Death in the Dolomites by David Wagner (people reading books TXT) 📗

I had called Trento to suggest that you be brought into the investigation.”

Rick shook his head as he held the phone to his ear. This was typical of Uncle Piero. “I doubt if I can be of much help, except to do some translating for the inspector.”

“You never know, Riccardo.” There was a pause. “I should tell you that Inspector Albani has a good reputation.”

Rick grinned. It was just the kind of thing his uncle would have checked on before getting his nephew involved.

“There’s something else, though,” Piero added. “Inspector Albani is also known to have some quirks.”

I’d already sensed that, Rick thought.

They exchanged family pleasantries for a while longer before Rick hung up and finished getting dressed. He was pleased and flattered that his uncle had gotten semi-official support for his assisting in the disappearance investigation. This could allow him to get more into things than simply translating for Luca with the sister of the missing man. He wondered how the inspector would take having an amateur forced on him.

Chapter Three

The main square of Campiglio was getting another dusting of light snow. Earlier a Zamboni-like machine had pushed the night’s accumulation into high piles on two sides of the piazza, allowing the pensioners out for their morning exercise to stroll across it without trouble. The afternoon crowd was different, more mothers with carriages and small children, and even some tourists who for some reason had skipped the afternoon session on the slopes. The shops were open, but would not be doing much business until the late afternoon and evening when the mountain closed. Luca gestured Rick to stop, pointing to three little boys who had climbed to the top of one of the snowbanks. They were pushing chunks of snow off their little hill and watching them splatter over the pavement.

“Look at the reactions of those men on the bench,” said Luca. Four men in their seventies sat watching the boys’ antics. “The two on the left, who are frowning, they don’t have any grandchildren. But not the other two men, they are loving it.”

Rick studied the bench. “Perhaps the two grumpy ones are relatives of the men who sweep the piazza. Or maybe they had the job themselves before they retired.”

“When I retire, I will prefer watching children.”

“You’re too young to be thinking about retirement, aren’t you Luca?” They walked out of the square onto Campiglio’s main street, following the directions given them at the local police station. Luca had politely turned down the offer of the sergeant to accompany them to the apartment of the missing man’s sister.

“It is never too early to think about choices in life, my American friend, no matter how distant they may seem to be. Life is like riding in a car on the autostrada. You vaguely make out something very far off, and before you realize it…zoom, it is past you. You must always be watching, enjoying what is around you, asking questions. Like that balcony up there.” Most of the buildings on the main street had shops at street level, apartments in the upper stories, most with balconies. Inspector Albani was looking at one whose flower boxes, despite the season, were filled with healthy red geraniums. “The person living in that apartment has taken loving care of those flowers, perhaps covering them at night to avoid freezing or even bringing them inside. The contrast with the other apartments on the floor is striking. What would cause someone to go to such trouble? The desire to show up the neighbors? Or something more noble, like a vow to continue to care for the flowers after the death of a spouse who in life took great joy in them? There is a story there, either an uplifting one or something more banal.”

Rick was starting to understand what Flavio meant about getting tired around Luca.

“I am curious, Riccardo, about you and Flavio, the chance meeting at the university which has turned into a strong friendship. He was immersed in a foreign culture, struggled, but was thrown a lifeline by someone who by chance had lived in two cultures himself. The story fascinates me.”

“Everything seems to fascinate you, Luca.”

The policeman laughed. “You are right. But you two are so different. You seem very relaxed and cheerful. Flavio, he’s…”

“He’s not relaxed and cheerful. True. But now it’s my turn for the analysis, Luca. I think you know very well how we could have become friends, since you went through the same process after you two met during that embezzlement investigation. He came to trust you, and you eventually got through Flavio’s armor and found that he could be a loyal friend. You learned that he would, as we say in America, give you the shirt off his back. And now you want to see if my experience was the same as yours. Am I right?”

Luca’s grin almost ran the width of his round face. “I am impressed by your intuition, Riccardo. You will be of great help in this investigation, and not just by allowing me to bounce my theories off a fellow Roman.” Rick threw up his hands defensively. “Yes, yes,” responded Luca, “you are not a Romano in the usual sense. But regardless, your uncle is right in trying to get you into police work full time rather than occasionally helping out policemen like me.” He brushed snow off his thick black hair.

“Won’t happen, Luca. Where’s your hat?”

“How embarrassing. I left Trento this morning in such a rush I forgot to pack it. Mine would not be as stylish as yours, though.”

Rick touched his fingers to the brim of his Borsalino. He’d admired it in the window of a hat shop near Piazza Navona for weeks before the cooler weather in Rome finally provided a justification for the purchase. “Unless you can find this guy quickly, Luca, you’ll have to get one here. You don’t want to be catching a head cold.”

“You sound like my wife.” He looked at a piece of