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

could have committed this murder. And as he pointed out himself, good detectives go by their gut feelings. What about your meeting with Garcia?”

Until DiMaio’s earlier comment about them being able to talk openly, Rick had been dreading having to recount the conversation with Lucho, but now the pressure was off. He described the encounter, left nothing out, and when he finished the policeman was shaking his head slowly and rubbing his cheek.

“He doesn’t paint a very nice picture of Pilar. What he said just reaffirms that it was a mistake bringing her in on the investigation.”

Betta put her hand on DiMaio’s arm. “It’s not like she planned her father’s murder, Alfredo. She’s just been looking after her own interests. You can’t blame her for that.”

“Riccardo can tell you about the scene with the Spanish consul. It was a very different Pilar, even if the consul deserved what she gave him.”

“She’s under a lot of stress,” Rick said. “And the reality of her father’s death, even if they didn’t get along, is starting to sink in.”

“You may be right, Riccardo.” He stared at his wineglass. “There was one bit of information Garcia gave you that I found curious.”

“What was that?” Betta asked.

“That she comes to Italy often. Several times a year, wasn’t it, Rick?”

“That’s what he said, if we’re to believe him. The last time was when the donation was announced.”

“She didn’t tell me about her frequent trips,” said DiMaio. “Maybe she didn’t want me to know about it, including what she was doing. Or who she was seeing.”

The waiter appeared wheeling to their table a cart topped with a wooden cutting board, a platter, and three plates. The platter got their immediate attention. It was stacked with various grilled items that had just been taken off the flames and now oozed juices and scents. He opened a drawer, pulled out a menacing knife and long fork, and transferred the largest item from the platter to the cutting board: a slab of beef. With quick and sure cuts, he sliced it into pieces of equal size and divided them among the three plates. After sprinkling some salt and drizzling olive oil on the steak, he turned to the other meats. Each plate received a crisp sausage, a chicken thigh, and a cut of pork loin. The colors differed slightly: the sausage was a dark brown, the chicken a lighter tan, the pork almost white, and the beef went from crispy dark on the edge to rosy pink in the center. After setting plates in front of each diner, the waiter wished them a buon appetito and retired. Before picking up their cutlery, they leaned forward and breathed in the aroma of oil and rosemary mixed with the juices.

After a few bites, and more sips of wine, Rick continued the conversation.

“Is there a way you can find out when Pilar was in the country?”

DiMaio speared the sausage with his fork and cut it into three pieces. “The simplest way would be to check her passport, though they don’t always stamp them at the port of entry, especially when it’s a citizen of the European Union. Hotels send in the names of their guests to the local police, but it would take forever to track her down without knowing cities and dates.” He smiled and took a bite of the sausage. “I could just ask her for her passport, but I don’t think she’d be very cooperative.”

More grilled meat and wine was consumed.

“The steak is definitely the top dog on my plate,” said Rick. “Though the chicken is a close second.”

After a discussion of the pros and cons of each, it was Betta’s turn to report on her meeting at the Galleria Nazionale delle Marche.

“Vitellozzi was definitely in a more expansive mood. The exhibit was in place to his satisfaction, and he was taking a breather before the ceremonies this evening. Two things I found curious. First, he showed surprise when I mentioned Pilar, saying he didn’t know Somonte’s daughter was here. I’m not sure I believe him, though I don’t know why.”

“A policewoman’s hunch, like Florio told me this morning.”

“Perhaps, Alfredo. It just didn’t ring true, is all. I’m also not sure why it would be important, regardless of whether it’s true or not.”

“What was the other thing?”

She finished her last bit of chicken, leaving a clean bone. “Well, again, it was more the way he said it than anything specific. I asked him if Somonte had the drawing when he’d called on him, and he confirmed that he did. Since the museum hadn’t bid on it when it was up for sale, Vitellozzi hadn’t actually seen it before. But he didn’t take it as a courtesy on the part of Somonte, letting him study it before it went to the museum in Sansepolcro. Instead, he was sure the man wanted to needle him about missing the chance to have it in the museum here.”

“Somonte does not come across as a very simpatico person,” Rick said. “Yesterday morning Morelli said that he did the same thing to him.”

DiMaio had finished his food and picked up his wineglass. “Well, if he was trying to provoke someone, he definitely succeeded.” He looked at the red liquid and put down the glass. “I have to confess that I neglected to ask Florio where he was this morning at the time of the shooting, but I’m having real trouble taking him seriously as a suspect. Did you two check alibis at your meetings?”

“Vitellozzi was at the office, but nobody was there besides him,” said Betta.

“Garcia was wandering around the city by himself while the widow Somonte languished in the hotel spa, so he doesn’t have a strong alibi either.”

DiMaio nodded. “As expected. Morelli will likely be at the galleria tonight, Betta, so you can try to pin down his morning whereabouts then. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get there.”

Another waiter came and took away their empty plates as the first waiter arrived, again