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

massive window on the right side of Morelli’s house looked out over the roof below it, even though both buildings were the same height. Morelli’s door was at the lowest point, heavy wood set in the stone facade next to another opening less than half the size. The smaller door was older, its hinges rusted and covered with dirt. Betta noticed Rick looking at it.

“La porta del morto,” she said. “Haven’t you ever seen one?”

“A door for dead people to enter the house?”

“To depart the house. It was considered bad luck in the Middle Ages to use the main door when removing the casket of a family member. Something about the spirits staying inside when the body left the premises. It was a standard building feature during the plague years.” She rang the doorbell. “Let’s hope Morelli lets us use the big door when we’re leaving tonight.”

The big door was opened by a man in the gray uniform of a household servant. He wished them a good evening and stepped back to let them enter before closing the door and walking quickly ahead to lead the way. A few steps inside was the start of a stairway leading up to the second floor. Wrought- iron hand rails were attached to the stone walls, and tiny lights lit every step. On reaching the second floor the steps passed a closed door, turned back toward the street, and climbed to the third. At the end of the stairway they emerged into a room that appeared to take up most of the entire floor. The picture window they had seen from the street covered most of one side of the room, and a stone fireplace that must have been in the house from the beginning dominated the far wall. On either side of it, back-lit glass cases held a collection of Greek pottery. A set of comfortable chairs and a large sofa faced the window, and a smaller seating arrangement was set before the fireplace. Paintings filled every available wall space. Morelli, wearing a blue blazer and tie-less white shirt, stood in front of the fireplace talking on a cell phone. He looked up, smiled at Betta, but squinted when he noticed Rick behind her. Saying something into the phone, he pressed the screen and put it into the pocket of his jacket before walking to them and taking Betta’s hand in both of his. His cologne and her perfume competed for air space.

“How nice of you to come. And you’ve brought a friend.”

The two men eyed each other. Rick’s smile was relaxed, Morelli’s forced.

“This is Riccardo Montoya. Rick, Signor Cosimo Morelli.”

They shook hands and Morelli turned to Betta. “I hope we can dispense with formalities. Please call me Cosimo. Riccardo, I don’t recall seeing you around the city, so tell me what brings you to Urbino.”

“I came with Betta from Rome, and I’ve been assisting the police in the murder investigation.”

“So you’re also with the art police?”

“Not exactly.” Rick did not elaborate. He was enjoying Morelli’s discomfort.

After an awkward silence Betta looked around the room. “Are we early?”

“My other friends unfortunately canceled at the last minute.” He gestured toward a bar near the top of the stairwell. “Can Rino serve you something? I have an excellent prosecco open and chilled.”

They accepted, and Morelli nodded to the man who was still standing at the top of the steps. Rino stepped behind the bar where a bottle sat in a silver ice bucket next to two flutes on a tray. He pulled a third glass from under the bar, filled the three with the bubbly, and carried the tray to Betta. After the two men claimed their glasses, Morelli offered a toast and they took their first sips while Rino disappeared down the stairs.

“Please make yourselves comfortable.” Morelli motioned to the seating in front of the window. “The air is clear tonight, so the view is excellent.”

Rick and Betta walked to the window. The roofs of Urbino formed an orange canopy pierced by chimneys and grooved with the lines of lamp-lit streets. The final rays of the afternoon sun painted the castle’s western facade in the distance, and lights twinkled far off in the darkening valleys. The window glass was thick enough to keep out any street noise, though it wasn’t needed. Later students and a few tourists might raise the noise level in some parts of the city, but now a tranquility had settled over everything. It was the Urbino of the Middle Ages.

The sound of a cell phone broke the mood. Morelli pulled it out and checked the number. “Please excuse me; I must take this.” He walked quickly to the other side of the room and began talking in low tones so that his two guests could not catch even one word.

Betta leaned toward Rick’s ear and spoke in equally low tones. “Did you see the look on his face when he saw you? Priceless. Listen, Rick, I want you to do something.”

“For you, anything.”

“You have your phone, don’t you? At some point I’ll distract him—”

“For you, that should be easy.”

“I’ll distract him, and I want you to use your phone to take a picture of that amphora.”

Rick looked over her shoulder while she kept her eyes on the view. “The big one?”

“Yes, the big one.”

“Leave it to me.”

The phone call ended just as Rick and Betta sat on the wide leather sofa and placed their glasses on a low carved table in front of them. Morelli eased himself into one of the chairs and took a pull of his prosecco.

“I’m very sorry about that, Betta. You have been keeping occupied with this case, I trust?” Rick, it appeared, was to be ignored.

Betta crossed her legs under the attentive eye of the host. “Yes. My concern, of course, is the missing Piero drawing, and I’m trying to find out as much as I can about it. Today we drove down to Monterchi to interview the woman who found it in her