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

was very different from the rest. Never afraid to say what she thought, even though it might offend someone, which it often did. Liked to socialize, especially over a bottle of wine. And she liked to socialize with Italians, in particular Italian men, which shocked some other students in the program, especially the women. Those were different times.”

“Were any of her relationships with those men…?” Rick searched for the right word.

“Serious? I don’t recall any. I remember talking with her about that, and she told me she had no intention of getting serious with anyone. Apparently she’d been disappointed in the past and didn’t want it to happen again.” She blinked and rubbed her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m remembering this. It was so long ago.”

“We’re glad you can remember it,” LoGuercio said before leaning to the edge of the chair and putting his card on the desk. “If other things come to mind, please call me.”

She glanced at the card and placed it next to the keyboard. “Of course, Inspector. Is there anything else I can help with now?” The demeanor of the efficient businesswoman had returned.

“It’s routine, of course, but can I ask you where you were last evening?”

Her face was a blank until she realized the implication of the question. “Oh. Of course. I…I was at home. I worked here until seven, our closing time, then made my own dinner and went to bed. It had been a busy day, and I was very tired.”

“You live alone?”

She didn’t answer for a moment, perhaps deciding whether it was any of the policeman’s business. “Yes, I do. My mother moved in after my divorce and lived with me until she passed away a few years ago.”

“This has been a shock,” LoGuercio said, “so we won’t ask any further questions at this time. It is likely that after more thought, other things may occur to you that could help us with the investigation. You have my number.”

They all stood and the two men expressed their condolences for the loss of her friend.

“Thank you,” she said. She seemed to want to say something else and they waited. “I know you aren’t required to do this, but if you could tell me when you find who did this, before it gets in the news, I would be grateful. Rhonda was a dear friend.”

By the time they stepped outside, Bianca Cappello was once again studying the screen of her computer.

“Not a dear enough friend to stay in contact,” LoGuercio said when they got to the street. “But her reaction to the news was genuine enough.” He stopped and took his cell phone from his pocket. “Let me find out if they’ve located Crivelli.” He dialed and moved away from two women strollers who had paused to gaze at the merchandise inside a clothing store.

Rick walked to a shoe store to see if the latest fashions being offered to the shoppers of Orvieto was the same as what he’d been seeing in Rome. As with so many shoe stores in Italy, the entrance to the store itself was at the end of a line of display windows, women’s shoes on one side, men’s on the other. The cold weather would be arriving soon, which meant that on both sides, shoes with heavier heels and higher sides had appeared in the line-up, as well as boots. He searched for a pair of cowboy boots, but the only ones to be found were on his feet. If they knew how comfortable they were, Rick thought, everyone would be wearing them. He turned and started back toward the street when a male figure in a long, white coat rushed past the store down the street. He watched as the man disappeared through a door a few businesses down the street.

“Did you see that?” Rick asked when LoGuercio was putting his phone away.

“See what?”

“Livio Morgante just went by in his pharmacist coat.”

“Yeah, his pharmacy is right over there.” He tapped the pocket where he kept his phone. “We’re in luck, Riccardo, Crivelli splits his time between his shop in Todi and the one here, but he’s in Orvieto today and it’s only a couple blocks from here. He’s expecting us.”

“That’s great. Let’s go.” They started off toward the corner where they’d been dropped earlier. “Paolo, about Morgante—”

“Forget Morgante. You know, Riccardo, I have to get you some kind of identification. I don’t know what I would have told that woman if she’d asked who you were. You need something to show you are official.”

“I’m not official, Paolo.” He pulled something from his wallet. “But how’s this?”

“What is it?”

“Pass to get into the questura in Rome when I go to see my uncle. He got tired of having to come down to the entrance to get me.”

“This could work.” LoGuercio took the small plastic card and looked at both sides. “It’s got your picture, and even an official seal. Not a very good picture.”

“You should see my passport photo.” Rick slipped the card back into his wallet.

“Hold your thumb over where it says “Building Pass” when you show it to anyone.”

“I’ll do that,” said Rick.

They turned a corner onto the street leading to the Duomo, and the number of tourist shops immediately increased, as did the number of tourists. Their demographics had changed from the high season of July and August, when schools were closed and families with children roamed Italy. Now it was an older, graying crowd, unencumbered by kids. To the delight of the merchants, these visitors were also more inclined to purchase higher-ticket souvenirs. Ahead Rick spotted a ceramic sign hanging on chain links from a cast-iron pole: Studio Crivelli.

“Before we go inside,” Rick said, “when I saw Morgante—”

“I’m certainly glad he didn’t see me or he would have been breaking my coglioni.”

Rick held LoGuercio’s arm to stop him. “Paolo, when he walked by us he went straight to Bianca Cappello’s office.”

***

Tullia Aragona, despite what she’d said on the phone, did not appear to be in