Death in the Dolomites by David Wagner (people reading books TXT) 📗

ponytails. Bees on skis. They kept close to the ground, not that they were that far from it anyway, given their height, and they were having no trouble staying with the instructor. As quickly as they had appeared, they were gone. Rick looked up and saw Flavio grinning.

“That was me twenty years ago, Rick. They pick the best kids in the town and train them after school in the winter. Every ski town on both sides of the Alps does the same thing.” He looked in the direction the line of kids had taken. “You never know, there might be a future Lobo among them.”

“I doubt it,” Rick said. “UNM learned its lesson when they gave you a scholarship.” Flavio didn’t hear the comment. He had shot down the hill after the kids, as if by catching them he could catch some part of his youth.

Rick’s wide turns brought him down to the flat area near the entrance to the chairlift, the meeting point for ski classes. As he approached, he noticed Flavio standing with one of the instructors, who was calling out to her class.

“As you ski down to Campiglio, remember what I told you. Take the turns wide and shift your weight as you do. A domani.” Rick recognized the voice. The class returned her a domani and pushed off down the hill as he slid up next to Flavio.

“I think you two have already met,” Flavio said.

Gina Cortese studied Rick for a few moments and said: “The policeman.”

“I’m actually not a policeman, but I am helping the inspector with this case.” Rick wasn’t sure if that was the best way to characterize his role, but it was what came to mind.

“Are you involved in the investigation too, Flavio?”

Flavio shrugged, lifting his ski poles by his wrist straps. “Not really. I know Luca, the inspector, from Trento. And I know Riccardo here from our college days in America.”

Gina looked from one face to the other. “Is everybody involved in this investigation? Reinforcements, since it’s now a murder?” The two men remained silent. “Well, you can cross me off the list of suspects. I was teaching classes all day Saturday. And when I was done I went home and had a hot bath, and then—”

She suddenly began sobbing uncontrollably. Flavio shuffled next to her and put his arm over her shoulder. She pressed her head against his chest.

“It’s all right, Gina.”

“I waited for him. Then I was so mad at him for standing me up. So mad. And he was dead, Flavio. I got mad at him and he was dead. I didn’t know, I didn’t know.”

“You had no way of knowing,” Flavio said softly. “It was a natural reaction when he didn’t appear.”

Slowly she regained control and separated herself from Flavio’s arm. She ripped at the zipper of her ski coat and extracted a tissue before pressing it against one eye and then the other. “I have to go, I have another class. It was nice to see you, Flavio. And…”

“Riccardo,” Flavio helped.

She pushed off across the snow, cross-country style, as she adjusted her goggles. Two people, a man and a woman, waved at her as she approached them.

“I didn’t know Gina that well. She’s a few years older than me,” Flavio said as they watched her talking with her students. “But that’s the way I remember her.”

“You mean emotional like that? First she’s mad at us, then she’s mad at herself. I couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t—”

“An act, Rick? With Italian women it’s sometimes difficult to know the difference between what’s real and what’s an act, they often don’t even know themselves.”

“Those are the most profound words I’ve ever heard you say, Flavio.” They continued to watch Gina, who now moved toward the ski lift line with her two new students. Rick broke their trance. “Do I remember passing a chalet partway down this trail where liquid refreshment is served?”

“Your memory is correct, Rick. A fine idea.”

Their lengthening shadows were growing faint as a gauzy cloud attempted to block the late afternoon sun. Other skiers were also opting to head down rather than get on the chairlift again. In another hour the lifts would close and those left on the mountain would converge on the lower trails. It was the time of day, thanks to tired skiers and lower visibility, when the most accidents happened, especially on crowded weekends. Rick and Flavio skied slowly, dropping from the open expanses of the higher elevations into the woods where trails were cut through the trees. They came down into a valley where a four-seat chairlift took them up to their destination. It would be their last lift of the day; from there it would be all downhill.

***

Inspector Albani looked out through the glass wall into the main office of the Melograno Real Estate Agency. The chair was the most comfortable he had sat in since coming to Campiglio, certainly a lot easier to sit in than the one he used at the police station. When he’d been shown into the small conference room by Melograno’s receptionist he almost took the seat at the head of the table. It had a slightly higher back and, unlike the other chairs, armrests. Melograno would take the place of honor. The policeman looked out the glass around the large room, which seemed busier than it had been during his and Montoya’s previous visit, despite it being a weekday. All three of the cubicles on the opposite side of the room were filled today—one by the woman who had escorted him to the conference room, the same one who had greeted them the previous visit. In the other two sat a woman talking on her phone and a younger man working diligently at his computer screen. Was there a physical similarity between this man and Melograno? Luca decided there was not.

Melograno’s door opened and the policeman watched Mayor Grandi emerge, followed by the real estate developer. Interesting, thought Luca. The woman had called