“There are ten at each table. At ours, Jared and Cindy, Lynn and I, a cookbook author and her husband, an English artist and his wife, and my friend, the policeman, Roberto Capo. You do like him, yes?”

She liked Roberto Capo just fine. He hadn’t seemed to think that she was crazy.

And she could ask him about the head that had been found in a canal.

“What about Tiff?”

“Oh, she was seated with other friends long ago. But we’ll look for her later, if that will make you happy.”

“And Ragnor?”

“He speaks so many languages so well?he has been seated with a mix of German and Scandinavian couples. In the north,” he explained, “most people do speak English. Where else can you go but Sweden to speak Swedish, eh? Still, Anna Maria tries very hard to see that everyone will have dinner companions with whom they can talk.”

“Where will she be sitting?”

“Anna Maria does not sit?she flits!” Raphael explained. He rolled his eyes. “She is the hostess, and so she moves about all night, and makes sure that everyone enjoys the ball?of course, she is a slave driver until we get here. But she asks nothing that she doesn’t give. She is wonderful.”

“Beyond a doubt,” Jordan agreed.

At the top of the stairs, they were greeted by hosts dressed as Swiss Guards. They were led into one of the large ballrooms off the foyer. More buffet tables were filled with all manner of delicacies. At the end of the room, on a dais, a group played chamber music.

“Here we are!” Raphael said, indicating their table. Roberto Capo and two other couples were already seated. The men stood as Raphael made introductions. The English artist was Peter Smith; his wife was Sherry.

The American author of cookbooks was Mary Winston; her husband was Fred. They were both round and cheery, as if they truly enjoyed Mary’s recipes. Jordan didn’t remember her name; she hoped that if she had ever reviewed one of the woman’s books, her words had been kind.

“And of course, Roberto,” Raphael ended his introductions with a flourish.

“Of course, how are you?” Jordan asked.

“Delighted to see you,” he said.

“Il piacere e mio,” she told him, glad that, “the pleasure is mine” was one phrase she knew in Italian quite well.

He smiled; she took the seat next to his.

Lynn arrived then, as a matador, complete with dark mustache, red cape, and bull-slaying sword.

“Plastic, I’m afraid!” she explained, when it seemed her sword might pierce Mary Winston’s Martha Washington skirts.

Jared and Cindy arrived, and the introductions went around the table again. Jordan admired Anna Maria’s social talents as she saw how quickly and easily they all fell into conversation. At times, she thought, Roberto Capo wasn’t quite following everything that was said, but Raphael paused now and then to make a quick explanation in Italian. Waiters arrived to fill their wineglasses and they all trooped to the buffet table. “My name was Astrella before I married,” Mary Winston told Jordan as they stood in the line. “I do adore Italian food. My next book is on Tuscan cuisine. Perhaps you’d review it for your newspapers?”

“I’d be delighted.”

“My publishing house is small,” Mary said with a sigh, “and your reviews are so popular in syndication, they’ve not dared send you anything yet. Thank you.”

“Thank you. I didn’t know I was so popular.”

“Oh, have you tried this dish yet? In English, it’s cuttlefish?”

“Thanks. I have tried it,” Jordan said. “I think I’ll have the swordfish.” As conversations took off at dinner, Jordan was grateful to be next to Roberto Capo. She spoke to him quietly. “I heard they found a severed head.”

Roberto looked distressed. “You must not worry?”

“I’m not worrying.”

“You ... you think that you were right? That at the contessa’s ...”

“I’m not saying that. It’s just curious. Have they found out who the head belonged to? Have they?” She broke off. He was looking at her, frowning. She realized that she was speaking too quickly.

But Raphael had heard her. He translated quietly, glancing at the others at the table, aware that Jordan wouldn’t want Jared to know what they were talking about.

Roberto shook his head and replied in Italian to Raphael.

“The head is still with forensics. They haven’t found the rest of the body, and they have no missing persons report with which to make a comparison. They will do an artist’s reconstruction and send the picture around Europe.”

Jordan was disappointed; she hadn’t learned anything new.

“I understand your concern,” Roberto said.

Jordan nodded. Jared was glancing her way suspiciously. As he turned his head she noticed that his features appeared lean and sharp. Maybe she had caused Jared a lot more trouble than she was willing to admit. Maybe that explained Cindy’s pallor and fatigue.

Still, she hadn’t been wrong. Either the contessa had hosted a group of murderous monsters, or her sense of humor and entertainment were warped beyond measure.

Dessert and coffee were served, and more activities for the guests were announced. On the ground floor, a rock band would be playing, while there would be ballroom dancing on the second floor. Tarot card readings were in the entry to the second floor ballroom. Palm readers would be there as well.

Jugglers and magicians would travel to both levels. More coffee, sweets, and after-dinner liqueurs would be available at all the banquet tables. The ‘Pleasure Palace,’ for those who dared, would be in the back room of the second level.

“Shall we dance?” Raphael inquired immediately.

“I’ve never been asked by such a charming belle,” Jordan assured him.

Raphael wanted the fast action on the ground floor, but as he started to lead her down, Jordan made him pause. “Where was Tiff supposed to be?”

“Table seven, in the room where they’ll be setting up the Pleasure Palace. I think she wanted to make several trips,” he said with a grin.

They walked over to table seven; it was already empty. It appeared, however, that someone had been seated at every chair.

Raphael shrugged. “You see why we don’t worry so much about Tiff? Don’t be angry; enjoy your night.”

“Wait. Where was Ragnor supposed to be?”

“Table eighteen?the next flight up.” He groaned. “Okay, we’ll look.” But upstairs, the tables had emptied as well.

“Maybe they both decided to get lucky,” Raphael said. “Give them no more thought.” Downstairs, they danced. As Raphael had expected, they were often cut in on. A dottore came and danced with Jordan. She was certain at first that it was Jared, but as she talked, and he failed to respond, she realized it wasn’t he. He thanked her in Italian for the dance.

There had been something so familiar about him ...

But as she was claimed by a short Julius Caesar, she noted that there were at least five dottores in the room. All of them seemed to be about the same height.

Around midnight, Raphael excused himself to dance with Anna Maria. This time, she was partnered by a handsome Basque jai alai player who had fun showing her the immense muscle in his right arm, and the smaller muscle in his left. She thought at first that he was explaining his costume, he wasn’t. The game had given him two definitely different-sized arms.

As the dance ended, Jordan thanked him and hurried after Anna Maria and Raphael. Anna Maria, resplendent as Mary, Queen of Scots, kissed her cheeks. Jordan told her that the party was wonderful, then asked about Tiff.

She gave her the same reply Raphael had given earlier. “She must be very well costumed; I have not seen her.” She frowned. “I believe all the tables wound up full, but then, though people are seated, many, many people here have known one another for years, and they ...”

“Table hop,” Raphael said.

“Table hop. Right.”

“Let’s have our cards read!” Raphael said.

“I don’t know . . .”Jordan murmured.

But the next thing she knew, she was upstairs, watching as an Italian woman spread out her cards. She indicated that Jordan was to touch them. When she turned the cards over, she shook her head and shuffled them again. This time, Jordan gave close attention to what appeared. She saw the Grim Reaper before the woman could collect the cards.

“That was death, right?” Jordan insisted of Raphael.

“It can mean many tilings, she says.”

The tarot reader spoke quickly and earnestly in Italian. She looked at Jordan as if she were about to whip out a cross and put it between them to ward her off.

“Raphael ...”

“She says that you must watch out for the shadows. And take the gravest care at deep midnight.”

“She is warning me of death.”

“No, the card may mean many things.”

“But death is one?”

“Jordan, watch out for the shadows. And deep midnight.”

“What the hell is deep midnight?”

“The true dead of night. When all light has faded. When shadows fall even in darkness. Let’s dance again. This was not good.”

Downstairs, Roberto Capo was the first one to cut in on her. As they danced, he asked her if she was happy, if she was having fun.

“Yes, very much so.”

“You look so worried.”

“I went to a friend’s house tonight and she wasn’t there. And she isn’t here.” She made certain to speak slowly. “Tiff Henley. Do you know her?”

He shook his head. “When did you see her . .. last time?”

“Yesterday.”

“Then the head?it is not hers.”

“Oh, no, of course not. I’m just worried.”

“Let me know if you do not find her. And if you ... if you find out anything else.”

“About the contessa?”

He shrugged. “The contessa ... this man who was there as well. The wolf?” She wondered what expression she gave, or what movement she made that caused him to say next,