The Body in the Piazza by Katherine Hall Page

in the world of IT and Samantha talked about her job at the Gardner Museum, all the while drinking lemonade from Mason jars at the down-home restaurant.
    Outside the train station, they spotted the sign immediately, especially as the man holding it was waving frantically at them and calling their names. He rushed over to them.
    â€œI’m Gianni. We are going to have such a meraviglioso time.” The word needed no translation and he grabbed their bags, motioning them to a large van parked in what Faith was sure was an illegal spot, but since there were many other vehicles angled in the same way, it apparently didn’t matter.
    â€œWe are waiting for a few more. Two people are already in the macchina . Why don’t you get in?” He had stowed their bags in the back and was returning to his spot, speaking rapidly all the while.
    Maybe opposites do attract, Faith thought. Gianni’s wife, Francesca, was a woman of few words, at least when Faith had known her, and exuded a quiet serenity, unless extremely provoked, which Faith had also witnessed those many years ago. She’d seen family pictures over time, but they hadn’t done justice to this extremely handsome man—tall, slender, but muscular, his warm smile and sparkling blue eyes crowned by a picturesque mop of dark brown Michelangelo curls.
    They got into the van and had just introduced themselves to the couple inside—Len and Terry Russo from Livingston, New Jersey, whom Faith recalled seeing in the hotel lobby getting their key from Paolo—when Gianni returned with the rest of the guests in tow, and more introductions were made as he put the rest of the luggage away.
    Faith had seen all of them before in Rome—in and out of the hotel.
    There were the two southern women, Harriet and Sally Culver, an aunt and niece from Louisiana; the passionate couple from the restaurant and gelateria, who turned out to be Sky Hayes and Jack Sawyer, from Beverly Hills; and finally—Goth Girl! Her name was Olivia, apparently no last name or one she wasn’t willing to share, nor did she divulge her country of origin, although from the girl’s accent, Faith was willing to bet a sizable ranch in the Outback that Olivia was an Aussie.
    An interesting crew. Molto simpatico?
    Gianni appeared to be able to drive while providing a running commentary on what they were passing, speaking over his shoulder with greater frequency than felt comfortable to Faith, but he obviously knew the road.
    â€œWe will return tomorrow morning to choose ingredients at the Mercato Centrale, which is next to the Basilica di San Lorenzo, so you will have time if you like to run in and say hello to the Medicis.”
    It was obvious that Gianni was in high good humor and born to be the host of this sort of venture. Faith had known all too many people whose dreams of owning restaurants and inns went up in smoke when they were faced with the reality of always being pleasant and always “on” for their guests.
    As eager as she was to get to the villa, Faith wished Gianni would slow down so she could soak up this first sight of the Arno Valley, surrounded by steep hillsides covered with olive groves and vineyards, creating giant patchwork squares with fields of grain. And everywhere bright red poppies swayed in the breeze. Far off in the distance the kind of miniature hill towns so alluring in the misty backgrounds of Renaissance paintings jutted out from the horizon.
    Gianni turned off the main road, built by the Romans, he said, onto a smaller one, and then made a few more turns until they were on a dirt road shaded by a canopy of oaks and lined with those tall pines that seemed to know just where to grow for maximum effect. Just beyond, there were acres of vineyards. She was suddenly very hungry—and dying for a glass of wine.
    A few minutes later they were there. Villa Rossi. A much larger place than Faith had imagined. The walls of the house were stone,