The Bitter Taste of Murder

by Camilla Trinchieri

  All three cases were now behind the bar. Enzo and Nico straightened up and wiped their shirt fronts.

  “Mamma, I’ll move the cases later. We’ve got a full house tonight. Tilde needs us.” Enzo walked over to his mother and gave her a kiss. “Don’t upset yourself.”

  “I don’t upset myself. I get frustrated with terrible decisions.” She waved at Enzo. “Go to your wife and let me talk to Nico. Getting old is not easy. I used to be the ship’s captain, and now . . .” she said, waving her hand in the air as if pushing the thought away. “Nico, come sit by me. I don’t like to shout.”

  Nico pulled out a chair and sat next to her. He had learned there was no denying Elvira’s requests if he wanted to feel welcome here.

  “Has the maresciallo found the killer yet?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “And you would know. Good.” She sat back in her gilded armchair. “What I have to say might help. This morning I went to my beauty parlor in Panzano, as I do every Saturday.”

  “You look very nice.” Her black hair, pulled tight in a low bun, was now blacker than a crow.

  Elvira patted her hair and smiled. “Thank you. Now, you must know that when women get together, they like to talk, exchange opinions. At the beauty parlor, we chatted quite a bit while getting our hair done. Of course, Mantelli’s murder came up almost right away. While we talked about it, I noticed a woman I’d never seen before listen very intently to what we were saying, but she didn’t join in. I thought that was curious and asked her if she hadn’t heard about the murder. She said she certainly had and that she knew who killed Mantelli.”

  Nico nodded politely. A murder always got people clamoring for attention, spreading gossip. He needed to get out on the terrace and help serve already.

  “Aren’t you going to ask who?”

  “Tell me.”

  “She wouldn’t say. There were five of us in the shop, begging her to tell us. She claims she’s decided not to tell anyone because she’s glad he’s dead. He was a nasty man who treated women badly. She asked us to forget what she’d said.”

  “Did she tell you how she knew this?”

  “I had to go under the hair dryer and couldn’t hear anything more. When I came out, she had left. I didn’t miss anything because she’d stopped talking, but I did ask the owner of the shop who she was. She’d never been in the shop before, but fortunately she had made an appointment that day. Ida Crivelli.”

  Mantelli’s housekeeper. Perillo hadn’t gotten around to interviewing her yet. Did she really know who had killed Mantelli? Or was she just trying to get attention, to feel important? He would tell Perillo about the encounter when they met later tonight. Nico got up and kissed Elvira’s forehead. “Thank you. You’re still captain here. Keep listening. Every little bit helps.”

  Elvira’s chest puffed up like a pigeon’s.

  When Nico walked into the kitchen, Alba slipped past him with a “Ciao” and four plates in her hands. Tilde was bent over the counter, cutting into a wide dish just out of the oven: a gratin made up of barely cooked spaghetti sautéed in browned butter, to which she’d added Parmigiano, the zest and juice of many lemons, topped with bread crumbs toasted in olive oil and shoved in a hot oven.

  “Sorry I’m late. Elvira had something to tell me.”

  “I’m glad you listened. She’s feeling neglected. Stella can’t spend the whole day with her.”

  Alba was back. “I need four gratins and one grilled vegetables.” She gave Nico a quick kiss. “It’s busy out there. We could use your help. Tell your lady friend she’ll have to wait.”

  “She’s back?” He slipped five plates on the counter for Tilde to fill.

  “Half a bottle of Antinori already gone. And two orders of my cantuccini.” Alba filled her hands and arms with the plates. “She’s at table six.”

  “It just means she likes eating here,” Nico said.

  “She asked for you.”

  Nico watched in admiration as a loaded-down Alba floated off to deliver her orders.

  “It takes practice,” Tilde said as she handed Nico two mushroom, apple and walnut salads. “Hand these to Stella. She knows where they go. Don’t mind Alba. If talking to Mantelli’s wife helps solve the murder, please do so. There’s so much nervous gossip going around.”

  Nico picked up the shallow bowls. “I’m sure her presence here doesn’t help.”

  Tilde laughed. “Wrong. The diners love it.” She went back to cutting more portions of the gratin. “Stella says it’s buzz, buzz, buzz out there. The rest of us would like a resolution. So it’s up to you and Salvatore. Now go, get out of my kitchen.”

  Diane Severson waved at Nico as he handed Stella the salad bowls. She was seated on the far side of the fig tree with only a citronella candle illuminating her face. He acknowledged her with a nod.

  “Thanks, Zio,” Stella said. “Your friend is very anxious, and for good reason. She’s been waiting for you. Please be nice to her.”

  Nico picked up a stray menu. “I’m always nice.”

  With hands full, Stella had to nudge him with her shoulder. “Most times. Ciao.” Stella went off to deliver Tilde’s signature salad.

  “The mosquitoes are on the warpath tonight,” Diane said in English as Nico walked to her table. She was holding a small electric fan to her face. It made her hair dance.

  He dropped the menu in front of her, reverting to his waiter role. It made approaching her easier somehow. “Can I get you something to eat?”

  She smiled at him. “Something that’s not pure sugar?”

  “It wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  “Widows of murdered husbands thrive on sugar.”

  The people at the nearby table obviously understood English, because they turned to look at her. She looked right back. They quickly turned away.

  “I’m not drunk yet.” She had lowered her voice. “Do you have time to chat? I need to ask you something.”

  He answered her by pulling out a chair and sitting next to her. “Ask away.”

  “Loredana says she saw you at Verdini’s place. Why were you there?”

  “I was picking up some cases of wine for the restaurant.”

  “You don’t think he’s involved in any way, do you?”

  “Why would I?”

  “You’re a policeman. When there’s been a murder, policemen are suspicious of everyone.”

  “Well, I handed in my shield back in New York. Do you think Verdini might be involved?”

  Diane combed long fingers through her blond hair. “Why kill the goose that laid the golden egg? Too bad you gave up policing; I could use your help. I’m sure the maresciallo could use it too.”

  “It’s not his case anymore. A Captain Tarani of the Carabinieri Investigative Unit has taken over.”

  “Good. Maybe I’ll get results. I can spot your surprise, even under candlelight. Sure, I considered Michele a despicable human being, but I still want his murderer caught. That’s another despicable human being removed from society.”

  Nico watched her face as she spoke. Did she believe what she was saying, or was it just for show? He couldn’t tell. Her face revealed nothing. “Are all murderers despicable?” he asked. He was thinking back to the woman he had saved from a lifetime in jail. It had been the one impulsive act in his entire career, and it had forced him out of the police department. “Sometimes a person kills to survive.”

  “You can always walk away. I did.”

  “You’re lucky your husband let you.”

  Diane took a small sip of her wine. “Loredana should have, but then she got lucky.”

  “You’re not suggesting—”

  “That she killed him?” Diane threw back her head and laughed loudly. Again heads turned. “Sorry,” she said. “Sono americana.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice a
gain. “Have you noticed how Italians don’t laugh like we do in restaurants? You barely hear them. I find it odd. It doesn’t go with their open personalities. No, Loredana adored Michele. He was her lifeline. She thought she’d finally had it made. An important, wealthy man making her shine, giving her the life she’d always dreamed of.”

  “According to her, you encouraged her to leave Mantelli.”

  “To save her future pain. She’d been with him less than a year. Getting dumped for someone else would have come later, but it would have come. Well, she’s been dumped a little earlier than I expected, and, as I feared, she’s falling apart, popping pills and worse. I’m trying to get her to stop, but she won’t listen.”

  “Did you drive her to Verdini’s vineyard today because she wasn’t fit to drive?”

  “That was one reason. She asked about him this morning. Michele must have mentioned that I knew Luca. She perked up when I said he was divorced. She asked to meet him, using the excuse that Michele had talked about him a lot, which I doubt. I thought it was a great idea and offered to take her to his vineyard right away. Luca would make a wonderful replacement for Michele. He’s good-looking, divorced, successful. A nice man, a little dull, but Loredana wouldn’t notice. And Loredana is beautiful, young, sexy—and she needs help. She was very eager. I am too. I’d like to get her out of the house and settled elsewhere.”

  Was she really concerned about Loredana’s future? Maybe having the young woman living with her hadn’t worked out. It seemed bizarre to pawn off her late husband’s girlfriend to one of his friends.

  Diane peered at Nico’s face. “You don’t approve? I do have a reputation of manipulating my clients. If they want to cover their upholstery with beige fabric, and I think that’s boring, I push until I can get them to adore blue and green or bright yellow. I refuse to deal with boring or bad taste. And I will admit that I don’t think Loredana has very good taste, despite her looks.” Her eyes smiled. “There. I’ve bared my ugly soul.”

  Really not a pleasant woman, Nico decided, but he couldn’t help admiring her. He still wasn’t exactly sure why. Her gumption, perhaps. Or her not caring about how she presented herself. “Bare your soul just a bit more, please. You saw your husband at Il Falco, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I was with Luca for support.”

  “Luca is a good friend?”

  “No, but I know his ex-wife. I ran into him in Piazza Matteotti in Greve Tuesday morning. We were in the same bread shop. On the spur of the moment, I invited him to dinner that night. He said he had another engagement, but I wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Diane took a deep swallow of her wine. “It turned out to be a waste of time, which I knew from the start, but when I’m angry, I don’t think straight. Michele was positively bestial to me that night.” She looked up with a toss of her head. “Hardly the first time.” Nico was looking at her with an intense gaze. “If you’re thinking I’m the one who poisoned Michele, you’re wrong.”

  Nico blinked. “Do you have any idea who did?”

  “No.”

  “No suspicions?”

  “I’m the only logical choice, aren’t I? I certainly had motive, and I suppose means, but I know I didn’t do it.”

  Nico stood up. “If you had killed him, you would never know where he put the money that rightfully now belongs to your son.” Unless she’s already found the money. “Forgive me; I need to get back to work.”

  Her eyes smiled. “Thanks for your time. I’m sorry I can’t be of help. I mean that.”

  “Should something strike you that doesn’t square with the rest of what you know, please relay it to me or the maresciallo.”

  “I will.” She looked up at him. This man stirred something inside her, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. “How do I get ahold of you?”

  Nico saw hunger in her gaze. He was flattered, but felt nothing else. “You’ll find me here. Goodnight.”

  Diane felt a tug as she watched him walk away, as if he’d caught a stitch inside her.

  Vince knocked on Perillo’s office door and, as usual, didn’t wait for a “Come in.” He popped his head in. “The waiter from Il Falco is here.”

  “Well, send him in,” Capitano Tarani said with impatience.

  “Buonasera,” Yunas said, walking in with a smile spreading across his face. He was a small, thin Black man, already dressed in his waiter uniform—dark slacks, a white shirt and a burgundy jacket with the head of a hawk, the restaurant’s logo, embroidered on the front pocket.

  “Hello,” Daniele replied. Perillo, in a foul mood for having had Tarani take over his seat and desk, acknowledged the waiter with a nod.

  Tarani stared, eyes wide in surprise. “You are?” he asked sharply.

  The waiter kept his smile. Used to sharp questions and much worse, he stood taller. “I am Yunas Mengistou, originally from Ethiopia, now happily in Italy—legally. I served dinner to Signor Mantelli Tuesday night and was told you have questions for me.”

  Tarani was taken aback for an instant. He had little experience with fancy restaurants, but an African waiting on well-to-do, important clients was unusual.

  Yunas saw the doubt in the capitano’s face. “The owner of Il Falco, Signor Falchetti, employed me because I am a good waiter.”

  “What I need from you is a good memory,” Tarani said.

  “That is a waiter’s asset.”

  “Sit here.” Tarani pointed to the chair in front of the desk. “Just answer the questions.” Tarani looked over at Perillo, standing against the far wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Stop hovering and sit down too.”

  Perillo lifted the chair next to Daniele and set it down a few feet from Tarani. “I’m Maresciallo Perillo, in charge of this station.” he said to Yunas. He would not tolerate rudeness in his station. “Capitano Tarani, from the Investigative Unit, is leading the investigation in Signor Mantelli’s murder. Brigadiere Donato will transcribe the interview.”

  From his computer post in the back of the room, Daniele nodded. Yunas nodded back.

  Tarani frowned at Perillo, then looked down at the list of questions he had prepared in advance. Without taking his eyes off the list, he asked, “Brigadiere Donato, are you ready?”

  “Yes, Capitano.” Daniele turned to face his computer. Tarani had already fed him the questions. He just had to type in the answers, which made the work easier. With the maresciallo, he never knew what question would come next. By the time he typed in the question, the answer was already said. Nimble fingers and acute hearing was a must on this job. He was proud to have both.

  Tarani looked up at the waiter. “How many tables did you have to serve Tuesday night?”

  “Six.”

  Tarani checked off the first question. “Did you have all six tables in your sight?”

  “I did, except when I went to the kitchen to pick up the dishes or had my back to some tables while I served others.”

  “Do you know who the clients at those six tables were?”

  Perillo leaned forward. “We already have their names. The answers to these questions are in the file.” Daniele had called each one of those parties. No one had paid any attention to their surroundings.

  Tarani checked off the question without commenting or looking at Perillo. “Did Signor Mantelli order anything to drink?”

  “A glass of Johnny Walker Gold Label Reserve for himself and a bottle of ColleVerde Riserva and ColleVerde Vermentino, which the lady with him enjoyed. He only drank the whiskey. Later, he ordered another.”

  “Who poured the whiskies?”

  “The owner, Signor Falchetti. He supervises the bar.”

  Perillo suppressed a groan. Daniele had already spoken to Falchetti, a man beyond reproach. Before retiring and going into the restaurant business, Falchetti had been a prestigious Florentine lawyer. At this rate, they were going to be here unt
il nighttime. Perillo was looking forward to dinner. He could almost smell the chicken sautéing with peppers and sausage. After dinner, a much-needed whiskey with Nico.

  Tarani checked off the last two questions. He sat up tall for the important question. “Did you tamper with Signor Mantelli’s whiskey?”

  Yunas looked up at Tarani’s stern face. A white face staring at a Black one with mistrust. Yunas saw it clearly. He mentally shrugged. A poor man, this capitano with such a closed mind. He remembered a line from an Ethiopian poem: There are those who are dead even while they live.

  “I did not. The first whiskey came from an open bottle that served many clients. The second bottle was opened by Signor Falchetti. He filled the glass himself and poured himself a shot. Last night, Signor Falchetti was still on his feet.”

  Perillo forgot his hunger pangs, his instinct to take over from Tarani too strong. He leaned forward. “Signor Yunas, did anyone approach the table besides you?”

  The waiter was happy to answer this man, who had preceded his question with “Signor Yunas.” “Yes. I had served the first course when the signorina spilled wine on her dress and went, I believe, to the ladies room. After she left, a very tall woman and a younger man approached Signor Mantelli. From one of her remarks, I understood the woman was his wife. I don’t know who the man was. They did not get close to the table, because as soon as Signor Mantelli saw them, he raised his hands in front of his face and told her to leave him alone. ‘I am not going to change my mind. Get out of here,’ is what he said.” He did not add the expletives used.

  “How did she answer?” Perillo asked.

  “She said, ‘I’ll find it.’”

  Tarani leaned over his desk. “They were how far away from the table?”

  “A meter or more. I was standing next to him. They did not touch anything.”

  “You are certain?” Tarani asked.

  “Yes. On my mother’s head.”