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

“Excellent,” said Rick, now in Italian as well. “Then I’ll just sit here in case there is some word that either of you may need assistance with. It’s my pleasure.” The three sat on the bench, DiMaio in the middle inclined toward the Spaniard.

“How can I help you?” DiMaio asked.

The consul did his best to get back his composure. He took a deep breath and put a concerned look on his face. “I have come regarding the investigation of Manuel Somonte’s murder.”

“I assumed that,” said DiMaio.

“He is, or rather he was, a most important man in Spain. He had many friends. In very high places, even in the Foreign Ministry.”

“I see. It would be natural of them to be concerned that the investigation is being given the very highest priority by the Italian authorities. Anything less would be seen as unacceptable.”

The consul nodded his head in a deliberate way. “I think we understand each other, Inspector. Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me exactly how the investigation is proceeding and what your conclusions have been to this hour.” He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest.

DiMaio rubbed his chin and frowned. He was about to say something when Rick bent his head around the policeman’s shoulder. “Signor Consul, I’m sure you can understand the implications of your question. Were the inspector to give you any details, it would mean that you would have to give implicit approval of…” Rick rolled his eyes toward the door from which DiMaio had just emerged. “Of the methods used by the authorities here. If that were to come to the attention of the press, it might put you in a rather delicate position. Of course, if that is not a concern…”

The Spaniard raised a hand. “No, no, I have complete confidence in the Italian police. I certainly didn’t want to give the impression that I thought otherwise. My main concern was to convey the embassy’s appreciation for the, uh, work that you’re doing on behalf of a citizen of my country.”

This guy will go far as a diplomat, Rick thought.

“Buon giorno.” The three men jumped to their feet as Pilar strolled toward them. On this morning she had gone casual: tight jeans and a turtleneck sweater. “If this is something important, I will not interrupt. I can wait over there.” Rick detected something in her tone that was different from the previous evening. Didn’t she sleep well? Had she and Alfredo had an argument?

“No,” said DiMaio, “not at all. This is the consular representative of your embassy. Signor Consul, may I present Signora Pilar Somonte, the daughter of the deceased.”

The consul’s eyes widened in equal proportion to the squinting of Pilar. She took a moment to size up her compatriot before speaking in rapid-fire Spanish. DiMaio edged away, Rick right behind him.

“What’s she saying?”

“I’ll translate.” Rick listened to Pilar and spoke in DiMaio’s ear. “She is not happy with the support the consulate is providing… She just called him a pin-headed bureaucrat… Why had he contacted the widow and not her as well?… She plans to talk to the ambassador…she will also contact the Foreign Ministry when she gets back to Spain… She just called him another name I didn’t understand that I’d guess is regional slang and not at all flattering.”

The outburst had gained the attention of the woman at the other end of the bench, though her son was still deep into his cell phone. All during the tirade the consul nodded his head but said nothing except the occasional “si.” Finally he mumbled a few words to her, excused himself to DiMaio, and made for the door.

Pilar stood there until he was outside. She turned to the policeman, then to Rick. “I’ll have to see you later, Alfredo, when we’re alone.”

Rick watched her go, then looked at Alfredo, who was staring at the ground. Something was happening, but Rick decided this was not the time to ask DiMaio what it was. They sat down on the bench and said nothing for an uncomfortable minute before the policeman spoke. “Well, Riccardo, I’m so glad we all had the chance to meet the consul. It was certainly a pleasure chatting with him, wasn’t it?”

“A lovely man.”

More silence, broken by Rick.

“Pilar seems a bit agitated this morning, don’t you think?”

“You could say that.”

“It may be something in the culture. Iberian drama. Which reminds me that I ran into Signora Somonte yesterday outside in the parking lot. She was coming to see you.”

“I’m sorry to have missed her.”

“I’m sure you were, Alfredo. She asked me to tell you that you should not assume it was an Italian who murdered her husband.”

DiMaio chuckled. “Her dislike of Pilar appears to know no bounds.” He clapped Rick on the shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did with the consul. I suspect I won’t be bothered by him again.”

Thanks to Pilar as well, Rick was going to say, but thought better of it. He looked at the woman and her son, and recalled his uncle’s guessing game. “Alfredo, you don’t happen to know why those two are in here, do you?”

DiMaio leaned forward, looked down the bench, and leaned back. “Signora Posilipo. She comes in every day at this hour to take orders for anyone who has to eat at their desk; then she brings the food back at lunchtime. She makes a dynamite vincisgrassi.”

“The guy with her?”

“Her nephew. He teaches semiotics at the university.”

They got up and started walking toward DiMaio’s office. “Do you want a coffee, Riccardo? I need one; I’ve been up since six.”

“Not for me. Garcia wanted to talk with me, and I’m meeting him in about fifteen minutes. You should come with me.”

The inspector thought for a moment. “No, Riccardo, it would just take more time with the interpreting between Spanish and Italian. Plus, I have to go back to the crime scene at Bruzzone’s shop. Garcia may well