Return to Umbria by David Wagner (best book series to read .txt) 📕

“You are certain that it was Morgante who went into the woman’s office?”

“Absolutely. He was wearing his white coat and I could see his face. I suggested to LoGuercio that he could have been bringing Signora Cappello something to calm her nerves after receiving the news of her friend’s death. Pharmacists do such things.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Not in the least. I didn’t notice any medications in his hand, though he could have had something in his coat pocket. But by the way he was rushing to her side it seemed like she was more than a regular client.”

“So you think they may be…lovers?”

“Could be. Or not that serious. Maybe they’re just likers.”

The draft beers arrived with thick heads in tall glasses. The waiter paused with his hands behind his back and waited to hear what they’d like to eat. Rick was surprised to hear Betta order a quattro stagioni before he asked for his margherita. The waiter nodded and left. Rick and Betta tapped their glasses and drank.

“That’s good,” said Rick before licking some foam from his lips. “Can you guess where I had the best draft beer ever?”

“Germany?”

“No. I was too young to drink beer the time my parents took me to Germany.”

“Probably Albuquerque.” She still had trouble pronouncing it, but she was getting there.

“Good guess, but no. It was Rio, the last time I visited my parents. There is a little restaurant called the Bar Lagoa, where they have the coldest and freshest draft beer you’ll ever drink. We were sitting outside, and it was warm, as it often is in Rio, even at night. The cold beer on a hot night was wonderful.”

“You were at this bar, in a city known for its sensuous women, with your parents?”

“Of course.”

He took another swig and his face turned serious. “Betta, I’m a bit giu about how things are going here in Orvieto. Only your presence keeps my spirits up. Nothing is happening on the murder inquiry.” He raised a hand to stop her from speaking. “I know, I know, it’s only been one day, but as my uncle always says, most cases are solved within twenty-four hours. If the killer is not found almost immediately, the chances of finding him drop dramatically. If nothing happens tomorrow, this case will start going cold fast.”

“Rick, the autopsy results aren’t even in yet.”

“Do you think anything will come of them?”

“You never know.”

Rick stared at his beer glass, now half full. Or was it half empty? “And the other problem is Fabrizio. It appears that the situation is more serious than we thought, and my cousin is blissfully oblivious to his possible danger. And he doesn’t answer his phone.”

“Try calling him again, Rick. He may have been in the shower when you called from the street.”

Rick pulled the phone from his jacket folded over the back of his chair and hit a button while Betta watched and waited.

Rick shook his head. “I’m going to have to go back to his place and hope he’s in. I’ll send him a text.” He tapped the small screen while she took another pull from her beer. “Sent. ‘Will come by your apartment at ten. Hope to find you there.’ That should do it.”

“If he doesn’t want you to come, Rick, you should hear from him.”

Their pizzas arrived. The colorful quadrants of Betta’s “four seasons” held prosciutto, artichokes, olives, and mushrooms. Rick looked at it and nodded in approval.

“Very lively. But I am more traditional. The classic margherita is the ultimate test of the skill of the pizzaiolo. He must add just the right amount of cheese, proportioned with the tomato sauce, and of course the basil has to be present but not overpowering.”

“Since you are an expert, I trust you know the origin of the margherita?”

Rick recoiled. “What do you take me for, some tourist? Of course. It was created in Naples to honor the visiting the Queen Margherita, its ingredients mirroring the colors of the Italian flag.”

“Bravo.”

They picked up knife and fork and cut into their respective pies. The pizza and beer did not take their minds off the issues at hand, as they both had hoped.

***

Rick walked Betta to the hotel, picked up the directions for Fabrizio’s love nest, and headed out again into Orvieto’s night. The temperature had dropped, which may have been the reason the streets were more deserted than earlier. More likely it was simply the time; the locals were sitting cozily in front of their television sets and the tourists were back in their hotel rooms after a long and tiring day of soaking up culture. Rick kept his hands in his coat pockets, pulling one out occasionally to consult the map. Light came only from the occasional street lamp, as most windows of the houses on the streets had already been shuttered. Between their thick stone walls, windows, and heavy wooden shutters, the centuries-old homes could hold in the warmth very well. Rick recalled the traditional houses of his northern New Mexico relatives and wondered which building material was more energy efficient, stone or adobe bricks. Or more expensive.

The street where Fabrizio lived was empty of both people and parked cars. Rick walked along trying to find the number, but it was not as easy as the previous day when the afternoon sun aided in the search. To make things worse, the one street light over Fabrizio’s part of the block was burned out, so Rick had to get close to each number to read it. He eventually found the right door, and was about to walk up and ring the bell when he noticed a bit of light spilling out on the street. When he got closer he could see that the door was slightly ajar. Not what would be expected on a chilly fall evening. Rick reached out and pushed the door inward, where it bumped softly against the wall. He stepped inside.

“Fabrizio? Are you in