EIGHT

Saturday morning, Tilde ushered Nico and OneWag into her kitchen. This room was a first for OneWag. He had already greeted Tilde with his single wag. Now, it was time to explore the brand-new smells.

Nico stayed in the doorway. He had many memories attached to this kitchen. He and Rita had eaten countless breakfasts in the wood-floored room that belonged to a previous century. Two old, mismatched armoires and a fat bureau stood against the walls in place of cabinets. Under the one window, a long oak table that had once been in a refectory served as counter space. Now, it displayed two cakes. One wall held a vast array of pots and pans so clean they gleamed. A waist-high fireplace was wedged into the corner. In the center of the room, a round table covered by a white lace tablecloth was already set for breakfast with Tilde’s good china. The stove and refrigerator were the only modern appliances in sight.

Tilde noticed the softness in Nico’s eyes. She patted his arm. “They were happy times.”

“Very,” Nico said. He turned to give Tilde a quick embrace for understanding him. “Today is happy too. Where’s your beautiful daughter?”

“Doing her granddaughterly duty. Elvira always has to come first. You know that.”

“She isn’t having breakfast with us?”

“No. She isn’t very good at sharing Stella. Sit down, I’ve just made coffee. Enzo has gone to pick Stella up.” Elvira lived near the restaurant, Tilde and Enzo in the other half of the old town, a good fifteen-minute walk from Elvira’s home. Nico suspected the choice of location was Tilde’s.

Nico sat in one of the chairs around the table. Tilde poured coffee into a delicate cup.

Enzo walked in. “Ciao, Nico.”

Nico stood up. “Buongiorno.”

The doorway filled with a sudden splash of bright blue. “Zio Nico!”

Nico opened his arms, and Stella rushed into them.

“Ooh, I’ve missed you.” Stella said, looking at Nico’s strong face with its deepening wrinkles and the smiling eyes. She stroked his cheek. Good, solid Nico, who was always so kind to her. When she’d moved to Florence at the beginning of the year to start her job as a museum guard at the Opera del Duomo Museum, he had written long weekly emails encouraging her and giving her strength. He’d wanted to call, to visit, as had her parents, but she’d asked them not to. She needed to be alone, but the emails were more than welcome.

OneWag looked up at Stella and barked. She picked him up, burying her nose in his fur. Everything at home seemed the same, and yet it wasn’t, or at least, she wasn’t. She was stronger and more independent now.

“Sit down everyone,” Tilde said. She led Stella to the table. When she had come home last night, Tilde couldn’t keep her hands off her beautiful, sweet daughter. Almost six months had passed since she’d left. Staying away from Florence had been painful. Many times she had been tempted to drive to the city and hide somewhere in the museum simply to watch her daughter, breathe in her presence. She realized what a silly thought it was. She never would have been able to just watch. The need to hug Stella, to talk to her would have overwhelmed her. She had since made peace with talking to her in emails. Stella would email back at most a paragraph, reassuring her all was well. Once a week, Stella would call on FaceTime, telling them about the people she met at the museum, going into details on the art and signing off with, “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I love you.”

“Sit,” Tilde said. “The coffee’s getting cold.”

“And I’m starved.” Stella sat between Nico and Enzo, the only two men in her life now. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all the attention she was getting at home, though loving it too. “I hear there’s been another murder.”

Tilde’s sharp voice cut her off. “Please, Stella!” Last year’s murder had weighed heavily on all of them.

Nico squeezed Stella’s hand. He hadn’t seen her in almost six months. She had called only twice, when she was worried about her parents. She looked tired and too thin. “I hear you have something special to tell us.”

“I’ll tell you after I’ve filled my stomach with Mamma’s cooking.” As Tilde poured coffee for the four of them, Stella brought over the two cakes that had been sitting on the refectory table. “My favorites! Mamma, thank you. I’m going to get fat this weekend.”

“You need it,” Enzo said and took the two cakes away from her. “Tell us the news now, please, if you don’t want your mother to have a heart attack.”

Stella laughed. “Mamma’s too young for that.” She sat back down and pushed the cakes back in front of her. “I’ll only tell you if I can talk with my mouth full.”

“At twenty-two, you can do whatever you want,” Enzo said. “Just remember not to do that in front of your grandmother. Did you tell her?”

“No, Babbo. You come first.” Stella cut a slice of semolina cake dotted with raisins and crystallized fruit and offered it to Nico. He pushed the plate back. “Eat and tell us.”

Stella dug her fork and held it up in front of her. She wasn’t being fair to them. “My good news is that I’ve been promoted. I even got a small raise.” The loaded fork went into her mouth.

Enzo hugged her. Tilde clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from tearing. Nico patted her back. “So soon. That’s wonderful.”

“I’m not surprised,” Enzo said. Tilde nodded. Her daughter deserved much more and would ultimately get what she deserved. Tilde had no doubts.

Stella continued to eat. She had taken it upon herself to be more than a guard for the area she was in charge of. She entertained the visitors with her knowledge of the works: The Penitent Magdalen by Donatello that had moved her to tears the first time she had seen her, Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise restored to a golden sheen, each panel a story all its own. The most moving of all was Michelangelo’s Pietà. The director of the Duomo had noticed her involvement with visitors and promoted her to guide.

After polishing off two slices of each cake, Stella turned to Nico. “Someone you know has come to visit the museum several times. You’ll never guess who.”

“Gogol.”

“No, although he would love it. You should book a tour with me and bring him.”

“Not a bad idea. I’ll suggest it.”

Tilde stood up to make more coffee. “Gogol has only ever gone as far as Panzano. Florence would terrify him.”

“Show him pictures of the Gates of Paradise,” Stella suggested. “That might convince him.”

“Who, then?” Enzo asked.

“Daniele, Salvatore’s brigadiere. He only knows about Venetian artists, so he’s full of curiosity about our art. He’s a wonderful listener and can be quite funny too.”

“Good for him,” Nico said, noticing a slight frown appear on Enzo’s forehead.

“You’ve seen him outside the museum?”

“Yes, we had coffee after work.” She regretted having mentioned Daniele in front of her father. Daniele had been involved in last year’s murder investigation, but then, so had Nico.

“He’s a nice boy,” Tilde said to put Enzo at ease. “Am I right, Nico?”

“Daniele is a piece of bread,” Nico said, using the Italian expression he had learned last year. It meant Daniele was good and kind.

Enzo looked at his watch. “Ehi, it’s time we got to the restaurant.” He stood up and took his plate to the sink. “Nico, I need a favor.”

“I’m yours.”

“The other day I ordered three cases of ColleVerde wine thanks to Mantelli’s recommendation. I got a bill, but the wine won’t be delivered until Monday. I could use a case tonight.”

“I’ll pick up all three cases this afternoon.”

“Thanks.”

“You’d better hide the bill from your mother,” Tilde said. Elvira’s hawk eyes examined every invoice, and her arthritic hand wrote the checks. “She’ll burst a blood vessel if she knows you listened to Mantelli.”

“I’ve already taken care of it.”

“Good.” Tilde started to clear the table.

Stella stopped her. “Stop, Mamma. I’ll clean up. I’ll see you at the restaurant. Tell Alba she’s got a helper for the weekend.”

“She knows.” Tilde dropped a kiss on Stella’s head, waved to Nico, took off her apron and was out the door. Enzo blew a kiss at Stella and followed.

“I’m glad Daniele is taking advantage of what Florence has to offer,” Nico said as he helped clear the table.

“He seems very eager to learn.”

Nico wondered if that eagerness had more to do with Stella than the art on display. Stella was just as beautiful. But he said nothing. Stella seemed lost in thought.

Stella threw out the coffee grinds and rinsed the two mokas. She liked Daniele’s company, his enthusiasm, his innocence. The second time they had coffee together, she didn’t want him to leave. She walked him to the bus depot behind the Santa Maria Novella train station. As he got on the bus, she had reached up and kissed his cheek. The redness that bloomed on his cheeks had made her smile.

Nico stopped at the Ferriello vineyard before going home. OneWag jumped out, looking for Arben.

Cinzia heard the car and came to the open door of the welcome center to see who it was. “Ciao. Nico. Aldo’s not here. Salvatore asked us to give official statements about our whereabouts on the day Mantelli was poisoned. He wanted us separately, so Aldo went first.”

That explained what she was wearing: a simple loose beige dress that covered her arms and knees. Cinzia’s usual uniform was tight slacks and even tighter Ferriello top.

Nico walked over and kissed her cheeks. “I came to see you, actually. Do you have a moment?” Behind him, OneWag leapt after a tennis ball flying across the parking lot.

“That’s a happy dog,” Cinzia said stepping back inside. “I wish I could say the same for me.”

“You’re worried?”

“I’m definitely scared. Did you know Aldo and Mantelli were at Il Falco at the same time Tuesday night?”

“I did.”

“Thank God Mantelli’s wife was there too. She has a much stronger reason for killing Mantelli than Aldo does.”

On the selling counter, Nico noticed an open bottle of wine and a half-empty glass. It was only ten-thirty.

Cinzia caught him looking. “Wine calms me down. Join me.”

“No, thanks.” He took both her hands and sat her down next to him on the bench. “Did Perillo tell you that the investigation is going to be in the hands of a captain from the Nucleo Investigativo?”

“Yes, he did. It makes things so much worse. Salvatore, Daniele, all the carabinieri at the station know us. We’re good people, and Aldo would never kill anyone.”

“I know that, but you have to tell the truth now. Both of you have to.”

Cinzia took her hands back and sat up straight. “We have.”

“I wish I’d come earlier, before Aldo went to the station.”

“He told the truth yesterday. Salvatore will remember what he said, and Aldo will tell the truth today.”

“What about you? Have you been telling the truth?”

Cinzia reached for the glass and took a long sip. “Of course I have.”

“Omitting something is just as bad as lying, Cinzia.”

“Since when have you picked up a judge’s gavel?”

“I’m not judging anyone. It’s not my place. I’m trying to help. If you don’t tell the whole story about you and Mantelli, Capitano Tarani will find out. Perillo would have found out too. It’s just a matter of putting two and two together.”

Cinzia finished her wine and started pouring herself another glass. Nico tried to stop her. She slapped his hand away. “Fuck off, Nico. What do you know about anything?” She filled her glass and held it to her chest.

“Maybe nothing. Maybe I have it all wrong, but this is what I think may have happened. The name Ferri is on Mantelli’s list of vintners who paid him for a good review. Mantelli could never give the man who stole his love a good review, but as long as he got paid, he wouldn’t give him a bad one, either. Aldo is not a man who bows down to threats. He would have risked losing his vineyard rather than pay Mantelli.”

Cinzia said nothing.

“You paid in his place.”

Cinzia opened her eyes wide. “I did? If I paid him, why would Michele write that terrible review? His wife read it aloud to me, you know. He wrote that Aldo cheated, used grapes from another region. Why would he do that if I’d paid him?”

“This past winter, Aldo had to buy new harvesting machines, and suddenly there wasn’t enough money to keep paying Mantelli. That’s when he wrote the review, but he never sent it in. He knew that ruining Aldo also meant ruining you. You were his great love, and so he offered you an out. Leave Aldo, and Aldo would become rich from his praise.”

“I would never do that.”

“Did you make a counteroffer?” Not her heart, but her body? “Tuesday night, I saw you drive off at around ten o’clock. You don’t have to tell me where you were going. I’m asking you to tell Perillo.”

Cinzia was on the verge of tears. “And what? Tell him I was willing to sell myself to save our business? That would only give Aldo even greater reason to kill Michele.”

“Why would Aldo have to know what you were planning? You can tell Perillo you wanted one more chance to change Mantelli’s mind.”

“By talking?”

“Yes. Let Perillo think what he wants.”

“He’ll think I killed him.”

“I doubt he will. For one thing, he knows you, and from what the girlfriend told Perillo, it looks like Mantelli was already sick by the time he got home after dinner. What about Tuesday afternoon? Can someone vouch for your whereabouts?”

“I took Hua Chen to Florence in the morning. He wanted to buy his wife a present. After shopping, we had lunch. We got home around four o’clock. Aldo wasn’t there, but Arben saw me. I worked with Arben the rest of the afternoon.”

“That’s good news. Now tell me about Tuesday night.”

Cinzia finished her glass and pushed the cork back into the bottle. “Aldo wasn’t going to come home anytime soon, so I decided to go to Michele’s house to make him an offer he might accept. If he wasn’t in, I was going to leave a note. I stopped halfway up the front steps when I heard a woman’s angry voice. The windows were wide open. I got closer to get a peek and saw his girlfriend standing in the middle of the kitchen. She had her back to me, but I recognized the long hair. She was yelling at Michele for being drunk, for spoiling her evening, for making promises he wasn’t going to keep. I couldn’t see him until I moved closer. He must have been sitting. I only saw his head. He was holding it up with his hands.”

“Did you touch anything?”

“No. I parked the car on the street and found the gate open. I just walked through the front garden, heard the voice and moved to the window.”

“Good, let Tarani put you on the suspect list but not find fingerprints to place you at the scene. You’ll tell Perillo everything?”

She nodded slowly. “You won’t say anything to Aldo, will you?”

“There’s nothing to say. I know you can count on Perillo and Daniele too.”

“I guess I’ve no choice but to believe you.” Cinzia walked slowly to the wine counter, picked up her handbag and took out her car keys. “I’m going there now. Ciao, Nico.”

Nico stood up and linked his arm in hers. “Let me drive you to the station.”

“That’s the wisest thing you’ve said today.”

When Nico walked into Perillo’s office for their one o’clock meeting, he was greeted by a colorful spread of food laid out on a low filing cabinet: thinly sliced grilled vegetables brushed with garlic and pepperoncino-infused olive oil next to a platter of different salamis, prosciutto and mortadella, surrounded by olives and slices of unsalted country bread. A large bowl of apricots, peaches and pears completed the picture. To one side were three cloth napkins and silverware.

Nico nodded his greeting to Perillo and Daniele, his eyes on the food. It looked like a modern art painting. “What a bonanza.”

“Thank my wife,” Perillo said, filling his plate with the meats. “I was going to order from the bar, but she said I would be insulting my guest.” He pointed a fork at Nico. “You’re a guest now. Help yourself, but leave some vegetables for the vegetarian.”

Daniele, with fork and plate in hand, said, “Take all you want, please.”

“I’m already full. I had a big breakfast with the family to celebrate Stella.” Nico made a point of not looking at Daniele, who was right behind him. “She’s here for the weekend.”

“That must make you happy,” Daniele said.

“It does. Stella makes everyone happy.” Nico took a few slices of each offering and sprinkled salt on the unsalted bread that Tuscans favored. “She’s a lovely woman.”

Yes, she is, Daniele thought, feeling the heat rise from neck to cheeks. Thankfully, Perillo was behind him and Nico’s back in front of him. Would he have a chance to see her while she was here?

“Give her my regards.” Perillo sat at his desk and started eating.

“Mine too,” Daniele added, hastily filling his plate.

Perillo forked a slice of salame and pointed it at Nico. “Cinzia left half an hour ago. Interesting what she had to say.”

“I hope you believed her.”

“There’s no reason not to believe her, although . . .” Perillo left the rest unsaid.

“I know. She has a good motive, but the timing is wrong.”

“You think Mantelli had already been poisoned by then?”

“I do.”

“I’m afraid the timing is not that clear-cut, but I am inclined to rule Cinzia out. Tarani might have a different opinion. You had something to do with her candor, she says.”

“She needed some encouragement.” Nico sat in the chair facing Perillo’s desk.

“I’ve asked for Mantelli’s phone records,” Perillo said, “but they haven’t come in yet. According to his girlfriend, Mantelli was going to meet someone at Il Falco that night. We don’t know who or whether they showed up. The waiter may tell us.”

“A mystery appointment?” Nico asked before spearing a couple of slices of grilled sun-bright yellow peppers. “Definitely worth pursuing.” The phone records or the laptop should tell them more, unless the appointment was made in person, he thought as a slice went into his mouth. It was soft and sweet, coated in an olive oil with a peppery bite. Why did they have to discuss murder over food like this?

“I’ve decided to add Loredana to the suspect list,” Perillo said after swallowing his salame. “Although Daniele thinks she’s too beautiful to kill anyone.”

Daniele pulled up a chair and rested his vegetable plate on a corner of Perillo’s desk. “That’s not what I said.”

“I know you didn’t. I meant it as an affectionate tease, Dani.”

“If you say so, Maresciallo.” He thought it was an odd way to show affection, but he did know his boss meant well. What he had told the maresciallo was that Loredana seemed too fragile to have carried out the murder.

Perillo asked Nico, “What did you learn from Signora Severson last night?”

In the back of the room, the fan whirred, cooling off nothing.

“Not much. She’s having a hard time with Mantelli’s death, either out of love or because of the missing money. Maybe both. She admitted to taking the laptop. Mantelli apparently kept detailed notes on it. The only two Tuscan vintners paying him off were Aldo and Luca Verdini.”

“Yes, we know. She dropped the laptop off this morning,” Daniele said. “Including the password, which made things much easier. She left a note, wishing us good luck in finding the missing money.”

“No mention of the murderer,” Perillo added and bit off half a rolled mortadella slice.

“Interesting that she knew his password. What is it?”

Daniele dug into his pocket, took out his small notebook and flipped through a few pages. “Here it is. It’s in English and I think German. Greenhill&Grünhügel. She explained that Mantelli kept all his passwords in an agenda locked up in his desk drawer. She found the key taped behind a picture on the wall.”

“Forget the password,” Perillo said with a wave of his hand. “What do we have?”

“You tell me,” Nico said. Perillo may not be interested in passwords, but he found it intriguing that the password translated into Italian was ColleVerde.

“Four suspects: the wife, the girlfriend, Aldo and Cinzia.” Perillo counted them off by picking up olives and lining them up around the rim of his plate. “The son is still in Australia. We checked. Aldo is the most solid suspect. He has a motive, means and opportunity, since he was at the restaurant at the same time as Mantelli.”

“So was Mantelli’s wife and whoever her date was.”

“Luca Verdini.”

“How did you find out?”

“She told me. I’ve got it in writing.”

Nico was annoyed. Perillo didn’t trust him. “You didn’t tell me that. What else is in writing?”

“She tried to talk to Mantelli, but he told her to leave. She says she didn’t get close enough to the table to put anything in his drink. Verdini confirms that.”

“I’m glad I asked. They could both be lying.”

Perillo threw himself back on his chair with a defeated look on his face. “You’re right. We’re in this together and I should have told you. I apologize. I’m upset, nervous. I hate the idea of this capitano taking over. Just hate it.”

“It’s okay. I understand. Everyone likes to be their own boss. Did anyone see Aldo and Mantelli together at the restaurant?”

“Not so far. The waiter who served Mantelli wasn’t on duty last night. He’s coming to the station this afternoon on his way to Il Falco to give a statement. He’s not on duty for the lunch shift. And may I remind you that Aldo didn’t have to be anywhere near Mantelli? All he needed was to be near the bar when the waiter was preparing Mantelli’s whiskey.”

“You’re assuming the poisoning took place at the restaurant. It could have happened earlier.”

“We have a statement from the gardener,” Daniele said, eager to interrupt the ill feeling that had crept into the conversation. “Peppino Risso. A nice man. Mantelli also had a housekeeper, Ida. We haven’t talked to her yet.”

Daniele had put a slight emphasis on “yet” as a way of nudging his boss. Nico suspected Perillo hadn’t seen the need to call her in.

“She could have interesting information,” Nico said.

Perillo shook his head. “She’s only part-time help.” He was perfectly aware that he had done a lousy job with this murder investigation from the beginning. He was letting his intense dislike of the victim get in the way. Michele Mantelli reminded him too much of Substitute Prosecutor Riccardo Della Langhe. And knowing Capitano Tarani was taking over certainly didn’t help.

“She works three days a week, according to Peppino.” Daniele swept his bread across his plate to soak up the last of the pepperoncino-infused olive oil. “Always according to Peppino, Signor Mantelli didn’t trust her. Maybe we should find out why.”

Perillo raised his arms in exasperation. “All right, I heard you. Call her in!”

“Call who in?”

The three men turned to look at the door. Capitano Tarani, in full uniform, saluted.

Perillo scrambled to his feet. He was wearing cotton slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. Daniele shot up from his chair and saluted back. Not knowing exactly when Capitano Tarani would arrive and being cautious by nature, he was in uniform. Unfortunately, a dark spot of oil now marred his crisp blue short-sleeved shirt. He placed his hand over the spot. Since Perillo seemed dumbstruck, Daniele answered for him. “The housekeeper, Capitano.”

Tarani took off his hat. He was a very tall, trim man with slicked-back dust-colored hair, a pointed face and small eyes that reminded Nico of the school hamster he’d played with as a child.

Tarani aimed his eyes at Daniele. “You are?”

“Brigadiere Daniele Donato.”

Tarani shifted his gaze at Perillo and Nico. “Which of you is Maresciallo Salvatore Perillo?”

Perillo stepped forward. Tarani held out his hand. Perillo shook it, hoping his fingers were clean.

“You were aware I was coming?”

“I thought it was tomorrow, Capitano.”

Nico stepped forward. “Domenico Doyle. I’m a friend.” He caught Perillo about to open his mouth and stopped him with an icy stare. Tarani did not come across as someone who would welcome the interference of an American ex-homicide detective.

“I see.” Tarani walked back to the filing cabinet and picked up an apricot. “You were celebrating something?”

“No,” Perillo said. “My wife wanted to return the favor of Nico’s hospitality the other night. As our kitchen is only large enough for two, she suggested I invite him here.”

Daniele tried not to blush. The maresciallo’s kitchen table could easily seat four, even six.

Clever, Nico thought, but again, blaming the woman.

“By the looks of what’s left,” Tarani juggled the apricot from one hand to the other, “you have had enough to eat. Now it’s time to do some work. We have a murder to solve.” The capitano gave Nico a pointed look.

“And I have work to do,” Nico said. “Buon pomeriggio, Capitano. A pleasure to meet you.” The man hasn’t even bothered to introduce himself, Nico thought as he turned to Perillo. “Please thank Ivana for the wonderful meal.” As he passed the filing cabinet, he picked up a pear and bit into it loudly.

As Nico opened the front door of the station, he was greeted by a little yelp. He looked down, thinking he had hit an animal. He was met by a pair of red high-heeled sandals.

“You hurt me.”

Nico looked up to see Mantelli’s very beautiful girlfriend, dressed in a long lacey white dress. “I’m sorry.”

Loredana remembered to smile. “You didn’t really. I’m just a little nervous. I know you, don’t I?”

“I was at Sotto Il Fico on Tuesday, when Signor Mantelli was going over the restaurant’s wine list.”

“Yes, my Mica was still alive then. It seems so long ago.”

Nico noticed her comment did not erase her smile. He also noticed that her pupils were reduced to pinpoints. She was high on something.

Loredana tossed her hair to one side. “I’m here to make a statement. Why are you here? You’re not a suspect, are you? You look too nice to have killed anyone.”

“Thank you. I’m a friend of the maresciallo’s.”

“That awful man? How could you be his friend? I’m sure he thinks I killed Mica.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t. He’s a good man just trying to do his job.”

“Well, it’s a horrible job. Ciao, ciao.”

Nico watched as she entered the station and stopped at the front office. Vince appeared in a nanosecond, palming his hair, his stomach sucked in. By some innate Italian male instinct, Dino and another carabiniere came out of another office. “Signorina,” all three said, almost in unison.

Nico grinned and shut the front door.

“Come on, let’s go.” Nico had driven home to pick up OneWag before going to Verdini’s vineyard. “Enzo needs his wine.”

The dog didn’t even lift his head. He was comfortably lying in the vegetable garden beneath the bean plants. The earth was still cool from the morning’s watering.

“OneWag!”

The dog didn’t move. Nico knew this was payback for having left him at home while he met with Perillo. “Okay. I’ll go without you. I’ll come back smelling of manure, then you’ll be sorry.”

One ear perked up. “Ah, you remember your roll in manure with Contessa.”

OneWag’s head lifted. Nico started laughing—at the dog, at himself. During the winter, a bleak one with bad weather that had kept the restaurant almost empty, he’d started one-way conversations with OneWag. Maybe it was only his imagination, but the dog seemed to listen. He had unloaded years’ worth of feelings and memories, both sad and happy. He found it comforting.

A whiff of cologne reached Nico’s nose. He turned around. Gogol was slowly walking toward him, holding a crostino.

“Buongiorno, Gogol. What brings you here?” The only other time Gogol had been to his house was last September, when Nico had thrown a lawn party to celebrate the closing of the murder case with his new friends.

Gogol looked up at the sun. “The sun says it is now buon pomeriggio. I wish that for you.”

“Thank you. The same to you.”

“I was in the woods, looking for mushrooms.”

“It hasn’t rained in weeks.”

“Where there is a heart, there is hope.” He looked at Nico with gray rheumy eyes. “It is believed that only a lonely or a crazy man speaks to animals. Saint Francis found it a necessity. Crazy, he was not. Lonely, perhaps yes. I was alone this morning.”

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. I thought I was going to see Stella last night. I saw her this morning for breakfast instead. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I was not alone for long.” He shook a finger at Nico. “The poet says, ‘I am one who, when love breathes in me, takes note.’”

“Whether Inferno, Purgatorio or Paradiso, I have no idea. But I think you’re trying to tell me it was Nelli who kept you company this morning.” Lately, when love came up, it always had to do with Nelli.

Gogol pointed to his boots. OneWag was sitting next to them, looking up at the two men and listening.

“A gift from Nelli.” Nico guessed. “She loves you.” He’d been told she had always been generous with Gogol. For years, she had offered to buy him a new coat, but he always refused. He claimed his coat had his soul in its pockets.

“And you?” Gogol asked.

“I am your friend.”

Gogol shook his head with impatience. “‘You think like a child, your foot does not yet trust to step on the truth.’”

“What truth?”

“Love is in your heart. You do not hear for you are steeped in the whys of that man’s death. Keep your gaze on his fair-haired beauty.”

“Loredana? You think she has something to do with Mantelli’s murder?”

“She is one who has death in her heart.”

“What are you saying? What do you know?”

“I know only the poet’s verses. I go now. Monday, if I live. Sunday, I am in church with the Holy Mother.”

Gogol loved being enigmatic. Nico occasionally thought it was a ploy for attention. “I’ll be there Monday, but let me drive you home. I’m going to pick up some wine at the Verdini vineyard.”

“Nelli’s boots will walk me home.” He bent down to scratch OneWag’s head. “Go with your master. Keep him safe.”

OneWag padded over to where the car was parked and waited for Nico to open the door.

Nico pulled into the ColleVerde parking lot and parked next to a Prius and a Mercedes. As soon as he opened his car door, OneWag leaped over his lap and sped down the path, looking for Contessa. “No manure,” Nico called out just in time to see Verdini’s Irish setter greet OneWag. They checked each other’s smells, and then off they went. Nico took his time walking down the path, wondering if he should line his vegetable garden fence with geraniums. A slight welcome breeze stroked Nico’s face. The house and selling shed sat on a crest. The vineyards lay below. He looked down to see Contessa running between fenced vines, OneWag chasing her. His dog would come back filthy, tired and very happy. Gogol’s words returned to him. Was his friend right? Was he being childish by not acknowledging the warmth he felt in Nelli’s presence? For choosing loneliness over the complications of a new relationship? Maybe love or something close to it was in his heart, but he was scared. And being scared was more than childish—perhaps it was stupid.

“Buongiorno,” said a man walking up the path toward Nico, carrying a bag full of bottles.

Nico greeted him back.

“Here, taste the ’15 vintage.” His German accent was strong. “It is superior. There are only a few bottles left.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

The man hurried past him, bent to one side from the weight of his bottles.

Nico continued to walk down the path. As he reached the selling shed, he heard a woman’s voice. “You were friends.”

“Only business friends.”

Nico recognized Verdini’s voice. “Buongiorno,” he said, stepping inside the small veranda.

Loredana, seated in a chair, looked up at him with her large blue eyes. “You again.” Even frowning she looked beautiful, with her long lacy dress draped over her chair.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not in the least.” Verdini stood up and shook hands. Nico thought he detected relief in his voice. “Signorina Cardi was just about to leave.”

“No, I wasn’t.” She stared at Nico’s face. “You’re not following me, are you?”

“No. Why would I?”

“You’re friends with the maresciallo, and he thinks I killed Mica. That’s why.” Her words came out slightly slurred. She was still high.

“I’m here to pick up three cases of wine for Sotto Il Fico,” Nico said.

“Of course.” Verdini stood. Nico was sure now of the relief on his face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t deliver. I’ll go get them.”

Loredana watched Verdini’s back as he crossed the path and hurried into the house.

“Did all go well at the carabinieri station?” Nico asked.

“I’m still free. So is Diane, who has more reasons to want him dead than I do.”

“What reason would you have?”

“I loved him. He was going to leave me. I saw the signs. I’m good at catching on to the bad stuff. I’ve had a lot of that in my life.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.” She turned away from Nico and looked down at the vineyards below. She felt herself tremble. She wanted to shut up, but the pentobarbital l had torn down her usual barriers. She felt free, which was good. Scared too. Maybe she’d taken too many. She’d been able to hold herself together with that maresciallo, who was eating her up with his eyes. The young one was nice. He’d smiled at her as though they were friends. “Everyone only sees my looks and fawns over me. No one bothers with what’s inside. Mica certainly didn’t. He just wanted to show me off.” She turned around and pointed a finger at Nico. “You know what’s funny?”

Nico shook his head.

“Diane. His wife. She caught on right away that I had a suitcase full of crap inside me. She advised me to leave Mica. I thought she just wanted him back. But no, she was worried for me. She took me in, her husband’s girlfriend. Even gave me some money. Does that make any sense to you? I like her and all, but I’m getting out. I’ve got other plans.”

Nico looked at his watch. Verdini was taking his time getting those cases.

“He’s hoping I’ll leave.”

“Why would he?”

Loredana giggled and leaned over the table. “He’s attracted to me. I can tell, but he doesn’t want to be disloyal to Mica. They were very good friends.”

Nico tried to keep his eyes away from her chest, now in full display. “What makes you think they were friends?”

“All those wonderful reviews. That’s what you do for a friend.”

“When did you meet Mantelli?”

“Easter last year. I came to Greve for the weekend with a girlfriend. Mica was eating at the same restaurant, at the table next to mine.” She sat up, excitement in her face. “And guess who was sitting next to him?”

“Luca Verdini?”

“Yes, yes. See? They were friends.” A proud smile on her face.

She reminded Nico of a child who’d just found a lost toy. “And you think he knows about the money.”

“I know he does. I’m good at catching on to these things. It helps me survive.”

What a sad, beautiful woman. And no, there was no way to exclude “beautiful” when thinking of her. “Did Diane send you here?”

She tossed her long hair from one side to the other. “No one sends me anywhere. I have my own plans. Ah, here’s Luca.”

Verdini came out of the house pushing a cart loaded with the three cases. “I apologize for taking so long,” he said, avoiding Loredana’s gaze. “I’ll walk this to your car.”

Nico could easily have taken the cart, but he sensed that Verdini was trying not to deal with his female visitor.

“Can you whistle for Contessa? My dog went off with her.”

Verdini put two fingers in his mouth and produced a piercing sound. Two minutes later, Contessa came leaping up the path on her long graceful legs, her ears flopping with each leap. It took another minute for OneWag to scramble into view, panting hard. “Good boy,” Nico said. No bad smells this time.

Nico turned to Loredana and said, “Arrivederci.”

Loredana gave him her best smile and wiggled her fingers at him. Now she had Luca to herself. He was handsome, divorced. He had money. They could share. A new life with Luca. She blinked at the Irish setter, who stared back at her, sniffing the air. Did she stink? She widened her eyes to see better. The dog was dancing. She blinked again. The dog became fuzzy. Sleep. She needed sleep.

Loredana rested her head in her arms and closed her eyes. Mica was dead. At least he couldn’t leave her now. Luca, alive. Nothing wrong with dreams. She heard the buzz of a bee. Footsteps. The squeak of the cart. Then nothing.

“I don’t know why that woman came here,” Verdini told Nico as they both pushed the cart up the path. “I don’t understand what she wants. She keeps saying I was Mantelli’s good friend and now that he’s gone . . . and then she stops there and looks at me with those big pleading eyes as if I’m the solution to all her troubles.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s high on something.”

“Oh, yes, that’s clear. I’m sorry for her loss, but I can’t help her.”

They reached Nico’s car. Nico opened the door, pushed the seat forward. Verdini handed him the crates one by one. Nico dropped them in. OneWag jumped up on the passenger seat, rewarding himself for deserving a “Good boy” from the boss.

“A Fiat 500 was my first car,” Verdini said. “I wish I’d kept it.”

“What do you drive now?”

Verdini pointed to the blue Prius, the only other car in the lot.

Nico had assumed that was Loredana’s car. “How did she get here?”

“Diane dropped her off. I’m now going to call her to pick her up.”

“Ah, that’s right. You know each other.”

A questioning look appeared on Verdini’s face, quickly dismissed. “I do, thanks to my ex-wife. They’re in similar businesses. Diane does textiles and design, Mirella furniture.”

“You had dinner with Diane the night before her husband died.”

“Yes, I did. At Il Falco. Mantelli was there too. Diane was hoping to have a word with him. I was there for support.”

“She spoke to him?” Nico wanted to hear Verdini tell him what happened, in case it varied from what Perillo had said.

“Yes, I went with her. He was in a foul mood, kept saying his whiskey tasted like shit. She lectured him about drinking making his gout worse. He told her to fuck off. I pulled her away. In his mood, he might have struck her. Women are funny. After what he did to her, you’d think she wouldn’t care if he drank himself to death.”

“What did he do to her?”

“He cleaned out his bank account and probably stashed it in Switzerland, Lichtenstein, or some Caribbean island. She knew he’d written her out of the will, but that money also belongs to their son.”

“If she finds it.”

“I told her to get the Italian finance officials involved. They’re so hungry for tax money, they’ll ferret it out.” Verdini punched some numbers into his cell phone. Nico waited.

“Diane, please, come and get your sick friend. She needs help.” He clicked off.

Nico held out his hand. Verdini shook it. “I’ll come back next week to pick up some wine for myself.”

“I can get it for you now.”

“No. It will give me an excuse to come up here again. Your vineyard is a feast for the eyes, and my dog has found a friend.”

“I just hope this heat doesn’t keep up, or it’s going to hurt us.” His expression was grim. “You’re both welcome to come any time. No need to buy. Arrivederci.”

“See you soon.” Nico got in the car and watched Verdini walk away. As soon as he was out of sight, Nico called Perillo. “How’s it going with Tarani?”

“I can’t talk right now. He’s bringing us up to date. Tonight, after dinner. I’ll come to the restaurant.”

“Good. Don’t let him get to you. You’ll solve this right under his nose.”

“Thanks. We’ll talk later.” They clicked off in unison. Nico started the car. “Off the seat!” he ordered.

After a pleading look that got him nowhere, the dog obeyed with a low grumble.

Capitano Tarani was circling the room again, his boots hitting the floor hard. The room had been cleared quickly of all food by Vince and Dino, who happily helped themselves to Perillo’s leftovers. Loredana Cardi had made her statement, signed it and left over an hour ago. Not even her beauty had softened Tarani’s grim face.

“I’ve read Mantelli’s will, notarized exactly two weeks ago. He left his wife nothing, which of course is against Italian law. Wives and children cannot be disinherited. Mantelli hadn’t yet divorced her, nor had they filed for a separation. She will get what is due to her. To his son, he leaves the bulk of his money, except for two thousand euros that go to a Giuseppe Risso.”

“That’s his gardener,” Daniele said.

Tarani continued, clearly not interested to know more about Giuseppe Risso. “There are no other codicils. We’ve spoken to the manager of the bank where Mantelli had a joint account with his wife. He confirmed there were only a few thousand euros left in it.” Round and round the room he went, like a circus horse. “I pressed him to work backward to pinpoint when big sums of money were withdrawn. I said it was of the utmost urgency. Mantelli might have been the victim of a blackmailer, but blackmailers don’t usually kill their victims, so I’m not giving that theory much weight. He’ll get back to me soon. We have also contacted the department of finance to look into where Mantelli’s money ended up. However, his money is only of tangential importance to our case.”

Then why the utmost urgency? Perillo wondered. His fingers kept twirling a cigarette. He was ready to sell his soul to the devil for a smoke. And it was way past his afternoon coffee break. “You don’t think he might’ve been killed because he wouldn’t reveal where the money was?”

“Seems pointless, but it is a possibility. Now, I want a factual account of what happened between this Aldo Ferri and Mantelli on Tuesday afternoon. Only the facts, please. Leave the interpretations to me.”

Perillo, seated at his desk in the middle of the room, was getting a neck ache trying to keep eye contact. “I was not present at the dispute between the two. What I know was referred to me.”

“By whom?”

“Connor Domenico Doyle, who was here when you came in.”

“The American who walked out loudly chewing a pear?”

“He goes by the name of Nico,” Daniele chipped in.

“He left out Connor when he introduced himself. A man who has refused his first name. Odd.”

“His father was Irish, his mother Italian.”

“A volatile combination, I’ve been told. So he chose the mother. How long has he been here?” He looked at Daniele for the answer, since the young brigadiere knew the man’s nickname.

“One year, Capitano.”

Tarani turned to Perillo. “Could he in any way be involved in Mantelli’s murder?”

“No. He happened to be in the piazza when the incident took place. Aldo Ferri is his landlord.”

“So Doyle will give a biased account. Were there any other witnesses?”

“Yes, quite a few.” Perillo was groaning inside. He hadn’t bothered to get the names of the people in the piazza. He’d relied solely on Nico’s account. Tarani was going to give him an ulcer. “Aldo Ferri is a respected man in Gravigna. Everyone will be biased in his favor. Mantelli was not well-liked. Ferri himself described what happened in his statement. I have it here. It’s a straightforward account.” Perillo held out the two sheets.

Tarani read the statement as he continued his walk about the room. Once done, he threw the stapled sheets at Perillo. They landed on his desk.

“Good throw, Capitano,” Daniele said.

Tarani rewarded Daniele with a surprising smile. Daniele made a mental note of it. Tarani warmed to compliments.

“I was the captain of the basketball team at the University of Pisa.”

“A fast, difficult game,” Daniele said.

“Yes, indeed.” The circling continued. “It seems to me that we have three strong suspects in the murder of Michele Mantelli. His wife, Diane Severson, Mantelli’s girlfriend, Loredana Cardi, and Aldo Ferri. What about Ferri’s wife? She had a motive, saving her husband’s business.”

“We have her statement. She has an impeccable alibi for Tuesday during the day. At ten o’clock that evening, she drove to Mantelli’s villa hoping to talk to him, but she saw from the open window that Mantelli’s girlfriend was with him. She left without speaking to him.”

“And you believe her.”

“I do, since the girlfriend stated that the only people in the villa were herself, Mantelli and the gardener. I think the girlfriend would have been only too happy to add another to the suspect list.”

“Any other possible suspects?”

Daniele spoke up. “The gardener lived with Mantelli and therefore had access. He might have known about the two thousand euros in the will, but he’s a simple man who wouldn’t know what to do with that money. He just wants to take care of the house and the garden until he dies.”

“I agree,” Perillo said. “Mantelli also had a part-time housekeeper, Ida.”

“The one you were going to call in?”

“The very one.”

“Bring her in tomorrow. I presume you don’t mind working on the Lord’s Day.”

“Murder does not pray.” Perillo looked back at Daniele, who was already on the phone dialing Peppino for Ida’s phone number. Poor Daniele would have to miss Mass. Perillo looked at the time on his cell phone. “We have half an hour before the Il Falco waiter arrives. I suggest a coffee break. There’s a café next door.”

“Excellent idea. What can we bring you, Brigadiere Donato?”

Daniele felt heat rise on his cheeks. He wasn’t used to being left behind. “A fruit juice, thank you. Apricot if they have it.”

“It shall be done.”

Perillo looked back at Daniele and winked. “You will forgive me, Capitano, but it is my habit to have Brigadiere Donato accompany me to the café.”

Tarani stiffened. “Of course. My apologies.”

“Come on, Dani. We all need a break.”

With a bright-red face, Daniele rushed to open the door for his two superiors.