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The next ht Sam and Remi’s water taxi stopped on a small side street two blocks east of Santa Maria Maddalena Church They paid the driver, got out, and stepped up to a red door bordered by black wrought-iron railing A tiny bronze plaque on the wall beside the door read, POVEGLIA HISTORICAL SOCIETY

Sa on wood and then the door opened, revealing a plump woman in a pink and yellow floral dress “Sì?”

“Buon giorno,” Relese?”

“Yes, I speak English very well Can I help you?”

“Are you the curator?”

“Pardon?”

“Of the Poveglia Historical Society,” Sa to the plaque

The woman leaned out the door, squinted at the plaque, then frowned “That’s old,” she said “The society hasn’t met for five or six years”

“Why?”

“All that ghost business All people wanted to know about was the hospital and the plague pits The rest of its history was forgotten I was the secretary Rosella Bernardi”

“Perhaps you ht be able to help us,” Remi said She introduced herself and Salia”

Signora Bernardi shrugged, motioned them inside, then led them down the hall into a kitchen decorated in black and white checkered tile “Sit I have coffeeto the kitchen table She filled three s from a silver percolator then sat down “What do you want to know?”

“We’re interested in Pietro Tradonico,” Salia?”

Signora Bernardi got up, walked across the kitchen, and opened a cabinet above the sink She pulled dohat looked like a brown leather photo album and returned to the table She opened the albue near the middle Under a sheet of acetate was a yellowed sheet of paper bearing dozens of lines of handwritten notes

“Is that an original reference?” Remi asked