Page 36 of Chasing Caine
“Why do the Carabinieri want to meet us at the site?” Samantha asked Mario. “Shouldn’t we go to their office?”
He shook his head. “The officer I spoke with said they wanted to take photographs and would need our guidance.”
I folded our clasped hands behind her back, pulling in closer to whisper in her ear. “And then we head to the villa so I can get the rest of that appetizer you promised me.”
She nudged me away with her hip. “We’re going to the—”
“Dr. Ferraro!” came an excited voice from behind us. We all turned to see a man in his mid-twenties, with light brown hair and dark eyes. Roughly my height, dressed in slim khaki shorts and a mint-green polo shirt.
“Ciao, Umberto.” I smiled as he hurried to catch up with us.
Umberto Longhi was another member of my team, a student from my alma mater in Roma. Just as I had, he was studying for his master’s in Architecture Restoration. He was one of the first Mario had questioned while Samantha and I were out of town.
I gestured to her to introduce them. “This is S—”
“I’m so glad I ran into you!” Umberto put his hands on his hips and exhaled sharply—as though the hurry were an effort for him—ignoring the introduction. “Is there any word on the late equipment?”
“Not yet,” said Mario.
Despite my speaking in English—a language everyone on my team spoke—he continued in rapid Italian. Umberto’s eyes stayed on me, barely even glancing at Samantha. “My girlfriend’s getting antsy about it. Eva landed a job at Riccardo Emanuele’s gallery and thinks our whole project here’s going to be canceled if the lens doesn’t come, so we’ll have to go home to Rome early.”
Samantha slid her fingers out of my grip and clasped her hands behind her back. After the surprise of her knowing Thomas, I’d told her about each member of the team working with me, so she switched to the professional. She bit back a chuckle, likely at how rapidly Umberto spoke. Umberto reminded me of Samantha’s protégé at Foster Mutual Insurance, Lucy Chapman. Full of energy, fast-talker, and shared more about his life than even I would have been comfortable sharing of my own.
“They won’t cancel it,” I said.
“Thank heavens!” Umberto’s eyes went wide, and he exaggerated another exhale. “I mean, it’s such an honor to work with you. I really couldn’t bear losing out on this opportunity.”
I gestured in our original direction, inviting him to proceed toward the Casa. “Mario spoke to you about the missing segment of the wall painting?”
“He did, yes. It won’t be canceled for that either, will it?”
I laughed as we continued down the road, the four of us descending to the roadway so Umberto could walk next to me. “Don’t worry. I’m confident we’ll start within a few weeks. If the delivery company can’t find the missing lens, I have a few leads on others to replace it.”
“It’s probably good timing all around,” Samantha said. “The initial investigation would have halted your work anyway, I expect.”
“Perhaps,” Mario said. “It’s also possible today will be the only day they consider it.”
“You think?” In her mind, the theft of the flower fresco was the most important crime in the country.
Mario attempted to temper her reaction. “It will be difficult to track anything—”
“Dr. Ferraro, I was meaning to ask about your master’s thesis.” Umberto spoke over their conversation, preventing my participation. “What you wrote about the environmental challenges the wall paintings face in Pompeii really changed the direction of my studies…”
He continued talking, while Mario reached around Samantha’s back to nudge me. I looked over only long enough to see him mouth, ‘Big fan.’
“Did I tell you my girlfriend worked at your family conservation studio in Rome for a few months? Before I got this offer?”
I nodded. Perhaps Mario was correct. “Sì, you mentioned that.”
“She’s hoping to work for them after—”
We turned the corner, off of Via di Nola, into the alley along the side of the building. Voices carried over the crumbling walls. I put up a hand and looked at Samantha. We all paused. Even Umberto stopped his chatter. English voices and laughter.
“The Carabinieri?” Samantha asked, but she would have known better. The voices were too young and not Italian. There were signs in multiple languages to keep tourists out. Was it the thieves back for more? Surely not in the middle of the day.
I shook my head and we charged in through the atrium door on the western wall.
A group of young people, early twenties at the most, sitting on the garden ledge, eating chips and drinking Chinotto. Sitting on an unpreserved, freshly excavated wall! They smiled as we entered, but my fists clenched, wanting to wrap themselves around one of these interlopers’ necks.