Snowfall in Venice

A Small Theft

A SMALL THEFT

Gayle sank back in the deep old-fashioned bath, hoping the warm, comfortable embrace of the scented water would restore a sense of inner calm. She considered herself a brave and adventurous soul, but she had to admit the events of the last twenty-four hours had taken a hefty toll. After escaping near-certain death by microseconds, the thought of now pursuing a stolen fortune under the noses of the Mafiosi filled her with dread.

Her thoughts were interrupted by me knocking on the bathroom door. "Gayle, the cleaning lady will be back in fifteen minutes to make up the room. Why don't we go down for a meal while the place is being cleaned up."

Gayle replied in the affirmative, pulled the plug, and watched the water of her quiet refuge drain slowly away.

"Mark, I want to read Signore Fontana's final confession one more time before we go for dinner."

While I was busy checking the train schedule to Venice on my computer, Gayle sat and read the handwritten document, carefully studying each line. When she finished, she placed the confession in her purse and then put the purse on the floor at the back of their closet. The gold chain still hung around her neck.

"Let's go, Mark," Gayle said, her voice sounding troubled. "I need a drink, and we both need to talk."

As we walked silently to the lift heading down to the elegant dining room on the ground floor, we passed the cleaning lady on her way to freshen our room for the evening. The night maid stood to one side to allow us to pass by, a neutral smile on the maid's face masking the true feelings she held back.

Marta Rinaldi, the maid, unlocked the recently vacated suite with her master key and stepped inside with her cleaning materials. She stood for a moment surveying the room, barely holding her resentment back.

She muttered under her breath, "For twenty-two years, I've been cleaning the rooms of these rich tourists who barely acknowledge my existence. Even though I leave the 'Thank You' tip envelopes to remind them, most just throw them in the garbage."

Over the years, Marta had developed her particular form of revenge. She had become a master at what she referred to as the art of ladruncolo, or small thefts.

Her strategy was simple. As she cleaned, she watched for any signs of a wallet or purse that might contain currency. Because the hotel was an old structure, it didn't feature some of the newer amenities like in-room safety deposit boxes. If Marta located a wallet or purse, she would, depending on the amount of currency, only remove a few notes. By making a small theft and never under any circumstances taking it all, no one had ever complained. The thefts went undiscovered, and most weeks, she managed to at least double her salary.

She quickly found my wallet and passport in the bedside drawer and removed three small denomination bills from the dozen or so in the wallet. Marta remembered that the lady who had passed her in the hall was not carrying a purse. It had to be hidden somewhere in the room. She looked in the other bedside table and under the bed itself before deciding to check the closet.

Marta didn't have to rush. She knew we would be gone for at least an hour having our dinner. She opened the closet and immediately spotted the purse partially hidden in the shadows at the back. She rubbed her hands in glee when she opened the purse and saw the large roll of bills just waiting to be plundered.

Marta rapidly calculated that she could remove several bills without making it obvious that a theft had taken place. She did so and was about to return the purse to its original hiding place when she noticed the carefully folded sheets of paper. Out of curiosity, she removed the confession from Gayle's purse and took it over to the bedside to read it under the table lamp.