The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [51]
Suddenly she turned on her heel and marched away. The waiter came hurrying up, and Ted, who stood staring after her, relaxed. He started to turn. The three conspirators hastily withdrew. Scuttling like the eavesdroppers they were, led by Michael, they made their escape into the street and didn’t stop moving until they had ducked into an alleyway a block down the Via del Corso.
“I still don’t understand.” Jean was the first to speak.
“God, you’re dumb,” Michael said disgustedly.
“Maybe we’re the ones who are jumping to conclusions,” Jacqueline said. “At least I’m pretty sure I jumped to the same one you are now perching uncomfortably upon…. Jean, what would you guess that girl’s nationality to be?”
“Could be a lot of things.”
“True. I said guess.”
“Well—Israeli, I suppose. She could be Italian or Spanish, but the bone structure isn’t right. Though I’ve seen a few Spaniards with cheekbones like that.”
“The Moors were in Spain for a long time,” said Jacqueline.
Michael gave her a meaningful look and nodded.
“Yeah. It’s the same conclusion…. That face comes out of the Near East, Jean. She could be an Israeli, a sabra—native-born. Or she could be an Arab.”
“Like—Albert.”
“Like Albert. And before you start babbling about coincidence, let me remind you who’s at war with whom.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“That the girl is an Arab? If she’s Israeli, why doesn’t Ted bring her around and introduce her? We’re not a bunch of scandal-mongering old ladies; nobody is going to write anonymous letters to his girl.”
Jean continued to shake her head.
“We must be wrong. Wrong about everything. A person could have three accidents in a row; wilder things have happened.”
“We can’t assume that,” Jacqueline said. “We can’t afford to take chances. But I don’t like this new development you’ve tossed at us, Michael. If we’re getting into the hairy underworld of espionage….”
“Oh, no,” Jean groaned. “That I won’t believe!”
“It does open vistas,” Jacqueline argued. “And it provides a possible motive for murder. That’s all we’re looking for at this stage—possibilities.”
“Oh, you’re looking for motives, are you.” Michael’s flat voice turned the question into a statement. “How many have you come up with?”
“Several,” Jacqueline said calmly. She saw Jean’s look of surprise, and said nastily, “Oh, come on, Jean, don’t be so naïve. I told you—every human being is at least a dozen different people. How much do you really know about your friends? Albert was an inquisitive man. If he had stumbled on a secret that threatened someone’s security—”
“Such as?”
“This is all theoretical. But take José. He loves his work and knows he’s lucky to be allowed to do it; the Church considers other matters more important than a man’s talent. If Albert had caught him in some pecadillo, it would threaten his work. The order would certainly discipline him, and without its support he couldn’t go on with his studies.”
“Go on,” Jean said.
“Ann. I’ve seen her look sick when Albert made a pass at her. What may appear to be only fastidiousness might be a well-developed neurosis, and Albert was not the man to take a hint. If he cornered her down there, and got nasty about it…”
“My God,” Michael said. “You ought to be locked up. Well?”
“Dana,” said Jacqueline coolly. “I refer now to an incident everyone else seems to have forgotten—Albert’s accusation that someone had robbed him. You all scoffed at this because of Albert’s poverty; but that doesn’t prove he might not have had some object of value with him. A family heirloom, perhaps. Dana’s need of money is notorious.”
“No more notorious than mine,” Michael muttered.
“You have a source of income adequate for your needs. I’m inclined to accept your claim that you don’t care about money. I could be wrong, though.”
Michael looked dazed. He shook his head, muttering. Jean felt dazed too. Unwillingly, she remembered the look on Michael’s face that