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

Rick suspected the line was an indirect reference to his political rival, Mayor Boscoli.

“Now for other things to see in Orvieto,” the man continued. “Besides the Duomo, there are more churches well worth visiting. San Andrea is built on the ruins of an Etruscan temple, so lots of history there. San Giovanale, at the far end of town, dates to the start of the eleventh century and has a wonderful feel to it, as does San Agostino across the square from it. But you must visit the Pozzo di San Patrizio, the well built by Pope Clement VII when he fled Rome during the sack of the city in 1527. And there are many fascinating museums, of course. I always recommend the Museo Civico Archeologico, because the subject is a particular interest of mine.”

“You are very proud of the city,” said Betta. “I assume you were born here?”

They were interrupted by the arrival of a waiter. His tray held a bottle of wine in an ice bucket, three glasses, and a small plate of canapés. While they watched, he opened the bottle, poured a splash of its yellow liquid into one glass, and passed it to Morgante. After getting a nod, the waiter poured wine into the other two glasses, served Betta and Rick, and filled the third before retiring.

Morgante raised his glass. “Benvenuti a Orvieto. And what better way to welcome you than with a glass of Orvieto Classico.” Rick and Betta expressed their thanks before their host answered Betta’s question.

“I was born in a small town just outside Orvieto, so I can’t claim to be a true native, but I moved here at an early age and I feel like one. The only time I spent away was to go to the university to study pharmacology, and even then I lived at home and commuted into Rome. I worked at the pharmacy, and after a few years the owner retired and I had a chance to buy him out. Fortunately I had money saved up and was able to make him an offer. Orvieto has been good to me over the years. When my wife died, half the city was there, including most of my customers at the pharmacy.” His eyes wandered out across the piazza before coming back to Rick and Betta. “And you two? You have moved from your native cities.”

Rick and Betta gave Morgante an abbreviated account of their backgrounds, Rick’s more abbreviated due to his more complicated bi-cultural life to date. Then their host steered the conversation to the investigation.

“I have heard that you are helping the inspector beyond just interpreting when he questioned the two American women. I thank you for that. Do you think he’s getting closer to finding the perpetrator of this terrible crime?”

The three had taken seats at the table where the wine bottle, covered with a white napkin, rested in an ice bucket. They adjusted their chairs to enjoy the view. Rick wondered how much Paolo had told Morgante about the investigation. The man was clearly probing, so perhaps he hadn’t gotten much from him.

“Inspector LoGuercio has not shared his conclusions with me, but I know he is gathering evidence and interviewing people who may have known the victim.” He decided not to remind Morgante that fewer than twenty-four hours had lapsed since finding the body.

“I’m sure LoGuercio is doing his best,” Morgante said. He took a drink from his glass. “I expected that the police would send someone to take over the investigation. We had a commissario running the police operation here, but he was recently transferred and we’re waiting for a replacement.” His gaze moved to the piazza and back to Rick. “You have a relative who is a commissario, LoGuercio told me.”

It annoyed Rick that Morgante knew, though he wasn’t sure why. Normally he didn’t mind that someone knew his uncle was in the police, but not this time. It wasn’t very professional on LoGuercio’s part to give out that kind of information to Morgante, but perhaps he was justifying having Rick in the case.

“That’s correct, my uncle. And from the little I know about the police hierarchy, I would imagine that if they thought Inspector LoGuercio was not up to the job they would have sent someone immediately. Don’t you think so?”

Morgante nodded his head in thought. “I suppose you’re right. My hope now is that the news of this murder gets off the front pages quickly. Many of these crimes never get solved, they just fade away. I hate to say it, but for our city, that might be as good an outcome as any. The terrible murder in Perugia a few years ago stayed in the media forever. We don’t need that here in Orvieto.”

***

After their big lunch and the tasty nibbles with the wine, Betta and Rick decided to eat lightly at dinner. They’d passed a pizzeria on the way to their meeting with Morgante, and agreed it would fit the bill if they could find it again. Orvieto wasn’t that big, but the streets all looked the same, especially the smaller ones. The arrival of the evening didn’t help, it gave all the building fronts a similar shadowy look. As they turned a corner, the place magically appeared, so Rick was spared the shame of having to ask directions.

The décor was wall-to-wall wood. Light-colored pine tables and chairs matched walls festooned with antique wooden farm utensils. The clientele was a mixture of all ages, sometimes at the same table, almost giving them the impression they had stumbled upon a family reunion. As they were shown to the table, Rick checked out the food in front of the diners they passed, and decided that the pizza looked good. Their table sat underneath what looked like a butter churn, which they hoped was firmly attached to the wall lest it come crashing down on their food. Rick ordered una spina for each of them and they settled