Death in the Dolomites: A Rick Montoya Italian Mystery

by David P. Wagner

  Bruno saw what was happening and raised his other ski pole to strike. Rick cringed and braced for the blow, but instead of the pole coming down on his hand, Bruno’s body pitched over him toward the cliff. Rick ducked and Bruno’s shoulder crashed into the snow just beyond Rick’s head. It was Bruno’s turn to grasp at anything that would stop his fall, but he found nothing but loose snow and air. His heavy boots and skis pulled him into the abyss.

  Rick crawled and slid to the edge and looked down to see Bruno’s unconscious body about thirty feet down, caught on a rocky ledge. The position of his legs indicated that something had broken in the fall, but he appeared still to be alive. As Rick watched, a gust of wind drew snow from the rocks and sprinkled it on the man’s upturned face. Rick took a deep breath and rolled back over.

  “I guess I’m going to owe you big-time for this, Flavio.”

  “For the rest…of your…life.” His friend was gasping after the exertion of his descent. “I won’t let you forget it.” After a few seconds his breaths came easier. “I thought he might take you down here. We used to ski this trail when I was a kid. When somebody took a dive off this cliff, they blocked it off.”

  Rick gathered his equipment and got to his feet. “How did you know Bruno was going to try something? I was rushing to get down to talk to Melograno with Luca. I didn’t think Bruno was involved in this at all. To begin with, he didn’t strike me as having the brains to pull it off.”

  “And you’re right on the mark. It was John Smith’s skis that tipped me off.”

  Rick looked up from examining the small, round tear in his ski coat made by Bruno’s pole. “Non capisco.”

  “Bruno rented John a beautiful pair of Kolmartz skis.”

  Rick shook his head. How could the guy be so stupid, or greedy, to rent out the dead man’s skis? His mind flashed back to the investigation. Didn’t Bruno have something of an alibi for the morning of the disappearance? And there was still something strange about Melograno in all this. They looked up to see two blue-clad members of the ski patrol descending the trail toward them.

  “They must have seen me turn into this trail,” Flavio said, leaning on his poles. “Let me talk to them and then I’ll get you down to the hotel. Without any more accidents.”

  ***

  The toe of Rick’s cowboy boot disappeared when he stepped out of the hotel door. In the lobby he’d seen the owner’s teenage son pulling out a shovel and heard his grousing about fighting a losing battle. The kid was right, but it was a beautiful snowfall, and its powder would make Cat’s final run of the day a pleasant one. His boots crunched in the snow as he walked down the hill to the station, past the churchyard, as he ran what just happened through his head. There was the phone call from the banker, after which Rick thought he had everything figured out. Unfortunately Bruno’s attempt on his life knocked his theory into a cocked hat. Unable to help himself, Rick tried to think of an easy translation of “knocked into a cocked hat,” but was unsuccessful.

  At the police station the man at the desk said that Inspector Albani had not returned from Pinzolo, but then Rick remembered that they were to meet at Melograno’s office. He thanked the sergeant and stepped back out into the snow. Two minutes later he was on the sidewalk opposite Melograno’s building. No sign of Luca. As he began to cross, a Land Rover coming up the street stopped and the driver rolled down the passenger-side window.

  “Salve, Montoya,” the driver called. “Are you looking for Umberto?”

  Rick grabbed his hat, which was about to blow off. “Yes, Signor Sindaco. I was on my way to his office.”

  “Get in,” he shouted through the howling wind. “I can’t hear you.”

  Rick opened the door and slipped in next to Grandi. The warmth from the heater hit him in the face and felt good. He returned to a normal voice. “It’s getting rough out there. Yes, I’m on my way to Signor Melograno’s office.”

  “He’s not there, but I know where he is.” He shifted into first gear and the Land Rover started to move up the hill. “I’m heading in that direction.”

  “But Signor Grandi, I—”

  “Nonsense, it’s not out of the way.” He jerked his thumb toward the back of the SUV. “I was on my way to make some deliveries.”

  Rick looked back and saw that the rear seat had been laid flat, and the space was covered with carved figures on the same blanket he’d seen that morning. The wooden bears lay shoulder to shoulder, staring at the roof of the vehicle. “I hope you’ll find good homes for all of them.”

  Grandi chuckled. The Land Rover moved steadily up the main street and out of the center of town where the space between the houses began to widen. After they passed under the gondola cables the trees began to line the road, now curving slowly left and right as it climbed. Rick thought about taking out his cell phone and calling Luca, but since it would be impossible to keep Grandi from hearing both sides of any conversation, rejected the idea. Melograno was likely at one of his rental properties, perhaps showing it to a potential client. When Grandi dropped him he could call Luca to tell him where he was. He would wait there until the policeman arrived.

  They were approaching a stack of single-story vacation apartments. The mayor told Rick how they had been built during the term of his predecessor, but he was hoping to get more built in the space next to them. Every plot needed to be developed, he said, to help the local economy grow, though the available space was limited by government restrictions. It was a delicate balance between maintaining the mountain’s integrity and allowing more construction, but Rick sensed which way Grandi leaned on the issue. They passed under the footbridge that connected mountain trails and ski lifts on the two sides of the road, and climbed past a hotel on the right. Rick remained silent as the mayor talked, thinking that they were on the same road Rick had taken with Luca to visit the old man. He hoped they weren’t going all the way to Folgarida now.

  They were not. Grandi downshifted, slowing the Land Rover before turning off the road to the right. He engaged the vehicle’s four-wheel drive and started through the deep snow, which was getting deeper every minute as the wind swirled the flakes. Rick could make out ahead a Toyota parked in a wide field, facing toward them. Its red color was obscured by the snow accumulating on its roof. A man stood next to it holding down a large roll of paper spread on the hood. As they got closer he saw that it was Melograno. He wore a heavy coat but his head was uncovered, its thick hair flecked with white flakes. He looked up, and upon recognizing Grandi’s car, smiled and waved a greeting. As Grandi slowed to a stop, Rick’s phone rang.

  “Please, take your call,” the mayor said as he opened his door. “I have some business to take care of with Umberto.” He closed the door and walked to Melograno.

  Rick recognized the number. “Luca, I’m very glad you called.”

  “Where are you, Riccardo? I’m here at Melograno’s office and didn’t find either of you.”

  Rick quickly explained what had happened.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Luca said. “Be careful.”

  Rick slipped the phone back into his coat and got out of the car. Melograno glared at him through hollow eyes. Rick was not smiling either. He now found himself in the middle of a deserted field with a man who could be involved in a crime. Bruno had, by his attempt on Rick’s life, revealed himself as the murderer, but Melograno had to be involved. And having Grandi present, did that help or did it make it worse? There could be three men involved, and two of them were here in the snow with him. He hoped Luca would hurry.

  “As I was saying, Umberto, Signor Montoya was looking for you, but I remembered you saying you were coming up here, so I gave him a ride.” Grandi looked at the heavy paper Melograno was now rolling up. “Plans for the building?”

  Melograno’s eyes darted from one man to the other, but eventually rested on Rick. “Yes, the plans. This will finally be built. Noth
ing will stop it now.”

  “Your loan request has been approved, Signor Melograno?”

  “What difference does it make to you?”

  “It could have some bearing on the investigation.”

  “Investigation?” He spit the word out. “If it hadn’t been for you, Mister Montoya, there would be no investigation. That buffoon from Trento could not investigate his way out of his own bathroom.”

  “Umberto,” said Grandi in an overly soothing voice, “Signor Montoya has been doing his best to help.”

  Melograno slammed the roll down on the hood of the Toyota, causing snow to fly into the air and get picked up by the gusting wind. “Signor Montoya has been nothing but trouble. And he continues to be trouble.” He walked to the rear door of the Toyota, opened it, and pulled out a long object from the seat. Rick took in a quick breath, but let it out slowly when he saw that it was a cardboard tube. Melograno pushed the rolled paper into the tube and tossed it on the seat. He left the door open and walked back to the front of the car, still staring at Rick, who was now positioned between the two men.

  “Are you going to continue meddling, Montoya?”

  Rick had to stall for time. He wasn’t sure how this scene was going to play out, but wanted to have Luca there when it did. Better to keep the man talking. “I’m sure you want this crime solved as much as anyone, Signor Melograno. After all, Taylor was the person who got you the loan. You owe it to him.”

  The man’s head turned slightly to one side but his eyes stayed on Rick. “So you know that the loan was approved.”

  “Well, I thought—”

  “You see, Elio? He has been pushing his nose into my business.” The mayor listened in silence “What kind of a town is Campiglio when some foreigner can snoop into the private affairs of one of its most prominent citizens? And one of your strongest supporters, Elio. Who knows what this so-called investigation could turn up?”

  Rick looked at the mayor, whose face showed annoyance but also confusion. Was Grandi wondering which side to take?

  Rick asked, “Does Mayor Grandi know what Taylor discovered when he was researching your loan, Signor Melograno?”

  Grandi kept his perplexed look, but Melograno’s face turned to rage.

  “I knew it. I was right not to trust you Americans. Taylor told everything to his sister and now she has told you. Just as I feared.” The wind whipped his unkempt hair as he backed up to the open door and reached inside. “You will not stop me now. And Elio does not want to risk his office because of the lies turned up by some nosy investigator.”

  “Umberto,” said Grandi, his voice almost drowned out by the wind. “What does this mean?”

  “It means, my friend, that I will have to finish what Bruno could not.” He ducked into the backseat again, but this time his hands did not grasp a mailing tube. Instead he held a long, double-barreled shotgun, which he pointed directly at Rick’s chest. Rick’s eyes ran down the barrel to the top of the wooden stock as his mind flashed back to the three pheasants mounted in Melograno’s office. “A lovely firearm, is it not, Signor Montoya? Its stock was lovingly carved and finished by our mayor here, a true artist in wood. I enjoy showing it to people, as Elio knows.”

  Rick kept his focus on the shotgun, but he could hear the mayor moving at his side.

  “Unfortunately,” Melograno continued, “it has a tendency to fire by accident. Elio will be able to confirm that too, should it happen now when I am showing it to you. Isn’t that right, Elio?”

  He glanced at Grandi while Rick’s eyes darted between the gun and the man’s face. Suddenly Melograno’s eyes widened. As Rick’s head turned instinctively toward the mayor, a large dark object flashed through the falling snow.

  The wooden bear caught Melograno above the right eye with a sickening thud. The blow caused him to drop the shotgun, which disappeared into the snow with a dry thump. In an instant Rick was on his knees, pulling it from the white powder. He looked up to see the huge reeling body of Melograno, his face slowly changing from disbelief to anger. Rick didn’t hesitate. He shoved the muzzle of the gun into the man’s gut, getting the hoped-for effect. Melograno was doubled over in pain when the carved wooden stock crashed over the back of his head. His expression froze and he crumpled face-first into the snow.

  Grandi crunched his way to the body. He stared down at the head wound, its dark blood mixing with the white snow starting to cover it. “Why didn’t you shoot him? He was ready to kill you.”

  “I don’t know much about shotguns. I could have hit one of us by accident.” Rick noticed for the first time that his breath was forming small clouds of vapor before disappearing into the wind. He took his eyes off the man on the ground and looked at Grandi. “Melograno seemed quite sure you were going to back him when he aimed the gun at me.”

  The mayor took a heavy breath and let it out slowly. “Any politician needs supporters, Signor Montoya. Usually support comes with some strings attached, that’s part of politics anywhere, including America.” He kept his eyes on the body of Melograno. “But I would not go that far.”

  So, Rick thought, you’re a sleazy politician, but just not that sleazy. Thank goodness for that. For the first time he loosened his grip on the shotgun. “And where did you learn such accuracy, Signor Sindaco? You were right on target with that bear.”

  “Years ago there was an ice football league in the region, if you can believe that. I played for the Campiglio team. Quarterback.”

  “You still have one hell of an arm.”

  Two police cars plowed to a stop behind them.

  ***

  “So we both came to the same conclusion, but using slightly different evidence, am I right, Riccardo?”

  Rick and Luca sat at opposite ends of the long table in the meeting room that had been the policeman’s temporary office since arriving in Campiglio. Luca was again in his shirtsleeves, and had loosened his tie. A pencil turned in the fingers of one of his hands, but his eyes were on Rick.

  “That appears to be the case, Luca.” He leaned forward and tried to rub the fatigue from his eyes. “You heard from his employee that Melograno had put one of the choice apartments in the building back on the market and concluded that it had been held for Taylor. You decided that the bank would not have allowed Taylor to have a personal interest in the loan, so something must be amiss.”

  “Exactly. He was getting the apartment at a lower price, in exchange for approving the loan.”

  “And now that Taylor was dead, he could sell it at full price.”

  The policeman shuffled his papers and held up a page from the local newspaper. “Which would be about a quarter million euros.”

  “Lots of money, but it wouldn’t make sense, because if there was a bribe to get the loan, it would have been paid before the loan went through. I don’t know much about bribes, but I would assume they are taken up front, not on a promise to pay later”

  “Especially when dealing with someone like Melograno.”

  “Exactly, Luca. There may have been a bribe earlier in the process, to get the loan, but if a free or cut-rate apartment for Taylor was in the works, there had to be something else.”

  “Blackmail.”

  “Exactly. I think when my banker friend looks deeper into the loan file, we’ll find that the investigator who checked on Melograno found something critical in the man’s background. Serious enough that if made public would have been devastating.”

  “He said as much before he pulled the gun on you in the field.”

  “Yes he did.” Rick leaned back in the chair. “So with Taylor dead, Melograno thinks the blackmail information cannot be exposed. And as a bonus, he can make more money from the sale of Taylor’s apartment.”

  Luca nodded. “Melograno lures Taylor up to the field in Bauer’s vehicle to celebrate the deal and bludgeons him to death with a bottle of prosecco
. Then he puts the body in the trunk and gets Bauer, who owed him money, to dispose of it.” The pencil had moved to his writing hand and he used it to circle the real estate ad in the newspaper. “It might have worked if those kids hadn’t strayed off the trails. The body could have been there for years.”

  Rick rubbed the back of his neck, fatigue setting in. “But then Melograno started to wonder if anyone else knew his secrets, and he logically thought of Cat, and by extension me.”

  “So the avalanche could well have been meant for both of you.”

  Rick preferred not to think about that.

  “So you’re done, Luca.”

  The inspector spread his hands over the papers and files. “Not quite. I have to tie all this up for the public prosecutor.” He looked across at Rick. “And we can’t forget the attack on Pittini. Which could really have been intended for you.”

  “Don’t start that again, Luca.”

  “I can’t rule it out. It was likely Bauer driving the snowmobile. He very well could have been after you that night as well.”

  “If so, he’s not a very good assassin with three unsuccessful tries. It’s no wonder Melograno opted to take things into his own hands.” Rick got to his feet and his eyes moved around the room. “But let’s try to solve the stabbing somewhere else, preferably where I can get a coffee.” He picked up his coat. “They really have to put a window in this room.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As the glass door closed behind them, Rick and Luca removed their hats and shook off the snow which had accumulated during the walk from the station. Rick slipped off his gloves and brushed his shoulders where the snow was already melting in the warmth of the bakery. Mitzi burst through the door behind the counter, rubbing her hands on her apron.

  “Ah, Inspector Albani. And Signor Montoya. You have had a busy day. What can I get for you?” Her smile was more than normal for welcoming a customer into her shop.