Death in the Dolomites by David Wagner (feel good books .TXT) 📕

to laugh or get pissed off. He opted for the latter. “You had me rush over here because you can’t get along with the person who drove up here to help you in your time of crisis?”

Cat’s expression turned into a pout, and it was not becoming. “Rick, she’s just…stifling. She hovers like the dorm supervisor we had in school. I can’t stand her.”

“Well, you can’t always choose the people you have to deal with in life, Cat.” He got to his feet.

“Don’t go, Rick. I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, this is not an easy time. I’m on edge.”

He studied her face and slowly sat back down. She was right about finding herself in a tough situation, and it wasn’t his place to be judgmental. He knew he had to give her the benefit of the doubt. What happened to her brother wasn’t her fault—at least he didn’t think it was.

“Okay, Cat, you got me here. How can I help?”

“First let me help you.” She bounced to her feet and Rick noticed that the sweatshirt, though roomy, still fit well. “I am remiss in my duties as a hostess. What can I get you to drink?”

“Do you have any beer?”

“I think so. But it’s Italian.”

“Well, we are in Italy, Cat, last time I checked. That will be fine.”

She disappeared into the kitchen. He got up and looked around the room, which hadn’t changed since his last visit. The cover of the book she was reading was dominated by a woman barely dressed in futuristic armor, facing off with a tentacled creature not in the least intimidated by her ray gun. Rick always wondered what kind of people read such books, and now he knew. He heard the pop of a bottle cap being removed, then the beer pouring into a glass. Even at many of the best places in Albuquerque, patrons were always asked if they wanted a glass or just the bottle, but this wasn’t New Mexico. Cat reappeared, a beer mug in one hand and a crystal glass with something on the rocks in the other. Rick took his beer, tapped it with her glass, and returned to his chair.

“Is there any news on the investigation?” Cat settled back into the cushions.

“I don’t really know what Inspector Albani is up to,” Rick said. It wasn’t true, but he didn’t want to get into any details with someone who was at least peripherally considered a suspect. “I know he’s been interviewing a lot of people.”

“I thought you were, you know, working with him.”

Rick took a sip of his beer to give him time to respond. It didn’t taste like one of the big national brands, like Peroni or Moretti; it was probably something local. With the number of German speakers in the Dolomites, there would have to be lots of local beers.

“I was here to help translate, Cat. But if you have something else he should know, something you’ve remembered, I can tell him. We’re staying in the same hotel.”

“No, nothing new. I just thought…”

Rick studied her face silently, considering various possibilities. The most obvious was that she truly was upset, outside her comfort level, and in need of some support. Of course Lori had been giving that support all afternoon, but perhaps in a manner that was more overbearing than comforting. Or perhaps Cat was somehow involved in the murder and was probing to find out how much he knew. If that was the case, their interaction now would become a game of cat and mouse, or rather Cat and Rick. The third possibility was that she was simply attracted to him, and that’s why she’d called and asked him to come over. He had to admit he preferred that one to the first two. There was a fourth possibility: some combination of the first three.

“The inspector is tracking down various leads, I know that. He seems very efficient.”

“It was someone local, wasn’t it?”

“I doubt if someone came up from Milan, or from the States, if that’s what you mean.”

She took a strong pull of her drink. “I just wish there was something I could do.”

“Cat, perhaps it’s best for you to try and take your mind off things. Being with the vice consul all day, dealing with the details you had to talk about, has taken its toll.”

“I had no idea there were so many decisions to make.”

“I’m sure. And you’ve been cooped up here all afternoon. Why don’t we go out for a walk around town? Getting some fresh air will do you good.”

“Oh, I’d love that, Rick.” She stood up, and to his surprise, drained her glass. “Take your time with your beer, I’ll just freshen up.”

Before he could get to his feet she disappeared down the hall. His hand reached for the mug on the table next to the chair. After another drink of the beer he held it up and studied the frowning face of the Irish leprechaun, his fists up, ready for a fight. Perhaps this had been Cameron Taylor’s third-favorite possession, after his cap and expensive skis. Rick put down the mug and walked to the window where he could see people walking slowly along the sidewalk below. He couldn’t tell if the flakes swirling on the street were falling from the sky or being picked up from the ground by a passing gust of wind. Whatever their source, they gave the couples he watched a good excuse to pull closer.

He walked back to the chairs, picked up his mug and Cat’s glass, and walked into the kitchen. In the sink were some dishes and a frying pan, but he found room for the glass and mug, into which he ran some water. In the drain were a few strands of spaghetti, the remnants of what looked like a simple meal. Probably all that Cat would be capable of, Rick decided, without Maria in the kitchen. He walked back into the living room and sat down, stretching his legs out