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karma wasn’t a choice but a spiritual destiny embedded in your being. He had a deep faith. Natalia? Perhaps like the Church’s selfless and solitary brides of Christ, she had pledged her life to a higher calling. But all she had guiding her was her vow to the state and a government-issued nine millimeter Glock.
    Natalia opened the shop door. A bell tinkled. The noise of the street diminished as she entered further. Mozart played softly on the sound system. Virginia Woolf, warming in the sun, lifted her feline self from the window display where she’d been snoozing and yawned as she stretched, seemingly doubling her length.
    “
Cara!
” Mariel abandoned her books and hurried over. “Come.”
    She swept Natalia back outside, put a closed sign in the window and locked the door. Arm in arm, they crossed the street to their favorite local café, where their usual waiter led them to their usual table. A plate of artichokes promptly appeared, along with a saucer of seasoned olive oil and a basket of warm bread. The waiter paused to flirt with Mariel before hurrying away.
    Men were easily smitten with Mariel, and she seemedserious about a few of them, but something always interfered. Inevitably her suitors would declare themselves. When she didn’t reciprocate, they grew discouraged and moved on. Perhaps the trauma of losing her parents so young prevented her from risking herself by investing them with her love. Instead, Mariel clung to her solitary routines. She hated any deviation, hated change.
    “So, what’s happening in law enforcement?” Mariel said.
    “You might have heard about it—the double murder?”
    “The curator at the Museo Archeologico and that gossip columnist?”
    “Yes.”
    Mariel held up a tabloid. Across the front: a large photograph of the two dead men on the sculpted horse. Directly beneath it: ASSASSINIO BRUTALE . And the subhead:
    “‘Murdered Gay Lovers Ride Bareback in the Garden of the Contessa Cavazza,’” she read.
    Natalia groaned. “Where could they have gotten that picture?”
    “Bribed the police photographer?”
    “Raffi? Never.”
    “Servants of the
contessa
? I mean, it’s all over the Internet, too. What a scene—and in the
contessa
’s serene garden.”
    “I’m sure she’ll be upset to find this splashed all over.” Natalia checked her watch. “We’d better enjoy our lunch while we can. I’ve been assigned a new partner.” Natalia sopped up some olive oil with a piece of bread.
    “So soon?”
    “A terrific young Sicilian woman from Palermo.”
    The waiter cleared the appetizer plates.
    “Another female on the force. That must be nice for you.”
    “Yes.” The waiter hovered. “I’ll have the
caprese
salad,” Natalia said.
    Mariel smiled at him. “Me, too.”
    “With beautiful mozzarella,” he said. “You won’t be sorry.”
    Natalia smiled. “Never been sorry in all the years we’ve been coming here.” He went to assemble their salads, her eyes following him. “Why are some men such sweethearts?”
    “They just are,” Mariel replied. “Oh, guess who’s back in town after a decade?”
    “I need a clue. Male or female?”
    “Female. Girl with the biggest hair in tenth grade?”
    “Suzanna Scavullo?”
    “Ruttollo—Suzanna Ruttollo. She’s using her maiden name again. According to Lola, she sounds British when she speaks in English.”
    Natalia cut into the creamy cheese and smeared it on a chunk of bread. “Remember when Ernesto Scavullo sent his limo to pick her up after school?”
    “Yeah. Sister Fiore nearly had a stroke.” Mariel squinted, thinking. “She married Ernesto when she was what, sixteen? Same year as Lola and Frankie got hitched.”
    “Talk about jealous. Lola had to keep house in that rented hovel, while Suzanna got to order around live-in maids in her mansion. How old was she when Scavullo kicked her out?”
    “Maybe twenty-five,” Mariel said. “She was like a crazy person, running down Tribunali screaming,