Sibylline Greetings (Book 2, the LiteraTours Cozy Mystery Series)

Chapter 8 -Nightowls

The calls with Brigitte, Shalon and Gary completed, her duty done, nothing else remained for Ike but to return to the hotel. For a moment she hesitated, wondered whether she should play the white woman and take the metro. Since the Stella del Monte hotel sat outside the city centre—on top of yet another hill—taking the tube to return to the place she temporarily called home involved a humid twenty minutes spent underground with tourists, muggers, butt-pinchers and potential killers, followed by another harrowing journey by bus.

"No way, José," Ike muttered under her breath, swung around and headed for the taxi rank at Rome's central train station that loomed behind her. Seated inside a dented Alfa, she then inched her way through Italy's capital quietly seething at the cacophony of horns outside and the reek of garlic coming from the driver.

At least the bloke didn't chat her up and, as a bonus, he soon sneaked out of the blockage and zipped through a maze of back alleys filled with pawnshops, hairdressers and corner bars. Above them, the star-speckled sky flowed like a dark river, banked in by the apartment blocks that soared on both sides of the street. Ike, her head leaning against the cold window of the car, figured the recent rain must have washed away the pall of pollution and was content to stare into the velvety canopy that widened as the taxi sped uphill.

When she had clambered out of the Alfa to pay her driver, a lungful of cold, moist and earthy air spread more balm on her overwrought nerves, enabling her to face the final hurdle for today: the farewell dinner.

The endless evening was made halfway bearable by the hotel's excellent food. The bits Ike got to eat. A lot of her time was spent apologising to her tourists for a shocking accident that really wasn't her fault, taking tons of photos, shaking plenty of clammy, callused or soft hands, confirming tomorrow's arrangements at least ten times and finally wishing everybody a safe journey home. When the last guest had left the dining room, Ike breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"Cripes, I'm bushed." She let her head sink onto her soiled and crumpled napkin.

Boris, fed up with lying peacefully under the table put a paw on her shoe.

Time to move.

"Fancy a glass of something alcoholic?" Brigitte asked, amusement in her voice.

"Just one?"

"Well, I've got to ferry our guests to the airport tomorrow. Those who have booked the transfer."

Ike lifted her head and regarded the lanky figure of her colleague, dressed in an ankle-length black skirt made of glossy material instead of her usual skinny jeans. Brigitte seemed to share Ike's dislike of pumps and wore a pair of purple half boots with soles thick enough to kick a mule.

"True. Forgot about that. I like your shoes. New?"

"Si Signora. I decided after today I deserved a treat. Can give you the address of the shop if you like. Not expensive either."

"You deserve more than just one treat. That was some nifty driving you did there. As for shopping, I intend to make full use of the free days before the next group arrives. Nothing like a bit of retail therapy. Though these are new and I've got plenty of pairs." Ike regarded the golden slippers adorning her feet with proprietary fondness.

"Ah bah. A woman can never have enough shoes. As to that glass, shall we go to Mario's or stay in?"

"In, if you please. Unless the bar is chock-a-block with tourists," Ike added post-haste.

"If we spot a tourist, we run for the hills. But they'll be packing."

Brigitte was right, and the bar with its ceiling-high shelves filled with a rainbow parade of bottles only hosted a table-load of businessmen boosting their expenses with bowls of peanuts.