The hostess pile into the gondola. With Oliver acting as the gondolier, they travel along the Grand Canal in Venice to their destination.
Lilly eyes Oliver's strong back as he drags a long pole through the water. “Who knew Oliver could steer a gondola?”
Lyn tosses her head and laughs, “Oh Lilly, don’t you know by
now, Oliver is a man of many talents.”
Mary snickers. “I’d like to know more about some of his less
public talents.”
Mac slaps Mary's shoulder. “Behave yourself, Mary. You promised not to be too naughty today.”
LaVerne smiles and smooths down the skirt of her lovely Renaissance-style
dress. “I just love the fashions. Heavy and cumbersome, but oh so lovely. And I
don’t have to worry about my fair skin under all these layers of rich fabric.”
“Better hope you don’t fall overboard,” Lilly says with a
smirk. “You’d surely drown and there’s no way any of us could save you.”
“Oliver could.” Mary waggles her brows.“Of course, he’d have to divest himself of his clothing first.”
The hostess laugh, but the chortles turn to appreciative sighs as the gondola rounds a turn in the canal and they gaze down an alley.
"At least there are some places we can go on foot," Mac says. "I don't think I could travel all day in this little boat without getting claustrophobic."
"There are lovely patches of dry land throughout the city," Lyn says as Oliver steers the gondola toward a sidewalk..
Mac looks upward and gasps. "The architecture is gorgeous."
Once Oliver docks the boat, he helps the hostesses ashore.
“I thought this was going to be a Venetian carnival,” Lilly
says as they enter a small garden sandwiched between two buildings. Tents and canopies stretch across the small swatch of land and grapevines provide an illusion of privacy in the crowded city. "The atmosphere is festive but elegant. No wonder you wouldn't let me wear
my jester costume.”
“I told you, Lilly, this Renaissance Faire is no carnival. But there will still be music and dancing and lots of food.” Lyn smiles as she looks around. “And
after the sun sets, we’re all heading inside the opera house next door for a special
performance from Isabella, the heroine from Alison McMahan’s
The Saffron Crocus.”
“I hear she sings like an angel,” Mary sighs.
“I hear the wine is good,” Lilly counters. "And there are giant carafes filled with it!"
"There's coffee too," LaVerne adds. "Just look at that huge copper coffee pot. I didn't even know they had coffee in 17th Century Venice."
Mac nods. “Oh yes. According to Alison, coffee, or cavee, as it was called, was the new drug of choice in those days.”
“I love coffee,” Lilly says with a sigh.
“You love wine too,” Mary quips.
"And food. I love food. Just look at the spread--roasted pork, ham, and oysters. Yum!"
Mac smacks her lips. "That lemon saffron cake looks good too."
"Everything looks delicious," LaVerne says as her tummy rumbles.
“Ah, here’s Alison now,” Lyn says as the hostess move toward the festivities. “And she has Isabella and
Rafaele with her.”
“Rafaele is yummy,” Mary says.”
Mac laughs. “You think all of the heroes on the Roast are
yummy.”
“Don’t you?”
“Absolutely!”
Oliver and the hostess gather at the edge of the garden and move forward to meet their guests.
"Welcome to your Roast," Lyn says with a smile. "Let the celebration begin!"
(This week's introductory 'skit' was written by Lilly.)
BIO
Alison McMahan chased footage for her documentaries through jungles in Honduras and Cambodia, favelas in Brazil and racetracks in the U.S. She brings the same sense of adventure to her award-winning books of mystery and romantic adventure for teens and adults.
She loves hearing from readers.
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THE SAFFRON CROCUS
Venice, 1643. It's all about the music. Isabella, fifteen, longs to sing in Monteverdi’s Choir, but only boys (and castrati) can do that. Her singing teacher, Margherita, introduces her to a new wonder: opera! Then Isabella finds Margherita murdered. And now people keep trying to kill Margherita’s handsome rogue of a son, Rafaele.
Was Margherita killed so someone could steal her saffron business?
Or was it a disgruntled lover, as Margherita—unbeknownst to Isabella—was one of Venice’s wealthiest courtesans?
Or will Isabella and Rafaele find the answer deep in Margherita's past, buried in the Jewish Ghetto?
Isabella has to solve the mystery of the Saffron Crocus fast, before Rafaele hangs for a murder he didn’t commit, though she fears the truth will drive her and the man she loves irrevocably apart.
EXCERPT
She was a lady and ill-prepared for this kind of trouble…
“Rafaele!” She flew into the garret. “Piero, it was so wonderful, wait until I tell you!”
The stool next to the bed was knocked over. The tray with the genepy bottle was on the floor, one of the cups broken. The fat candle that had been burning next to Rafaele’s bed had been flung to the other side of the room.. Canvases were strewn all over the floor, some of them slashed, and many of Master Strozzi’s jars of paint elements were broken.
Did Piero and Rafaele have a fight? She quickly suppressed the thought. Who would get into a fight with a man who was already injured?
Something else must have happened.
She walked across the garret. “Piero? Rafaele, are you here?”
Rafaele was not in the bed. The sheets and blankets she had piled on top of him were strewn everywher. Blood-stained sheets spilled over the edge of the pallet. There was a pile of clothes on the floor.
She walked around to get a closer look.
Not clothes. It was Piero. Face down, one arm over his face, as if to defend himself.
A puddle of blood under him.
Dead.
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