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

DiMaio held open the plastic bag. Betta reached in, took out the leather case, and carefully unzipped it from one side to the other. She spread it open.

“It’s empty. I must admit I was getting my hopes up.”

“Are there any other compartments?” Rick asked.

“None.” Betta closed the case and looked at the seal before turning it over. The back was without decoration. “Wait, here’s a compartment.” It was closed with a flap that had two snaps that popped open easily. She reached inside and pulled out a rectangular piece of paper and held it in her gloved fingers. “It’s a ticket for the Galleria Nazionale delle Marche. It confirms what the museum director told us, that Somonte had come to his office.”

“But Vitellozzi didn’t mention that Somonte had brought the drawing with him,” said Rick. “He said they talked about it, but he didn’t say that he’d seen it.”

Betta pulled her phone from her pocket and took a picture of both the ticket and the case before she slipped them back into the evidence bag.

“There’s another possibility,” said DiMaio as he sealed it up. “The ticket could be from an earlier trip Somonte made to Urbino.”

“Or it wasn’t his ticket,” Rick said. “Someone put it there.”

Betta sighed. “The bottom line is that we still don’t have the drawing and that it’s more likely he was killed to get it.” She looked at Pilar. “I shouldn’t be talking like this—it must upset you.”

“No, I’m all right, really. Seeing the leather case brought back some memories, but they weren’t especially pleasant ones. I’m fine.”

DiMaio was about to put his arm around her but stopped when he noticed the other policemen watching them. Instead he turned to Betta. “Vitellozzi is the one key person in this case I haven’t talked to yet. I’ll go see him tomorrow and ask him if Somonte was carrying the drawing when they talked. If Somonte did have the drawing that day, I have to wonder why he didn’t mention it to you two. It’s not as if he didn’t know the drawing was missing.” He watched as the old man got to his feet and started down the street. The inspector walked to him and slipped something into his hand and got a puzzled look. Then he shuffled off under the glare of the man in the bathrobe. “We needed to give the barbone something for finding the case, even though it didn’t contain the drawing.”

“That was good of you, Alfredo,” said Pilar.

DiMaio shrugged. “Perhaps you should go back to the hotel with Riccardo and Betta. I may be a while here.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Alfredo, do you want me to go with you tomorrow to see Vitellozzi?”

“Thanks, Betta, but since you and Riccardo talked to him this morning, I should do the follow-up. I’m not sure which one I should see first, though, Vitellozzi or Professor Florio.”

“Florio?” Rick asked. “Why Florio?”

DiMaio pointed at the building next to that of the concerned citizen, who was still standing in his bathrobe outside his front door. “That’s Florio’s office. And behind this wall are the botanical gardens. Either Florio is involved and is not very smart about hiding evidence, or he’s being set up as a suspect. More likely it’s neither and our murderer simply decided to dump the leather case here since it was convenient. Either way, I’ll have to talk with Florio. I hope I don’t have to listen to another harebrained theory about who killed Somonte.”

* * *

Clad in a red UNM sweatshirt, shorts, and running shoes, Rick leaned over the counter and studied the city map with a groggy desk clerk who had just come on duty. Together they worked out a different route for the morning run. Rick had wondered if the steep streets could be avoided, but the only way to make it at all flat would be several turns around the parking lot below the castle, and Rick ruled that out as too boring. Instead, the clerk traced a percorso that would take Rick along the southern walls of the city, then on the appropriately named Via delle Mura before reaching a main street to return him to the hotel. Rick raised the option of running along the road he and Betta used in and out of town, but the clerk ruled it out, saying the lack of path would make it too dangerous, even if there was little traffic at that hour of the day. Rick thanked him, stuffed the map into his pocket, and walked to the door.

Unlike the previous morning, the city saw no fog. The sun had not yet come over the spires of the palace, but enough light seeped through the sky that the streetlamps, though still lit, were not needed. After some stretching Rick ran to the corner and turned left and climbed the hill to the small square where they had received the call from DiMaio the night before. Except for a small sanitation truck emptying wastebaskets, it was deserted. He made a sharp turn and ran onto a street he hadn’t been on before, Corso Garibaldi. Was there a law that required every city in Italy to name a street after the hero of the Risorgimento? The buildings on either side closed in on him, forming a stone canyon that echoed his footfalls. After a short distance, the western side of the duke’s palace loomed above him, extending all the way past ornate balconies to the two rounded towers high above. Perhaps one of those balconies opened off Vitellozzi’s office, a luxurious perk for the museum director. If his story that he’d received Somonte in his office was correct, they might have looked out over this street.

Rick lowered his gaze and jogged on as the surroundings changed from stony urban to natural green. Tall, leafy trees blocked any view of the buildings above him on the left, and on the right side ran a brick wall, beyond which opened up the splendid countryside of