To Die in Tuscany by David Wagner (uplifting books for women .txt) 📗

no real bearing, now that it’s been stolen. That is, if it really was stolen, and if Somonte was in fact murdered to get it. If we’re lucky it will turn up intact, and my involvement in this case will be ended. Then it will be nothing other than a murder investigation.” She pulled into the street.

Rick adjusted his seat belt. With Betta driving even a short distance, he always prepared for speed. “I wonder if Alfredo has made any breakthroughs.”

* * *

DiMaio looked deep into Pilar’s eyes and hoped he was seeing a spark, even a small one. They sat in the sterile break room of the commissariato, not an ideal place for a tryst, but the best he could manage at the moment. Two people occupied one of the other tables: the switchboard operator on an early lunch break, eating pasta she’d heated in the microwave, and a traffic policeman sipping coffee from the machine. With DiMaio and Pilar also drinking from tiny plastic cups, the coffee maker was getting an unusual workout, considering its ignominious but well-earned reputation among the polizia of Urbino.

“I’m sorry we can’t have lunch today, Pilar.”

“Perfectly understandable, Alfredo. I’m sure your regular duties keep you busy enough without having to investigate a homicide. But I look forward to dinner this evening.”

Her words comforted the policeman. “As do I. You’ll enjoy the restaurant. Intimate. Good food. We’ll have a chance to talk, just the two of us. Not that it wasn’t fun last night with Riccardo and Betta.”

“It was just what I needed to keep my mind off other things.” She stirred the coffee with a plastic stick, a gold bracelet dangling out from the sleeve of her wool sweater. A cross between a long cardigan sweater and a jacket hung over the chair next to her. “Is there any news on the investigation?”

DiMaio could not but wonder how innocently the question had been posed. Was she probing? In the back of his mind all morning had been the realization that he was treading a fine line between a personal interest in Pilar and his duties as the lead investigator of her father’s death. He’d admitted to himself that Betta and Riccardo may have been right in bringing it up at dinner. Now his guard was up.

He shook his head. “Not much. Betta and I interviewed Morelli this morning.”

“The art collector who knew my father.”

“Exactly. He was also the one your father outbid to get the drawing that has gone missing. He is not the most simpatico person I’ve ever encountered, and he fancies himself to be a ladies’ man, much to Betta’s annoyance. He has no alibi for that evening, so he has to be considered a suspect, but somehow losing out on the drawing does not appear to be motive enough for homicide.”

“Maybe he saw this as the last chance to get the drawing before it gets put in a museum.”

“It’s possible, I suppose, which edges us into the expertise of Betta and her art police. She’s said that there are people who steal works of art simply for the pleasure of ownership, and it doesn’t bother them that they can never show it to anyone. But after interviewing him I would doubt that Morelli is that kind of collector. My guess is that he wants everyone to know it when he has a valuable work of art, but who knows? Perhaps Betta will find out this evening, since he invited her to see his collection.”

Pilar tilted her head. “Really? Inviting a beautiful woman up to see his art collection? What would Rick think of that?”

“Rick will be with her, though Morelli doesn’t know that.”

She laughed, then turned thoughtful. “Perhaps Morelli tried to convince my father to sell him the drawing instead of donating it and they got into an argument. I can recall vividly my father’s temper when anyone attempted to change his mind once he’d made a decision. I stopped trying years ago.”

“An argument that turned violent. That’s a possibility.” He looked up and groaned.

At the door to the room stood a uniformed policeman, and next to him Professor Florio. When the cop spotted DiMaio he said something to the botanist and walked alone to the table. “I’m sorry, sir—I didn’t realize you were with someone. This man says that he needs to see you urgently. If you’d like I can ask him to wait.”

“That’s all right, Sergeant.” He gave a nod to the professor, who smiled and scuttled quickly to the table as the policeman left the room. DiMaio stood. “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Well, yes, but I—”

“It’s all right. Let me introduce Signora Somonte, the daughter of your benefactor. Pilar, Professor Florio is the director of the botanical gardens.”

“I am mortified that I am interrupting, Signora, but at least it allows me to extend my deepest condolences on the loss of your father.” His face froze and he turned to DiMaio. “Oh, dear, does the Signora speak—”

“Yes, I do, Professor, and thank you for your kind words. I know that my father thought very highly of your institution.”

“And we held him in high esteem as well.”

The two men were still standing, and DiMaio did not show any eagerness to have Florio join him and Pilar at the table. “Is there something urgent, Professor?”

“No, no. Well, maybe. It’s just that I had another theory on the crime and wanted to get your reaction. I recalled that in one of the novels I read last year the body is found in a garden and the police eventually track down the murderer through leaves. That is, leaves that they find. On the street. But please finish with what you were dealing with. I’ll be out in the waiting room.” He turned and hurried out.

DiMaio watched Florio leave and took his seat.

“What a strange man,” Pilar observed. “Does he really think he can break open the case using the plot of a crime novel?”

“Apparently. I’d like to say that we get