THIRTEEN

When Nico walked into Bar All’Angolo with OneWag, Gogol raised both his arms and exclaimed, “‘The time was the beginning of morning, and the sun was rising accompanied by three stars from when divine love first made these things of beauty.’”

“That’s a good one,” Nico said as he sat down facing his friend. The sight of Gogol welcoming him with an enthusiastic quote lifted his spirits. Being in the café also helped. Sandro at the cash register, Jimmy manning the espresso machine, clients elbowing each other at the long counter. Life was back to normal here. Worried about Loredana, he had tossed and turned most of the night, driving OneWag to seek peace on the sofa.

“Dear Gogol, I understood every word, and I’m going to surprise you by guessing correctly. Since Dante is seeing the sun, it can only be from the first canto of Inferno.”

With a brown-toothed grin, Gogol lifted his hand for a high-five. Their hands clapped.

“He came in half an hour ago,” Sandro said, bringing over Nico’s cornetto. “Kept fidgeting and muttering until he saw you. Jimmy claims he can tell when something is wrong before it happens.”

“Thanks.” Nico took the plate. “That sounds like a bit of folklore to me.”

Sandro lifted one shoulder, “Maybe,” the other shoulder came up. “Maybe not.”

Gogol paid no attention to Sandro, his eyes intent on Nico’s face.

“You must be hungry.” Nico pushed the plate across the table. “I’ll get another one.”

“Coming up,” Jimmy said from the far end of the café. “Along with an Americano for you and an espresso for the seer. Come get them.”

Nico walked to the back. OneWag followed. Today’s pickings on the floor had been meager. Nico swept up the cornetto flakes and powdered sugar on the counter and let them fall to the floor. OneWag started licking.

Jimmy noticed. “Thanks. No one bothers to clean up after themselves.” He put the cornetto and two coffees on a tray. “What Sandro told you isn’t folklore.” He spoke in a low voice. “The morning my mother died of a stroke, I rushed over to her house, and there was Gogol walking back and forth on the sidewalk. When my sister broke her water three weeks early, who was outside her home but Gogol with a flower in his hand. He feels things, like animals just before an earthquake.”

Nico wasn’t convinced, but he played along. “I’m glad he can also feel good things coming, not just bad.”

“We all are. Otherwise someone might get it in his head to run him out of town.”

Nico took the tray back to the table and sat back down. “Did you enjoy that?” he asked. Nico’s first cornetto was gone.

Gogol shook his head and wiped the crumbs off his lips. He drank his espresso before looking up at Nico. “‘Charon, don’t torment yourself.’”

Nico guessed a sleepless night showed on his face. “I’m not ferrying anyone to hell, Gogol, so I can’t torment myself.”

Gogol huffed and used his chin to point to Perillo walking through the open French doors. Dressed in his usual jeans and a crisp shirt, Nico watched him walk over to a group of cyclists and start chatting. What the hell? He’d expected Perillo to come straight over to him and share whatever news he had. Even if there was no news.

Gogol clasped his hand over Nico’s wrist. “‘Don’t torment yourself. It is willed where the power resides to will it.’”

Nico freed his wrist. “Gogol, please just say it in plain Italian. What are you trying to tell me?” Gogol’s chagrined face made him instantly regret his outburst.

Perillo walked over, sat next to Gogol and leaned in. “He’s trying to tell you,” he said in a barely audible voice, “that God willed her death.”

“Loredana?”

Perillo nodded, his face drained of any visible emotion. “I need a cigarette,” he said in a surprisingly steady voice. “Signor Gogol, would you mind lending me your friend while I smoke outside?”

“He is yours to keep today. I wish you both buoyed spirits. The day is full of sadness.” He stood up with them. “Tomorrow, if I live.”

“God wills it, Gogol. See you tomorrow.” Nico called out to Sandro, “I’ll pay you later.” Sandro raised a thumb.

Outside Perillo lit his cigarette and watched Gogol walk away. “It’s odd, but the dogs in the kennel don’t bark at him. Vince sees him there often, hears him quoting Dante to them, and not a one barks.”

“They sense he is gentle. Tell me about Loredana.”

Perillo started walking along the grassy edge of the road. Nico kept pace. “Dino found her—that is, his dog did.”

“Where?”

“In the woods behind the kennel where most of the hunters around here keep their dogs. It’s almost at the end of the south road that leads to Lamole.”

“The road where the hikers saw her?”

“The very same, except five kilometers further down. Dino goes to the kennel at five-thirty every morning to walk his German pointer before coming to the station. As soon as he opened the cage, the dog ran off into the woods. Dino thought he’d spotted or smelled a hare and went after him.” Perillo jabbed the cigarette in his mouth and sucked the smoke in. He took his time blowing it out. Sucked in more smoke, taking it down all the way to the bottom of his lungs. Perillo’s mind was replaying his visit to Loredana at Il Glicine. How breathtakingly beautiful she was, how wild and yes, how fragile.

Nico didn’t press him.

“She was curled up as if she’d fallen asleep,” Perillo finally said. “Fully dressed. Only her shoes were missing. She had the broken heel in her hand. She’d used it to start writing a suicide note on the ground. I AM SOR. That’s all she managed to write before whatever she’d put into her body took over.”

“You are sure it was suicide?”

“It certainly looks that way. There was a syringe not far from the body.”

“She could have overdosed,” Nico said. “According to Diane, a doctor had introduced her to pentobarbital. It’s an anti-anxiety drug. You get the dosage wrong, and you’re dead.”

“Overdose or suicide, the result is the same. An ugly, sad, useless death.” Perillo looked at his watch. “The medical examiner took Loredana and the syringe with him. They should be in Florence in half an hour. We’ll have a definitive answer on Loredana in a few days, depending on how many other bodies he has to deal with. We should know what was in the syringe by tomorrow.” Perillo started walking again. “The idea of that beautiful woman being cut up makes me want to throw up.”

It was nauseating when it came to all victims, Nico thought, keeping up with Perillo’s pace. Nauseating but necessary. It gave answers, which in turn gave peace to the family. “Have you called her stepmother?”

“Daniele has that job. The good news is that Aldo is coming home tonight.”

Nico tapped Perillo’s shoulder. “That’s wonderful. Let’s try to focus on the good news.”

“I will when we close this case,” Perillo said, “and I hope that happens when we get Loredana’s autopsy report.”

“You have doubts she killed Mantelli?” Perillo had seemed convinced before.

“I’m full of doubts these days. The autopsy should clear some of them.”

“Nelli’s out on the terrace,” Enzo said when Nico walked into the restaurant with Enrico’s bread for the lunch service. “She heard about the suicide. Awful, isn’t it? She was so young and beautiful.”

Nico dropped the bags on the first table. “It’s awful even when they’re old and ugly.”

“You’re right, but somehow it just hits you differently. Thanks for the bread.” Enzo was in charge of slicing it.

Nico walked to the kitchen, saying buongiorno to Elvira on the way.

She was in her armchair in her blue and green Tuesday dress, folding napkins. “I appreciate you saying that about the old and ugly. I never had the luxury of beauty, and I certainly have no intention of committing suicide. It’s a selfish act. No thought to the pain she caused.”

“She had no one, Elvira.”

“It’s not possible to have no one. She didn’t suddenly appear in a cabbage.”

“Her father and mother are dead. So is her boyfriend, and there was no love from the stepmother.”

Elvira crossed herself. “Suicide is a sin, but I hope the Lord will forgive her.”

Nico continued walking, popping his head in the kitchen. “Ciao, Tilde. Nelli’s on the terrace. Do I have time to talk to her?”

“Take all the time you want. She’s upset about Mantelli’s girlfriend committing suicide. I sent Alba to her with a plate of your frittelle. Go and cheer her up. Even better, invite her to have lunch with you. Alba and Enzo will handle the lunch crowd. Go.”

“Thanks.” Walking out on the terrace, he crossed paths with Alba, who gave him a quick double kiss. “Sad day.” Nico nodded, his eyes searching for Nelli. She was seated at the least popular table, one far back against the building wall.

“I tried to get her to move to a seat with a view,” Alba said. “She wouldn’t, so I brought over your fritelle. She looked in need of cheering up. So do you. I know, I heard. If the American lady shows up, I’ll tell her you’re not here. Nelli’s nice.”

Nelli spotted him and smiled.

He walked over to her table and sat down facing her.

“Ciao, Nico. Your frittelle are very good. I wasn’t hungry, but I finished them all. How are you?”

“It’s been a sad morning, but it’s nice to see you.”

“Why did she do it, do you know?” Nelli saw his face shut down. “I’m sorry. If you know, you probably can’t tell me. I didn’t come here to get information about her. I wanted to know how you are. It must be horribly sad and also frustrating for you and Salvatore. She was running away, wasn’t she?”

“The usual rumor mill told you?”

“Who else? Thanks to the Internet, the news—false or not—takes flight. The cab driver wrote something on his Twitter feed, and it spread from there. How are you?”

“Okay. I had no emotional attachment to her. I only saw her twice. The second time, I exchanged a few words with her, that’s all. Suicide is always sad—it’s devastating for the family, for friends.”

“Theories are already sprouting about her death,” Nelli said. “I thought you should know.”

“Such as?”

“That she overdosed by mistake. Or was kidnapped by a hiker or a tourist, raped and killed. Or that she knew where Mantelli’s money was, and his wife or someone else forced the information out of her, then killed her. Or that she was blackmailing Mantelli’s killer, and he or she shut her up.”

“Perillo should cede his job to these people.”

“No one likes uncertainty, so people come up with possibilities. I think it makes them feel in control.”

“As long as it doesn’t harm anyone.”

“Sometimes it does.”

“It will take a few days to know what really happened to Loredana. I’d like to put her aside for now and concentrate on lunch. Will you keep me company? I’d like that very much.”

“You don’t have to work?”

“Tilde kicked me out of the kitchen, thanks to you. If you’ll join me, I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

Nelli didn’t feel like eating. The young woman’s ugly death had shaken her. She had come to console Nico if he needed it, but realized she was looking for consolation too. Nico’s presence did that. “I would like lunch with you very much. Thank you. What’s on the menu besides frittelle?”

“The best pappa al pomodoro in all of Tuscany, for one.”

“All of Tuscany?”

“You’ll see.”

Before going home after lunch, Nico drove by the Ferriello welcome center for news of Aldo.

Arben was lying down on a bench, eyes closed. OneWag nuzzled his ear. “Ciao, Nico.” He kept this eyes closed. “You’ve heard the good news about Aldo?”

“I did. I’m sorry I interrupted your nap.”

“I give myself twenty minutes each day on a bench. It reminds me of how lucky I am that I’m sleeping in a bed again. Today, I gave myself an extra ten to celebrate.” Arben opened his eyes and sat up. “You just missed Cinzia. I wish you’d seen her. She was gushing like a badly popped champagne bottle. I’ve never seen her so happy.” Arben was one big smile too. “She asked me to tell you she’s having me and the rest of the workers here to celebrate. She wants you to come.”

“I didn’t work at lunch, which means tonight is a must, unfortunately.” Nico knew he could get out of the dinner shift. Tilde had made it clear that, since he insisted on working for free, he had no obligations to her. Celebrating Aldo’s freedom would have been fun under different circumstances, but Loredana’s death sat heavily on his chest. “I’ll drop in and give Aldo a hug before I go. I’ll celebrate with him another time.”

“She’s going to be upset.” Arben wiped his face with his hands. “I should be working now.” He stood up. “I heard about Mantelli’s girlfriend. I guess she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in jail. I would have done the same, although I hear Italian jails are much better than the stinkholes in Albania.”

“Ciao, Arben. I’ll tell Cinzia myself. Enjoy tonight.”

“Oh, I will. Big headache tomorrow. Ciao.”

Perillo called as Nico was changing into shorts and a T-shirt to do some weeding. “I got the results on the syringe. It had traces of pentobarbital. That’s how she killed herself.”

“Let’s say that’s what probably killed her. You still need to wait for the autopsy report.”

“You are splitting one hair into many, but justifiably so. Haste is not a good policy, and I now have more questions than before.”

“I have only one. Why poison Mantelli with wood alcohol when all she had to do was inject him with pentobarbital? A much faster, easier way to kill.”

“I see we agree. Are you free now?”

“Give me the time to change and I’ll come to the station.”

“No, Daniele and I will come to you. Being in comfort is more conducive to clear thinking, and your balcony offers fresh air.”

A glass of whiskey also helps, Nico thought, but said, “What about Tarani?”

“He is in Florence, convinced we have found Mantelli’s killer, who is conveniently dead.”

“No dinner. I have to work tonight.”

“I would not presume to impose on you for food. Ivana has plans to salvage our spirits with a seven-layer eggplant and zucchini lasagna, followed by a homemade cassata. She’s extended the invitation to you, but alas, it appears Tilde has you under lock and key.”

“Stop expending oxygen with your fancy talk and get over here.”

“At your orders.”

“Loredana was not a stupid woman,” Perillo said as he sat down on Nico’s balcony and answered the question he had posed not half an hour ago. “Killing Mantelli with pentobarbital held the risk of immediately leading us to her as the prime suspect.”

“You didn’t know she took pentobarbital.” Nico put two glasses and an open whiskey bottle out on the table. He’d dropped the last of the olives in a small bowl, which he now pushed Daniele’s way. “She told Diane about taking the drug only after Mantelli’s death.”

Daniele kept his gaze on the fast movement of the swallows swooping across the sky. They enchanted him with their dips and rises.

Perillo poured himself two fingers of whiskey. “We would have found out quickly enough. Maybe Loredana knew Ida had heard her threat. She was right there, telling Loredana her leg was bleeding. Ida would go straight to the carabinieri once she found out Mantelli was murdered—”

“But she didn’t,” Daniele interrupted, clearly upset. If only he could shut them out and watch the birds.

Perillo flicked his eyes over to Daniele. Poor boy. Loredana’s death had hit him the hardest. He had refused to see her body. “Loredana had no way of knowing that Ida follows her own rules. Any other housekeeper would have reported it right away. Loredana couldn’t risk having us go through her belongings and finding the murder weapon. So she used antifreeze instead.” Perillo drank the whiskey down. “Thank you. This is a welcome comfort. Dani, you should try some. It’s soothing.”

Daniele shook his head. “How many people know antifreeze will kill you? I didn’t. If I’d guessed, I would think it would make you throw up instantly.”

“It was in the news a few years ago,” Perillo said. “Some tourists in the Caribbean died after consuming it.”

“I will not believe she killed anyone,” Daniele said. Her death had left him filled with sadness, anger and guilt. It was his call that had sent her running to her death.

“Not even herself?” Nico asked, settling down on the third chair with OneWag at his feet.

“Not even herself.” Daniele turned to Perillo. “You saw what she was like, Maresciallo. It doesn’t fit.”

“Yes, I did see. When we told her about Mantelli, she put on a show. She was shocked, maybe even sad, but she was center stage, not Mantelli. She was vain and desperate for attention. Now we know she was also on drugs and very unhappy. She was fragile, as you put it yourself, Dani. That can lead to suicide. She did start to write a suicide note.”

“Anyone could have done that. It’s all wrong, Maresciallo. The place she died doesn’t make sense. If she’d killed herself, she would have chosen somewhere beautiful where everyone could see her and mourn for her. She would have staged her own death. Killing yourself in the woods where only a dog can find you, that’s not the Loredana we met.”

Nico and Perillo exchanged glances. Daniele was too young, too inexperienced to know the power of desperation.

“Let’s get back to Mantelli.” Nico’s gaze went to Perillo. “Are you convinced Loredana killed him?”

“I didn’t see her do it, but she threatened him and she’s got motive.”

“So did Aldo, and he’s been cleared. I think we need to dig a little deeper. It’s not right to decide she was the murderer without being at least ninety percent convinced. I’m only at fifty.”

“Zero for me,” Daniele piped in.

Perillo found comfort in a cigarette this time. “I know. I have not succeeded here, not at all.”

“Let’s succeed now,” Nico said. “Daniele, did you send me the name of the two vintners who paid Mantelli?”

“No.” Daniele’s face turned red. “I’m sorry. I forgot. I had their names and telephone numbers ready to send you, but,” he stumbled over his words, “I had to call Loredana to make sure I didn’t scare her, and then I did because she was gone, and I—”

Nico stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, Daniele. You had a lot on your mind. Send them to me when you get back.”

“I can go now.”

“No, stay here with us. We need your sharp mind. How about a glass of wine? I’ll join you.”

“No, thank you. A glass of water would be nice, though.” Daniele got up. “I’ll get it.” He was eager to get away from the smoke and the banter, because that’s all it was. A back-and-forth of maybe, could be. The only concrete events were Mantelli and Loredana’s deaths.

“Go ahead. Help yourself. There’s some bread and cheese if you want.”

At the mention of food, OneWag followed Daniele in. Out of sight of the two men, Daniele picked up the dog and hugged him. They didn’t believe him about her death. After talking to her awful stepmother, he’d seen Loredana as a fighter. Fighters didn’t quit. Was he wrong? He didn’t think so, but these two knew so much more about people than he did.

Perillo sighed. “My brigadiere needs to grow some crocodile skin. He’s too upset to think straight. Why do you want those names? Are you thinking they might be suspects?”

“No, but we don’t really know anything about them. There’s no harm in having a chat with them.” There was something Ginevra had said about Mantelli that had set him wondering about “struggling vintners.”

“Diane Severson is the one I need to question more carefully,” Perillo said. “She was at the villa Tuesday morning, ostensibly to let Peppino know about the sale. I’ve thought about the theory Dani offered in the park yesterday. It’s plausible. Diane went to the villa Tuesday morning, dropped some antifreeze in Mantelli’s whiskey bottle and told Peppino to get rid of it after Mantelli had his drink.”

“You think there was another bottle, an open one Diane spiked with methanol, and Peppino got rid of it?”

Perillo took a drag from his cigarette. “Could be. He seemed to me to be a hardworking, honest man, but he must have been angry with Mantelli for selling the villa.”

“Diane told me he’s in complete denial. He thinks she’ll cancel the sale.”

“Maybe that’s what she promised him in exchange.”

“But Nelli tells me he knows he’ll have to leave the villa. He’s very upset about it. I saw that myself. I guess if the news is bad enough, you can hope and despair at the same time.” Rita had shifted from one to the other for months after the diagnosis. “From what you’ve told me someone could have gone to the villa in the afternoon. Didn’t Peppino say he usually takes a nap then?”

“Yes, he did,” Perillo said, “and his room is far enough away that if anyone came to visit, he wouldn’t have heard anything.”

“Before Mantelli went to the piazza where Aldo met up with him, was he home?”

“After lunch he usually went back to Il Glicine with Loredana, but she says he told her he had work to do.”

Daniele walked back out on the balcony followed by OneWag. “Peppino didn’t mention the sale of the villa when he came to the station.” He was holding a tray with an opened bottle of white wine and two glasses, one of which was filled with water. “He also didn’t tell us that Signora Severson had paid a visit to the villa Tuesday morning. That’s two important omissions.” He set it down on the table and sat down. OneWag curled up at his feet. “Peppino came to the station before we knew Mantelli had been murdered. I think he helped Signora Severson kill her husband. And, if you permit me, Maresciallo, I would ask the whereabouts of the signora last night and early this morning.”

“You think she helped Loredana run?” Nico asked.

Daniele drank half a glass of water before answering. “She may have killed her.” Saying those five words almost made him smile. He knew he was climbing up mirrors trying to sustain his conviction that Loredana did not kill herself.

Perillo put out his cigarette in the portable ashtray and stood up. “We’ll dig deeper while we wait for the autopsy results. Thank you, Nico, for your unparalleled hospitality, and for giving me the well-deserved and very necessary kick to my ass.”

“Never a kick, Perillo. A suggestion.”

“Call it what you wish. My ego registered it differently. My ass and my ego speak to each other daily.”

Nico and OneWag walked the two men to the door. “I’ll send the vintners’ names and numbers as soon as I get back,” Daniele said.

Nico nodded. OneWag followed Perillo and Daniele down the stairs. It was time to lift a leg. When he came back, he found his boss sitting out on the balcony, sipping a glass of white wine. No bread, no cheese. There was nothing for OneWag to do but jump up on the sofa and wait. Soon it would be dinnertime.

Nico and OneWag found Cinzia in the front garden with clippers, in shorts and a T-shirt, cleaning up her roses. “Ehi, Nico, I’m sorry you can’t stay for dinner tonight. We’ll do a repeat when you’re free, although I know you could have gotten out of work. You must be upset about that woman killing herself. You met her, right?”

Nico said nothing. Thankfully, Cinzia kept going. “I can’t blame you. It’s hard to celebrate anything after finding a dead body in the woods. Come here.” She opened up her arms, and Nico walked into them. They hugged and cheek-kissed. “Forgive me, but I’m so happy I could even hug Salvatore.” Cinzia’s eyes glistened, and a natural blush sat on her cheeks. Nico was glad to see her back to her usual vivacious self.

“Aldo’s in the kitchen. He wants to see you.”

“And I, him. Enjoy your celebration.”

“Thanks. We plan to get so drunk, we’ve declared tomorrow a holiday at the vineyard.”

Aldo was bent over the kitchen table, slicing a row of plump sausages with a six-inch knife. A large tray held two well-seasoned, spatchcocked chickens shiny with oil and spattered with rosemary sprigs.

OneWag raised his head with trembling nostrils.

“Ciao, Nico. You’re going to regret missing this. So is Rocco.” Aldo put the knife down, and Nico gave him a half-hug.

“I know I will. I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you back where you belong.”

“Thanks.” Aldo wiped his hands on his green Ferriello apron and reached for a glass. An open bottle of Ferriello red was already on the table along with a half-full glass. He poured the wine into the empty glass and handed it to Nico. “Let’s drink to always being where we belong.”

“I’m with you on that,” Nico said, happy to feel that he belonged in Gravigna. He clinked Aldo’s glass. OneWag whimpered.

Aldo turned toward the counter behind him and cut off a piece from one of several raw pork cutlets, then tossed it to OneWag. The dog gulped it down.

Nico heard his phone beep. He dug into his pocket. It was a text from Daniele with the vintners’ names and phone numbers. It was too late in the day to call them. He didn’t want to rush through the calls, and he was overdue at the restaurant.

Aldo had resumed slicing the remaining sausages down the middle, careful not to slice all the way through. “Tell Salvatore I forgive him. I know he was following orders. And thanks for helping Cinzia.”

“No thanks needed. We’re friends.”

Aldo pointed his knife at Nico. “Friend and landlord. Don’t you forget it.”

Nico laughed. “I remember every first of the month.” He finished his wine in two big gulps. “Ciao, Aldo. I’ll see you around. Let’s go, OneWag.”

The dog gave one last pleading look at Aldo. When that got him nowhere, he took his time following his boss to the car.

Ivana’s seven-layer eggplant and zucchini lasagna had been eaten, along with the fennel and green olive salad. What was left of the cassata was back in the freezer. Daniele was now explaining to Ivana how to make the Venetian specialty dish sarde in saor.

“You deep-fry the sardines, cover them with lots of onions and marinate them in a sweet vinegar sauce.”

“That sounds delicious.”

The notes of “O Sole Mio” rang out loudly.

Ivana protested. “Salvo, please lower the volume on that thing. It drives me crazy.”

Perillo, still comfortably seated at the kitchen table, saw it was an unfamiliar number and rejected the call. “Done.”

Two minutes later, the song burst out again. He let it ring. It was the same number, but he liked the music.

“Salvo, answer it.” Ivana said. “We’re going deaf.”

Perillo swiped and put the phone to his ear. “Perillo speaking.”

“Signor Maresciallo, Ida speaking.”

“Ah, I’m glad it’s you. I’d like you to tell me what you meant by two and two doesn’t make six or even four.”

“That’s not why I called, but I can tell you. It’s the advice I gave Signor Mantelli when I found out he gambled on soccer matches. Same advice I gave my nephew. You can’t count on things adding up the way you want.”

“How do you know he gambled?”

Daniele leaned forward to listen. Ida’s voice was loud.

“Every Friday morning, I’d hear him place his bets on the teams, but that’s not important. I hear that poor girl is dead.”

“Yes, she committed suicide.”

“How?”

“We don’t have the autopsy report yet.”

“I also heard a syringe was found next to her body. Is that true?”

There was no point in denying; it would be in the newspapers tomorrow. “Yes.”

“Oh, she liked her drugs. Right from the start I saw that. She was just as hooked as Signor Mantelli was hooked on gambling. It was sad, such a pretty girl. She could have been in the movies. She was sorry for what she’d done. The drugs—”

Perillo interrupted. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m in the middle of dinner.”

“Your dinner will have to wait. This is important. The syringe you found, it wasn’t hers. I have her syringe. Friday, after Signora Diane told her she had to go back to the B&B, Signorina Loredana took me up to her bedroom. She said if she didn’t get rid of them, they were going to kill her. ‘I can trust you,’ she said, and handed me one of those fancy bags for creams and things. ‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘but I don’t wear makeup, and it’s way too late for creams on my face.’ Oh, she liked that. I made her laugh. Did you ever hear her laugh? It was like a little bell ringing.”

Perillo looked at his wife and shrugged. She hated interruptions during meals, but luckily her attention was on Daniele, who was writing out the recipe for sarde in saor.

Ida talked right through his shrug. “Once she stopped laughing, she unzipped the bag. I saw pill bottles, cotton balls, alcohol, a syringe and little vials of some liquid. ‘Please take them. Throw them away where no one can find them. They’ve ruined me.’ She zippered up the bag and clasped my arms around it. She then hugged me. ‘Even if I come begging,’ she said, ‘don’t listen. Get rid of everything now, before I change my mind.’ She pushed me out of the room and locked the door. Half an hour later, Signora Diane drove her with her suitcases to the B&B.”

“What did you do with the drugs?”

Both Ivana and Daniele turned to look at Perillo.

“I kept them. The bag was pretty, so I put everything in a Coop bag. Some other garbage killed her.”

“Thank you for this information. You could have told me this yesterday morning.”

“Why would I have? She was still alive. I’m calling you now to save you from climbing up and down those stairs. Send your brigadiere. His knees can take it. And I’ll have a strawberry crostata waiting for him. That young man needs some looking after. So did that poor girl. I’m sorry she didn’t make it.” She hung up.

Ivana gave her husband a questioning look. “I hope we can keep the evening free of the dead.”

“Of course. I am only too happy to do so.”

“Now, both of you, please have some fruit.” Ivana pushed a bowl filled with peaches and apricots Daniele’s way. “Next time you come, we’ll make sarde in saor together.”

Perillo and Daniele eyed each other. Ivana had outdone herself with this meal. Ida’s news would have to wait.