“There’s something about the father.  He was killed ten years ago in Italy.”

Caspar frowned as he remembered the familiar light he’d seen in Giovanni’s eyes.  He hadn’t seen that light for almost five years.  Part of him had hoped to never see it again.

“What are you up to, Gio?” he muttered as he stared out the open window.

The gentle dissonance of the piano was unexpectedly disturbing to the man as he sat in his favorite chair.  A breeze came through the window, carrying the earthy smell of coming rain to his nose.  Caspar stood, walked to the window, and shut it just before fat drops began to fall.

Chapter Two

Houston, Texas

September 2003

“Grandma!  I’m going to be late for class.”

“One more shot, Mariposa, just let me…there.  All done.  The light was exactly right on that one.”

Isadora Alvarez De Novo set down the camera and smiled.  Beatrice stood up from the small table near the windows and plucked her bag from the floor.

“Are you painting this afternoon?” she asked as she bent to kiss her grandmother’s wrinkled cheek.

“Yes, yes.  I’ll be in the studio all day.  Will you be home for dinner?”

“Nope.  Wednesday, remember?  Night hours.”

“Oh, of course, handsome professor day!”

She snorted.  “He’s not a professor, Grandma.  He just has a doctorate and does research at the library.  I’m not sure what he is, to be honest.”

“Besides tall, dark, and handsome?”

Beatrice rolled her eyes.  “You mean fastidious, formal, and silent?”

“Oh, you say that, but he’s probably just shy.  Maybe it’s because he’s European.”

Beatrice shook her head before she filled her travel mug from the small coffee press her grandmother had prepared for her.  “I don’t know.  He is mysterious, that’s for sure.”

“He never talks to you?”

The young woman shrugged.  “Sure, a little.  He’s always polite.  I’ve tried making conversation, but he’s very…focused.  He always looks absorbed in his work.  But, I could swear I’ve felt him watching me more than once.”

Her grandmother smiled.  “You’re a beautiful girl, Beatrice.  He would have to be blind not to notice.”

Beatrice chuckled.  “I really don’t think it’s like that.  No, it’s not like he’s checking me out, more like he’s…observing.”

The old woman’s eyes widened.  “Could he be gay?  Oh, what a disappointment.  Though, maybe I could introduce him to Marta’s boy then—”

“Grandma!” she laughed.  “I have no idea.  It’s none of my business.  I should be embarrassed gossiping about patrons like this.  And I really have to go.”

“Fine, but you need to find some nice boy to have fun with.  The last one was so boring.”

Beatrice walked out the door.  “I’ll see what I can do,” she called out.  “Bye!”

She sped out the door and down the steps of the small house near Rice University where she had grown up with her grandparents.  Passing the oak tree that shaded the driveway, her eyes caught the dark, twisted grooves cut into the trunk close to forty years before.

S.D.

Stephen De Novo.  She climbed into her small car.  Despite what she had claimed to the curious Dr. Vecchio, the hollow pang of his loss still marked her life.  Despite his busy schedule, she and her father had been very close.  With the passing of her grandfather, Beatrice and Isadora were all that was left of the tight-knit De Novo family.

She pulled into the university parking lot and grabbed the first spot she found, running to her first class as soon as her feet hit the ground.

In fact, Beatrice felt like she ran all day, and by the time she got to the library at four o’clock, she was ready to collapse.  She took the cantankerous elevator up to the fifth floor and put her books in the small office she shared with her supervisor.

“B?” she heard Charlotte call from the copy and photography room.

“Yeah, Char, I’m here.  I’m sorry I’m late, it’s seems like—”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Charlotte Martin said as she walked toward the reference desk.  The young woman switched on the computer at the desk and logged into the library’s system.  “It’s Wednesday today,” Charlotte said with a grin.

“Yes, it is.”

“Wednesday means night hours for you.”

“No!”  Beatrice gasped.  “I’d totally forgotten about that.”

“Liar.”  Charlotte paused for effect.  “So, have you had any luck with the mysterious Dr. Vecchio?”

“What?  Why is everyone asking about him today?  Did you and my grandma have a meeting?”

Charlotte laughed.  “No!  I’m just curious.  You’ve seen him for what—three weeks now?  I’m curious what you think.  He’s quite the mystery around the library, you know.”

“Librarians have vivid imaginations and far too much time on their hands.  I think he’s just a historian or something.”

“A really hot, Italian historian with a cute—but not indecipherable—accent,” Charlotte said as she wiggled her eyebrows.  “And you’re a gorgeous, single almost-librarian.  I see possibilities.”