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

Rick and Betta agreed, and the three took a time-out from crime to study the menus. It was not a long list, but had enough tempting dishes to make choosing difficult. All three, independently, opted to begin with prosciutto e melone, it being the season for good cantaloupe. For a pasta course, LoGuercio suggested Rick and Betta try the tortellini with the local mushrooms and black truffles, and they quickly agreed. He chose something a bit more substantial, the pappardelle al ragu di lepre; freshly made ribbon pasta with a hare sauce. After the choice of a wine, LoGuercio returned to the previous subject.

“It was quite a process to get Rome to do the autopsy. I had to get help from the public prosecutor who’s been assigned to the case to cut through the red tape.

“Red tape there would be expected since Rome is where the term was invented,” said Rick. “It comes from the pieces of red ribbon that hung from the seals of papal documents.”

Betta sighed. “He loves to talk about word origins, Paolo. It’s something I have to put up with constantly.”

“You have to take the good with the bad, Betta,” said Rick. “But regarding red tape in police headquarters, Paolo, I happen to know someone who could help. I just spoke with him.”

The policeman’s reaction was not what Rick expected. “I’ve been ordered already to have you assist on the case. Apparently they don’t trust me in Rome to do the right thing.”

“I don’t think you should look at it like that, Paolo. Since you had already brought me in, just think of it as my uncle giving you his blessing.”

LoGuercio stayed silent.

Betta took a piece of focaccia bianca from the basket in the middle of the table and put it on her bread plate. “Rick, you make it sounds like Uncle Piero is a cardinal in the curia.”

“Not an inappropriate analogy,” LoGuercio observed.

The wine arrived at the table, a Torgiano Rosso from the tiny village of the same name, just south of Perugia. After the cork was carefully removed, it was tasted by Paolo, approved, and the three glasses filled by the waiter. Paolo offered a welcoming toast to the two visitors from Rome and they tapped glasses.

“Did you find out anything useful at the university, Riccardo?”

“Do you mean, did the detective find anything? I was only the interpreter.”

The policeman held up a defensive hand. “Of course. Mi scusi. Betta, did you get anything useful from the man?”

She took a small drink and patted a drop of the red wine from her equally red lips. “Only the name of the program director when Signora Van Fleet was a student. Professor Romano, the man we talked to, seemed to think the former director might remember her.”

LoGuercio took a bread stick from the basket and waved it like a small flag. “Excellent. We shall visit this aged professor after lunch and hope his memory is as good as Romano thinks it is.”

The waiter silently placed a small dish in front of Betta, followed by those for her companions. Each held a slice of bright orange melon, cut from but sitting on its rind, draped with paper-thin slices of prosciutto. Wishes of “buon appetito” were exchanged and they ate. After agreement that few taste combinations compared to the salty tartness of the ham with the sweetness of the fruit, conversation swung away from food.

“Paolo,” Betta said after a few bites, “Rick has not been able to tell me much about you. He didn’t even know what town you’re from. Hearing your accent, I would guess somewhere north of here, but I’m not sure how far north.”

“Ferrara,” he answered, while slicing his melon. “And from your accent, Betta, you are from still farther north.”

“Somewhat. Bassano del Grappa, the jewel of the Veneto.”

“You sound like you’re working for your hometown tourist office,” said Rick while looking past Betta. “Like Paolo’s friend Morgante.”

LoGuercio groaned. “He’s already called me once since I saw him at the station this morning, demanding a progress report. He found out there was a hotel cancellation by someone who thinks there might be a murderer on the loose here.”

“There is, Paolo.”

“Thanks, Riccardo, for reminding me. By the way, we can’t take the caretaker off the suspects list. He has no alibi. I have trouble picturing him as our murderer, but we can’t discount the possibility.”

“Motive?” It was Betta.

“A romantic encounter that went bad? They argued. It got violent. Who knows? He considers himself a ladies’ man, of that I’m sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if his services for the villa renters sometimes go beyond fixing a leaky faucet.”

They watched the waiter remove their empty plates, and replace forks, just as the pasta dishes arrived. The distinctive aroma of truffles wafted from Betta’s and Rick’s tortellini, mixing with the earthy smell of mushrooms. The combination nearly overpowered the profumo of the pungent, dark sauce on Paolo’s pappardelle. The portions, as expected in an elegant ristorante, were small. The waiter sprinkled cheese on each of the plates and quietly retired to allow the three to taste their food.

“Is there a Signora LoGuercio, Paolo?”

Her question took both men by surprise. They had expected a comment on the pasta, which was, as expected, excellent.

“There is a Signora LoGuercio.” He paused for dramatic effect. “My mother, back in Ferrara. But I’m guessing that wasn’t what you meant. I was engaged for a while, but my fidanzata decided the life of a policeman’s spouse would not be for her, so she returned to Emilia-Romagna. That happened while I was working in the south.”

Rick remembered what his uncle had said. That southern assignment for LoGuercio must have scarred him in more ways than one.

The policeman swallowed a taste of pasta. “Is there by chance a sister at home back in Bassano, Betta? If she is even half as—”

She waved an empty fork. “I don’t have a sister, Paolo, but there are some very attractive friends.” She looked at Rick. “Gisa?”

“A perfect match,” answered Rick,