TEN

Perillo swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. He leaned over the passenger seat and rolled down the window. Nico, on his daily run to town, recognized the car and ran past him.

“Ehi, Nico, stop. Get in the car. I was coming to see you.”

Nico kept running.

Perillo slapped the horn in frustration. Nico was angry. Perillo couldn’t blame him. Well, he was angry too. If Nico had a perfect right to display his feelings—displayed childishly, in Perillo’s opinion—then the maresciallo had a right to explain himself. He put the car in first gear, slipped back onto the road, shifted twice and raced past Nico, spewing gravel from the back tires.

Juvenile, Nico thought, slowing down. His knees hurt, and his breaths were getting shorter and shorter. He didn’t want Perillo to see the sorry state he would be in if he kept up his normal pace. Slow was good, slower even better. Let the maresciallo wait.

“I’m glad to see you took your time.” Perillo was sitting on Nico’s doorstep, smoking a cigarette. Nico had walked back. His breath was back to normal, even if his knees still hurt. OneWag, who had learned that his short legs were no match for Nico’s long ones on a morning run, now ran to greet him.

“You know our saying,” Perillo said. “Who goes slow—”

“—goes far and goes with health,” Nico finished for him. “Daniele?”

“In church.”

Nico kept his distance. Besides being covered in sweat, he wanted to avoid the cigarette smoke. “When I got home last night, Cinzia was waiting for me. She was not a happy woman. Are you here to tell me why?”

Perillo met Nico’s look with wide eyes. “She must have told you.”

“Not that. The bigger why.”

Perillo took a long drag of his cigarette before answering. “Aldo was arrested under suspicion of murder. Yes, I’m here to tell you everything Yunas, the waiter, witnessed at Mantelli’s table.” He told Nico about the two whiskies poured by the owner, the second one from a new bottle and tasted by Falchetti, who was still alive. Perillo hesitated, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Aldo may be a good man, but he is stupid.”

“Go on.”

“In the statement he signed in my office as to his whereabouts on Tuesday evening, he didn’t mention that he went to Mantelli’s table with his Chinese buyer.”

“Cinzia told me. Did the waiter claim he saw Aldo put something in Mantelli’s whiskey?”

“No, but right after Aldo left, Mantelli complained about the taste.”

“Don’t tell me Tarani considers that proof Aldo tampered with the drink?”

“I don’t know about Tarani. He’s a closed book. Della Langhe thinks it proves Aldo poisoned him.”

“Did Aldo explain why he went to Mantelli’s table?”

“He claimed the buyer found out Mantelli was in the next room and wanted to meet the famous Italian wine critic. Aldo said the buyer is a very good customer and he felt obliged to please him.”

“Have you or Tarani called the Chinese buyer to hear what he has to say?”

“Cinzia gave us his number and email. No answer on either. Can we continue this conversation upstairs? You look like you could use a shower, and I owe you an explanation, which will be easier with something soft under my ass. I’ll even put out my cigarette.”

Nico looked down at the T-shirt sticking to his chest. “A shower would be good, and an espresso will make you explain even better than a soft seat. You can make it while I shower.” Nico pulled the plastic bracelet with his keys from his wrist and unlocked the door. “I only hope your explanation makes sense.”

“I can answer that right away. It does, with regrets.”

They drank their espressos on the covered balcony with the balcony door and the window opposite wide open to create a draft. At nine o’clock, the heat was already gearing up to offer a stifling Sunday.

Nico, in shorts and a T-shirt and still wet from the shower—he hadn’t bothered to towel off, knowing the air would dry him quickly—put his cup down and sat back in his chair.

Perillo understood it was time to deliver. “Here’s the reason I didn’t show up last night. Before coming down, Tarani looked into my record; I suppose to get a sense of who he was dealing with. He complimented me on my successful investigation of last year’s murder, but he added that he’d heard rumors you had helped me. He’d looked you up too, learned that you’d been a homicide detective in New York, and that sealed it. The rumors were fact. When he saw you in my office yesterday, he understood we worked together. He was incensed. ‘The Carabinieri is an esteemed branch of the army, over two hundred years old, and should know how to solve their own investigations. We need no outside help.’ I of course immediately thought of the ribbings we get from the police. Want to hear one of their jokes? Two carabinieri have their car stolen. The capitano asks—”

“Not now.”

“You’re right. In any case, I was ordered not to contact you until we had made an arrest.”

“He referred the waiter’s statement to Della Langhe?”

“Who pounced at what he considered excellent news. He wanted Aldo arrested and brought to Florence immediately. He seemed convinced that Aldo would flee. He showered congratulations on Tarani and added that he was going to make sure the media would know an arrest had been made. All that arrogant dickhead wants is to boast the renowned Italian wine critic’s murder has been solved in record time.”

“Shit. That’s terrible.”

“I agree. Tarani knows we’re only at the beginning of the investigation. I was slow getting started, I’ll admit. I let my dislike for the man get in the way. I should have gone after the waiter right away, not waited for him to come to me when it was convenient for him. I should have gotten a statement from the housekeeper. Questioned Diane Severson more thoroughly. Questioned the gardener a second time. The first time, Mantelli had just died, and he was upset, so who knows what he left out?”

“Blaming yourself doesn’t get us anywhere. Is Tarani out of the picture now?”

“For the time being. It depends what happens with Aldo. The judge has to decide if there’s enough evidence to proceed to a trial. If there isn’t, and we know there isn’t, Tarani will be back.”

“But this means we have a few days to do our own investigating.”

“Aldo has twenty days to file a defensive brief.”

“Good. I’ll let Cinzia know he should take the whole time allotted, even if it means more jail time. We need time and active minds,” Nico got up and went inside. He came back with a pen and notepad.

Feeling better now that he’d explained the why of Aldo’s arrest, Perillo smiled at the sight of the notepad. He remembered the advice Nico had given him last year: Put order in your brain by making a list.

Nico wrote down the names of the people Perillo needed to talk to again. “What about the owner of Il Glicine? He may have more to say about Loredana.”

“I don’t think so, but add him anyway.”

“And Luca Verdini.”

“Why him?”

“He’s connected to Mantelli and his wife. Now Loredana is interested in him. In the mornings, he has an assistant taking care of business. She might be able to tell me something about him. I’ll ask some quick questions when I go over and buy a case of wine.”

“We’ll divide up the questioning. You start, and if you find anything solid, you pass it on to me. I like and respect Aldo, but I can’t afford to lose my job trying to help him.”

Nico studied Perillo’s face for a moment. The maresciallo met his gaze. “What’s the matter?” Perillo asked.

“You do believe Aldo is innocent?”

“You have to admit there’s a possibility he isn’t.”

“A possibility so thin I can’t see it.”

“You’re letting personal feelings cloud your judgment.”

“All right, I’ll proceed alone so you don’t put your job at risk. Most of the town knows Aldo’s my landlord. It won’t seem strange if I ask questions.”

“They also know you were a policeman.”

“A patrol cop. Only you, Daniele, Tilde and now Tarani know I worked in homicide. Which reminds me. How did you find out the reason I had to retire?”

“Working backwards. I knew your retirement date and asked Daniele to look into any trials within a two-year period after that.”

“That’s absurd, wasting Daniele’s time that way. Why did you bother?”

“He’s the one who suggested it. Dani knows I don’t like mysteries. He offered because he has nothing to do at night. No girlfriend or friends, and he’s Internet-crazy. I did a good thing. Made him happy.”

Perillo was an expert at justifying his actions. Nico was convinced Daniele wouldn’t have suggested the search if Perillo hadn’t complained about not knowing. “And what did Daniele find out?”

“A murder trial in which you testified. You and your partner were the first on the scene of a man shot dead in his home. His wife called it in. The woman showed signs of abuse on her body. The district attorney was convinced the wife had killed him, even though the man had big gambling debts. The jury found her not guilty. An important piece of evidence was missing. The gun. You have a big heart, my friend. It took courage to throw the gun away. In one of New York’s two rivers, I suppose.”

“What I did was instinctive, not courageous. My mother—”

Perillo stopped him with a raised hand. “No need to go further.” The sufferings of a mother belonged only to the family. “You’re lucky you got away with forced retirement.”

“My captain didn’t want another black stain on his record. He had many. As I told you last year, the price was silence.”

“The silence will continue, rest assured. The silence of a tomb.”

eight-thirty a.m. Mass was over. Ivana Perillo linked her arm with Daniele’s as they slowly walked out with the others who had attended, mostly old women and a few old men. The sudden brightness of the day stunned them. The women squinted and removed their head coverings. Some covered their eyes with their hands.

“It’s a nice church,” Ivana said. “The priest gave a good short homily. Ours goes on forever.” They had always met for the early Mass at the Basilica di Santa Croce in Greve, but this Sunday, Daniele had wanted to attend Mass in Gravigna. Curious to know why the sudden change, she asked to join him.

Together, they walked down the two ramps of stairs edged with terracotta pots of pink geraniums. “I hope you’ll be happy with lunch today,” Ivana said.

“It was very nice of you to invite me, and anything you feed me makes me happy, Signora.”

“Thank you, but please call me Ivana. We’re Salvatore and Ivana.” She knocked gently on his forehead. “Lock those two names in your sweet, stubborn head.” They reached the bottom of the stairs. She could see the sign for Sotto Il Fico thirty meters further down. “That’s where Salvatore’s friend works, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

Ivana stopped and unhooked her arm. “One day, I should invite him for a Sunday lunch.” She was taking time she didn’t really have, and Daniele’s head was swiveling from right to left and back. He was clearly looking for someone.

“I think he would like that very much,” Daniele said.

“Good. I’ll invite him after the case is solved. I don’t want talk of murder at my table.”

Daniele wasn’t listening; his eyes had found the person he was looking for at the top of the church stairs.

“This is no stairway for old people,” Elvira grumbled as she tugged at her white Sunday dress to hide her expansive stomach and linked arms with Stella. “If Don Alfonso does nothing about it, he’s going to have an empty church on Sundays.”

Stella slipped on her sunglasses and tightened her grip on her grandmother. “Mamma told me the church committee is going to have pizza parties to raise money.”

“Pizza! I don’t like pizza.”

“You don’t have to eat it.” They were taking the stairs one step at a time. “Just give them some money.” She knew Nonna didn’t part with money easily. “They’re going to put in a chair that will ride you right up. That should be fun.”

“I’m going to church, not a Luna park.”

Daniele was looking at the nice young girl, Ivana realized. She was pretty. “Do you know her, Dani?”

He nodded.

“Go and say hello. I’m not in a hurry.” She crossed herself mentally for the lie she’d just told. The pasta for the cannelloni was made, but she still had to prepare the mushroom cheese filling and the green parsley sauce, which involved a great deal of chopping.

“I’ll be right back.” Daniele walked the few steps to the bottom of the church stairs. Elvira and Stella had reached the second ramp. “Ciao, Stella.”

Stella stopped and looked down. “Ciao, Dani. How nice to see you.”

He pushed his hair off his face and smiled, “Me too. I mean, nice to see you too.” He could feel the blush rising on his cheeks. “It’s awfully hot, isn’t it?”

Stella waited until she had brought Elvira down to solid ground to answer. “Yes, it is hot,” Stella said, knowing his red cheeks—they made him look adorable—had nothing to do with the heat. He was dressed in pressed tan slacks and a checked blue and white long-sleeved shirt with the cuffs and collar buttoned. He’d added a navy-blue tie. When she had seen him in Florence, he hadn’t been dressed so properly. She suspected this was his church outfit. “Why don’t you roll up your sleeves? You’ll be cooler.”

“Yes, of course. Good idea.” Daniele fumbled with the buttons, reluctant to take his eyes away from Stella. Luck had blessed him. Ever since he’d heard from Nico that she was back for the weekend, he had hoped to run into her. He’d even thought of the possibility of having lunch at Sotto Il Fico to see her, but that was before Signor Ferri got arrested. Now the case took precedence over his personal wishes, but he was always allowed Mass. Why not in Gravigna instead of Greve? He rolled up his sleeves and half-bowed to Elvira. “Buongiorno, Signora. Daniele Donati.”

“I know perfectly well who you are, thanks to last year’s horrifying events.” She turned to Stella. “This young man is right,” Elvira said, giving Daniele a nod of acknowledgment. “It is far too hot to linger. Take me to the restaurant, please. I have work to do, and so do you.”

Stella obeyed.

Daniele stayed at the bottom of the stairs, watching her go with a heavy heart. She looked so pretty in that light-green dress that matched her eyes. Even her feet were pretty in raw leather sandals.

At the door of Sotto Il Fico, Stella let go of Elvira’s arm and walked back to Daniele. “I’m taking the last bus to Florence tonight. I’d love to have an ice cream with you before I go.”

Daniele’s heart skipped a couple of beats. His cheeks bloomed. “I can take you to Florence on my motorbike.”

“That’s wonderfully generous of you, but no. It’s too far away.”

He started to protest. She shushed him with a finger on his mouth. “Just ice cream. Okay?”

Daniele nodded, wishing he had kissed that finger.

“Bar All’Angolo has the best. I’ll call you.” He had given her his number on his last visit in Florence.

“You have work to do,” Elvira called out.

“Coming! Ciao,” Stella said. Daniele watched her go, his heart now light.

“Daniele.” Ivana tried to hide that big smile in her heart that was sure to show on her face. “If you want lunch, you’ll have to drive me home now.”

“Of course, Signo—Ivana.”

Nico and Perillo were drinking their second espresso when OneWag, who was outside, started barking. Seconds later, they heard a motorbike approaching.

Perillo looked at his phone. “Mass is over.”

The barking stopped.

Nico went inside his living room/kitchen and strode to the far window. Daniele was trying to get off his bike, but OneWag was jumping up on his legs, body wriggling in welcome, making a nuisance of himself.

“Ciao, Daniele. Ignore OneWag. He’s just happy to see you. The door’s open.”

Perillo joined Nico at the window. “Ehi, Dani, where’s my car?”

“I parked it in your spot at the station.”

Perillo turned to Nico and in a low voice said, “Just like him to worry about using up my gasoline.”

OneWag ran in with the satisfied look of a job well done. Daniele followed, holding a folder in his arms.

“You’re looking happy, Dani,” Perillo said. “I’m afraid going to Mass never did that for me. I hope you said a few prayers for us.”

“Only for Signor Ferri.”

“Good for you,” Nico said. “Your boss seems to think he might be guilty.”

Daniele looked at Perillo, then Nico, then back to his boss. “We don’t know that yet, do we?” He lifted the folder he was holding. “Capitano Tarani left a folder with his notes in the office last night when you left to arrest Signor Ferri. I assumed we would continue the investigation and made copies.”

“Ah, that explains your happiness.”

Daniele did not correct his boss.

Perillo crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “Bravo, Brigadiere Donato.”

“Good thinking, Daniele,” Nico said. “Have you had breakfast?” Rita, a devout Catholic, never ate before Mass if she was taking Communion.

Daniele hugged the folder. The compliments embarrassed him. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Food sounds good,” Perillo said. “How about a nice American breakfast? Bacon and eggs, or those flat round things with streams of syrup on top.”

“No pancakes, eggs or bacon. And no cornetto. All I can offer is toast, mortadella, caciotta and some prosciutto bought two days ago. What shall it be?”

Perillo and Daniele answered together. “Toast.” Daniele added, “please.” Eating cheese and prosciutto for breakfast was too odd.

Nico was still eating his melted caciotta sandwich and Daniele was crunching on the last of his buttered toast when Perillo put his empty plate aside and opened Daniele’s folder. “Our dear capitano didn’t mention he already had Mantelli’s phone records. Incoming and outgoing.” He should have asked about them. He was letting Tarani take over too easily.

Perillo traced his finger down the few numbers and names. “The usual suspects.” Daniele had looked up the numbers and jotted down the names next to each. “Many to and fro with Loredana, the wife calling him four times. He didn’t call back. Three restaurants. A couple to the gardener.”

A meek bark from OneWag, seated at the maresciallo’s feet, made him look down. Perillo had purposely released a shower of crumbs to the floor. They were now gone. “Go to your boss, he’s still eating.”

OneWag changed feet. “All done, kiddo. Sorry. Wait, I forgot to feed him.” Nico stood up. OneWag barked and ran to the kitchen. “If you must, light a cigarette. You’re going gray from withdrawal. Use your ashtray.” He followed his dog.

Daniele wet his finger and raised it in the air. Good. The breeze was moving away from him. He moved his chair, just in case the air switched.

“I’ll raise my voice so you can hear, Nico.” Perillo quickly lit a cigarette and continued. “Ah, here’s one call to Luca Verdini last Sunday. Verdini called back the same day. Called on Tuesday too. You were right to put him on the suspect list. And the housekeeper called Mantelli twice—once on Monday, once on Tuesday. So Ida goes on our list.”

“She’s already on it.” Nico took cooked rice and raw hamburger meat out of the refrigerator, mixed in an egg yolk and warmed the bowl for thirty seconds in the microwave.

Daniele shifted in his chair. He had an idea he wanted to share. “Signorina Loredana told us the reason they went to dinner at Il Falco that night was because Mantelli was going to meet someone. Maybe it was Verdini.”

“Could be,” Perillo said. “Or it was just an excuse to eat where he wanted to eat and not where she did.”

“He was going to meet someone?” Nico asked. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I forgot to. I’m not sure I believe much of what she said that day. She was a little crazy,” Perillo sensed Daniele’s back straighten. “I’ve misspoken. She’s a fragile woman, and I’d just let her know her boyfriend was murdered.”

“She also told us someone knocked into her from behind and made her spill wine on her dress,” Daniele added. “She had to leave the table to clean it up. Maybe someone did it on purpose so Mantelli would be alone.”

“That’s a possibility.” Nico took OneWag’s food out of the microwave and spooned it into his bowl. The dog did a happy wiggle. “I think I’d like to have a conversation with Signorina Loredana. Thanks for telling me, Daniele. I won’t hold it against you, Perillo.”

Perillo mumbled, “Good,” his attention absorbed by the phone records. “There are several calls to a Diego Serretti.”

“Serretti is the Banca Commerciale manager Mantelli dealt with,” Daniele said. “The information is on a different piece of paper. Capitano Tarani said Serretti was going to let him know what withdrawals Mantelli made in the past year. If you want, I can call him tomorrow and ask if he has the information. Tarani told him it was urgent. I’m sure the manager worked on it this weekend.”

“It’s risky to reach out,” Perillo said. “Officially, the investigation is no longer in our hands.”

Across the table, Daniele leaned closer to his boss. “Forgive me, Maresciallo, if I don’t agree. Capitano Tarani was conducting the investigation from the Greve station, and we are the Greve station. I will call the manager from the station phone. Whatever information the manager gives me, I will of course share with Capitano Tarani. I will say I called of my own accord. I am a young brigadiere with little experience in murder investigations. At most, he will yell at me. Or he may be happy I saved him a phone call.”

Perillo looked over his shoulder. Nico was walking back. “What do you think?”

“We don’t know if the missing money is what motivated the murder, but since we don’t know, let’s find out as much as we can. Thank you, Daniele. You’re shining today.”

Yes, Daniele thought. Shining. That’s exactly how he felt.

Nico sat back down. “What time is it in China?”

“Six hours ahead of us.” Daniele looked at his phone. “Four-forty in the afternoon. The buyer’s number is in the folder. On the second page.”

Perillo put the page on the table in front of Nico. “The call is on you.”

Nico took out his cell phone. “You’re covering your ass, but I’ll happily do your job for you.”

“He will certainly speak English, not Italian.”

“Let’s hope he can understand me.” Nico clicked the numbers. A voice answered in Chinese after the third ring.

Nico walked inside to hear better. “May I please speak to Mister Hua Chen?”

“Yes. Yes, I am Mister Hua. Who are you?”

Nico introduced himself. “I need to ask you a few questions about your dinner Tuesday night with Aldo Ferriello. I’m doing this at his request.”

Nico explained as briefly as he could about Mantelli’s accident, leaving murder out. The carabinieri needed to corroborate what Aldo had told them about their meeting with Mantelli.

“Why did carabinieri not call me?”

“They tried, but got no answer. They also don’t speak English.”

“I speak a little Italian also. Italy is in my heart.”

“When you approached, Mr. Mantelli was drinking something. Were the two of you near the drink? Did Aldo touch the glass?”

“We touched nothing.”

Nico felt his stomach muscles release. “Thank you, Mister Hua.”

“No problem. If carabinieri need me, I am here now.”

“I will tell them, but as a favor to Aldo, please don’t mention I called you. They don’t like people who are not police to interfere. They might not trust what you say.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Our police are difficult also. No trust at all. Tell Aldo now I will open a bottle of his Riserva to wish him a good vintage this year.”

“I will, and thank you again. Goodbye.” Relief prompted him to bend down and give his dog a hug. OneWag, who had his priorities straight, went back to licking the now-empty bowl.

“Good news,” Nico announced, walking back to the balcony. “Hua says Aldo wasn’t near Mantelli’s drink. Now you have to tell Tarani to call him. Hua won’t mention my call.”

“I’ll tell him, but we’ll have to see if Tarani believes him.”

“Tell him not to mention Mantelli was murdered. I didn’t. Hua doesn’t know, or he would have said something. Tarani should claim he’s calling to try to understand what led to the accident.”

“I don’t believe Capitano Tarani is willing to take advice from me. I will suggest that calling Hua Chen for corroboration might be a good idea.”

“He’ll need a translator,” Daniele said.

Nico sat back down. “Hua Chen speaks some Italian. What’s the waiter’s name? He’s next on my list.”

“Yunas Mengistou,” Perillo answered. “He’s from Ethiopia. Tarani was surprised a restaurant as fancy as Il Falco would hire a Black waiter. Before Yunas left, Tarani explained to him that he’d meant no disrespect, but that it was unusual. Yunas answered that thankfully, things in Italy were changing for the better, and Tarani agreed.”

“Then he’s not all bad. I met a Yunas last year during the Chianti Wine Expo. He was a waiter at Bar della Piazza.”

“The same man. He brought in his résumé.”

“Then I know where I’m having dinner tonight.”

“It’ll cost you,” Perillo warned.

“I’ll eat a big lunch. I want to see the layout of the place.”

“And Ida Crivelli, the housekeeper?” Daniele looked at Perillo, who was having the last drag of his cigarette.

“Call her in. Tomorrow morning at nine.”

“Perhaps best to visit her?” Daniele suggested. “I have her phone number and address.”

Perillo slapped his knee. “Bravo, Dani. Always keeping those young brain cells working. We’ll pay Ida an unofficial visit.”

“Good.” Nico stood. Perillo and Daniele understood and got up too. “I’ll go to Verdini’s vineyard in the morning. We’ll keep in touch. Now it’s time I switch to my real job, waiting tables.”

“Too bad,” Perillo said. “Ivana has prepared a fantastic Sunday lunch for me and Daniele. Homemade cannelloni. I’m sure there’s enough for four.”

“Thanks for letting me know what I’m missing.”

Perillo gave Nico’s shoulder a friendly slap. “We missed those bacon and eggs.”

The three of them walked to the door. OneWag opened one eye to see them go from his place on the sofa. A full stomach made him sleepy.

“How about your cooking?” Perillo asked. “No new recipes?”

“Too much on my mind.”

“Of course, the murder.”

That wasn’t all, Nico knew. He opened the door.

A “ciao” came from Perillo with a wave of a hand.

Daniele said, “Arrivederci. Thanks for breakfast.”

“Eggs and pancetta next time. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Nico sat back down on the balcony and propped his feet up on the low wall that acted as a railing. He was going to get Aldo out of this mess, with or without Perillo’s help. And once that was over?

Back to his Tuscan family, to the work he enjoyed, to his Gravigna friends. Why did he feel it wasn’t enough?

Nico took out his cell phone and called Il Falco. He had Sunday night off.

Daniele had just gotten back to his room from Ivana’s big Sunday lunch when he heard the first notes of Vivaldi’s “Spring.” He picked up his cell phone and swiped.

“Why did you arrest Aldo Ferri?” Stella’s voice was icy. Nonna had just told her Aldo had been taken to a jail in Florence. She knew Aldo was innocent, a good man. When the restaurant was having a hard time a few years ago, he had lent them money interest-free. The money was paid back, but the kindness remained.

“I didn’t arrest him,” Daniele said. “The investigation is no longer in our hands. The Special Investigative Office stepped in. Capitano Tarani arrested Aldo Ferri.”

“Your boss was with him.”

“Maresciallo Perillo had no choice.”

“Do you believe he’s guilty?”

“Stella, I’m a carabiniere. I can’t discuss the case.”

“You just said it’s not in your hands anymore. You can discuss it. I want to know if you think he’s guilty.”

“Why does it matter what I think?”

“Because it says something about you. If we’re going to be friends, I want to trust you and your judgment.”

How he would love to be friends with Stella, but he knew he needed to say this. “My idea of friendship is respecting your opinion, even if it differs from mine.”

“That’s not what we’re discussing. Just answer yes or no. Do you believe Aldo killed Michele Mantelli?”

Daniele sighed. He couldn’t lie. “No.”

Stella felt a warmth in her stomach. If Daniele had said yes, she would have to erase him from her life, even though he was only a very little part of it for now. A nice part.

“I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress,” Nelli said as Nico opened the door to Il Falco. She didn’t think Nico would care when she last had worn a dress, but she was flustered and a little anxious.

“You look nice.” He meant it. When he picked her up in the main piazza, it had taken him a minute to recognize her. He had only seen her in paint-spotted jeans and oversized shirts.

“Thank you.” She’d taken a great deal of time trying to look as nice as she could manage. A little makeup on her eyes and cheeks. A five-year-old white cotton shirtwaist dress she hadn’t worn more than two or three times, colorful espadrilles on her feet, her long graying hair gathered in the usual braid hanging down her back.

“You look good too,” Nelli said, her shoulder brushing against his chest as she walked past him. Nico looked exactly as he always did, slightly disheveled, dressed in a blue shirt and tan slacks that needed another go-through with a hot iron.

When Nico had called earlier to invite her to dinner, she’d felt a wonderful, welcome wave of happiness. Nico went on to warn her that all he was offering was dinner, very little company. Her wave of happiness receded when she had realized he would have to concentrate on talking to the waiter who had served Mantelli the night before his death.

“Because Aldo was arrested?” she had asked.

“Yes. I need to help him.”

“That’s very nice of you, but can’t you go alone?”

“I could, but it would be more pleasant to have you sitting with me.”

That had felt nice. Not a wave, just a lap. As Nelli rinsed paint off herself in the shower, she wondered if he’d been telling the truth. It was true that a man sitting alone and questioning the waiter might raise eyebrows. Bringing a woman along was a much better cover-up. But he’d chosen to invite her.

They followed the maitre d’ through a medium-sized room with a beamed ceiling, oxen yokes turned into lamps, floors covered in dark leather-looking tiles and rows of wine bottles on three walls. The far wall was all glass panels, now open, overlooking a small olive grove. The sun was still fairly high, but trees were starting to inch their shadows across the lawn.

The artist in Nelli took in all this and more: the ochre-yellow tablecloths, the few elegantly dressed foreigners who liked to eat this early, the flowering rosemary branches on each table, the candles in round glass bowls, waiting to be lighted when it turned dark. An expensive restaurant, she thought. She’d have to be careful ordering.

A skinny young Black man dressed in black trousers and a burgundy jacket with a falcon head embroidered on the breast pocket strode toward Nico and Nelli. He was smiling. “Signor Doyle, Signora, I am Yunas, your waiter.”

“Buonasera, Yunas. We met last year at the Chianti Wine Expo. It’s nice to see you again.” Nico held out his hand.

Yunas’s eyes went from Nico’s hand to the maitre d’. After a moment’s pause, the maitre d’ nodded. Yunas’s smile widened, and he shook Nico’s hand. “Your dog was thirsty. You too. Water, no gas.”

“That’s right. Good memory.”

Nelli kept her eyes on the waiter’s angular face, his deep rich brown skin, his friendly eyes, the wide cheekbones. She would love to paint him.

“A good memory is a must for a waiter. I will take you to your table.” They walked into a smaller replica of the room they had just left. This room’s open glass panels revealed a walled-in garden filled with roses.

“I apologize. I guess I wasn’t supposed to shake your hand,” Nico said, his eyes on Yunas instead of the roses.

“It is uncommon, but the respect is most appreciated.” Yunas indicated the corner table. “Signor Mantelli sat there.” Seeing Nico’s questioning look, he explained in a low voice, “Some diners have curiosity and wish to see; others stay far from this room, fearing it might bring bad luck. You asked to be seated in this room, so I made a presumption.”

“You presumed well. Your instincts are correct. I am a friend of Signor Ferri. I’d like to ask you—”

Yunas stopped Nico from going any further by lifting his hand. “I serve this room, and the next reservation is for eight o’clock. For thirty minutes, I am yours alone.” He pushed back the corner chair and looked at Nelli. She hesitated, preferring the chair with the view of the roses.

“It’s best this way,” Nico said, though he was sorry for it.

She understood and sat looking out at the other tables. This way, Nico would have his back to whoever sat down or looked in. Yunas started to unfurl her napkin. She took it from him before he was finished and opened it on her lap. “Thank you,” she said. She didn’t want to offend him, but she was perfectly capable of opening her own napkin.

Yunas bent over Nico as he unfolded his napkin. “I am sorry for Signor Ferri. I’ll go and retrieve your menus.”

Nelli waited until Yunas was out of the room to ask, “Questioning him here is a bit awkward, isn’t it?”

“It is, but if anyone is looking, I’m hoping to pass it off as just me being curious about the murder. I also wanted to see the place.”

“Who would be looking for you here?”

“Capitano Tarani doesn’t want me to be involved in any way. He knows about my ties to Perillo. I don’t want to get him in trouble. So it’s just me taking a friend to dinner and asking a few questions.” It wasn’t the whole truth. The need to talk to Yunas had given him the courage to ask Nelli to dinner. This way there would be no long, awkward gaps in the conversation, but she would still be dining with him.

So there it is, thought Nelli. She was a prop.

Yunas came back with the menus. He gave an open one to Nelli first. She chuckled. Obviously, rich people were incapable of doing anything but making money. Her eyes widened when she saw there were no prices. She held out the menu. “It’s all free?”

Yunas tilted his head at her. “Signora?”

“The prices aren’t marked.”

Nico leaned toward her. “The guest shouldn’t see the prices so she feels free to order anything she likes without worrying about the cost.” The one time he had taken Rita to a restaurant with guest menus, she had protested too, though not as aggressively.

Nelli handed her menu back to Yunas. “This guest would like to see the prices. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Yunas said.

“I know the restaurant is trying to be fancy to justify the prices,” Nico said.

“I find it demeaning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She was ruining the evening. “I’m not used to fancy.”

“Neither am I.” Her smile told him she wasn’t angry.

Yunas slipped her the regular menu without opening it. This lady clearly wanted to be in charge. He moved next to Nico with the pretense of adjusting a fork. “I did not see Signor Ferri put anything in Signor Mantelli’s drink.” Yunas spoke softly. “They were at least two meters away from where the signora now sits.”

“You said that to Capitano Tarani?”

“I did.” Yunas straightened his spine. “What would you like to drink?”

“Water, no gas,” Nelli said, with a smile. “And a martini, please.” She was going to be an expensive prop. Besides she’d always wanted to taste one.

Nico looked surprised. “I was going to order a bottle of wine.”

“Of course,” Nelli said. “I’ll have some after my martini. I like red.” She wasn’t rich or sophisticated and didn’t know the rules of high society, but three things she did well were painting, drinking and sticking to her opinions.

Nico ordered a bottle of Ferriello Riserva, the 2015 vintage—a very good year, according to Aldo. Yunas took the order and left.

“I’d like to raise a glass to Aldo,” Nico said. “Will you join me?”

Nelli’s head was buried in the large menu. “Maybe more than one.” Filet mignon was expensive enough. Maybe that was what she should order.

“I didn’t picture you as a big drinker,” Nico said, surprised.

Nelli lowered the menu. “How do you picture me, Nico?”

“I don’t really know. You’re a wonderful painter. I like being with you. Seeing your face. It’s open and friendly and curious. And if you’re overly fond of alcohol, that’s your business, but I hope you aren’t. I don’t want to worry about you.”

Nelli laughed. She did so like this big loyal man. Prop or not, she forgave him. “I’m not overly fond of alcohol. I drink on special occasions. And this is very special. Ah, just in time.”

Yunas entered carrying a silver tray with the martini and the bottle of wine. But Nico was still staring at her. He’d never seen her laugh. She simply glowed.

Yunas started opening the bottle. “Go on, Nico,” Nelli said. “Ask your questions.”

Nico shook his head as if just waking up. He turned to Yunas, who was standing by his shoulder. “The signorina who was sitting with him in the seat where I am now. She said someone bumped into her back and made her spill wine on her dress. Did you see that happen?”

“I did.” Yunas popped the cork out and offered it to Nico.

“I presume there is more to that,” Nico said. Yunas poured a couple of centimeters of the wine into Nico’s glass. Nico took a long sip. “Wonderful.”

Yunas filled his glass. He wiped the wine bottle and set it on the table. “The signore offered me twenty euros to bump into the signorina at the correct moment. I took the money and did as he asked. Her eyes went to the stain on her dress, so she did not see me. I regret it now.”

Nelli looked up at Yunas’s face. There was real dismay there. She hoped he wasn’t ashamed. Despite having a steady job, twenty euros could still seem like a great deal of money for a man who must have struggled to get to Italy, to find a job as a Black immigrant. A beautiful one, but still so foreign to some people.

“Did he give a reason?” Nico asked.

“He wished to be alone.”

Because he was expecting to see someone here, Nico thought. At least, that was the reason he had given Loredana for changing restaurants. But who? Not his wife or Aldo. And why send Loredana away? “Did anyone talk to Mantelli besides his wife and Signor Ferri with his Chinese buyer? Anyone at all.”

“I did not see anyone. If I was not in this room, it was only for two, three minutes, no more. Once the signorina left, he looked at his cell phone a few times.”

“No staff besides yourself?”

“I took care of the signore myself. I am sorry I cannot help you. I have told you my truth. What I saw. No more.”

“The truth is exactly what I’m after,” Nico said. “Thank you for giving me yours.”

Yunas acknowledged Nico with a nod. “Have you decided what you would like to eat?”

Instead of the filet mignon she had planned to order, Nelli chose a much more affordable dish. “I’ll have the stuffed paccheri.”

Nico found the names of different pastas very confusing. They changed by region. Same pasta, different name. “What are paccheri?”

Nelli answered before Yunas could. “Big rigatoni. They’re typical in Campania, Maresciallo Perillo’s region.”

“We stuff them,” Yunas added, “with a ragu of beef, mushrooms, kale, finely chopped, with a pink béchamel sauce.”

“Sounds delicious. Two orders of paccheri, then.”

“Will that be your first course?”

Nico glanced at Nelli. “My first and second,” she said.

“For me too.” Nico said. He waited for Yunas to take the menus and leave before saying, “I hope the prices aren’t stopping you from ordering more.”

“The prices are ridiculous, but no,” she lied. She raised her martini glass. “Let’s toast to Aldo coming home soon.”

Nico raised his glass and clinked it with hers. To Aldo, to being here with her.

“Is what Yunas is telling you helping?”

“Yes. He’s cleared Aldo.”

“But he told Tarani what he told you, and Aldo got arrested anyway.”

“A stupid, hasty arrest to please the prosecutor. Now they have to prove he did it, and there’s no proof. They’re assuming the poison was administered here, but maybe it wasn’t. Yes, methanol gives a bad taste to the drink it’s in, but it could also alter the taste of food and drinks consumed later.”

“His wife was here that night too, wasn’t she?”

“Who told you that?”

“The online grapevine of Gravigna. There’s no need to gather in the piazza to gossip anymore, which is a shame. It was a much better way of connecting.”

“Face to face is always better, like tonight.”

Nelli set her martini aside. As it turned out, she much preferred wine. “With Yunas.”

“Yes. I already knew what Yunas had told Tarani, and Perillo had already relayed that to me, but I wanted to ask my own questions.”

His answer wasn’t quite what she’d hoped. Nelli raised her empty glass. “I’d love some wine now.”

Nico raised the wine bottle. Yunas took it from him and poured into Nelli’s glass. “The eight o’clock reservation is now in the front room. More answers will be difficult.”

“One last one before they come in. When my friend was here, the signore complained that his second whiskey tasted bad.”

“He did. I offered to have Signor Falchetti open another bottle or change whiskies. He said no. I reminded him his first dish was a raw artichoke salad. I do know wine and artichokes are bad partners. Maybe also whiskey and artichokes.”

“The owner poured the whiskies himself, is that right?”

Yunas looked over his shoulder. Signor Falchetti had stopped to talk to the four people he would soon be serving. “Yes. He trusts no one else with the alcohol. He was not happy the carabiniere came to ask questions wearing his uniform. The murder is much talked about. He does not want clients to be upset.”

“Thank you,” Nico said. “No more questions from me. You have been very helpful.”

Yunas’s face shined with pleasure. “Your paccheri will be here shortly.” He left them to greet the new diners.

“Do I have you all to myself now?” Nelli asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Was she upset? She didn’t look it. Her face was radiant, as always. “I did let you know.”

“Yes, you did, which didn’t stop me from being annoyed at first. But it passed fairly quickly.”

“You made the evening much easier for me. Thank you. I really appreciate you and your patience.”

“I believe in looking ahead, not backwards.” She was looking beyond Nico’s shoulder. “Now, that is a masterpiece.”

A different waiter wearing a waist-length burgundy jacket instead of the more distinguished blazer approached their table with their paccheri. Instead of being served in a loose mound, the paccheri, eight of them, stood tall on each plate, like roman columns.

“A specialty of the house.” The waiter lowered the tray and handed out the dishes. “Buon appetito.”

“Thank you,” they both said. Without another word, they cut into the first pacchero.

With her mouth still full, Nelli started fluttering her hand in front of her chest, her way of saying the pacchero was incredibly delicious.

Nico swallowed before agreeing with her. “I have to tell Tilde about this dish. Do you remember what’s in it?”

“I do. I’ll be happy to write it down for you, but stuffing the cooked pasta without breaking it is time consuming. This place probably has at least ten or more in the kitchen putting food together for the chef.”

“I have to tell her.”

They went back to eating, while Yunas took care of the two German couples sitting at the table behind Nico. The two German men had strong voices they seemed happy to show off. Nico wasn’t good at small talk, and if he was hoping to know more about Nelli, tonight was not the night. They would have had to speak too loudly.

“How is your Zio Peppino doing?” Nico asked after there was nothing left on his plate. “Is he still mourning his boss?”

“He’s both furious and devastated.”

“He’s double-mourning. The loss of the house and Mantelli’s violent death.” He’d witnessed many different reactions as the past bearer of bad news. Dumbfounded disbelief. Quiet tears. Screams and wails. One father, whose gay son had been murdered by a gang, had reacted by attacking him and breaking four of his ribs. “Any luck on finding Peppino another job?”

“Signora Severson found him one, but he’d have to start right away, and he doesn’t want to leave until the new owners come. It’s sad. He’s such a good man.”

“I’d like to talk to him.”

“I’m sure he told Salvatore everything, but you don’t need me to see him. Ask Mantelli’s wife. He works for her now.” At the mention of her name, Nelli felt a pang of jealousy. According to the grapevine, Signora Severson and Nico were spending a lot of time together at Sotto Il Fico. She had no right to feel jealous. She had no claim to Nico. She knew she was being ridiculous, spoiling a perfectly nice evening, but jealousy was what she felt. “I think I need to go home. I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Bringing up Peppino had upset her. He was sorry for that. He paid the bill with cash, leaving Yunas a large tip.

Nelli was silent on the drive to her house. She looked sad, and Nico didn’t know what to say to comfort her. In front of the gate of her small home in the newer part of Gravigna, she thanked him and kissed his cheeks. “I hope you find the real murderer.”

“We will, and Zio Peppino is going to be okay. Grief just takes time.”

“Yes, it does. I know.” She stepped out of the car. Feeling awkward, Nico stayed put.

Reaching into her bag for her keys, Nelli walked up the short path to her door.

“Nelli,” Nico called out as he scrambled out of the car. “I’d love to take you out to dinner again. I promise the only questions I ask will only be about you.”

She turned around and felt a smile rise from her chest. “I’d love that too. Sleep well.”

“How about Thursday night? I don’t work on Thursdays.”

“Thursday it is. Now go home. Rocco misses you.”

“Buonanotte, Nelli.”

“Buonanotte.”

As soon as Stella walked into Bar All’Angolo with Daniele, Sandro stepped out from behind the counter to give her and her backpack a hug. “Bella Stella, we miss you. You’re leaving again?”

“Yes. Work calls!”

“When are you dumping the big city and coming home for good?”

“When you offer me a job with decent pay. Do you know Daniele?”

“By eyesight only. You’re Salvatore’s right-hand man.” Sandro raised his hand in salute. “Ciao, I’m Sandro, married to Jimmy, who’s in the back stocking supplies when he isn’t napping.”

Daniele raised his hand in return. “Ciao.”

“What can I get the two of you? It’s on the house.”

“No,” Stella protested. “We’ll each pay for our orders.”

“I’ll pay for both of us,” Daniele said. He’d made sure to bring enough money in case she wanted more than ice cream.

Sandro shook his head, his one gold earring picking up the light. “It’s no use, Daniele. Stella doesn’t like to be indebted to anyone.”

“That’s right,” Stella said. “Sorry, Dani. Only the Roman way for me.”

He gave in. “Okay.” Whatever she wanted was fine with him. It was nice just being with her. She was so full of life, he felt as if some of it rubbed off on him.

“My bar, my rules,” Sandro said. “Without taxing my brain too much, I say you,” he pointed at Stella, “want two scoops, one salted caramel and one coffee on a cone.”

Stella laughed. “Brilliant deduction.”

Sandro turned to Daniele. “And you?”

“Dark chocolate and stracciatella, please. In a cup.”

Sandro prepared the ice creams and handed them over. They thanked him and walked with the overly full cup and the cone to one of the benches in the piazza.

“You’re good friends with Sandro?” He missed having friends.

“I’m friends with more or less everyone,” Stella caught a descending bit of caramel with her tongue. “Gravigna is a small town. Sandro gave me my first real job. I’ve helped at the restaurant in the summers since I was twelve, but since it belongs to my family, that doesn’t count. When I was sixteen, Sandro offered me my first real job at the café for the summer. I blew all my salary on ice cream cones. Salted caramel and coffee. It’s a great mix. Want to taste?” She held up the unlicked part of her cone.

Daniele hesitated. He’d already used his spoon.

“Hurry up, Dani. Lick away. It’s melting. Your germs won’t kill me.”

Daniele allowed himself one lick, then quickly backed off.

“Now I’ll use your spoon to taste yours so our germs get to know each other.”

Daniele offered her his cup. “That would be nice.”

“I think so.” Stella dug the spoon in deeply and quickly scooped a small mound of stracciatella into her mouth. “Mmm. That’s good.” She handed his spoon back.

“Why only the Roman way for you? What’s wrong with a man treating you to ice cream?”

“If we both pay, we’re equal. It’s better that way.”

“I know it’s the way now, but I think it’s too bad. Trust has gone missing.”

“Yes, it has. For good reason, though.”

“I’m not like that.”

“I know. That’s why we’re having ice cream together.”

“You didn’t trust me earlier.”

“Aldo is a good friend of my family.”

“They don’t have enough evidence to hold him. He’ll come home soon.”

“I hope you’re right. When I’m upset, I lash out. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. What time is the bus to Florence?”

She glanced at her phone. “In twenty-eight minutes. I hope you’ll come visit me again.”

“I want to. I don’t have any friends around my age yet.”

“Sure you do. Me.”

Daniele was grateful they were sitting in the dark side of the piazza so she wouldn’t see his red face.

“We’re friends, right?” Stella asked.

“Yes, we are.” He was happy.

“Good.”

They finished their ice cream in comfortable silence. The only noise came from the chatter and laughter from Da Gino’s crowded outside tables and the occasional car driving by.