just before sunrise, Raven sat on her bed, clutching a pillow to her mid-section. The entirety of her apartment was bathed in electric light. The door and windows were locked, as were the shutters that covered her windows. An old plush moose she’d had since childhood sat next to her, as if it were a sentry.

She’d slept, but not for long. Fear and anxiety crowded her mind, haunting her dreams.

When she’d recovered from her shock the night before, she’d considered contacting the police. A glance across the piazza had changed her mind. She’d seen the man who lurked nearby, just as the intruder said.

She wasn’t sure who the man who sat outside her apartment was. It was possible he was the intruder’s accomplice. She wasn’t going to court his attention by inviting a police visit.

The intruder, whoever he was, seemed to know her, or at least he’d spent the day following her. He knew she worked at the Uffizi. He knew she’d been interviewed by the Carabinieri. He knew she’d visited the orphanage and the Franciscan mission.

Somehow he knew about her visit to the palazzo. Whether he’d seen her or simply been told she’d been there, she didn’t know. In either case, he must have raced to her apartment in a car or on a Vespa, gaining precious minutes in order to break into her apartment, cut off the electricity, and wait for her.

He’d exited her second-floor apartment through one of her bedroom windows. She assumed he’d entered the same way. Perhaps he was a rock climber—that would explain how he was able to scale the building and climb to the ground without injury.

She’d always kept the windows locked when she wasn’t home. In her distracted state that morning, she must have forgotten. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

If she closed her eyes, she could hear the intruder’s voice. Although it was familiar, she couldn’t identify him. She could recall his scent, however.

A lot of good that will do. What would I say to the police? Arrest a suspect and let me sniff him?

She opened her eyes and looked over at the dresser. The sketch she’d completed the previous evening was missing, which meant he must have taken it. But why?

Her laptop and simple pieces of jewelry were left behind, as if he couldn’t be bothered to steal them.

The reason could be pedestrian. Perhaps he’d stolen the sketch so he could dust it for fingerprints. He’d find her prints of little use. Patrick had told her that morning the investigators hadn’t found any fingerprints in the exhibition hall.

Her cane was leaning against the wall, by her dresser. She didn’t remember it being there earlier in the evening, but it was possible she hadn’t noticed it. Why would the intruder move her cane?

In addition to these anomalies, he’d left gifts.

He’d placed a stack of money on her kitchen table. When she’d composed herself enough to count them, she discovered he’d left several thousand euros.

And he’d given her something else.

Raven lifted the crucifix from her chest. It appeared to be made of gold; the metal was thin and had been hammered from the underside in order to form the raised figure of Jesus. The design was primitive, the facial features of Christ barely distinguishable, which led her to believe the piece was pre-Renaissance and probably medieval.

Each point of the cross had two round loops on it, as if it had been made to affix to something. The gold chain on which it was suspended looked much newer than the crucifix, and it also appeared to be made of gold.

She knew a little about relics. She’d had a Catholic education at Barry University, as an undergraduate. And there was Father Kavanaugh, the priest who’d intervened to help her and Carolyn when they were in trouble. Her love and respect for him didn’t extend to his beliefs and she certainly didn’t think there was anything efficacious about a piece of metal, no matter what shape had been hammered into it.

She couldn’t imagine why the intruder would believe that a hunk of gold would protect her against “the others,” whoever they were.

It won’t hurt to wear the cross, just in case. Perhaps it works because the others fear it, not because it has magical powers.

But I’m not leaving Florence, not after I’ve worked so hard to build a life here. I don’t care what he says.

She pulled her quilt around her shoulders.

The intruder was frightening and strangely strong. His command to leave the city was unambiguous, but she didn’t know why the two-week mark was so important.

Maybe he has a source in the police force and knows what’s happening with the investigation.

He’d recognized Dottor Vitali’s name, although he seemed surprised to hear it. But it seemed to be the person of William York that he was most interested in. Raven found that puzzling.

And there was his speech. He’d called the Franciscans Ordo Fratrum Minorum, which, she’d discovered through the Internet, was their Latin title. And he’d warned her about going out after dark.

Raven couldn’t imagine what the warning meant, or why, if he wanted her to leave, he’d given her the relic. His gift was strange enough. Then his disposition had changed and he’d touched her gently.

More puzzling, he’d called her Jane.

Raven’s legal name was found only on her passport, work visa, and permesso di soggiorno, or “permission to stay” form, all of which were still in her backpack. However the intruder had discovered her legal name, it wasn’t by searching her apartment.

Her legal name appeared in her employment file, so it was possible he’d learned it through the Uffizi. Raven dismissed that possibility, since everyone at the gallery called her by her chosen name, which was displayed on her security card. She hadn’t been known as Jane since she was twelve.

So he’s connected with either the gallery or the police.

Batelli and Savola knew her legal name. But they’d seen her Uffizi identification card and knew she was called Raven.

The intruder seemed to want to steer clear of the police, for whatever reason. He certainly hadn’t learned her legal name through someone who knew her. At least, not someone who knew her in Italy. In Florida, it would be a different story.

Horror stabbed through her.

What if he talked to…

She couldn’t finish the thought.

No, there was no point in entertaining the possibility. Florida was far away and so was any trace of her former life. Even her diplomas displayed her chosen name. If he’d opened the bottom drawer to her dresser, he would have found them, still encased in protective sleeves.

Putting the pillow and quilt aside, she stood in the center of the bedroom and took stock of her surroundings. The drawers to her dresser were closed, as was the door to her closet. Nothing seemed amiss, with the exception of the missing sketch and…

Her gaze alighted on the nightstand, on which were stacked several of her favorite books. She noticed the volume of the collected works of Edgar Allan Poe had been moved from the bottom of the stack to the top. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe had been demoted to second place.

Once again, she wondered if, in a moment of distraction, she’d moved the C. S. Lewis book herself. It didn’t occur to her to ask what, if anything, the intruder had against lions, witches, and/or wardrobes.

Raven rubbed her eyes in frustration. She had to report to work in a few hours, but she was too upset to go back to sleep.

With a sigh of resignation, she sat at her desk and opened her laptop. She’d catch up on her e-mail, which she’d been ignoring. When she logged in, she found a number of new messages, including one from her sister.

Hi Rave,

I tried calling you through FaceTime, but you never answer. Are you avoiding me?

Mom’s wedding was beautiful. It’s too bad you missed it.

Stephen is really nice. He was a plastic surgeon before he retired. He and Mom just moved into a big house on the ocean.

Raven paused her reading to roll her eyes.

Since you won’t respond to Mom’s e-mails, she asked me to ask you to come home for your birthday. She’ll pay for your ticket and you can stay with me and Dan. Did I mention that we moved in together? I can’t remember.

Mom wants to introduce you to Stephen and his kids. They’re older than us—married with kids of their own. His son is a doctor and his daughter is a dentist.

Come home for a visit. We miss you. We can celebrate your birthday and I’ll show you all the great hot spots in Miami.

You haven’t seen Mom in years and I think it’s time you two got over the past. I like Stephen a lot and he makes Mom happy. I think you’d like him, too, if you gave him a chance.

Dan is planning to take me to Europe to celebrate our two-year anniversary. I’m hoping we’ll be coming over in the middle of June. We’ll stay in a hotel, of course, but I’d like to visit you in Florence. Whether we visit Florence or not, I still want you to come to Miami.

Hey, what happened to that guy you had a crush on? I can’t remember his name. Did you ever ask him out?

Let’s talk soon.

Love,

Cara

XO

Raven sat back from her computer, resisting the urge to send a terse and angry reply.

She loved her sister more than anyone, but they had lived radically different lives. Carolyn was seven years younger, so she didn’t remember their father or the happy life they’d had as a family living in New Hampshire. She certainly didn’t remember the accident.

Raven took a moment to muse on the way her mind always attached a euphemism to the event that had disabled her. She flexed her feet beneath the desk, reminding herself that whatever she called it, its effects had disappeared. That fact alone made her more positively disposed to her mother, but barely.

When Carolyn was old enough, Raven had told her what had happened. Carolyn, to her credit, had listened carefully. But her memories were so at odds with Raven’s account, she had trouble believing it.

On one level, Raven viewed Carolyn’s lack of memory as a good thing, so she didn’t revisit the subject. She remained silent, even in the face of their mother’s revisionist history.

But she refused to see her mother, speak with her, or be in the same room as her until she acknowledged the truth. Which meant she hadn’t seen her mother since she’d left home for college over ten years earlier.

As for Carolyn’s question about her old crush on Bruno, who was her neighbor’s grandson, well, of course it had come to nothing. She’d almost forgotten about it, and him, given the previous day’s events.

Hi Cara,

It’s good to hear from you.

I’ll think about coming to Miami, but if I do, I’ll pay my own way. I won’t be seeing Mom. She knows why. There’s no point in getting into it.

As for your visit, it would be great to see you. But things are really busy at the moment. Let’s talk later about this, okay? I’m swamped at work.

I love you,

Rave

Raven sent the e-mail and closed her laptop, not bothering to scroll through the rest of her in-box.

She walked to the bathroom, putting thoughts of her troubled family life aside.

She wondered why some unnamed group would take an interest in her. She wasn’t going to abandon everything she’d worked so hard for, just because a mysterious criminal with connections to a secret association told her to leave the city.

She bristled as she remembered what the intruder had said about her sleuthing skills. She was going to redouble her efforts at investigating William York and the Palazzo Riccardi and, hopefully, find something that would convince the police she was not an accomplice to the Uffizi robbery.

As she brushed her teeth, she began formulating a plan. She’d stuff the euros in a shoe box for now, then donate the money to the Franciscan mission.

She spat out her toothpaste and gazed at her appearance. It was still difficult to accept that the attractive woman staring back at her from the mirror was real.

Her gaze dropped to the relic around her neck. She was going to have to hide it under her clothes.

She muttered a few choice expletives and went to get dressed.

Chapter Twelve

“I’m telling you, the time is now!” Maximilian raised his voice, his imposing figure moving forward in the predawn darkness.

He and his companion stood high atop the Palazzo Vecchio, arguing. His interlocutor lifted a hand to stay him.

“Patience.”

“We’ve been patient enough. I say we kill him tonight.”

His companion sighed dramatically. “Have you learned nothing from the Venetians? It will take more than us to fell him, particularly if one of the others is with him.”

Maximilian drew his sword. “We aren’t exactly young. Who’s to say the others will defend him? They’re probably just as eager as we to seize control.”

“Precisely why we must be confident in our alliances. Now is not the time for haste, particularly when you’re in danger of losing your temper. It makes you reckless, Max, and that is something you cannot be when dealing with the Prince. He’s more powerful than you can imagine.”

Max cursed, swinging his broadsword through the air. “I disagree.”

“Then you’re a fool. Even I don’t know the full extent of his power. I’m not about to find out only to lose my head.”

“Must we wait until his thousand years have expired?”

“Don’t be pessimistic. I made a mistake colluding with the Venetians. Now I’m cultivating other, stronger partners. And there’s always the ferals and the hunters.”

Max sheathed his sword. “Now you’re talking nonsense. Ferals can’t be controlled. And why would you want to work with the hunters?”

His companion smiled slowly.

“The Prince is old. The hunters would be only too glad to have his blood. They’d probably sign a treaty to leave the city alone if we were to deliver him up to them.

“Our borders have been somewhat porous recently. If a pack of ferals were to appear, they would wreak havoc. The Consilium will hold the Prince responsible. Not to mention that our noble prince has made a few errors recently—errors that threaten to expose him.”

Max rested his large paw on the hilt of his sword. “The Consilium is riddled with his allies.”

“And his rivals. They know his reign won’t last forever. All they lack is a leader who is willing to depose him, and a little motivation.

“Be patient, Max. The city will be ours soon enough.”

Chapter Thirteen

Raven sighed as she sat at a computer terminal in the archives of the Uffizi Gallery. She’d been demoted.

Professor Urbano had welcomed her back after her weeklong absence, but he hadn’t allowed her to continue her work conserving the Birth of Venus. Perhaps this was his way of exercising his skepticism about her appearance, despite the fact that her fingerprints had been verified.

Yesterday, she’d been relegated to errand runner, while on this day, she’d been sent to the head archivist and told to follow her instructions. Someone else was sitting in her chair in the restoration lab, holding her brushes and carefully covering part of the surface of Botticelli’s masterpiece with protective varnish.

Professor Urbano assured her she would be the one to apply the second and third coatings after Anja Pahlsmeier, a postdoc from Berlin, had completed the first. He was unwilling to interrupt the work she’d begun in Raven’s absence. Or so he said.

Raven tried very hard not to be resentful, and failed.

The head archivist tasked her with organizing the printed and digital scientific reports the restoration team had done on the Birth of Venus. Then she was supposed to scan the printed reports and send all the digital files to Patrick, so he could input them into the archives’ database.

The archivist had instructed Raven to familiarize herself with the files on the restoration of Primavera and to organize the new files in the same way. Raven was scrolling through the radiographs of Primavera, when she noticed something.

Radiographs are photographs taken by an X-ray machine, and they reveal details about a painting that aren’t visible to the naked eye. In this case, Raven’s attention was drawn to the radiographs that revealed the pentimenti, or outlines of the various figures Botticelli had drawn before he began to paint.

When she enlarged the radiograph of the figure of Mercury, she noticed something surprising. Originally, Botticelli had sketched him with shorter hair.

Raven had spent a lot of her own time studying Primavera and its restoration before she began working on the Birth of Venus. No one had ever commented on this particular change in Mercury’s appearance or why Botticelli had lengthened his hair.

Puzzled, Raven clicked on another file, which featured an infrared reflectograph of the same image. In the reflectograph, the layers of paint were visible. It was clear that Botticelli had not only adjusted the length of Mercury’s hair, he’d changed the color as well, darkening the strands.

Mercury was blond.

She sat back in her chair, staring at the computer screen.

On one level, her discovery was unremarkable. Artists in general, and Botticelli in particular, made changes to their paintings as they worked. Other changes to the original design of Primavera had been noted by the restoration team in their reports. But Raven couldn’t recall anyone mentioning the changes made to Mercury’s hair.

Curious, she scrolled through some of the written documents the restoration team had prepared. It took her some time to do so, but her investigation corroborated her suspicion. No one seemed to have noticed the change in Mercury’s hair and this was very, very surprising given the fact that the change was obvious on a close inspection of the radiographs.

Lost in thought, Raven opened a digital copy of the finished painting and enlarged it, focusing on Mercury’s head and shoulders. Then she switched to the radiograph.

She tried to imagine what Mercury would have looked like withshorter blond hair.

Discoveries such as this one could help an art historian make her career. But before she wrote a paper announcing her discovery to the world, she had to study the reports more carefully. And she had to be sure no one had written on this subject before.

Peering over her shoulder to be sure she wasn’t being watched, Raven surreptitiously removed a flash drive from her backpack and quickly copied the relevant images. She could barely contain her excitement, her leg jiggling back and forth.

She’d just transferred the flash drive to the zippered pocket of her backpack when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” A voice addressed her in English.

She jumped in her chair and let out a loud expletive.

“Shhh!” the archivist hissed from her desk, which was across the room. She glared at Raven over the rims of her glasses.

Raven nodded meekly before looking up into the guilty eyes of her friend Patrick.

He mouthed a quick “Sorry.”

“What are you doing?” she whispered, quickly closing the files that she’d opened on the computer.

“I came to ask you the same question.” He nodded at the computer screen.

Raven glanced at the archivist, then at her friend.

“It may be nothing.”

Patrick’s gaze moved to the archivist as well before he spoke. “Gina wants you to come over to have dinner with us tonight.”

Raven looked over at their mutual friend, Gina, who was working on the other side of the room. She waved.

“So it’s official? You’re an ‘us’?”

Patrick grinned. “Yeah.”

“I’m happy for you. I’d love to have dinner with you both, but I have to pick up a few things after work.”

“That’s all right. Do you have your Vespa?”

“It’s waiting for me at the shop.”

“I’ll take you to pick it up after work and we can meet at Gina’s later. Okay?”

“Thanks.” Raven smiled.

Patrick picked up a piece of paper and scribbled a few words. He left the paper next to her computer before returning to his desk.

Raven glanced at his writing.

You forgot about the cameras.

“Shit!” she muttered.

She crumpled the paper and shoved it into her backpack.

She looked around the room, trying not to appear obvious as she located the security cameras in the four corners.

She’d been so excited about her potential discovery, she’d forgotten about them. Now the gallery had footage of her downloading files to a personal storage device without permission. It was a serious offense. And, given her recent circumstances, she doubted Dottor Vitali would be lenient.

She looked over at Patrick, who shook his head. He seemed just as worried as she.

He picked up his cell phone and began typing.

A few seconds later her phone chimed with a text.

What r u doing?

Raven quickly answered him.

Forgot about the cameras.

She could hear Patrick’s huff of disapproval from across the room.

Raven turned to look at the archivist, but she seemed preoccupied by her own work.

Raven’s phone chimed again.

You need to be more careful.

She couldn’t disagree. She was about to type a suitably contrite response when the telephone on the archivist’s desk rang.

As if in slow motion, she turned around.

The archivist was nodding and agreeing to something. When she finished her short conversation, she waved Raven over.

Raven walked to her desk, slowly.

“Dottor Vitali wishes to see you in his office. Now.” The archivist’s tone was brisk. “Make note of where you left off in your project and log out of your computer.”

I am in so much trouble.

Raven ground her teeth as she returned to her desk. With a few short mouse clicks, she logged out of her computer. She took a clean piece of paper and listed what she’d accomplished that morning.

She picked up her knapsack and handed the paper to the archivist.

“Raven, wait,” Patrick called to her.

He walked her to the door.

“Hand me the flash drive,” he whispered, holding his hand out.

“What?”

“So they can see us.” His eyes flickered to the side, where one of the cameras was positioned in full view of the door.

She shook her head. “You’ll get in trouble.”

“You’re already in trouble.” He lifted his hand higher.

Raven looked over at the archivist, who was watching them intently.

“This is your job, Patrick.”

“A job I have because you covered my ass when I forgot to file the radiographs. Now we’re even.” He moved his hand in front of her nose. “Give me the flash drive.”

Raven muttered a curse and unzipped the pocket of her knapsack. She retrieved the flash drive and handed it to him.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” His voice was loud, too loud, and the archivist hushed them once again.

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Tell Vitali I asked you to copy the files. If they confiscate the drive, I’ll help you get the files another way.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Raven gave him a worried look before exiting the archives.

“So do I.” He grimaced.

As Raven climbed the stairs to the second floor, she contemplated an alternative explanation, one that would exonerate Patrick. Nothing came readily to mind. She couldn’t even mention William York and his connection with Palazzo Riccardi.

Raven would never allow someone she cared about to be hurt. This was the core of her being. She’d made a mistake; she would take responsibility for it, even if it meant losing her position at the gallery.

She gave herself a short pep talk and approached Vitali’s office just as a loud female voice, speaking English, echoed down the corridor.

“Codswallop! I’ve been wandering the streets of Florence since before you were born. Clare and I will be fine for a couple of hours.”

Raven stood outside the open door, her palms sweating. She wiped them on her yoga pants.

“Katherine, the city isn’t safe.” Professor Emerson sounded exasperated.

“I don’t believe that for one moment,” the woman replied.

Taking a deep breath, Raven knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Vitali called, in Italian.

She entered the room and found the Emersons talking with an older woman who had short white hair and snapping blue-gray eyes. She was pushing a stroller in which Clare was seated, playing with a toy bunny and oblivious to the tension around her.

“Julianne can take her tour, you can discuss your situation with Vitali, and I’ll take the baby for a walk. It’s a beautiful day. She needs fresh air.” The woman wheeled the stroller around and headed for the door.

“No.” Professor Emerson’s voice boomed.

Everyone stared—at his sapphire eyes that blazed behind blackframed glasses, at his hands that were clenched into fists at his sides, and at his expression, which was frightening.

But Professor Emerson wasn’t angry, although he’d adopted an angry posture.

Raven scanned his expression and was surprised to see fear behind his eyes.

“Katherine, it isn’t safe. I can barely stand to have you, Clare, and Julianne out of my sight.”

His eyes moved to his wife and he addressed her. “You can take your tour. But Katherine and Clare must stay inside the gallery.”

His wife grasped his elbow and he unclenched his fists, his body relaxing.

Marginally.

“It’s all right, Gabriel. We’re safe now.” She gave him a smile, which he did not return.

“And you will remain so.”

Raven wiped her hands on her pants again and studied her feet.

She’d intruded on something she didn’t understand, a private conversation between a protective husband and father and his family. She found herself strangely moved by his intensity. It had been a long time since someone had been protective of her. It had been a long time since she’d had a father.

“We can walk indoors.” The woman referred to as Katherine turned toward Vitali. “Perhaps you’ll assign us a guide. Would that be acceptable, Gabriel?”

It seemed clear from her tone that she was annoyed, but she seemed determined not to argue with him.

Raven lifted her eyes and saw Gabriel nodding in a restrained manner.

“Then it’s settled. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to find us a guide, I’ll take Clare for a walk.” Katherine gave Vitali an expectant look, almost as if he were a concierge rather than the director of the Uffizi Gallery.

Raven half expected Katherine to begin tapping her conservatively shod foot.

Vitali motioned Raven forward.

“Mrs. Emerson would like a tour of the restoration lab. Please escort her downstairs and introduce her to Professor Urbano. He’s expecting her.”

Raven blinked.

Vitali’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Wood?”

Raven’s anxieties at being summoned to the director’s office because she’d copied files without permission began to lessen.

She cleared her throat. “A tour? Yes, of course. Of course. Thank you.”

She paused, wondering if he was going to bring up the flash drive or mention anything about the robbery. She wondered if news of her mid-night visit to Palazzo Riccardi had somehow come to his attention.

Vitali sat back in his chair and lifted the telephone, requesting that his assistant send one of the security guards to his office, that an important guest needed an escort.

Raven exhaled in relief.

Julia kissed her husband, patting him on the shoulder, before retrieving her purse and moving to Raven’s side. Gabriel followed his wife’s movements with a look of concern, his long fingers curving into fists once again.

With a nod, Vitali dismissed Raven, announcing that Katherine’s guide would appear momentarily.

Raven was not about to delay and so led Julia to the hall. Julia trailed behind her, limping.

Raven stopped. “Are you hurt?”

“Not really. When I had Clare, I had an epidural. I’ve had nerve issues in my right leg and foot ever since. It’s acting up today.” She forced a smile, but appeared distressed.

Raven moved closer, noticing that Julia was wearing flat, comfortable shoes.

“Should I get a wheelchair?”

“It isn’t that bad. Today my foot is numb so I’m having trouble walking.”

“I’m sorry.” Raven’s expression was sympathetic. “I broke my leg once. There was nerve damage. Whenever the weather changes, I have pain.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Julia started walking again, slowly. “I’m lucky my leg only acts up periodically. I’m told the numbness will go away eventually.”

“We’ll take the elevator.” Raven gestured to the far end of the hall.

“I know it’s short notice, but I wanted to see the restoration work before we left.” Julia spoke in low tones as they passed a few people in the hallway.

“No problem.” Raven watched her from the corner of her eye. “I thought you were staying in Florence for a week.”

“Our plans have changed.” Julia’s expression grew grave. “We’re checking out of the hotel this afternoon and going to Umbria.”

“Umbria is beautiful.”

Raven was distracted, thinking about what had occurred in the archives. It was possible the security guards hadn’t noticed what she’d done. Maybe she’d implicated Patrick for no reason. She’d have to warn him.

“Have you heard any rumors about the Gallery Hotel Art being haunted?” Julia’s voice intruded on Raven’s thoughts.

She turned her head to meet Julia’s eyes. “Haunted? No. I always thought it was peculiar their restaurant served Japanese food, but I haven’t heard anything about the hotel being haunted. Why do you ask?”

Julia fidgeted with her purse strap. “This is going to sound strange, but my husband thinks there’s a ghost in the hotel. That’s why we’re leaving.”

Raven’s eyebrows shot up. “A ghost? Why does he think that?”

“He woke up last night convinced someone was in our room. He couldn’t see anything but he felt a… dark presence.”

Raven’s heart began to speed.

“Did someone break in?”

“I don’t think so. Nothing was missing and he didn’t see anyone. But he felt like someone was there and the doors to the terrace were open.” Julia smoothed her long hair behind her ears. “If it were anyone other than Gabriel, I’d dismiss it. But he’s seen—and felt—strange things before.”

Raven bit her tongue. She desperately wanted to ask Julia what strange things she was referring to, but she was an important donor and barely an acquaintance. Raven didn’t want to seem nosy.

“I don’t believe in ghosts. But it’s possible someone broke into your hotel room. Petty thefts are common in the city and, as you know, that hotel attracts wealthy guests.”

“I suppose that’s possible.”

“I hate to say it, but I’m wondering if the Uffizi robbery is connected to what happened in your room.”

Julia eyed Raven as they entered the elevator. “Why would you say that?”

“Your names are connected with the gallery. If someone found out you were staying in the city, they might think you’re carrying expensive jewelery or artifacts.”