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

“Was that revealing?”

“Not really. She didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.”

“You don’t think the woman who discovered the drawing could have anything to do with it going missing now, do you?”

“Likely not, but I had to check all the possibilities. We also spoke with the director of the Madonna del Parto Museum in Monterchi.” She paused to take a sip of her wine, allowing Rick to observe Morelli’s reaction. Was there something? He couldn’t tell.

“It was she who authenticated the drawing at Bruzzone’s request.”

“Aha,” said Morelli. “I knew someone had done the authentication but didn’t realize it was the museum director. But that would make sense.”

“Have you met her, Cosimo?”

The question forced him to recognize Rick. “The arts community in this part of Italy is not as small as you might think, Riccardo. I have not had the pleasure of meeting this Dottoressa…?”

“Tucci.”

“Tucci. The name sounds familiar, but I meet a lot of people and immediately forget them.”

Like me, Rick could not help thinking. “What business are you in, Cosimo? You must be very successful in it.”

“Oil.” He glanced at Rick’s cowboy boots, and added, “Olive oil, that is, both domestic and imported.” He waved his hand toward the display cases. “Which is how I became interested in Greek pieces, from my frequent visits to that country. It began with oil lamps, as would be expected given the places I go to buy it, and then moved to larger objects.” He returned his attention to Betta. “Would you like to see them?”

She got to her feet. “Certainly. That’s why you invited me up here, wasn’t it?”

Morelli didn’t answer but stood and walked with her to the display cases. Rick trailed behind them. Except for the one case that held the tall amphora, the others were all a smaller size. Unlike those found in museum collections, the pieces were not identified, as if their beauty was more important than date and location. Not a big fan of pottery, Rick found them to be interesting but nothing more. He was curious about the details but wasn’t about to ask Morelli, assuming the man wouldn’t need any prodding. He was correct.

“I see that the amphora has caught your eye, Betta. It is the prize of my collection, sixth century BC, found on the island of Mykonos. Given its decoration, size, and shape, most likely it was used for wine, and on festive occasions. But I would like to think it contained olive oil at some point in its life.”

The pointed base of the pear-shaped vase sat on a wire stand. A mirror on the wall behind it allowed a total view of black figures painted on a light brown background. Women in flowing robes carried vases similar in shape and size, forming a circular parade around the widest part of the vessel.

“It is very beautiful,” she said. “And these?” She pointed at a row of ceramic pieces somewhere in shape between a saucer and a cup. Some had handles, and all were decorated with figures, both male and female.

“Drinking cups, from different parts of Greece.”

“Do you have one dealer you always use in Greece?”

Morelli could not conceal his annoyance. Was it Rick’s question, or just his presence? “I have several who know my interests. They contact me when something comes on the market that I might wish to acquire.”

“As with the Piero drawing? I assume Bruzzone called you.”

“Had he not, Betta, I would have been very unhappy.” He walked to the next case. “And these are the oil lamps. I have too many of them, perhaps, but can one really possess too many objects that have both function and beauty?”

Morelli did not see Rick squeezing Betta’s arm, nor her poking back.

“This one is interesting,” she said. “It’s bronze rather than terra-cotta.” She leaned forward to get a closer look at an oil lamp with a leaf-shaped handle and floral etching on the top and sides.

“Roman third century. It’s not genuine, but I love its character.”

“That de Chirico I’m certain is genuine.” Betta was looking at the paintings on the opposite wall.

“And it would be my pleasure to show it to a member of the art police who should certainly be able to verify its authenticity.”

The two walked across the room while Rick stayed where he was and slipped the phone from his pocket. Seeing that Morelli was giving all his attention to Betta and the painting, he took two pictures of the amphora and then, for good measure, several of the other display cases. After checking his work he put his phone away and returned to the table where he picked up his flute and had another drink. It was an excellent prosecco and somehow tasted even better after he had played undercover art cop. He walked to the window and saw that the sun was gone, bringing darkness to the highest parts of Urbino and causing a few stars to appear in the cloudless sky. Light pollution was a big issue in communities around New Mexico, he recalled, with regulations requiring outdoor lighting be directed downward. Could Urbino have the same rules? The streetlights he could see from the window fit the bill their rays went straight to the pavement.

Rick returned to the issues at hand. Did Morelli really have some hot art? If Betta could not track down the missing drawing, it would be helpful if she could at least snare some other malefactor, and Morelli just might be the one. But was he evil enough to be the murderer as well? Somehow Rick couldn’t see him shooting el viejo Somonte. No, the oil merchant, as oily as he was, just didn’t fit the bill. After reminding himself that he wasn’t a specialist in criminal behavior, Rick walked to where Betta and Morelli were standing in front of the de Chirico.

Like most works by the artists, this one was without people, animals, or indeed anything that could be called