Chapter 1

This story takes place three weeks after “The Day Before The Day.”

-Queen, “Killer Queen”

The Sun shone through the open balcony doors into the bedroom of the castle. It cast it’s beam across the marbled floor, onto the Persian rug, across the king-sized bed, and onto the face of Contessa Helena de San Finzione. She opened one eye slightly and the light entered it as well.

Helena grumbled and turned over, burying her face in the shoulder of the man still sleeping next to her, inadvertently kicking his ... girlfriend? Wife? Hot chick that happened to be near him in the taverna at the time? Whoever she was, La Contessa had decided she wanted them both, and the locals had a saying whenever something went missing or someone attractive didn’t come home last night: “(He/She/It) will be back when La Contessa tires of them.”

The sound of approaching heels on marble killed any hope she had of getting back to sleep. She began to slide her way out of the satin sheets as the maid removed her shoes before treading on the Persian rug and kneeling at Helena’s bedside. She swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“Good morning, Contessa. Have your visitors satisfied you, or do you require service?”

The Countess smiled. “Your tongue can rest this morning, Maria. My guests were ... satisfactory. Have the gift baskets prepared. Not the best ones. Any word on the other matter?”

“Si, Contessa. Is why I come to wake you early, as you order. The man from la policia, he is waiting on phone.” The maid produced a cellphone from her cleavage and presented it for the Contessa. She took it and nodded, looking at the call time. The inspector had been on hold for four minutes.

Helena took a cigarette from a waiting pack on the nightstand and lit it. “Coffee, Greek; two croissants.” The maid nodded and rose to her feet, leaving to prepare the Contessa’s tray. Helena took a couple of drags from her cigarette and looked at the phone. She let the inspector wait on hold for another minute before pressing the button. “Speak.”

“Si, Contessa. They landed half an hour ago. I have verified that they are the couple in the photos. There were some questions with Customs, but the agent they spoke to confirmed that they answered his questions satisfactorily and their baggage was allowed through. They’re at the car rental kiosk now. I’ll have their plate number and photos of the vehicle sent to your local police once I can obtain the information.”

She took a fourth drag of the cigarette, tamping it out, and lighting another. “Send it to this number as well. And inform them the police not to approach them. Observe and report, only. What questions did Customs ask them?”

“The agent’s report did not say, and when I asked for details, all he said was that there were questions about the contents of a trunk they brought with them, but that all questions were answered satisfactorily and they were sent on their way.”

Helena reached for a silk nightgown and slipped it on. The same statement from before, reworded. She knew how they solved their Customs problem. “Good work, Inspector. Send that report, then return to your supervisor. He’s already approved the overtime.”

“Grazi, Contessa.”

She ended the call as the maid returned carrying a silver tray. Helena grabbed a still-warm croissant and a steaming demitasse cup from the tray and walked out onto the balcony, looking across the garden below. She sat down in front of a small table, set down her cup, and raised a finger. When she turned around, Maria was waiting with the tray and the other croissant.

“Wake them up and send them ... wherever they want to go,” Helena said, grabbing the other croissant. She took a bite of the first and turned back to look at the garden. As the maid turned to carry out her orders, Helena said to nobody “It’s going to be an interesting day.”

Troy Equals pulled over and checked the GPS on his phone. “What do they call a count or countess’ ... territory or fiefdom or whatever, anyway?”

“A county.” Julie Equals replied as she got out and checked the straps on the large steamer trunk tied to the roof of the car.

“Hmm, that seemed TOO obvious. I thought it’d be something like a ‘countancy’ or ‘countdom.’”

Julie got back in the car and turned on the MP3 player. Blondie’s Atomic came out of the stereo, and she turned the volume down to conversational levels. “Do you think she knows we’re here yet?”

“Don’t doubt it at all. In fact...” he said as he put the car in gear and pulled away, then started a fake maniacal laugh. “ ... I’m absolutely counting on it!”

Julie put on a pair of large sunglasses with red plastic frames, leaned the seat back, and produced a white sun hat. “I’m in favor of any plan that involves me wearing this hat. So, what’s the next part of the plan, Mr. Bond?”

Troy slipped into a bad Sean Connery impression. “Nexsht, we prosheed to the town and check into our hotel poshing as a newlywed couple.”

“Ooh, good,” Julie replied, laying back in the seat and smiling. “I’ve been practicing that one.”

Without looking away from the road, Troy put his hand on her knee and started creeping it up her thigh. “Of courshe, the shecret of a shuccesshful cover operation ish to maintain appearanshes even when you’re shertain you’re not being watched.”

As his hand disappeared up her skirt, Julie giggled out an “Oh, JAMES!”

Centuries ago, the late Count’s ancestors had used this room for plotting wars against their neighbors. Located in the center of the castle and made with thick stone walls, it doubled as a final fallback position if the castle were overrun and had a hidden passage to an escape tunnel. Helen always found it a good place to think, and she’d had it converted into a study.

A large TV on one wall played the video of Troy and Julie’s wedding three weeks ago. La Contessa sat in a Louis XIV chair with a cigarette in one hand and a remote control in the other, occasionally pausing the video to study some detail she’d noticed.