“Inspector! Please, stop.” Ida swilled the last of her champagne, swallowing what was left in one gulp, then slammed her glass on the table. “What my sister is trying to say is that we believe Dede Drummerhausen may have been murdered.”
“Murdered?” Camile put her glass down and looked at her husband. The color drained from her face. “Why would you think that?”
“Because Dede was supposed to get off the ship in Naples when we docked Friday morning. But we’ve no proof she did.” Ida raised her empty champagne glass above her head and, catching the waiter’s eye, wiggled the glass for a refill.
“You mean, no one saw her.” The Inspector leaned back from the table and crossed his arms.
“Which, of course, doesn’t mean anything.” Irene took her sister’s hand from the stem of the champagne glass and whispered to her sharply. “You’ve had enough for one night, Dear.” Then, looking back to the Inspector, Irene completed her thought. “We even tried to call Dede’s cell phone today, but she didn’t answer. We know she liked to go for late walks at night, and we’re concerned she might have fallen—”
“Let’s not mince words.” Ida jerked her hand from her sister’s. “We think someone pushed her overboard.”
The Inspector furrowed his brow and twisted his mouth. A pensive, if not patronizing look. Like Captain Byard and Chief O’Sullivan, the Inspector didn’t appear surprised by the sisters’ concern but was willing to politely humor his elderly shipmates.
“Ladies, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. We all know how much Dede enjoyed traveling and taking the occasional cooking class while ashore. I’m sure she was entrenched in one when you called. But I promise I will look into it tomorrow if it makes you happy.”
Camile took the menu in front of her and, hiding her face behind it, announced she was thinking of the Brodetto.
“Wise choice, Mon amour.” The inspector explained that everything on the menu was superb. Romano’s Chef Louie had studied under Massimo Bottura, an Italian restaurateur with three Michelin stars. Neil had hired Chef Louie away with the promise of his own restaurant and suite aboard Athena. “In fact, the chef sometimes gives cooking classes on board. Something, Ms. Lawson, you might like to check out. I’m sure there’ll be one this week.”
Irene put her menu down. “He’s right. Dede loves Chef Louie’s classes. She never missed one.”
“Well, there you have it. Perhaps Chef Louie suggested a class for Dede in Naples. I’m sure he’ll be able to tell me if I ask. In fact, maybe we can even ask tonight. It’s not unusual for Chef Louie to visit once things lighten up in the kitchen.” The Inspector glanced at the menu. “So… What will you have, Ms. Lawson? I’m having Cacciucco, a Tuscan stew. Been looking forward to it all day. And if you like lobster, might I suggest Linguine with lobster. It’s excellent.”
The Churchill sisters split an order of Fritto Misto, a dish of crustaceans, mollusks, shrimp, and squid. Ida managed to convince her sister a second glass of champagne would do no harm, and once our meal was served, just as the Inspector promised, Chef Louie appeared from the kitchen. He was a heavyset man who looked like he enjoyed his own cooking and was dressed in a tall white hat with an apron tied around his waist.
“Buona sera.” The chef placed a hand on the Inspector’s shoulder. “I hope your meal is satisfactory.”
“Saporito. Superb.” The Inspector kissed his fingers. Then, wiping his mouth, stood up and gestured to me. “Chef Louie, please allow me to introduce you to our honored guest, Ms. Lawson. We’ve been bragging about you and your cooking classes for residents. In fact, Ida and Irene have been wondering if you might have suggested a class in Naples for Dede. They’re concerned she’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared? No, that can’t be possible. Last week, Dede asked me for some referrals for some cooking classes. She knew we’d be docked in Naples on Friday and wanted some suggestions. There are some good schools outside of Naples. One I know started Saturday. I’m sure she left early. You know Dede, it’s hard to pin her down. But I’m sure she’ll show up like she always does. I wouldn’t worry.”
The Inspector clasped his hands together. “See, it’s as we suspected. Nothing to worry about. Dede’s off to cooking school, and she’ll soon return with more recipes for us all to enjoy. Mystery solved. Yes?”
I smiled and put my napkin on the table. Ida and Irene might have accepted that Dede was off to cooking school a day earlier than expected, but I wasn’t buying it. No investigator I knew would have been so easily persuaded to accept the sudden disappearance of a wealthy socialite like Dede Drummerhausen, not without further investigation. Yet Inspector Garnier appeared to have dismissed the idea as though it were nothing more than folly.
“Ms. Lawson?” The Inspector addressed me, “Are you planning on attending tonight’s lecture?”
Ida slumped back into her chair and waved a hand in front of her face. “Why should she? Waste of time if you ask me.”
“Ida!” Irene pressed her shoulder to her sister. “Please…don’t do that.”
“Why? The man doesn’t need my praises. And I don’t trust him.”
Irene placed her hand on top of Ida’s. “You’ll have to excuse my sister. Ida taught history and considers herself a historian and the Professor nothing more than a blowhard. The two can’t be in the same room without arguing.”
“I wish I’d known Ida when I was still working and investigating antiquity fraud. I would have welcomed her opinion. Instead, Professor Brawn was recommended to me, and I used him as my expert witness. His opinion was highly valued. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been much different than your own, Ida, but it’s a little late for that now. And, charmed as I am with your company, ladies, it’s getting late. Camile and I want to attend tonight’s lecture.” The Inspector nodded to his wife and pushed himself away from the table. “I hope, Ms. Lawson, you’ll join us. Professor Braun plans to discuss what we’ll see tomorrow when we visit Ischia and, if possible, the ancient underwater city of Aenaria.
Chapter Ten
The Inspector had me at Underwater City. I had read about Aenaria, an ancient Roman settlement, thought to be nothing more than a myth until two divers uncovered evidence of a smelting factory below the surface in the late seventies and kept it a secret. It was only now—twenty years later—that it was to be opened to the public, and I was looking forward to hearing more about it. But even more interesting than the findings of a submerged city was the Inspector’s casual mention of his investigation into antiquities fraud. It piqued my interest, as did the idea that Inspector Garnier had maintained a close relationship with Professor Braun and, like the Professor, had a luxury suite aboard Athena, plus a home in Paris, and based upon his dress and talk of his recent travels, a very luxurious lifestyle.
I followed the Inspector and Camile to the elevator, which took us to the Promenade Deck, where tonight’s lecture was scheduled in the conference room. The room was crowded. The drapes had been drawn across the ship’s rear windows, and the light was low. Six rows of red padded folding chairs with a dozen seats each had been set in a semi-circle facing a dais, behind which were four large whiteboards with maps of the Mediterranean. The Inspector pointed to the first row with a vacant seat between the Professor’s wife and Marco and told me to take it while he and Camile took the last two empty chairs in the back of the room.
As I moved to take the empty seat in the row, I noticed Professor Braun at the podium. He appeared to be engaged in a very animated conversation with a grey-haired man, who I estimated to be about the same age as the Professor but dressed in a tight-fitting, short-sleeved black t-shirt that showed off his more fit physique and muscled arms. In his hand, the muscled man held a small bronze gold cow he had picked up from an exhibit table next to the podium where dozens of books, clay pots, beads, jewelry, and several items beneath glass cake plates were displayed. From where I was sitting, I heard him say something in what sounded like Russian. The Professor backed away, waved him off, and dismissed him. Angered, the man slammed the bronze relic on the table, then turned, rushed past me, and out the conference room doors. My eyes followed him to the back of the room, where I noticed Neil and Captain Byard. Whatever the incident, neither Neil nor Byard appeared phased. I finger-waved to Neil and the Captain, then turned back to watch Professor Braun.
* * *
“Welcome to our tour of the Middle Sea.” The Professor stepped out in front of the podium and opened his arms, gesturing to the maps on either side of him. “But first, my good friends and fellow explorers, let me apologize. Due to our late departure from Naples, we’ve had to adjust our itinerary.”
There was an audible sigh among those seated, but before it could grow, the Professor hushed the crowd and said we wouldn’t be disappointed.
“Rather than visiting just one of three Poet Islands, we’re privileged to visit all three, and in addition to Procida, where we visited today, tomorrow Athena will moor in Ischia’s harbor, and I’ll be conducting a tour, not only of the island but for those who want to join me the following day, a dive beneath her waters to the lost city of Aenaria.”
The audience sighs turned to oos and awes, and several people clapped.
“So, here we are, the Middle Sea. Or perhaps you’ve heard it called the Mare Nostrum. Mare Internum. The Hinter Sea. The Western Sea. The Great Sea. Or maybe even the White Sea. Whatever its name, this is the Mediterranean connecting three major continents. And here…” the Professor pointed with a laser to one of the whiteboards, “is a map showing what was once the rim of this Great Sea, home to the ancient world. Where cities like Baiae, the ancient seaside Roman resort, Thonis-Heracleion in Egypt, Helike and Pavlopetri in Greece, and Atlit Yam in Israel once thrived, and great ships loaded with their wares would come for trade. But now, these cities and their treasures all rest silently beneath her shores in a watery graveyard of lost civilizations. Their mosaic streets, buried in silt. Their bronze and stone statues that once lined the streets and decorated their homes upended. Their temples crumpled and broken. Destroyed by tsunamis and earthquakes.”
Then, moving his pointer to another whiteboard, the Professor outlined a series of seismic fault lines beneath the Mediterranean’s ocean bed. “But before the complete destruction of these ancient cities, those that sailed her shores created a network of trade routes connecting three major continents. Asia. Africa. And Europe. Giving birth to new civilizations and three major religions. For fifteen hundred years, from the 2nd century BC until 1453, when the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople closed what we know today as the Silk Highway, this, where we are today, was the center of the ancient world.”
The Professor lectured for another twenty minutes, pointing to his whiteboards and highlighting areas of the Mediterranean where the remains of sunken cities had been found, including Aenaria, which we would visit the next day. Then pausing, the Professor returned to the display table and picked up a shiny, silver metallic-looking rock.
“This,” the Professor said, “is Galena. It doesn’t look like much to the naked eye, but if you know what it is, you know it’s an ore used to produce lead and a source of silver and sometimes copper. It was found twenty-five years ago by two recreational divers, and it was our first clue that the mythical city of Aenaria existed beneath the waters where we’re sailing.”
The Professor handed the rock to one of the residents in the front row, then asked Greta to come up to the table and help those who might like to have a closer look at his collection. Several pieces on the table appeared like those I had seen pictured on the poster in Terra Murata. Greta, wearing a gold wreath crown that looked like something Julius Cesar might have worn, stood guard over the table, carefully handing items to those curious enough to come up and look and warning others the things beneath the glass-covered cake plates were not to be handled.
I squeezed between several residents and asked Greta about the gold wreath on her head. She paused as she handed a silver bracelet to one of the onlookers, then explained the crown had been a funereal wreath found among the graveyard of an ancient Macedonian kingdom.
I was about to pick up one of the coins on the table when Marco pushed me aside and reached for a gold signet ring, much like I had seen the Professor wearing that afternoon and slipped it onto the tip of his pinky finger.
