Taking my coffee with me, I grabbed a banana and a couple of grapes from the gift basket in the living room, then went out on the balcony to enjoy the view. It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, but already I could hear the voices of those preparing to disembark on the Marina Deck below me. I watched as a small motorboat approached and then leaned over the railing for a better view. Several crew members, including Captain Byard, dressed in nautical whites, were helping to guide the boat up next to Athena’s open portal so that her residents might tender ashore.

I watched as the last of Athena’s residents who were going ashore boarded the tender. I was about to back away from the railing when Byard looked up and waved.

“You plan on going ashore?”

“Soon as I finish my coffee.” I lifted my cup and smiled.

“Take a good pair of walking shoes. The view of the bay from the top of the hill’s beautiful, but it’s a bit of a climb.”

“Won’t be a problem,” I said.

I had read up on the island. I knew the narrow cobblestone streets and steep climb up to the walled medieval village of Terra Murata might be a challenge for some, particularly Athena’s older residents. But I wasn’t concerned. I looked forward to the hike and stretching my legs after the long flight.

“Dinner tonight?” Byard cocked his head and flashed a sexy grin in my direction. It didn’t take much to read his mind, nor could I say we were on different pages. I had already begun to fantasize about what it might be like to spend a week on board in the captain’s company. But in the light of day, I decided to slow it down a bit. Not that I wanted to.

“Sounds good.” I waved a friendly goodbye.

* * *

It was easy to see why Procida was considered one of Italy’s most beautiful seaside villages. Dozens of small fishing boats buoyed in the harbor while the morning light shimmered like crystals on the Med’s deep blue water. Everywhere was a rainbow of color. Quayside, the Marina Grande, a narrow coastal road marked where the water met the shoreline and was crowded with small shops. Outdoor tables were piled high in front of their open doors with the day’s catch, fresh octopus, and large silver fish in crates of ice.

My plan was to walk along the Marina Grande and take in the sights of the harbor and the tiered bungalows above the busy shops before heading up the hill to the Piazza D’Armi in the village of Terra Murata. There, I planned to visit the Abbey of San Michele Arcangelo and the Piazza Dei Martiri before heading down to the small harbor of Corricella on the other side of the island. I estimated the entire walk to be no more than about one-and-a-half miles and would give me a good feel for the island and its history.

It wouldn’t have mattered which street I chose to head up to Terra Murata. Each was as inviting as the next, cluttered with shops nestled beneath residences with wrought iron balconies, some bursting with colorful flower boxes, others with bed linens perched over their railings, while below, a chorus of happy voices greeted each other. Ciao! Salve! Buongiorno!

The view from Terra Murata, with its grey stone fortified walls, had been built in the early 1500s for the island’s governors and, despite the heat, was worth the climb. Behind its walls, the Palazzo d’Avalos was home to four museums, including the Royal Palace. It was later converted into a prison citadel and remained so until it was closed in 1988. I snapped several dozen pictures and scribbled as many notes on my notepad, then hurried on to the Abbey of San Michele, famous for its Renaissance art collection.

Satisfied I had taken all the pictures and notes I needed, I stuffed my notebook back into my backpack and was about to leave Terra Murata and head down to the Marina di Corricella when I noticed a poster advertising antique coins and jewelry next to a souvenir shop outside the Abbey. I’m not much for souvenir shopping, but the sign had several pictures that caught my eye, including a gold pendant necklace that looked remarkably like the gold coin I had found in Dede’s bag.

Curious I might find some answer as to what the coin was all about, I entered the shop, a musty narrow space, no more than three aisles wide and twelve feet deep. The shelves were crammed with religious paraphernalia, waxed candles, rosaries, and prayer books. In the back of the store, an old man sat hunched on a stool behind an antique brass cash register, reading a newspaper.

“Buongiorno, signorina.” The old man folded his paper and shuffled from behind the counter. “How may I help you?”

I pointed to the sign outside. “I was wondering about the coins you have advertised. Do you have any I might see?”

The old man adjusted his glasses. “Are you a collector?”

“No, I’m a travel writer. I was hoping you might know something about the necklace with the coin. It’s very unusual.”

“Yes, it is. But unfortunately, a buyer was here a few minutes ago and bought all I had left of my coins, including a copy of that very necklace. Lovely piece. However, if you’re interested, I have something similar in silver I could show you. Give me a minute.” Without waiting for an answer, the old man hobbled back behind the counter and a black curtain that separated the shop from a small office. A few minutes later, he returned with a slim brown leather box and placed it on the counter. “Here. Have a look.”

I dropped my backpack on the floor and looked closely at several pieces of gold and silver jewelry inside the box. All high-end costume pieces are designed for tourists, made from copies of old Roman coins, and crafted into rings and bracelets with matching earrings. But the most stunning of all was a solitary silver coin pendant necklace, very much like that on the poster. Other than being silver and much bigger than the coin I had found in Dede’s bag, it was an exact match. I picked up the pendant and held it in my hand.

“How much?”

“Twelve hundred US dollars.”

I handed the necklace back. “I’m afraid that’s too rich for my taste.”

“Too bad.” The old man held the necklace up to the light. “For a pretty lady, it would look very nice around your slim neck.”

I smiled and shook my head. Flattery wasn’t going to make a difference.

“Maybe if it were real, I might consider it.”

The old man placed the necklace back in the box and laughed. “If it was real, I could retire a wealthy man. Do you have any idea what this coin represents?”

I shook my head.

“The original coin was minted both in silver and gold. In silver, there are maybe a hundred such coins. But in gold, only three are known to exist. It’s called the Ides of March coin. You see the letters E.I.D. M.A.R.” The old man placed the pendant in the palm of his hand and pointed to the letters. The same letters I had seen on the coin hidden in Dede’s bag. “This coin was issued by Marcus Junius Brutus in 43… 42 BC. It’s called the Brutus Coin. On the reverse side are two daggers, and beneath them is what the Romans called a liberty cap, a hat Roman slaves wore to announce their freedom.” With his fingers shaking, he turned the coin over. “It commemorates the assassination of Caesar.”

The old man had my attention. If the gold coin hidden in Dede’s bag was real, it might explain why she had disappeared. I could ill-afford such a piece of costume jewelry, but I wanted to know more about the Ides of March Coin, and I wasn’t going to leave until I did.

“So, what might a gold EID MAR coin be worth if you were to find one?”

“I doubt there are any more. But if you were to find one, you’d be a fortunate lady.” The old man closed the box and hugged it to his chest. “Earlier this year, a gold EID MAR coin was sold at a London auction for more than four million dollars.”

Chapter Seven

Four-million dollars! I bid the shopkeeper goodbye and took the narrow stone steps outside the old fortress wall two at a time, following the view down the hill to the small fishing village of Marina di Corricella. After talking with the old shopkeeper, I couldn’t shake the thought of Dede or the gold coin I had found in her bag.

What woman in her right mind would hide a 4-million-dollar gold coin in her purse and leave it behind? And if Dede hadn’t been aware of the coin inside her bag or its value, then whoever had hidden the coin had to be looking for it—particularly if Dede hadn’t arrived in Naples. And if she wasn’t in Naples, then where was she? The bottom of the bay?

I paused when I got down the hill to catch my breath and take in the view. How could I be harboring such dark thoughts on such a beautiful day? I had no proof Dede had come to an uncertain end or if the coin I had found hidden in her bag was even real. Perhaps it was, as I initially thought, a lucky charm, a copy of the coin I had seen in the shop that Dede had hidden in her purse for good luck. My grandmother carried a silver dollar she had won at a bingo game in Las Vegas. The coin had been minted in 1902, the year of her birth, and although it wasn’t worth a lot, she believed it brought her good fortune. I didn’t know Dede. For all I knew, she might have done something similar.

“Ms. Lawson? Over here.”

I scanned the cove until I saw a short, thickset, balding man standing next to a blue umbrella table in front of a small seaside café. Seated at the table next to him was an equally round, very pale-skinned older woman wearing a large sun visor, her shocking white hair sticking out from the top like a bird’s nest. I recognized both as residents I had seen Byard helping to board the tender earlier that morning. With his hat in his hand, the man waved to me.

“Over here. Come, please.”

As I approached the table, the man extended his hand.

“Ms. Lawson, allow me to introduce myself. I am Herr Professor Braun, and this is my wife, Greta. We recognize you from the ship. “Please…” The professor gestured to an empty seat at the table. I noticed a gold signet ring on his pinky finger. “Join us. We’ve ordered a bottle of limoncello. It’s refreshing for a hot day.”

I dropped my backpack beside the empty chair and sat down. The Professor signaled the waiter to bring an additional glass while Greta, in a heavy German accent, explained that she and her husband Horst had the cabin across the hall from me on the ship.

“We are neighbors. I saw you at tea yesterday. I hope you are settled. Ja?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And you are an American journalist?”

“I am. I’m doing a story about Athena’s Seniors at Sea.”

The waiter arrived, placed an ice-chilled limoncello bottle on the table, and then filled our glasses.

The Professor waited until the glasses were full, then picked his up. “Prost.”