Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume 22

Clearly, thought Lewis, animal rights have yet too make much headway in early modern Italy.

"That quieted my concerns for a time. But the next day, Pietro's skin became cold and clammy, his pulse weakened, and at last he died."

"Were his wife and children present? How did they react to his death?" asked Ferdinand sharply.

"The wife and children seemed properly remorseful." He spread his hands. "There is not much left to say. He passed from my care to that of Our Lord and Savior."

Ferdinand gripped Lewis' shoulder, then released it. "In view of the allegations of poisoning, I thought it appropriate to call upon my 'Consulting Detective.' Don't disappoint me."

"Don't forget what I said about keeping your mind open as to whom the target might have been," Cioli added, softly.

"Well, there are a few options. I can do a Marsh test for arsenic on the remaining food."

"I am sorry, Ispettore Bartolli," the doctor said, "but none remain. The dog ate it all."

"Well, then-I don't suppose you saved any of the vomit?"

"No, I'm sorry. The servants cleaned it up. There might be a little staining his clothing, but I can't make any promises."

"Doesn't matter. I will just have to ask you, in the Grand Duke's name, to perform an autopsy. You can examine the stomach lining for signs of damage, and I can test the contents for arsenic and anything else I can think of.

"I will need to interview the family. One by one, if you please. I'll need one of your men, Cosimo, to act as a witness."

"I'll give you Rocco, he has some letters."

"Good. And Cosimo, if you would interview all the servants. Again, one by one, so they can't influence each other."

"Right, but I can assure you that the servants are probably hoarse from all the gabbing they've done already."

"I am sorry for your loss," Lewis offered.

The widow, Silvia, dabbed at the corner of her eye with a small handkerchief. Suddenly Lewis was reminded of a scene in a film noir movie. He couldn't remember the name. He was pretty sure that the widow in that movie turned out to be guilty, though.

"Thank you."

"I regret that I must ask you some questions."

"I understand… the Grand Duke told me…"

"Perhaps he also told you that I am a stranger to this city, even to this time. You can trust me to seek the truth."

"At least as long as that truth isn't politically inconvenient for the grand duke."

"Even then, I might surprise you." Lewis hoped so, at least.

"Ask your questions."

Lewis asked her everything a mystery reader or crime TV fan might expect him to ask. The poisonous substances which were kept in the house or its grounds, and whether they had shown signs of recent use. The names and duties of the servants, their term of service, their past employers, and their whereabouts on the day that Pietro was stricken. The medications which Pietro had taken over the past month or so. The names and business of any visitors within the same period, and the dates of their visits. Who might be expected to benefit from or take pleasure in Pietro's death.

"Is it true that he thought someone wanted to kill him?"

"Yes."

"When did he first form this belief?"

"Several years ago. First he was attacked by ruffians at night, and was saved by the chance appearance of a couple of young noblemen. And then he was standing by a building, and was grazed by a falling brick."

"He saw someone drop the brick on him?"

"No, he said it happened too quickly."

"And do you think he was right, that he was in danger?"

Silvia shrugged. "This is Florence, who can say? Politics can be vicious. And commerce, even more vicious."

You aren't being paranoid if people really are out to get you, Lewis mused.

Domenico was a sullen twenty-something of no clear occupation. Other, perhaps, than his former occupation of "Waiting for Pop to Die So I Can Make a Real Dent in the Family Fortune." He disavowed any knowledge of poisons or medicines, not that in the seventeenth century there was a big difference between the two.

Olimpia was equally irritating, in her own special way. While Domenico tried to answer every questions with a single word-and then, only after a long pause, Olimpia was obviously in training for the Run-On Sentence Olympic event.

Before leaving, Lewis took samples of Domenico's tonic, and Silvia and Olimpia's cosmetics. He also borrowed the household accounts book.

Lewis and Cosimo compared notes.

"I spoke to Pietro's manservant, Taddeo. He told me something peculiar. Seems that Pietro was in the habit of making trips by himself, perhaps once every other month. Went in disguise."

"That's interesting. Sounds like a Clue with a capital C."

"Frustrating, is what I'd call it. If he were alive, I could have him tailed. With him dead, I can't follow up on it."

"If he weren't dead, we wouldn't be talking about it in the first place."

"It's too bad. I would have looked forward to tailing him. Probably lead me through three or four taverns a night. Perhaps even a brothel or two. And I would have to buy drinks, and so forth, all at Medici expense. So I didn't look suspicious, you see."

"I do indeed."

"I feel cheated, I must say."

"Pietro ever say anything about why he made the trips?"

"Apparently not. As you heard, Pietro was secretive. Didn't trust his own servants. Might have been going to see a girl, but I rather think it was something political. If it was directed against the Medicis, perhaps it's just as well he's dead."

Cosimo cocked his head. "Any great insights? Has Sherlock Holmes spoken to you from beyond the Great Unknown?"

"Well, a detective looks for who has means, motive and opportunity. The family members, and the servants, of course have opportunity. And often motive, too. As to means-by God Almighty, there's arsenic everywhere! In Domenico's tonic, in Silvia and Olimpia's face-powder, in the servant's storeroom. They use it to kill rats, they say.

"If my chemical tests show that Pietro was poisoned, it won't be a surprise to me. The surprise is that everyone else in the damn household is still alive!"

"Signorina Bartolli is waiting for you in the courtyard," the butler said.

Lewis nearly dropped the instruments he was carrying. "Who?"

"Your sister, Marina Bartolli." The servant gave him a reproving look. "You really should have warned us, sir."

Lewis ran down the hall. It was Marina all right, sitting on a stone bench, her back to him. "What the hell are you doing here?" he sputtered.

She turned her head. "It's good to see you, too, brother. The roses here are lovely, don't you think? Not a variety we have in Grantville."

"I mean, how could you come without sending me word, giving me the chance to tell you whether conditions were safe?"

"I did send you word, a few weeks ago. But then I had the chance, thanks to Duchess Claudia, to snag a seat on the Monster." That was the world's first commercial airplane. "You can't begrudge me having chosen to cross the Alps in just a few hours, rather than a month by land, can you? And then it was just a coach ride from Venice to Florence." She added impishly, "I'm sure my letter will get here eventually."

"Claudia de Medici? The arch duchess and regent of Austria-Tyrol? How do you know her?"

"Why, she came into the store."

"Claudia de Medici visited Bartolli's Surplus and Outdoors Supplies?"

"No, she just pressed her face against the window glass, idiot. Yes, she came in. It was refreshing to have a visitor who asked questions about things that didn't go boom. We hit it off."

Lewis stared at the ceiling. "I don't suppose she asked about our family, too?"

"Oh, yes, I bragged a bit about our brother-in-law." Greg Ferrara, once Grantville's high school chemistry teacher, and now the USE's Grand Poo-Bah of Military R amp;D. "And I might have mentioned Toni Adducci, Senior." He was their first cousin, once removed, and the Secretary of the Treasury for the State of Thuringia-Franconia.