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

it, which probably came with the office. Rick was familiar with his type: politicians who were all sweetness with their constituents but short with underlings and people who they decided didn’t count. He’d seen them in New Mexico and Rome; the same animal speaking a different language.

“I wouldn’t know, Signor Boscoli. My help to the inspector has been in interpreting, since a couple of the parties involved are Americans.”

“You must have some sense of how the investigation is going.”

“Even if I did, it wouldn’t be correct for me to tell anyone, don’t you think so?”

It was obvious the man didn’t think so. “Of course,” he said, and looked without subtlety at his watch. “I must be going.”

Rick thanked him for the juice, they shook hands, and Boscoli walked quickly to the door. Rick got the eye of the barista and pointed to the empty cup and glass, getting a head shake in return. Apparently the mayor ran a tab.

***

“Remind me again what the mayor looks like,” said Betta. “He was only at our table for a minute, and I was looking up at him.”

“Heavy set, a little goatee that makes him look a bit satanic, thinning hair.” Rick was applying butter to a crusty roll in preparation for a thick layer of jelly. He was always hungry after his run, but today his appetite was larger than normal. She watched him over the top of her coffee cup.

Despite the chill Rick had experienced on his run, the hotel had not moved breakfast inside. The clients didn’t seem to mind, given the view of the rooftops and cathedral, but they were more bundled up than the previous morning. Half the tables were occupied, and as usual he tried to guess the nationalities of the people at them. About half Italian, he thought. Two tables of Germans, the rest Brits and Gringos.

“If the long range weather forecast I saw on TV when you were dealing with the mayor was correct, this terrace may soon be closed for the season.” She poured more coffee into her cup and added hot milk.

“There could always be…“ Rick tried to remember the term in Italian for “Indian summer.” He knew there was one, but it wasn’t coming to him.

“L’estate di San Martino,” Betta said, stirring sugar into the cup.

“Yes, that’s it. Why couldn’t I think of it?”

The smile showed her perfect white teeth. “Clearly you’re losing your touch. You’d better quit your translator job and become a policeman, as your uncle is always telling you.”

He grunted through a mouthful of roll. After swallowing, he said: “I should probably get paid, I’m working so much for the cops. But today, Cara, I will push the murder case out of my mind and leave it in the capable hands of LoGuercio. After I spent so much time with Paolo yesterday, today you and I will be together and do interesting things that have nothing to do with murder.”

“Until something comes up.”

“Of course, until something comes up.” He watched as she carefully cut the rind off an orange and pull the pieces apart on her plate. His hand darted out and grabbed one. “I thought we might see another part of Umbria this morning and drive over to Todi. Does that sound like fun?”

“It does, Rick. I’ve never been there.”

“Then Todi it is. Far from the murder case.”

“And far from falling flower pots.”

When they’d finished their coffee, Rick pulled back Betta’s chair as she got to her feet and they walked to the glass doors. The British couple that had been in the sitting room the previous night was being seated at a table near by. Rick smiled at them and nodded.

“Mornin’, folks.”

All the flustered woman could come up with was “Good day.” The man just stared.

***

Betta won the coin toss and chose to be the driver on the andata to Todi, so that Rick would get the ritorno. That way each would be able to give their full attention to the scenery in one direction. It was only a few minutes into the drive, as the dark blue Lancia was barreling around a traffic circle, when Rick mentioned her speed.

“Piano, Betta. This isn’t your brother’s motorcycle. We’re in no rush.”

She said nothing and downshifted into third to slow their speed without the use of the brake. The engine voiced a disappointed whine. They followed the distinctive green A1 autostrada signs to drive away from Orvieto Scalo and on south. The road passed the entrance and toll booths, staying on the two-lane pavement alongside the highway. Rick watched the cars heading south on the autostrada and could not help noticing that Betta was keeping up with them. He kept silent.

A few minutes after passing the toll booths, their road bent left and in quick succession they passed over the Tiber and the highway. Then the road began to climb steeply, going through an area that would not be considered the most scenic part of Umbria. For most world travelers, central Italy was vineyards, art and Renaissance buildings. But the less picturesque infrastructure had to be put somewhere, and their car passed it now. Stacks of rusting metal and yellowed plastic pipe rose behind a menacing row of barbed-wire fencing. Old cars and trucks that had long ceased to run tried unsuccessfully to form a neat line. The fading letters on the building between them indicated a construction firm, but Rick doubted it had put up any structures recently. Farther up the road was another low building, but at least this one showed human activity, and its coat of paint was recent. They were past it before he could decipher the type of business.

The highway passed through scrubby bushes before opening a view of a dam which held back the Tiber to form the Lago di Corbara. Their road now ran along the lake, crossing one arm of it on a causeway before climbing into hills covered with low trees. Below them the water squeezed back to river-width as they