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“I do.”  
    “You should join us for the art center’s Dia de los Muertos celebration tomorrow night, then.”  
    “Grandma—” Beatrice tried to break in, but Isadora shot her a look.   No doubt, she had not missed Giovanni’s quiet examination of her granddaughter.  
    “I would love to, Señora.”   He smirked at Beatrice’s shocked expression and slight blush.   “But I don’t want to intrude on a family outing.”  
    “Nonsense!”   Her small hand fluttered like a butterfly in dismissal of his objections.   “It’s like a fair.   Everyone is welcome.   It’s been too long since I’ve had a handsome escort who enjoys art as much as I do.”   Her eyes twinkled at him and he smiled.  
    “Well then,” he replied, “how can I refuse?   But I insist you call me Giovanni, Señora De Novo.”   He was pleased the opportunity for further research had presented itself so conveniently.   “If I’m going to escort you for the evening, that is.”  
    “You must call me Isadora, then.”  
    “Oh brother,” Giovanni heard Beatrice mutter, as she shook her head.  
    “Are you from Houston originally?” Isadora asked.  
    He glanced with a smile from Beatrice to a Warhol painting on his left.   “I grew up primarily in Northern Italy, though my father traveled frequently for his work and I often went with him.   I moved to Houston three years ago,” he replied, turning to meet Isadora’s keen gaze.   They measured each other for a few moments in the bright light of the gallery.  
    “Grandma,” Beatrice broke in.   “We’ll be late for dinner if we don’t leave soon.”  
    Isadora’s gaze finally left Giovanni’s, and she smiled at her granddaughter.   “Of course.   It was such a pleasure meeting you.   The art center on Main Street tomorrow?   We’ll be there around seven o’clock.”  
    “I’ll look forward to it.   Such a pleasure to meet you, and to see you, Beatrice.”   He nodded at them and allowed his eyes to meet Beatrice’s dark brown ones.   They were narrowed in annoyance or amusement, he couldn’t quite tell, but he winked at her before she turned and led her grandmother toward the lobby.  
    He stayed at the museum until closing, planning his objectives for the following night.   He suspected Beatrice’s grandmother thought she was playing matchmaker between Beatrice and the handsome book-dealer.   He was more than happy to play along, as a grandmother would readily give information to a polite young man interested in her attractive granddaughter.
    She was also more likely to have information on her son and what he had been working on in Italy.   Beatrice had only been a child when her father was killed, but Isadora had not.  
    As he swam laps that evening, he thought about the girl.   She was far too young for him, even if he appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties.   Her behavior was a curious mix of innocence and wariness, and he wondered how much experience she had with men.   She kept to herself, but he had the distinct impression she was no wallflower.  
    Beatrice De Novo was intriguing, and he found her humor and intelligence far more compelling than the average college student.   He knew from her physical response to him that she found him attractive, and he was comfortable using that as he determined what she knew and how it could be of use in his own search.  
    “Caspar?” he called out when he returned to the house after his swim.  
    “Yes?” he replied from the library.  
    Giovanni walked upstairs and stood in the doorway.   Caspar had started another fire, and the familiar smell tickled his nose.   Doyle was curled up in his favorite chair; the cat looked up, blinked at Giovanni, and closed his eyes again.  
    “Any word back from Rome?”
    Caspar looked up from his book and shook his head.   “You know how slow Livia can be.   Added to that, she refuses electronic correspondence, even for her day