Chapters 1-3: Meringues and Murder

Chapter 1

 

Emma Harper stepped off the bus. She pulled her long red hair to the side and her eyes widened as she took in the scene before her.

Venice!

Sunlight danced on the emerald waters of the Grand Canal casting a golden glow on the weathered facades of centuries-old buildings. Boats bobbed along the edge of the canal waiting to take visitors to the many sights.

She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes as she felt the glow of the afternoon sun on her face. "Daniel, pinch me. I can't believe we're actually here," she said, squeezing his hand.

He smiled, pulling her close, his blue eyes matching the summer blue sky. "No pinching necessary. But how about a kiss?"

She tipped her face to his, but as she did so, her stomach twisted in discomfort.

"Oh," she groaned. "Still not feeling great."

Daniel gave her a quick kiss on her cheek before he grabbed their suitcases. "That's no fun," he said as she looped her hand through the crook of his elbow. They wove through the throng of tourists and locals, the streets echoing with different languages. A group of pigeons took flight as they passed, startling Emma.

"Look at that!" She pointed to a nearby bridge, its graceful arch spanning the narrow waterway. "Is that the Rialto?"

Daniel shook his head. "I don't think so. There are hundreds of bridges in Venice. But I think we'll see the Rialto tomorrow, when we tour the city."

"I hope I'll feel better by then," Emma said shaking her head. It was wonderful to be on her dream vacation with her boyfriend, Daniel. But it was torture to be sick and unable to really enjoy it.

This vacation had been years in the planning, and for several months before they left their hometown of Whispering Pines, Minnesota, it had looked like they wouldn't be able to go at all. Daniel's department at the police station where he was a detective had come due for an inspection just as Emma had become tangled up in a murder mystery involving her bakery.

But they had done it! They had somehow managed to slip away for the entire summer! After several glorious weeks in Paris and southern France, they were finally in Venice- a city Emma had only ever dreamed of seeing. And if Paris hadn’t been exactly the vacation she’d been hoping for- given the murder to solve- Emma hoped that would all be behind them now and they could simply enjoy their time in Venice.

This was assuming whatever bug she'd caught would let her.

As they walked along one of the smaller canals, a gondolier called out to them. "Signore e signora! Gondola ride?"

Emma shook her head. "Not today, thank you."

The gondolier tipped his hat and smiled as they continued across a small bridge and along a narrow pedestrian-only street which Emma gathered, from the tiles with street names set into the buildings along the way, must be called calles in Italian.

Emma had her phone out, navigating toward their hotel as they walked, and her gaze darted from centuries-old buildings to the colorful flower boxes hanging from wrought-iron balconies.

"Oh, Daniel, look!" Emma exclaimed, pointing to a small bridge ahead. "I think that's the Bridge of Sighs."

As they approached, Emma admired the stone carvings on the passageway. "Can you imagine being a prisoner here in the Middle Ages? Seeing Venice for the last time through those tiny windows?"

Daniel shook his head. "It's hard to believe something so beautiful has such a morbid history."

They paused on the bridge, watching another gondola pass beneath them. The passengers, a young couple, were holding hands and smiled up at them.

Emma smiled and nudged Daniel with her shoulder. "I guess some things are universal, no matter where you are."

Her heart raced with excitement as she and Daniel approached the grand expanse of Piazza San Marco. The imposing facade of St. Mark's Basilica loomed before them, its Byzantine domes and intricate mosaics glittering in the late afternoon sun.

"It's even more beautiful than the pictures," Emma whispered, her eyes wide as she took in the ornate details of the cathedral's exterior.

Daniel nodded, his arm wrapped around her waist. "I can't wait to see the inside."

As they drew closer, Emma marveled at the elaborate golden mosaics on the arches above the entrance. The winged lion of St. Mark, symbol of Venice, gazed down at them from its perch on top of one of the cathedral's pillars.

A flock of pigeons scattered as they crossed the square, their wings fluttering against the backdrop of the basilica's marble columns. Emma inhaled deeply, savoring the mix of sea air and the faint scent of espresso.

"Look at those horses," Daniel pointed to the replicas of the famous bronze horses atop the loggia. "I think I read that the originals are inside the museum and were made in Greece around the 4th century BC."

Emma's gaze followed his gesture, then swept across the bustling piazza. Street vendors hawked their wares, tourists snapped photos, and the melodic strains of a violinist drifted through the air.

"And to think that back home, my bakery is considered old because it was built in 1915!"

They both laughed. As they circled the cathedral, Emma looked down at the intricate patterns of the marble floor beneath their feet. She paused, tracing a swirling design with the toe of her shoe.

"It's like walking through ancient history," she murmured.

Daniel squeezed her hand. "Speaking of history, want to check out the Doge's Palace next door?"

Emma nodded, but as they turned toward the palace, a wave of nausea washed over her. She gripped Daniel's arm for support.

"Em? You okay?"

She took a deep breath and forced a smile. "I'm sorry. Maybe we can do the Doge's Palace another day?"

They crossed the piazza and continued into a narrow side street- although the word street, Emma thought, implied cars. And there were certainly no cars here. The calle walkways were clearly built centuries before anyone dreamed of an automobile.

"Look at that!" She pointed to a nearby bridge where a street musician played his violin.

The scent of freshly baked bread and espresso wafted from a nearby café, and Emma's stomach growled, reminding her of her uneaten meal on the plane.

"We should grab a bite to eat soon," Daniel suggested, noticing her discomfort. "Maybe some authentic Italian pizza?"

Emma shook her head as another wave of nausea washed over her. "I'm really not feeling great."

Daniel's brow furrowed. "Could it be from that fish you had last night? You said it smelled a little off."

Emma sighed, remembering how she'd ignored her instincts and eaten the questionable meal anyway. "You're probably right. I don't know why I never trust myself. I figured it had to be fine. Your meal was great, right?"

Daniel nodded and Emma sighed.

"So I thought I must be imagining it." She put her hand back on her stomach and looked away as they passed a sidewalk cafe with aromatic pizzas. "Ok, definitely shouldn't have eaten the fish. I can't believe I'm in Italy and don't want to eat pizza!"

As they continued, Emma's excitement dampened by her growing queasiness. The charm of Venice's winding alleys and picturesque canals was still evident, but she found herself longing for nothing more than a comfortable bed and a glass of ginger ale.

She leaned against Daniel as they crossed another arched bridge, its weathered stone cool beneath her palm. The canal below shimmered in the early evening sunlight, a gondola gliding silently past.

"Look at how the gondolier stands," Emma said. "It's like he's part of the boat."

Daniel nodded, his arm tightening around her waist. "I've heard it takes years of practice to master that skill."

As they reached the other side of the bridge, a melodic voice drifted up from the water. The gondolier, wearing the traditional striped shirt and straw hat, was serenading his passengers with an Italian love song.

Emma closed her eyes and smiled. "I never thought I'd hear a real gondolier sing. This is magical. Even if I feel like I'm going to barf." She gave a sad snort that was half laughter, half desire to get something for her stomach.

They continued down a narrow street, their shoulders brushing the ancient brick walls. Wrought-iron lamps flickered on, casting a warm glow over the cobblestones, and the scent of jasmine wafted from a nearby window box.

The streets widened, opening into a bustling square lined with outdoor cafés. The sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and music filled the air as locals and tourists alike enjoyed aperitivo, an Italian pre-meal that involves drinking and eating before dinner to stimulate the appetite.

Daniel grinned. "Feeling up to it? Want to join the locals for a drink?"

Emma's stomach lurched at the thought. "Maybe tomorrow. I think I need to lie down for a bit."

Finally, as they rounded a corner, Emma looked up from the map on her phone and her face lit up. "There it is! Pasticceria Ricci."

The tiny bakery was visible along the narrow calle, its faded frescoes and bougainvillea-framed doorway exactly matching the photos they'd seen online. Emma managed a smile, mustering enthusiasm despite her discomfort.

"It's lovely," she said. "It's so cute that I was half expecting to find out they'd made up those photos online. But it's actually even more adorable in real life." She smiled at him.

Daniel pushed open the door, and several small bells tinkled overhead. The interior was a feast for the senses, with antique wooden shelves lined with colorful nougats, pastel meringues, and delicate pastries. Behind the worn marble counter stood a robust woman with salt-and-pepper curls tied back in a loose ponytail.

"Benvenuti!" the woman called out cheerfully. "Welcome to Pasticceria Ricci. How can I help you?"

Daniel stepped forward and dropped the suitcases he'd been carrying, his eyes roving over the display cases. "Everything looks amazing. I'll have a cannoli and an espresso, please."

Emma hung back, her stomach churning at the thought of food.

"And for you, cara?" The woman tipped her head as she looked Emma up and down. "You look a little pale. Perhaps some chamomile tea?"

Emma nodded. "That would be perfect, thank you."

"My name is Lucia. Anything I can get for you, you let me know."

As Lucia busied herself with their order,

 Daniel said, "Thank you, Lucia. I'm Daniel Lindberg, by the way, and this is Emma Harper."

Lucia's eyes lit up with recognition, her face breaking into a wide grin. "Ah! The American couple! I've been waiting for you all day!" She bustled around the counter wiping her flour-dusted hands on her colorful apron. "Welcome, welcome! I'm so pleased you're finally here. And you'll be here for two weeks! That's wonderful!"

Emma couldn't help but smile at Lucia's enthusiasm, despite her lingering nausea. The older woman's joy was infectious.

"We're so excited to be here," Emma managed. "Your bakery is even more beautiful than the pictures."

Lucia beamed at the compliment. "Grazie, cara. But you look tired from your journey. Let me show you to your room so you can rest." She turned to Daniel. "And you, young man, can help me with the luggage."

As they followed Lucia up a narrow staircase to the second floor, Emma felt relief wash over her. The thought of a comfortable bed and a quiet room was incredibly appealing.

Lucia chattered away as they climbed, her voice filled with warmth and excitement. "Two weeks! We'll have so much time together. And you are a baker, yes? I'll teach you all about Venetian pastries, Emma. And Daniel, I know all the best spots in the city for a romantic evening."

Emma glanced at Daniel, seeing her own mix of amusement and gratitude reflected in his eyes. They'd barely arrived, and already Lucia was treating them like family.

Lucia chatted about the bakery's history and the rooms they'd be staying in. Emma tried to focus on the conversation, but her discomfort was making it difficult to concentrate.

Finally, Lucia unlocked an ancient wooden door, revealing a cozy space with a twin bed, a small balcony overlooking a quiet canal, and a vase of small blue flowers beside the window.

"It's beautiful," Emma murmured, taking in the view of weathered buildings and a gondola gliding by.

Lucia beamed with pride. "Rest up, and when you're feeling better, I'll give you my favorite recommendations for dinner. There are so many places right here," she motioned out the window, "on this very street. And Daniel, your room is just across the hall." She showed him his door.

Emma smiled to herself, thinking the word "hall" was generous for the tiny space between her room and Daniel's.

Daniel dropped his bag in his room and returned to Emma's.

As the door closed behind Lucia, Emma sank onto the bed with a groan. "I'm so sorry, Daniel. I know you wanted to explore the city today."

Daniel sat beside her, rubbing her back gently. "Hey, don't worry about it. We have plenty of time. Why don't you get some rest? I'll go pick up some medicine and see if I can find ginger ale for you. Or maybe they’ll have ginger tea in the pharmacy."

Emma nodded, grateful for his understanding. As Daniel headed out, she curled up on the bed, listening to the distant sounds of Venice through the open window. Despite her illness, a smile tugged at her lips. They were in Venice, and soon enough, she'd be better, and able to embrace every moment of their romantic getaway.

 

Chapter 2

 

Emma awoke to the sound of church bells and the gentle lapping of water against the canal outside. She stretched, pleasantly surprised to find her nausea had subsided and wondered what had woken her.

Tap. Tap. It was Daniel tapping on her door.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, poking his head inside the room after she said, "Come in!"

"Much better," Emma said as she sat up in bed. "I think I might even be up for some breakfast."

They made their way downstairs to find Lucia already bustling about the bakery. The aroma of fresh bread and coffee filled the air.

"Ah, good morning!" Lucia called out. "You look much improved, Emma. Hungry?"

Emma nodded. "Starving, actually. Everything smells amazing."

As they settled at a small table, Daniel said, "We were hoping you might recommend a gondolier. We'd love to see Venice from the water."

Lucia's face lit up. "Oh, I know just the person! Valentina Rossi. She's one of the few female gondoliers in Venice. Smart as a whip and knows the city like the back of her hand."

"A female gondolier?" Emma perked up. "That's fantastic."

Lucia nodded. "She had to fight hard for her place. Let me give her a call."

As Lucia dialed, Emma and Daniel exchanged excited glances. Lucia's rapid-fire Italian filled the bakery as she chatted with Valentina.

"Perfect!" Lucia hung up the phone. "Valentina will meet you at the Ponte dei Sospiri dock in an hour. It's not far, I can draw you a map."

"Thank you so much, Lucia," Emma said. "We really appreciate your help."

Lucia waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense. Now, eat up! You'll need your strength for all the sightseeing."

As they finished their breakfast, Emma felt a surge of excitement. She was finally feeling well enough to truly experience Venice, and she couldn't wait to meet Valentina and see the city from a female gondolier's unique perspective.

Emma and Daniel strolled hand in hand along the cobblestone streets, following Lucia's hand-drawn map. As the Ponte dei Sospiri dock came into view, Emma spotted two figures, a man and a woman in traditional gondolier black and white striped shirts, standing near two sleek black gondolas.

"That must be her," Emma said.

As they approached, the young woman with olive skin and dark hair tied back in a neat bun waved at them. "Emma and Daniel?" she called out.

Emma nodded, smiling. "That's us. You must be Valentina."

"Welcome to Venice," Valentina said, her hazel eyes sparkling. She gestured to the man beside her. "This is my friend Giuseppe."

Giuseppe tipped his straw hat. "Ciao! Lovely to meet you both."

Emma couldn't help but notice how handsome Giuseppe was, with his tousled hair and charming smile. She glanced at Daniel, who was admiring the gondolas.

"Your boats are beautiful," Daniel said, and Giuseppe smiled. "Thank you! I inherited mine from my father, who inherited it from his father." He winked at Valentina. "Someday soon you will own yours as well."

Valentina raised an eyebrow as if she wasn't so sure.

"Three generations!" Daniel said. "That's impressive!"

"So, where are you from?" Giuseppe asked Emma.

"Minnesota," Emma replied. "It's quite different from Venice."

Giuseppe laughed. "I imagine so! No canals, eh?"

"Lots of lakes, and plenty of snow, but no canals," Emma agreed with a laugh.

Emma watched as Giuseppe's eyes lit up with curiosity. He leaned against the pole on the dock, his posture relaxed and inviting.

"Minnesota, eh? Tell me more about these lakes of yours," Giuseppe said, his accent adding a musical lilt to his words.

Emma smiled. "They're beautiful. We have thousands of them. In the summer, they're perfect for swimming and boating. In the winter, they freeze over and we go ice fishing and skating."

Giuseppe's eyebrows shot up. "Frozen lakes?" He laughed. "That's hard to imagine in Venice!"

"It's quite different," Emma agreed. "But I have to admit, these canals are truly magical. There's nothing like them back home."

Giuseppe nodded, then turned to Daniel. "What about you, my friend? Do you spend much time on these lakes? Fishing or rowing, perhaps?"

Daniel shook his head, a hint of regret in his voice. "Not nearly as much as I'd like. Work keeps me pretty busy most of the time."

"Ah, the curse of the modern world," Giuseppe said with a dramatic sigh. "What is it you do that keeps you from enjoying your beautiful lakes?"

"I'm a detective," Daniel replied.

Giuseppe's eyes widened with interest. "A detective? Like in the movies?"

Daniel chuckled. "Not quite as exciting, I'm afraid. Mostly paperwork and interviews. Whispering Pines isn't exactly a hotbed of crime."

"Whispering Pines?" Giuseppe repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "It sounds peaceful."

"It is," Emma chimed in, and then paused before she said, "Well, most of the time, anyway."

Giuseppe looked between them, a mischievous glint in his eye. "And yet you have a detective. Perhaps there are more secrets in Whispering Pines than meet the eye, no?” Giuseppe's grin spread from ear to ear. "Have you solved any murders?"

Daniel chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "A few, actually."

"You really have?” Valentina asked. “That's incredible!"

"Well, if you want to talk about solving murders," Daniel said, wrapping an arm around Emma's waist, "you should ask this one. She's cracked more cases than I have."

Emma felt her cheeks flush. "Daniel, please—"

"Is this true?" Giuseppe asked, his gaze darting between Emma and Daniel. "Are you both detectives?"

"No, no," Emma said, waving her hands. "I'm just a baker. Daniel's the real detective."

"A baker who solves murders?" Valentina said. "That’s a story I'd love to hear."

Emma laughed. "It's not as exciting as it sounds. I just... notice things sometimes."

"She's being modest," Daniel interjected. "Emma's solved three murders back home. She's got a knack for unraveling mysteries."

Giuseppe's expression turned thoughtful. "Three murders. A baker detective... That's quite unusual. Like Valentina. You are not the typical woman."

"I'm not a detective," Emma insisted. "I just help out where I can. Sometimes that means baking, sometimes it means... well, noticing things others might miss."

"Like following crumbs at a crime scene?" Giuseppe joked, earning a laugh from the group.

"She can piece together the ingredients of a mystery," Daniel said, squeezing Emma's shoulder. "That's for certain."

Emma rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Can we please talk about something else? We're on vacation. No mysteries, no murders, just gondolas and good food."

She noticed Giuseppe looking thoughtful again, almost as if he was studying her.

"Speaking of which," Valentina said, gesturing to the gondolas, "shall we begin our tour? I promise not to steer us into any crime scenes.

 Where would you two like to go today?"

Daniel looked at Emma, his eyebrows raised in question. Emma shrugged and said, "We want to see everything, really. It's our first time in Venice."

Valentina nodded, her eyes lighting up. "Of course, you are first timers! Well, there's certainly plenty to see. Any particular interests? Art, history, architecture?"

"All of the above," Emma replied, feeling a flutter of excitement despite the lingering fatigue from yesterday's bout of food poisoning. "We'd love to get a good overview of the city."

Daniel chimed in, "And maybe some insider tips on the best places to eat?"

Valentina laughed. "Of course! I know all the hidden gems. How about we do a full afternoon tour? We can cover the Grand Canal, see some of the major landmarks, and I can point out my favorite spots along the way.

"Perhaps you can end your day in the market at the Rialto Bridge," Giuseppe said. "You can do some shopping. It's amazing. You really must see it."

Again, Emma noticed his intense gaze. Was he trying to tell her something with that stare? Or just studying her? "That would be great," she said as she turned away. Perhaps he always looked at people like that.

Emma leaned into Daniel’s side as they discussed the details, and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Just a little tired still," Emma murmured back.

Valentina added, "We can take it easy then, take extra time just enjoying the view in the gondola if you need to rest. How does that sound?"

Emma nodded gratefully. "That would be perfect, thank you."

They agreed on a price for the tour, and Valentina gestured towards her gondola. "Shall we?"

As Emma stepped into the boat, she felt it sway under her feet. She settled onto the cushioned seat, determined to enjoy every moment of their Venetian adventure, even if she had to take it a bit slower than planned.

Before she got into the gondola, Valentina tugged on Giuseppe's sleeve, pulling him aside. Emma tried not to eavesdrop but couldn't help overhearing snippets of their hushed conversation.

"Giuseppe, please," Valentina whispered. "Don't do it. It's dangerous."

Giuseppe shook his head. "I'll be fine. Trust me."

"But what if-"

"Shh," Giuseppe cut her off, placing a finger on Valentina's lips and glancing quickly at Emma and Daniel. "Take your guests on their tour. I'll be all right. I promise."

Emma averted her gaze, pretending to be fascinated by a nearby building. Daniel, apparently oblivious to the exchange, was busy taking photos of the canal.

Valentina rejoined them, her smile back in place, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Ready for your tour?"

Emma nodded, trying to push away her curiosity about the whispered conversation. "Absolutely. We can't wait to see Venice from the water."

Emma leaned back in the gondola, feeling the gentle sway as Valentina guided them through the narrow canals. The sun warmed her face, and she took a deep breath, willing away the lingering queasiness in her stomach.

She watched in fascination as Valentina maneuvered the gondola with graceful precision. The young gondolier stood at the stern of the sleek black vessel. With one foot planted firmly on the small platform at the back, Valentina propelled the boat through the water.

Her long, single oar glided so gracefully through the water that it barely disturbed the surface. Valentina's hands gripped her wooden oar with practiced ease, twisting and angling it, alternating between forward strokes and backward ones, maintaining a smooth, steady rhythm.

"Tell me about your boat," Daniel said.

"I'm so glad you asked!" Valentina said. "The term has been in use since the 11th century! Although, I believe the original boats were Roman-made and quite a bit wider than our gondolas today. As you can see, we have no cars in this part of Venice- no roads either- only canals and walkways. So the gondola is how we move about the city. We use boats for everything in Venice- trash collection, grocery delivery, visiting our neighbors, and of course, seeing the beautiful city."

Emma smiled. "I could get used to this."

"Most gondolas are eleven meters long. I believe that’s about thirty-six feet, as you say in America. And they weigh nearly 360 kilos."

Daniel whistled. "I guess you're not portaging that!"

Valentina tipped her head. "What is portaging?"

While Daniel explained how people in the Great Lakes area carry their canoes between lakes by tipping them upside town and lifting them over their heads, Emma had her phone out capturing the beautiful rose and lemon-colored buildings and candy cane striped poles where people apparently tied their boats right at the doors of their houses. She marveled at the doors that opened right onto the water- “water doors,” Valentina called them.

Valentina shook her head and said, "No. We will not be portaging our gondolas. Also, there is no need, since the waterways are all connected!"

As they approached a low bridge, Valentina called out, "Abbassarsi!" Emma and Daniel ducked their heads instinctively as they glided under the bridge, though there was plenty of clearance. The gondola glided under the stone arch without missing a beat.

At a sharp turn in the canal, Valentina dipped the oar deep into the water on one side, using it as a pivot. Then with a swift, powerful motion, she swung the gondola around, narrowly missing the weathered brick walls on either side.

Emma let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding when the gondola missed the wall and marveled at how Valentina made it all look so effortless. The gondolier's eyes cheerfully scanned the water ahead, anticipating other boats and obstacles. When they encountered another boat in a particularly narrow passage, Valentina called out to the other gondolier in Italian. They executed a graceful pass, their boats sliding past each other with mere inches to spare.

As they emerged into a wider canal, Valentina's strokes became longer and more powerful. The gondola picked up speed, cutting through the water with barely a ripple.

"How long have you been a gondolier?" Emma asked, watching as they glided past weathered brick buildings with colorful window boxes.

Valentina smiled. "Five years now. It wasn't easy breaking into this profession as a woman."

Emma nodded. "I can imagine. I own a bakery back home, and sometimes I still get people surprised to see a woman running the business."

"A fellow entrepreneur!" Valentina's eyes lit up. "What kind of bakery?"

"It's called Northern Pines Bakery. We specialize in cinnamon rolls, homemade cookies, and pastries."

Daniel chimed in, "Her cinnamon rolls are to die for."

Emma felt a small wave of nausea at the thought of food but pushed it aside. "What made you want to become a gondolier?"

Valentina steered them around a corner, revealing a picturesque bridge arching over the canal. "I've always loved the water. My father was a fisherman, and I grew up on boats. In 2010 Venice got our first female gondolier, Giorgia Boscolo, and I knew that was what I wanted to do."

"That's amazing," Emma said, genuinely impressed. "Was your family supportive?"

Valentina laughed. "Not at first. My brothers, and half the city, thought I was crazy. But I'm stubborn."

"I know that feeling," Emma grinned, then quickly covered her mouth as another wave of queasiness hit.

Daniel squeezed her hand. "You okay, honey?"

Emma nodded, forcing a smile. "Just admiring the view."

Valentina pointed to a grand building ahead. "That's the Doge's Palace. It was the residence of the Doge of Venice, the supreme authority of the former Republic."

As they approached, Emma marveled at the intricate Gothic architecture. "It's breathtaking," she said.

"How about you?" Valentina asked. "What challenges did you face starting your bakery?"

Emma thought for a moment. "Well, there was the usual stuff - securing loans, finding the right location. But the biggest challenge was probably proving myself in a small town where everyone knew each other, and I was the outsider."

Valentina nodded knowingly. "I understand that. It's not easy being the newcomer, especially when you're trying to do something different."

"Exactly," Emma agreed. "But it's worth it, isn't it? To follow your passion?"

"Absolutely," Valentina said, her smile genuine as she looked across the water. "Even on the toughest days, I wouldn't trade this for anything."

For a second, Emma thought Valentina looked sad. Or was it worried? Then the look was gone, and Valentina pointed out a small landing spot. "My favorite gelateria is just up that calle," she said with a smile, and Emma was sure the unhappy expression had been only her imagination. 

As they drifted under another bridge, Emma felt proud of Valentina. Despite their different backgrounds, and growing up on different sides of the globe, they shared the experience of carving out their own paths in male-dominated fields.

 

They stopped, and Emma's head swam as she stepped off Valentina's gondola near the bustling Rialto Bridge. The market's vibrant colors and cacophony of voices overwhelmed her senses. Daniel steadied her with a gentle hand on her back.

"You sure you're up for this?" he asked.

Emma nodded. "It's the last stop of the day. I'll be fine. Let's explore."

They wove through the crowd, past stalls brimming with fresh produce, fish, cheeses, wines, aromatic spices, and glittering Venetian masks. Sellers shouted, tourists and locals filled the market, and birds swooped down trying to snatch fish from the stalls.

As they stepped into the open-air market admiring a display of fresh peaches, a booming voice startled them.

"Well, I'll be! Fellow Americans!"

They turned to see a portly man in a garish Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, his thinning gray hair barely contained under a "I ‘HEART’ Venice" cap.

"Bob Thompson, from Ohio," he announced, thrusting out his hand. "First time in Venice. Ain't it something?"

Daniel shook Bob's hand. "Daniel Lindberg, and this is Emma Harper. We're from Minnesota."

"Minnesota! Land of 10,000 lakes. Did you know Venice has 150 canals and 400 bridges? Fascinating stuff!"

Emma smiled and nodded at the American before she asked how much the peaches were. She pulled out her purse to pay for them as the woman behind the stall placed several peaches into a bag for her.

"Have you ever been anyplace like this?" Bob asked in a voice so loud that Emma winced. Without waiting for an answer, Bob said, "Of course not! Because there is no place else like Venice!"

Emma smiled weakly. The heat and fish smells were getting to her and her head was spinning.

As she and Daniel walked along the sidewalk, Bob followed, chatting nonstop. Emma stopped at a small display of Venetian glass. She set down her bag of peaches to steady herself against the glass shop's table.

Bob was saying something about Venetian history, his fanny pack bouncing as he gesticulated wildly. Emma nodded politely, barely registering his words.

"Well, I'm off to explore the calles. That means streets in Venetian!" Bob waved a hefty hand and grinned as he turned and headed down the steps of the bridge.

Emma waved Bob a weak farewell."

"Are you sure you're ok?" Daniel pulled her into a hug and Emma closed her eyes, her head resting against his chest. "I'll be fine. I'm glad this is our last stop. Let's find Valentina." She grabbed her bag, and they headed back to Valentina's gondola.

As they settled into the boat, Emma realized there had been a mistake. The bag that should have held several peaches felt lighter, and when she looked inside, the peaches she'd bought were missing. There were only a couple of books and a water bottle in this bag.

"Oh no," she groaned. "I grabbed the wrong bag at the glass shop."

Daniel frowned. "Should we go back?"

Emma shook her head, fatigue washing over her. "I'm beat. It was just peaches. We can get more another time. Let's head back to the hotel. I'll look through the bag when we get there and see if I can find the owner's information."

They glided in silence back through the canals to the bakery and hotel. Emma closed her eyes and wished, once again, that she'd trusted her instincts and not eaten the fish at that little place in Vicenza.

Valentina steered the gondola to the small dock behind Pasticceria Ricci. As they approached, Emma felt a wave of relief wash over her. The queasiness that had plagued her all day seemed to intensify with each passing moment.

"Here we are," Valentina announced, her voice tinged with concern. "Let me help you, Emma."

Emma nodded gratefully as Valentina steadied the boat against the dock. With surprising strength, the gondolier grasped Emma's arm and guided her onto solid ground. Emma's legs wobbled slightly as she found her footing.

"Grazie, Valentina," Emma managed, forcing a smile.

Daniel hopped onto the dock, the bag clutched in his hand. "Thanks for everything, Valentina. It was a great tour."

Valentina's eyes darted between them, a flicker of worry crossing her face. "Are you sure you'll be alright, Emma? There is a pharmacy up the canal. Perhaps I should-"

"We'll be fine," Daniel interjected, wrapping an arm around Emma's waist. "Nothing a good night's rest won't fix."

Emma leaned into Daniel's support, grateful for his steadying presence. She waved weakly to Valentina as Daniel guided her towards the bakery's back door.

The ancient wooden door creaked open, revealing the cozy interior of Pasticceria Ricci. The familiar scent of sugar and butter enveloped them, momentarily distracting Emma from her discomfort. The smells of a bakery reminded her of home, and she would have given almost anything to be in her own bed right then.

"Come on," Daniel urged gently, leading her through the kitchen. "Let's get you upstairs."

They hurried past gleaming copper pots and marble countertops dusted with flour. Emma caught a glimpse of Lucia's concerned face as they passed, but she didn't have the energy to stop and explain.

The narrow staircase seemed to stretch endlessly before her. Emma gripped the railing, her knuckles white as she took each step deliberately. Daniel hovered close behind, the bag clutched in one hand, ready to catch her if she faltered.

When reached the second floor, Emma fumbled with her room key, her hands shaking slightly. Daniel gently took it from her and unlocked the door, ushering her inside.

"I'll be fine," Emma said. "I just need to sleep."

"You sure?"

Emma nodded. "Positive."

As Daniel left, Emma collapsed onto the bed. It had been a wonderful day. Truly. the nausea was something every traveler dealt with at some point. She closed her eyes and rested.

Sometime later, Emma awoke, still fully clothed, lying on the bedspread. She sat up and blinked in the darkness.

The bag sat beside her. She dumped out the contents: a tourist guidebook of Venice, a water bottle, and a worn leather-bound notebook.

Hoping to find the owner's information, she flipped open the notebook. To her surprise, pages of handwritten recipes filled its interior, and at first she was delighted. Were these traditional Venetian recipes? What a rare find this might be! But as she scanned them, her brow furrowed in confusion. They were in English, not Italian. And they were not actually recipes for anything Emma would ever want to make.

Daniel knocked on her door and she called for him to come in.

"Want me to get you something for dinner?"

She smiled at him. "I'm feeling a bit better, but no. Thank you." Motioning to the notebook, she said, "This notebook that was in that bag. It's full of…" she flipped the pages, "the weirdest recipes I've ever seen."

Daniel peered over her shoulder. "Maybe you're just too tired to make sense of it."

Emma yawned. "You're probably right. I should get ready for bed and sleep for real. Although a short nap was lovely."

"You are lovely," Daniel said. "And Definitely," he agreed, gently taking the notebook from her hands. "We'll figure it out later. For now, travel exhaustion and food poisoning are combining to wipe you out. You need sleep."

Emma wanted to protest, her mind was floating with questions about the strange recipes and how to get the notebook back to its owner. But despite her nap, exhaustion won out, and she nodded reluctantly.

"Okay," she conceded as Daniel tiptoed out and shut the door. "But tomorrow we should try to get this back to its owner."

 

Chapter 3

 

Emma stirred her cappuccino, watching the foam swirl. The notebook lay on the table between her and Daniel, its worn leather cover dark against the crisp white tablecloth.

"I've looked through it twice," she said. "No name, no address, nothing. Just weird recipes, some numbers- maybe European phone numbers? - written at the bottom of each page. And on the last page, there's a graph, kind of like the ones we used to make in geometry class in high school."

Daniel took a bite of his cornetto. "If you think it's valuable, maybe we should turn it in to the police."

Emma shook her head. "I don't think it's valuable, really. But it feels… important. Like whoever lost it must surely want it back. I mean, who would go to the bother of writing all those odd recipes? I'd like to find the owner myself. If only to ask about the recipes."

The bell above the pasticceria's door chimed as a group of tourists entered, their excited chatter filling the room. Lucia bustled over to greet them, her spotless apron swaying.

"Buongiorno! Welcome, welcome. What can I get you?"

Emma watched as the tourists pointed at the display case, oohing and aahing over the colorful array of pastries.

"Those recipes," she lowered her voice, leaning towards Daniel. "They're not normal recipes. The ingredients, the instructions... it's just… weird."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Weird how? What do you mean?"

Before Emma could answer, a local woman in a tailored suit swept in, calling out loudly to Lucia. "The usual, per favore!"

Lucia nodded, already reaching for an espresso cup. "Coming right up, Signora Bianchi!"

Emma shrugged. "I think we should ask Valentina to take us back to the Rialto Bridge. Maybe we can find the owner there."

Daniel hesitated. "Are you sure you're up for it? You were pretty wiped out yesterday."

"I'm feeling much better," Emma insisted. She glanced out the window, where sunlight streamed through the vibrant bougainvillea framing the view. "It's too beautiful a day to waste," she said with a smile.

Lucia approached their table, wiping her hands on her apron. "Everything okay, my dears?"

Emma nodded. "It's perfect, Lucia. But we were wondering if you could call Valentina for us again. We need to go back to the Rialto Bridge."

Lucia's eyes twinkled. "Of course! Isn't the market amazing? Let me get my phone." She paused, looking at the notebook. "What's that you've got there? A recipe book?"

Emma hesitated. "Actually, Lucia, maybe you might take a look at it. It's full of recipes, but... well, they don't quite make sense to me."

Emma watched as Lucia flipped through the notebook, her brow furrowing as she scanned the pages. The bakery hummed with activity around them, but Emma was waiting for Lucia's reaction.

"Hmm," Lucia muttered, pausing to read a particular page more closely. She shook her head, salt-and-pepper curls bouncing. "You're right, cara. These aren't proper recipes at all."

Emma leaned forward. "What do you think they are? Fish and vanilla in the same recipe? And look at this one." Emma flipped a few pages. "Roll the butter in dough and bring it to the books. What on earth?"

Lucia shrugged, her flour-dusted hands leaving faint marks on the leather cover as she closed the notebook. "Could be a child's game, perhaps? Or someone pretending to write recipes without knowing how." She handed the notebook back to Emma. "It certainly makes not much sense to me."

Emma took the notebook. "Well, thank you for looking," she said, tucking the notebook into her bag.

Lucia patted Emma's hand. "Of course, dear. Now, let me call Valentina for you. I'm sure she'd be happy to take you back to the Rialto Bridge."

As Lucia bustled off to make the call, Emma turned to Daniel. "What do you think? Should we still try to find the owner?"

Daniel nodded, finishing the last bite of his cornetto. "It can't hurt to look. And if nothing else, it'll be another chance to explore the city."

Emma smiled, feeling a surge of affection for Daniel's support. She was grateful he didn't dismiss her curiosity about the notebook, even if it was a trivial mystery. It was one of the things she loved about him. He supported her in whatever hair-brained idea she had. She couldn't imagine her life without him.

Emma set the bag with the leather-bound notebook between her feet as Valentina's gondola glided through the narrow canals. The gentle lapping of water against stone echoed off the weathered buildings, their pastel facades reflected in the deep green of the canal.

"There it is," Emma pointed as the Rialto Bridge came into view. "Can you drop us off near that glass shop?"

Valentina nodded, expertly maneuvering the gondola to a nearby dock. As they disembarked, Emma noticed the gondolier's furrowed brow.

"Everything okay, Valentina?" she asked.

Valentina forced a smile. "Just worried about Giuseppe. He didn't show up for work this morning."

Emma gave the gondolier a concerned look. "I hope he's ok."

Valentina nodded. "He's probably home sick. But I wish he would answer my calls."

"Being sick is the worst," Emma said with true empathy. "I hope he gets better soon."

At the glass shop where she'd accidentally picked up the bag, Emma approached the counter. A middle-aged woman was arranging delicate figurines.

"Excuse me," Emma began, "I was here yesterday afternoon, and accidentally took the wrong bag. I'm trying to find the owner of the notebook that was inside." She held up the bag. "Has anyone come asking for it?"

The woman shook her head with a frown. "No, signora. No one has asked about a notebook."

Emma pulled it out and showed it to the woman. "Is it yours, by any chance?"

The woman shook her head. "Not mine."

Emma's shoulders slumped. "Thank you anyway."

They tried the fish market next, weaving through crowds of shoppers examining glistening displays of seafood. The air was thick with the briny scent of the sea and the shouts of vendors.

"Any luck?" Daniel asked as Emma returned from questioning a burly fishmonger.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Let's try the produce market."

But as before, among the colorful stalls piled high with fruits and vegetables, no one recognized the notebook or knew of anyone searching for it.

Emma sighed, leaning against a stone pillar. "I really thought we'd find the owner. It's such a cool notebook, bound in leather, and the contents are so… interesting. I figured someone would be looking for it."

Daniel squeezed her shoulder. "You tried your best. Maybe we can turn it in to the police later. Although I think Lucia's probably right. It was someone doodling, having fun making things up. Probably a child's book to keep them busy on a family vacation."

Emma nodded as they made their way back to Valentina. "I guess you're right. It's just a notebook. And I'm just a baker interested in crazy recipes. I don't think it's worth bothering the police. I'm sure they have more important things to take care of than some tourist's notebook."

Valentina hurried toward them, her phone in hand. "I hate to cut this short, but I'm going to head to Murano to check on Giuseppe. He is still not answering, and his neighbor has also not seen him last night or today. I'm getting worried."

Emma perked up. "Murano? Isn't that where the famous glass blowers are?"

Valentina nodded. "Yes, it's beautiful. I could take you there by vaporetto if you'd like. My boyfriend works at one of the workshops. You can have a look around while I check on Giuseppe."

"Vaporetto?" Daniel asked, his brow furrowed.

"It's like a water bus," Valentina explained. "Much faster than a gondola for longer trips."

Emma and Daniel exchanged smiles. "That sounds great," Emma said. "We'd love to see the glass blowers."

They made their way to the nearest vaporetto stop, a wooden platform jutting out into the canal. A small crowd had already gathered, a mix of locals and tourists chattering in various languages. Emma clutched her bag with the mysterious notebook to her chest and remembered the conversation she'd overheard yesterday as they were waiting for another boat ride- their first ride in Valentina's gondola. Valentina had asked Giuseppe not to do something, and he had assured her he would be fine.

Was his absence today connected to the conversation yesterday?

The platform swayed gently under her feet as they waited. Emma leaned against the railing, watching the sparkle of sunlight on the water, and tried not to think about Giuseppe being in any sort of trouble. This was, as Daniel had said, a vacation.  She turned as she heard the low rumble of an approaching engine from a distance.

"Here it comes," Valentina said, pointing to a sleek white vessel rounding the bend.

The vaporetto was larger than Emma had imagined, but it cut through the water with surprising grace. Its wake sent small waves lapping against the dock. As it drew closer, Emma could make out the passengers inside, some seated, others standing near the exits.

The boat slowed, maneuvering alongside the platform with practiced ease. A deckhand tossed a rope to secure it, and the doors slid open. A flood of passengers disembarked, creating a momentary crush of bodies.

"Ready?" Daniel asked, placing a hand on Emma's back.

They joined the line of people waiting to board. Emma felt the gentle push of bodies as they shuffled forward. The interior of the vaporetto was utilitarian but clean, with rows of plastic seats and large windows offering panoramic views of the canal.

Emma, Daniel, and Valentina found seats near the back, settling in as the last passengers boarded. With a low rumble, the vaporetto pulled away from the dock, Venice's ancient buildings sliding past as they set off across open water towards the nearby island of Murano.

Emma's eyes widened as Murano came into view. The island's skyline, dotted with church spires and colorful buildings, reflected in the shimmering water. As they neared the dock, she spotted rows of shops with glittering displays in their windows.

"Oh. It's beautiful," Emma breathed, leaning towards Daniel.

He nodded, squeezing her hand. "Like a postcard come to life."

The vaporetto bumped gently against the dock. Emma followed Valentina and Daniel off the boat, her legs wobbling slightly as she walked the last few feet off the boat.

"Marco's workshop is just down this way," Valentina said, gesturing down a narrow street lined with shops.

As they walked, Emma's gaze darted from window to window, each one filled with dazzling glass creations. Delicate flowers, vibrant vases, and intricate figurines caught the sunlight, casting rainbow reflections on the cobblestones.

"Look at that!" Emma tugged on Daniel's sleeve, pointing to a massive chandelier hanging in one shop window. Its crystal drops sparkled like a frozen waterfall.

"Incredible," Daniel murmured. "I can't imagine how long that must have taken to make."

They rounded a corner, and Valentina led them to a weathered wooden door. A small sign above read "Fornace della Fenice" in elegant script.

"It means Furnace of the Phoenix" Valentina said as she pushed the door open. When they stepped inside, she called out, "Marco? Are you here?"

A tall man with tousled black hair emerged from the back, wiping his hands on a cloth. His face lit up when he saw Valentina.

"Val! I wasn't expecting you today." He gave her a quick kiss, then turned to Emma and Daniel. "And who are your friends?"

"This is Emma and Daniel," Valentina said. "They're visiting from America. I thought they might like to see a real Murano glass workshop."

Marco's green eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Welcome! I'd be happy to show you around." He glanced at Valentina. "Everything okay? You look worried."

Valentina bit her lip. "I need to check on Giuseppe. He didn't show up for work, and I can't reach him. Would you mind giving Emma and Daniel the tour while I go to his place?"

Marco nodded, his expression turning serious. "Of course. Let me know if you need anything." He stepped toward her and more quietly said, "Be careful."

As Valentina hurried out, Marco turned to Emma and Daniel. "Shall we begin the tour? I was just about to start a new piece."

Emma's eyes widened as Marco led them into the heart of his workshop. The heat hit her like a wall, and she felt beads of sweat form on her forehead. The air shimmered with an intense, dry warmth that made her throat feel parched.

"This is where the magic happens," Marco said, gesturing to the glowing furnaces. "We keep these burning at around 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit."

Emma watched, mesmerized, as Marco gathered a glob of molten glass on the end of a long metal pipe. The glass glowed a brilliant orange, reminding her of the embers of a dying fire.

"Murano has been famous for glassmaking since the 13th century," Marco explained as he rolled the pipe, shaping the glass. "The Venetian government moved all the glassmakers here to protect the secrets of our trade."

He dipped the glowing mass into a container of colored glass chips, then returned it to the furnace. Emma caught a whiff of something acrid and metallic as Marco worked.

"Those are metal oxides," he said, noticing her wrinkled nose. "They give the glass its color."

Emma's gaze wandered to the shelves lining the walls. Delicate vases in swirling patterns of blue and green stood next to abstract sculptures that seemed to defy gravity. A collection of tiny glass animals caught her eye - each one perfectly formed, from the curve of a dolphin's tail to the proud stance of a miniature lion.

"This piece will be a vase," Marco said, bringing her attention back to his work. He blew gently into the pipe, and Emma watched in awe as the glass expanded like a balloon.

Using tools that looked like giant tweezers and scissors, Marco shaped the vase, his movements fluid and precise. The glass shifted from orange to a deep, rich red as it cooled.

"The color will deepen even more as it cools completely," he explained.

Emma felt a tug of inspiration as she watched Marco work. The artistry, the history, the sheer skill involved - it reminded her of her own passion for baking. Different mediums, but the same devotion to craft.

Emma was transfixed as Marco continued to shape the vase. His hands moved with practiced grace, coaxing the molten glass into a swirling circle of color. The deep red glass twisted and turned, creating patterns that reminded Emma of autumn leaves caught in a whirlpool.

Daniel leaned in close, his eyes wide with wonder. "It's like he's painting with fire," he whispered to Emma.

She nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from Marco's work. The heat from the furnace made her skin prickle, but she barely noticed, too engrossed in the artistry unfolding before her.

As Marco put the finishing touches on the vase, he glanced up at them with a smile. "Now, let me show you where we display our finished pieces."

He led them to the front of the Fornace della Fenice, where a three-story shop showcased an array of breathtaking glasswork. Emma's jaw dropped as they entered the space. Sunlight streamed through large windows, making the glass creations sparkle and dance.

"This is incredible," Emma breathed, her eyes darting from one piece to another.

They walked slowly among the displays, admiring the intricate details of each creation. A glass saxophone caught Emma's eye, its brass color so realistic she almost expected to hear music when she looked at it.

"That piece is meant to represent music," Marco explained, noticing her interest. "The way the light plays off the curves is meant to mimic the flow of a melody."

As they moved through the shop, Emma spotted a collection of vases like the one Marco had been making. Each one was unique, with swirling patterns in various shades of red, blue, and green.

Daniel asked Marco how he learned to create art from glass.

Emma listened as Marco began to share his journey into the world of glassblowing. His green eyes sparkled with passion as he spoke, reminding her of the way she felt when talking about her own bakery.

"I grew up here on Murano," Marco began, his voice warm with nostalgia. "As a child, I'd spend hours watching the maestros work through the windows of their workshops. It was like magic to me."

Emma nodded, understanding the allure of watching skilled artisans at work. She thought of her own childhood fascination with watching bakers create intricate pastries.

Marco continued, "When I was fourteen, my uncle offered me an apprenticeship at his workshop. I jumped at the chance." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Those first few years were tough. I burned myself more times than I can count, and I broke so many pieces I thought I'd never get it right."

Emma winced sympathetically, remembering her own early struggles with baking. "But you didn't give up," she said, admiration clear in her voice.

"No, I didn't," Marco agreed. "There's something about working with glass that gets under your skin. The way it moves, how it responds to heat and breath - it's alive in a way that's hard to describe."

He led them to a display case filled with intricate figurines. "These were some of my first successful pieces," he said, pointing to a collection of small animals. "I spent months perfecting the technique to make them."

Emma leaned in, marveling at the delicate details of a tiny glass elephant. Its trunk was curled upward, and she could almost see the wrinkles in its skin.

"As I got better, I started experimenting with different techniques and colors," Marco explained. "I traveled to other parts of Italy and even to Germany to learn from different masters. Each place had its own unique style and methods."

Emma noticed the way Marco's hands moved as he spoke, as if he were shaping invisible glass in the air. It reminded her of the way she often found herself mimicking kneading motions when talking about bread.

"Now," Marco said, his voice filled with pride, "I have my own workshop, and I get to create pieces that are shipped all over the world. But more importantly, I get to keep this ancient tradition alive and pass it on to the next generation."

Emma was about to ask Marco about his favorite piece when the shop's door burst open. Valentina rushed in, her face pale and eyes wide with shock.

"Marco," she gasped, her voice trembling. "It's Giuseppe. He's... he's dead."

The room fell silent as Marco rushed forward, gripping Valentina's shoulders. "What? How?"

Valentina shook her head. "They found him here in Murano, in the canal by his house this morning. I don't know what happened. The police are everywhere. They won't let me into his house."

Emma exchanged a worried glance with Daniel. She remembered again the whispered conversation between Valentina and Giuseppe at the dock and Giuseppe assuring Valentina he'd be fine. Clearly, he wasn't.

Marco pulled Valentina into a tight embrace. "Oh my dear, I'm so sorry," he murmured.

Emma felt like an intruder on their grief. She cleared her throat softly. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Valentina pulled away from Marco, wiping her eyes. "No, I... I don't think so. I just needed to tell Marco. The police want to speak with me." She looked up at Marco. "You can come with me?"

"Of course," he whispered. "Of course."

Emma and Daniel stepped toward the door. "We can leave. You'll need some time alone."

Marco nodded. "I need to close up the shop and go with Valentina to speak with the police. You can take the vaporetto back to Venice? You know the way?"

"Yes, of course," Daniel said. "Is there anything we can get for you, Valentina? Do you need a drink, or anything?"

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears again.

As Marco moved to lock the front door, Emma remembered Giuseppe's cheerful smile, his kind eyes. What, she wondered, had Valentina warned him against doing?

"Valentina," Emma said gently, "I'm so sorry about Giuseppe. He seemed like a wonderful person."

Valentina nodded, her tears spilling down her cheeks. "He was. I can't believe..." She trailed off, her gaze darting to Marco.

Emma noticed the silent exchange between them, a flicker of something more than grief passing between their eyes. She wanted to ask more, to understand what was really going on, but she held back. This wasn't the time or place.

Emma watched as Marco held Valentina as they walked together up the canal into the heart of Murano.

Emma and Daniel slowly made their way back through the narrow streets of Murano, passing colorful glass shops now dulled by the somber mood. As they approached the dock for the water taxi, Emma's eyes were drawn to a commotion up the street. A group of police officers huddled together, their voices low and urgent.

"Look," Emma nudged Daniel, pointing discreetly. "There's Valentina and Marco."

The young Italian couple walked toward the gathered officers, their faces etched with worry. Emma felt a pang of sympathy, mixed with an unsettling sense of unease.

"I was hoping for a vacation without any murders," Emma sighed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Daniel squeezed her hand. "We don't know that it was a murder, Emma. Let's not jump to conclusions."

Emma bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "But he was found dead in a canal. And also, there's something I overheard. When we first met Valentina, while you were taking pictures in the gondola, I overheard her talking to Giuseppe. She told him not to do something, that it was too dangerous."

Daniel's brow furrowed. "That doesn't sound good." He looked back up the street to the group of police. "What do you think she was referring to?"

"I don't know, but I'm afraid she might have been right. About whatever it was." Emma's stomach churned, and not from the lingering effects of her food poisoning.

As they stepped onto the dock, the vaporetto glided into view, its engine humming softly against the lapping waves. Emma cast one last glance at Valentina and Marco, now speaking with the police. Valentina was shaking her head vehemently, her long hair blowing in the breeze.

The weight of the young man's death sat heavy in Emma’s chest as they boarded the vaporetto. As the boat pulled away from Murano, she watched the famous island shrink in the distance, her mind swirling with questions.