To Die in Tuscany, David Wagner [best novel books to read .TXT] 📗

for it.” She got up, said her goodbyes, and left the room.

Rick finished what was left of his cornetto and started peeling the banana. “You’re going to interview Morelli?”

“Alfredo called just before you got here and asked me to sit in since I’m the art cop and Morelli is the art collector. He said it will be recorded, and you can listen in while it’s going on.”

Like a good Italian, Rick used a knife and fork to eat the banana. “I will enjoy that. Too bad he doesn’t have one-way glass so I could also watch, like on the TV police shows.” He ate the last slice of banana and started to open the container of yogurt. “Were you really talking about fashion when I got here?”

“Of course,” Betta answered before picking up her cup and taking a sip.

* * *

The same sergeant was at the desk at the commissariato as the previous day, but this morning he waved them in without making eye contact with Betta. DiMaio was talking when they got to the door to his office, and Betta pushed it open, thinking he was on the phone. Instead, a tall man with uncontrolled hair was sitting in the chair facing DiMaio’s desk.

“I’m sorry, Inspector,” said Betta with a formal tone of voice. “We didn’t realize you had someone with you.”

DiMaio looked relieved. “No, no, we were just finishing. Were we not, Professor?”

The man nodded but did not appear convinced.

“Professor, this is Signora Innocenti and Signor Montoya, visiting from Rome.” He looked at Rick and Betta. “This is Professor Florio, the director of the botanical gardens.”

Florio’s eyes widened. “Are you here because of the murder of Signor Somonte?”

“I am with the art police,” said Betta. “We don’t investigate homicides.”

Florio turned his head quickly, making his long hair flop over one eye. “Inspector, didn’t you mention a missing work of art belonging to Signor Somonte?”

The look on DiMaio’s face indicated he had indeed mentioned that, and was now regretting it. “Professor, thank you for coming by and offering advice. I really must speak with these people.”

“Yes, of course, Inspector. I understand the importance of the first days of an investigation. Montalbano always drummed that into his lieutenants. Keep in mind what I told you, and if I think of anything else, I’ll be sure to let you know immediately.” Florio turned to Rick and Betta and gave them a short bow. “It was my pleasure. I hope you will find time to visit the botanical gardens while you are in our city.” He left.

Rick and Betta took their previous day’s seats, and DiMaio settled into his chair behind the desk.

“Did the professor break the case wide open for you, Alfredo?”

“Riccardo, the man is pazzo. I would like to tell him in very strong terms to go tend to his plants, but he might complain to the rector, who would talk to the mayor, and then I’d be in trouble. His latest theory is that Somonte was in the gardens to bury an important document.”

“The Piero drawing?” Betta said.

“That’s probably what he’s thinking, now that he knows the art police have arrived.” He slapped his hands on the desk. “Let’s forget Florio; we have someone important to the investigation coming here in ten minutes, if he arrives on time. Betta, let’s go over how we want to handle the interview.”

DiMaio was interrupted by the strains of the Lobo Fight Song coming from Rick’s pocket. Rick pulled out the phone and checked the number. “I’ll take this outside, and you two can conspire.” He got to his feet and walked into the hallway.

“Commissario Fontana, it is an honor to speak with you.” It was the standard greeting he always gave his police commissioner uncle.

“The honor is all mine, dear nephew. I was calling to see how you and Betta are enjoying Sansepolcro. I’ve never been, but I hear it is a lovely town.”

Rick looked out of the window at the end of the hall, which gave him a view of the parking lot behind the building. “We saw very little of Sansepolcro. There was a problem, and we are now in Urbino.”

“Problem?”

Rick described the events of the previous twenty-four hours. Partway into the explanation he could hear his uncle clicking away on the keyboard of his office computer and knew the policeman was looking up the case.

“I’ve got DiMaio’s initial reports on my screen now, but they are mostly about the crime scene and autopsy findings. Nothing here on suspects. He does mention the missing artwork, some kind of drawing?”

“The Piero della Francesca drawing that was going to be donated to the museum in Sansepolcro.”

“Of course, you told me about that, and that would be why they wanted Betta in Urbino. Are you making yourself useful or just getting in her and DiMaio’s way?”

“I’ve been translating since the widow doesn’t speak Italian. In fact, she doesn’t speak much at all. I can’t say she’s been very cooperative.”

“Too shaken by the death of her husband?”

“Hard to tell. It may just be her personality.”

“You’ll have a lot to tell me when you get back to Rome. They’re calling me into a meeting so I have to cut this short. Give my best to Betta, and regards to DiMaio.”

Rick said he would, turned off his cell phone, and walked back to the office. “Commissario Fontana sends saluti to you both. Are you ready to interview Morelli?”

“I think so,” answered DiMaio. “Betta has found out from her office that Morelli is in their files for questionable dealings, but there’s never been enough on him to investigate.”

“Interesting,” said Rick as he returned to his chair. “What was he doing?”

“He may have been buying from disreputable individuals,” said Betta. “Mostly ancient art, like Greek vases. Morelli makes his money in olive oil he exports all over Europe and, from what we know, is totally reputable. But when he leaves business and gets into art collecting, he sometimes deals with shady characters. When he was spotted with a