Maybe until dawn, and then we can go back and get some sleep ourselves."

Drew agreed. Stephanie went back for Suzette, and the two headed out, looking for the café. They found the place, and when they went in and sat down, the woman who was apparently cook, waitress, and owner came over. She didn't speak English, but Stephanie had learned enough to get by in a restaurant. The woman was pleasant, and took their order.

They both had a glass of wine as they waited for their food. "Do you think that… that Gema might be like… I don't know—skulking around somewhere? Perhaps really ill, and passing it on?" Suzette asked.

"I don't know. Sometimes I think we're all losing it."

"It's a miracle that Doug is alive. You should have seen him when we first got here," Suzette said.

Stephanie nodded, somewhat distracted. There was an elderly Italian man sitting with a group at the rear of the café. The five men had apparently long since finished eating, but as was often the custom here, they were sitting and talking with their cigars and brandy, drawing the evening out.

The one elderly gentleman was staring at her intently. It was the kind of serious study that made her feel uncomfortable.

The waitress came, delivering their salads.

She said something to them that Stephanie didn't understand, but it was friendly. She finished with a cheerful, " Mangia!"

They thanked her.

As they ate, Stephanie told Suzette, "There's an older man back there, staring at me."

Suzette grinned. "He probably thinks you're hot stuff."

"I don't think it's that," Stephanie assured her.

"Hey, Italian men are appreciative of women. It's nice. You have to be nineteen and perfect not to feel a little flattered when a man compliments you." She paused, taking a quick glance back. "Even if he is old enough to be Methuselah."

"I really don't think he's appreciating me," Stephanie murmured.

Suzette sighed. "Oh, well, let him look. It's a free country. Okay, it's not the United States, but it's a free country. Can't stop the old boy from looking. Strange, isn't it? I just love it here so very much! I mean, I'll always be an American, but I was so delighted to realize that we were really a success here, that we could have had a very long and prosperous run! What a base! I want to go to Sicily, and so many of the wonderful little spots around here. And hey, a few days in France, Greece… anywhere in Europe would be easy from here. Okay, well, not so easy, since we have to get into Naples, but still… I had really dreamed that I could put in a couple of years here, and now… pray God, that this is just some flu bug! I feel better today, but I knew how Doug felt, because the other morning when I woke up… it was terrible. It was like being… drained. Can a flu make you have strange dreams? I imagine. I mean, a fever can make you delirious."

Stephanie was barely paying attention. The old man was not looking at her with appreciation. His stare was hard and cold.

"Yes, a fever can make you delirious," she murmured.

The waitress returned with their pasta dishes. Again, she was sweet, urging them to eat up.

"Stephanie?"

"Yes, Suzette?"

"You're not listening to me."

"I am, really."

"Get over the old guy in the back."

"Sorry. And listen, we are a tremendous success. We will continue to be so."

"We can't be a success if we're all in the hospital, sick, or—as in Doug's case—at death's door!" Suzette said. "The pasta is delicious!"

"Yes, it is," Stephanie murmured. And it was. Still, it was hard to enjoy her food, she was so aware of the man, just staring at her.

She forced herself to look at Suzette. "We will get to the bottom of what's going on. Lena has been getting better on her own, you said that you feel better already, and Dr. Antinella has taken good care of Doug." She hesitated a minute. "You know what, though? I think it might be a good idea if you moved in with Lena, or if Lena moved in with you."

"Why?"

"Because if you guys are getting fevers in the night, tossing or turning with dreams, you can wake one another up, get aspirin for one another… just be there for one another."

"Maybe that's a good idea," Suzette murmured slowly. "We became really good friends quickly here, but… we both enjoyed our own space. The little cottages are so special, you know? But you're probably right. And it will only be for a bit… I'll talk to her tonight. What about you? Oh, silly me, never mind. I forgot. There's Grant."

Yes, there was Grant.

"Here comes our fish… wow, smell it! This place is like the find of the century. And you know what? I don't even think we're going to wind up really fat. I read a column on AOL News that said the Italians don't put all the bad stuff into pasta, the way we do in America."

"Probably not," Stephanie murmured.

The group of men was rising. She felt a tremendous relief. But the man who had been staring at her didn't walk out along with his friends.

He finally came toward their table.

Stephanie set her fork down.

He rested a hand on the table, facing her, and speaking so quickly she couldn't catch so much as a word he was saying in his deep, urgent voice.

He was angry.

At one point, he raised his fist, then lowered it.

She shook her head. " Per favore! Non capisco!" she told him, trying to make him comprehend that she didn't understand a word.

But he didn't stop speaking. At the end, he suddenly pulled something from his pocket. At that point, she jumped. He was so adamant that she thought he was about to pull a pistol.

It wasn't a pistol. It was a beautiful little piece of jewelry. A small silver cross.

Suzette, stunned, just sat with her mouth open.

The old man pressed the cross into Stephanie's hands.

She tried to tell him no, that she couldn't take it. He became even more excited.

At that point, a young man came out of the kitchen. He bore a resemblance to the woman who had served them, and Stephanie assumed that he had to be her son. He spoke soothing words to the old man, then smiled ruefully at Stephanie. "Thank you for your… patience. Adalio Davanti is old, yes, and he fears that you have brought bad things down upon us, with the theater. Please, don't take offense. He wants you to have this. To wear it. To make the town safe for all of us."

Stephanie stared at the young man. "I—I—this is a beautiful piece. It is obviously worth something. I can't take it from him."

The young man grinned. "He's a jeweler. It's what he does. The cross is not so expensive for him, and he really wants you to have it, to wear it. Please do. It's all right, really. My mother is about to get really angry with him, and he's actually a good man. My mother likes the customers that come into the new resort. Please, you will make both my mother and an old man very happy."

Stephanie stared at the old fellow. He was still watching her so intently, so urgently.

She forced a smile. " Mille grazie. Thank you, thank you so very much." She took the cross and put it on, clenching her teeth when he came to life and helped her with the catch.

She let her hair fall back into place and smiled again. "Thank you."

He found some English and told her, "You—you wear. Not off. Capisce?"

" Si, grazie," she said solemnly.

At last, he seemed satisfied. He turned and left the restaurant. The young man sighed. "The fish is good, yes?"

"Excellent," Suzette assured him.

They smiled at one another.

They were smiles of appreciation. The young man lingered, watching Suzette. At last he returned to the kitchen.

Suzette burst out laughing.

"What on earth was funny about all that?" Stephanie demanded.

"Sorry. Most people just get a pinch on the behind. You wind up with a gorgeous piece of jewelry!

Steph, did you really look at that? The handwork on the silver is just beautiful."

"Um, beautiful," she murmured. "Let's hurry up and get back to the hospital. We can spell the others so they can get a late coffee or drink, maybe. Then they can come back… and I guess we can head back and get some sleep then. It will be nearly late enough—or early enough," she murmured.

Grant didn't see Clay Barton or Liz anywhere when he returned to the resort.

There were people still in the restaurant, but they were mostly locals, and the head waiter told them that they had people down from Northern Italy and even France, but only a few.

It was a quiet night. It was Sunday, and in Southern Italy, Sunday still meant a day of rest for most people. Besides, tomorrow was Maria Britto's funeral, and many of the local populace would be attending it.

Grant walked into the club café, but the theater was, of course, closed for the night, and it was empty.

He walked around anyway, where so much activity happened, feeling the strangeness of such a place when it was dark, actors and audience gone.

He walked out on the beach, but still found no sign of Clay and Liz. He realized that he didn't know if Liz was in a cottage or if she had a room in the actual resort building, but he did know where Clay's cottage was. Not sure of just what he was going to say to the man, he still walked to his door and banged on it, then rang the bell.

There was no answer.

He didn't have a key to Stephanie's cottage since he only entered it with her and hadn't thought to suggest that she give him one.

She probably would have refused.

Still, a few words in the Italian language that was coming more and more naturally to him as the days passed helped to secure him a second key to the cottage from the young man working the front desk.

He went into Stephanie's room, not certain at first what he was doing there.

Then, he knew.

Trying not to disturb her belongings, he searched through them until he found the resumes that she had on the cast. He was fairly certain that Reggie had done the hiring, and sent the resumes on to Stephanie so she would know who she was working with. It didn't seem plausible that she would have had enough time to advertise the positions and then sift through the applicants before coming over here.