Return to Umbria by David Wagner (13 ebook reader txt) 📗

for the two men in the back to converse. LoGuercio told Rick what he knew about the two women, which was no more or less than the basics required for the registration forms: names and passport information. Francine Linwood was the victim’s friend. As Rick expected, the daughter had a different last name than her mother. Either she was married or had been, or even more likely, her father was a husband pre-dating Mister Van Fleet. They would find out more when the women were questioned.

“We’re almost there,” LoGuercio said. “The spot where the body was found is just around this bend. We can stop and look at it on the way back if you’d like. If we’re fortunate, something these women tell us may give us reason to examine the scene again.”

Crime tape, tied to bushes at the side of the road and poles stuck into the ground next to the pavement, delineated where the body had been found. A lone, young policeman watched the car approach and then raised his hand in a loose salute when he recognized it. The driver waved as he drove past. LoGuercio pointed at a sign a few meters from the crime scene.

“That’s the bus stop for the line that goes between Orvieto and Acquapendente. It would be the one they would use.”

The car slowed as the driver scanned the road ahead. “Here it is, sir.” The Fiat turned off the pavement onto a gravel road and began a climb through tightly packed pine trees before bursting into open fields. At that point the driveway could have gone directly to the villa, but instead, perhaps for dramatic effect, it meandered through a few more slow curves. The gravel widened into a parking area in front of the house where a silver Mercedes was parked next to a police vehicle. A uniformed policeman standing between them looked up and walked toward the new arrivals.

“They’re inside, Sir,” said the policeman after LoGuercio and Rick emerged from the backseat of their car. “My English is not very good, but I think they understood. As you ordered, I only told them that their companion was found dead and that you were coming to talk to them.”

The two women were sitting opposite each other in the living room, both dressed in exercise suits and sandals. The one with short gray hair who Gina had told Rick was named Francine, sat staring into the void, a glass of red wine close to hand. Gina sat cross-legged on the soft chair, her eyes closed, and Rick realized that she was meditating. It was a strange way to deal with the death of one’s mother, but perhaps it worked for some people. The two looked up when the men entered the room. Both were visibly surprised to see Rick, Gina more than Francine.

The living room was what one would expect after seeing the quaint outside of the villa. The floors were brick and the walls white stucco with patches where the stone and mortar from the outside peeked through to the interior. A low ceiling was criss-crossed with dark wood beams, likely the originals, but one could never be sure in Italy. The rustic style of the structure continued with the furniture—simple yet comfortable, mostly natural wood with seats and backs covered by stuffed cushions.

“Gina, my sincere condolences for your loss.”

She looked up at Rick, confusion on her face.

He turned to Francine. “Ms. Linwood, my name is Rick Montoya, I—”

“You were in the funicular yesterday.” The gray-haired woman’s comment matched her puzzled face. Her head snapped toward Gina. “You know him?”

“We talked on the street yesterday while you were having a drink. Before dinner.”

“I’m completely confused,” said the older woman. “Are you a policeman?”

“No, ma’am, this is Inspector LoGuercio, who is in charge of this investigation. He has asked me to help him ask you some questions, since his English is not perfect.”

LoGuercio stepped forward and shook hands stiffly with both women, who were now on their feet. “I extend my condolences,” he said in somber and heavily accented English before giving Rick a look which indicated that would be his limit.

“Thank you, Inspector,” Francine.

Gina shook his hand but did not speak. Instead she settled back into the soft back of the chair and took several calming breaths. To the relief of LoGuercio, who stood in silence, Rick took charge.

“The Inspector understands your shock at the death of your mother and friend, but you will certainly agree that the investigation must move quickly. The two of you are essential in helping him get started, so if you can give us a few minutes of your time it would be appreciated.”

“Of course,” said Francine, looking between Rick and LoGuercio. Gina nodded but remained silent.

Rick used his most soothing voice. “We noticed the lovely patio as we drove up, perhaps we could use that. Gina, why don’t we start with you?” He gestured toward the glass doors.

“You mean you want to talk to me alone?”

“That’s the way they do it,” Francine said with some impatience.

“Francine is correct,” Rick said, and then turned to her. “Do you mind if I call you Francine? Please call me Rick.”

She agreed, and the use of first names calmed Gina down somewhat. Francine sat back down as Gina led the two men through the door and out to the patio. On the round wood table two ceramic mugs sat on paper napkins and Rick suspected the women had been enjoying their morning coffee when the police appeared at their door. Without prompting, Gina sat at the table, followed by Rick and LoGuercio. They sat with their backs to the rolling valley view, which was just as well. Gina needed their full attention. She had pulled a tissue from somewhere in her clothing, dabbed her eyes, and slipped it back in place.

“Gina, I’ll be interpreting everything that you say for the inspector, as well as everything he says, for you. It doubles the time needed for our interview, but