There is one other thing. On his suit—in his lapel on the left side—there was a small gold pin,” Laurel said excitedly. “I think I may have touched it when I turned after I bumped into him.”
Caterina sat up straighter. Her blue eyes opened wide as she exchanged a meaningful glance with Walter Mariotti. “Can you describe it?”
Laurel closed her eyes and concentrated on letting the image sharpen in her mind. “It was small, maybe half an inch wide, and shaped like a tiny shield, with a black cross and, I think, a scrolled banner with letters at the bottom.” Her eyes flew open and she stood up. “I can’t believe I remembered that. Do you think it means something?”
“ You may not know this, but Florence has a long tradition of societies and clubs. I myself belong to the Association of Renaissance Art Historians, as does Walter. Some of these groups are very old.” Caterina lifted her hands. “A few even date back as far the Renaissance. Many have emblems or crests to identify their members, like your Free Masons in the States. The pin you described, it could be from one of these organizations. It’s possible that your Jeff Sargasso belongs to of one of these clubs.”
“ Do you really think so? That would be …”
Caterina cut her off before she could finish. “Perhaps. But I have to warn you. Many of these Florentine clubs are populated with closed and secretive people.” She laughed derisively. “You know, a leftover from our Medici heritage.” Caterina shook her head of rich auburn hair from side to side. “If Sargasso is a member of such a group, his comrades will not appreciate a stranger prying into their affairs.” Signore Mariotti stood up and put his hand on Laurel’s shoulder. “Caterina is right. If we can identify the pin, we will have to be very careful about how we proceed with our inquiries.”
The atmosphere had become heavy and filled with a sense of foreboding. Caterina smiled reassuringly as if trying to lighten the mood. “Let me see what I can find out. Contrary to what Walter has told you,” she nodded her head toward her friend, “I don’t know every single person in the city. But I will speak to those I do know and we’ll see.”
Laurel took the woman’s hand. “Thank you for getting involved.” She noticed that the other woman’s eyes had become solemn. “I can’t tell you what it would mean if we found him.”
“ You should thank Walter.” Caterina gestured toward her old friend. “I still owe him a few favors, and it appears he thinks that it’s time I pay up.”
* * *
The bell over the door chimed again, signaling the departure of her visitors. Once more, Caterina sat behind her desk and reflected on what had just happened. My God, I wonder if Laurel realizes how dangerous the art world can be when theft and deceit are involved. She will need to be very careful in pursuing this.
Caterina instinctively believed that Laurel had actually seen the man she once knew as Jeff Sargasso in Florence. Her language, her account, and most of all, her eyes confirmed her certainty. Her description didn’t fit any art dealer Caterina could think of. Not at the moment, anyway.
She picked up a jewel-encrusted, golden letter opener shaped like a sword that had once belonged to Lorenzo di Medici and twirled it point to end between her index fingers. This Sargasso must be smart to be passing as a native Italian, especially if he were a member of one of the city’s exclusive clubs. They didn’t suffer fools or foreigners gladly. If he were working as an art dealer, he’d have had to invent a past that was believable and be able to back it up with impeccable credentials, in case anyone checked. You couldn’t just arrive in Florence and jump into the art world without anyone noticing—unless, of course, there were other forces at work.
Caterina placed the letter opener down and thought about the Medicis and the
Caterina sat up straighter. Her blue eyes opened wide as she exchanged a meaningful glance with Walter Mariotti. “Can you describe it?”
Laurel closed her eyes and concentrated on letting the image sharpen in her mind. “It was small, maybe half an inch wide, and shaped like a tiny shield, with a black cross and, I think, a scrolled banner with letters at the bottom.” Her eyes flew open and she stood up. “I can’t believe I remembered that. Do you think it means something?”
“ You may not know this, but Florence has a long tradition of societies and clubs. I myself belong to the Association of Renaissance Art Historians, as does Walter. Some of these groups are very old.” Caterina lifted her hands. “A few even date back as far the Renaissance. Many have emblems or crests to identify their members, like your Free Masons in the States. The pin you described, it could be from one of these organizations. It’s possible that your Jeff Sargasso belongs to of one of these clubs.”
“ Do you really think so? That would be …”
Caterina cut her off before she could finish. “Perhaps. But I have to warn you. Many of these Florentine clubs are populated with closed and secretive people.” She laughed derisively. “You know, a leftover from our Medici heritage.” Caterina shook her head of rich auburn hair from side to side. “If Sargasso is a member of such a group, his comrades will not appreciate a stranger prying into their affairs.” Signore Mariotti stood up and put his hand on Laurel’s shoulder. “Caterina is right. If we can identify the pin, we will have to be very careful about how we proceed with our inquiries.”
The atmosphere had become heavy and filled with a sense of foreboding. Caterina smiled reassuringly as if trying to lighten the mood. “Let me see what I can find out. Contrary to what Walter has told you,” she nodded her head toward her friend, “I don’t know every single person in the city. But I will speak to those I do know and we’ll see.”
Laurel took the woman’s hand. “Thank you for getting involved.” She noticed that the other woman’s eyes had become solemn. “I can’t tell you what it would mean if we found him.”
“ You should thank Walter.” Caterina gestured toward her old friend. “I still owe him a few favors, and it appears he thinks that it’s time I pay up.”
* * *
The bell over the door chimed again, signaling the departure of her visitors. Once more, Caterina sat behind her desk and reflected on what had just happened. My God, I wonder if Laurel realizes how dangerous the art world can be when theft and deceit are involved. She will need to be very careful in pursuing this.
Caterina instinctively believed that Laurel had actually seen the man she once knew as Jeff Sargasso in Florence. Her language, her account, and most of all, her eyes confirmed her certainty. Her description didn’t fit any art dealer Caterina could think of. Not at the moment, anyway.
She picked up a jewel-encrusted, golden letter opener shaped like a sword that had once belonged to Lorenzo di Medici and twirled it point to end between her index fingers. This Sargasso must be smart to be passing as a native Italian, especially if he were a member of one of the city’s exclusive clubs. They didn’t suffer fools or foreigners gladly. If he were working as an art dealer, he’d have had to invent a past that was believable and be able to back it up with impeccable credentials, in case anyone checked. You couldn’t just arrive in Florence and jump into the art world without anyone noticing—unless, of course, there were other forces at work.
Caterina placed the letter opener down and thought about the Medicis and the
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