The Bitter Taste of Murder

by Camilla Trinchieri

  A couple of minutes later, Perillo came out of the house and sat next to Verdini.

  “I just called Diane,” Verdini said. “She didn’t answer.”

  “You thought she might have information she wasn’t eager to divulge to the authorities?”

  Verdini turned his head to look at Perillo. “Well, she was trying to help the woman, and now I’m wondering how far her help might go. Your eagerness to find Loredana makes me think she’s a suspect in Mantelli’s murder. She is, isn’t she?”

  “Not at the moment, but she might have some information about Mantelli that would help us solve this case.”

  “Then I hope you find her.”

  “We will.” Perillo took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was tired and suspected his men would come back empty-handed. After a few moments, he reopened his eyes and gifted himself with a long look at what was in front of him. “This view is indeed peaceful.” The deep blue of the sky was fading to a softer, cooler shade. The perfectly straight rows of vines with their new bright green leaves gave a sense of order, the only contradiction coming from the spattering of poppies. Here it was peaceful and cooler by several degrees.

  “You were friends with Mantelli despite the fact that you had to pay him a monthly fee of eight hundred euros,” Perillo said in a quiet voice. “I find that odd.”

  “I suppose it is, but I owe my success to him. I no longer needed to pay him. I got enough good reviews from others, but when he said he was in trouble and needed help, I continued to pay as a way of thanking him.”

  Perillo sat up. “What trouble?”

  “Mantelli was a soccer fanatic and liked to bet on the games all over Europe and South America. He said he was good at it for a while. Around the time his marriage was in trouble, he started losing. He blamed Diane, of course. Last week he told me he didn’t have much money left.”

  “Signor Verdini, you should have given us this information as soon as you knew Mantelli had been murdered.”

  Verdini lifted both his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “You’re right, I should have. But all I know is what Mantelli told me. At first I believed him, but then doubts crept in. Was it the truth or a scheme?”

  “Why a scheme?”

  “Mantelli had a devious mind. He had asked me to meet him at Il Falco Tuesday night, but luckily Diane needed help in facing him, and I preferred obliging her. I had the feeling, from a few hints he’d dropped, that he was going to ask me to tell Diane about his gambling habit. If she thought he had lost his money instead of stashing it in a Swiss or offshore bank, she’d stop holding up the divorce.”

  “Isn’t it more probable that he wanted his May payment?”

  Verdini turned to look at Perillo. “No. I told him two weeks ago I wasn’t going to send him any more money because he’d only gamble it away. I was trying to get him to see reason.”

  “How did he react?”

  “He looked at me with a helpless expression and said, ‘It’s taken over my life.’”

  Perillo tried to control his anger. It would only fall on deaf ears. “You still should have considered it your civic duty to tell us. It gives the case a whole different angle to look into.”

  “Please forgive my presumption, Maresciallo, but I don’t agree there’s a new angle. Whoever killed him had nothing to do with gambling, if indeed Mantelli gambled his money away. If he owed some unsavory characters, why would they kill him? To prove a point? To whom? His wife, who also wants his money? Once he’s dead, that money is gone forever. Or more likely in some bank, you pick the place.”

  Perillo had to admit Verdini’s argument was reasonable, but he was still angry. “You are persuasive, Signor Verdini, but it does not excuse your behavior. You withheld important information. That is a grave error, and I may have to cite you.”

  “Do whatever you have to. I can only apologize.”

  “Maresciallo,” Dino called out.

  Perillo and Verdini turned in their seats to see Dino walking up the slope, swinging a bunch of keys.

  Perillo went to meet his brigadiere. Dino shook his head. “She’s not there.” While Perillo took the keys and walked them back to Verdini, Daniele and Vince came out of the house.

  “Nothing,” Daniele said, his face pale with worry.

  Vince shook his head, looking as abashed as someone of his happy nature could. “Like we Tuscans say, Maresciallo, it’s one thing to run; it’s another to get there. You should have come with us, though.” He walked up to Verdini, who was now unlocking the shed. “Great place you have here. I’d sell my nonna to have a kitchen like yours. And the smell . . .” He kissed his hand. “I hope you’ll forgive, but I took a peek inside your oven. Lemon cake crusted with shaved almonds. Am I right?”

  “You are.”

  “My nonna still makes it, but yours smells richer.”

  “I would share, but I’m bringing it to a friend’s dinner tonight.” Verdini disappeared inside the shed. Perillo moved closer to see inside. Passing Vince, he gave his arm a squeeze meant to shut him up, but when it came to food, it was as if his young brigadiere was running the 1000 Miglia without brakes. “She won’t give me the recipe.”

  “Then you’d better not sell her.”

  Vince shuffled his feet, raising dust. “I was only kidding.”

  Verdini came out of the shed carrying a bottle of wine and four glasses. The door remained open. “I can offer a glass of good wine.”

  “No, thank you,” Perillo said as he stepped closer to the shed. The room was empty, big enough for two people, three at the most. One wall showed a large calendar open to the month of June. Most of the days were filled with penciled notes. Sundays were crossed off. A single shelf held different glasses for red and white wine. Below was a small refrigerator. No Loredana. “We need to go, Signor Verdini. I appreciate you letting us search your property without a warrant.”

  “There was no need for one. I hope you find her.”

  “We will.” In his mind, he added, I hope. Perillo turned around and walked back up to the car with Daniele beside him. Dino followed dutifully. Vince dragged his feet, trying to recall the taste of his nonna’s lemon cake in his mouth.

  The frittelle had sold out, and now Nico was back on the terrace serving tables. The sun was about to cede the day when his phone vibrated. He served two orders of pollo alla cacciatora at table twelve and went back inside to check who it was. Perillo. He quickly walked out to the street and called him back.

  “Two hikers saw her,” Perillo said. “She was sitting on one of her suitcases by the side of the road that leads down to 222. She was holding the heel of one of her shoes in her lap. They asked if she needed help. Loredana just shook her head. They left her there and continued on . . .” Nico noticed how quickly Perillo was speaking, and in an out-of-breath voice, as if he’d been the one hiking that steep road. “Slow down.”

  Perillo took a deep breath. “Continued on their hike, but the woman was worried about Loredana. They went back. Loredana and her suitcases were gone. She says no more than twenty minutes had passed since they saw her. The road is visible for about four kilometers. They didn’t see any cars.”

  “Too bad, but not surprising. A car would eat that distance in three minutes at the most.”

  “It’s worse than too bad. We have to figure out how she disappeared. Did someone drive by, see her and pick her up out of kindness, or had Loredana arranged to be picked up all along? She did refuse the hikers’ help despite having a broken heel? I say the prearranged pickup. What do you think?”

  “What time did the hikers see her?”

  “They ran into her around three. The woman couldn’t pinpoint the time any better than that.”

  That would have given her time to eat at the restaurant if they’d had a table. “If it was prearranged, it would have to be for a specific, recognizabl
e place like next to a sign or a particular vineyard.”

  “I would think Loredana herself was specific enough.”

  “You’ve got a point,” Nico said. With her looks and that long blond hair, she’d be instantly spotted. He hoped that whoever picked her up, prearranged or not, did it only out of kindness. “It’s going to get dark any minute. She could be far away by now.”

  “We’ll find her. I’ll call as soon as we do. Ciao. No, wait! Verdini came up with an interesting theory. Mantelli could have lost his money gambling on soccer. Ask Diane what she thinks.”

  “I will. In the mouth of the wolf.” This was the odd Italian way of wishing good luck.

  “May the wolf croak. Ciao.”

  It was just past midnight by the time Nico banged the brass lion’s head knocker of Villa Vigna d’Oro. A small old man opened the door. OneWag sniffed his shoes.

  “Buonasera,” Nico said. “I’m here to see Signora Severson. She said I could bring the dog.”

  The man stepped aside, leaving only a narrow space through which OneWag slipped through easily. Nico had to enter sideways. Hardly a welcoming gesture, Nico thought, but understandable. This man, with sagging eyes and a face webbed with wrinkles, was mourning. “You must be Peppino. I’m a friend of Nelli’s. Nico Doyle.” He extended his hand.

  “Good woman, Nelli,” Peppino said with a gruff voice, ignoring Nico’s hand. “The signora is by the pool.” He pointed a bent finger toward a large room on his right. OneWag was already there, exploring all the new smells. “Straight through. You’ll find it.” His face was expressionless, and his words had no life to them.

  Nico didn’t move, remembering the feeling of having lost everything that gave life meaning. “Nelli is a good woman, and she’s worried about you. She cares for you very much.”

  Peppino shrugged his stooped shoulders. “What’s the point? It’s over.”

  “I know it feels like that now, but time helps.” He was spouting platitudes, but time had helped him. “Look, Peppino, I have no right to tell you what to do, but I know something of what you’re going through.”

  “You lost your wife. Nelli told me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Time hasn’t helped you.”

  Is that what Nelli thought? “It is helping.”

  “A wife you meet at twenty-five, thirty,” Peppino said. “You marry, you work, maybe children come, friends, voyages. Your life is full of many things, not only your wife. Me, I came to work in this villa to help my uncle the very day I turned twelve. Four years later, he was dead and I took over. Eighty-two years-old I am now, and what is left of my life has been erased with a signature.” Peppino lowered his head to rub his hand under his nose and sniffed. He looked back up, not at Nico, but at some past moment. “He sold without telling me. He said I would die on this property. He should have told me himself.” His sagging eyes brimmed with tears.

  “How did you find out, then?”

  “The signora told me when she came here Tuesday morning. The signore was out looking at vineyards, so I let her in. She wanted me to know. You’d better go to the signora. She doesn’t like to wait.” Peppino turned his back to Nico and shuffled back to the kitchen. On his feet, Nico noticed the same kind of soft felt slippers Rita used to wear to keep the shine on the floors.

  Nico entered the room Peppino had indicated. It was huge, at least twelve hundred square feet. White sofas, armchairs, ottomans and low tables with many-colored tile tops were scattered around the space in a haphazard way. Black and white photographs of vineyards spread across the walls.

  “There you are. I thought I heard voices.” Diane strode toward him, dressed in a long, flowing turquoise robe flecked with green. OneWag cautiously approached her bare feet. She stopped and looked down as he quickly sniffed her toes, then the hem of her robe. “Hello there.”

  OneWag went back to examining the rest of room. “I guess he doesn’t like my scent. You were talking to Peppino?”

  “I was trying to cheer him up.” Nico met her halfway on a tile floor that looked like dark burnished leather. “I didn’t succeed.”

  Diane kissed his cheeks. “I’m afraid he’s inconsolable.” She took his hand and led him through another large room. “Has Loredana popped up?”

  “She isn’t at Verdini’s place. Perillo has uncovered an interesting possibility regarding the missing money. He’s designated me as the messenger.”

  “A very welcome one, but no money talk now. Let’s have a drink first.” She walked him down a few stone steps to a pool area surrounded by flowering plants. She had a firm grip on his hand. He wanted to take it back, but didn’t know how without being impolite. OneWag followed.

  “Welcome to my favorite spot,” she said, with a wave of her silk-sheathed arm.

  Nico needed to turn to see it all. Three sides were fenced in by honeysuckle-covered trellises. The fourth side ended with a turquoise-tiled infinity pool. Brightly covered pool furniture was scattered here and there. Large terracotta pots spilled fuchsia bougainvillea all the way to the dark stone slab floor. “I can see why it’s your favorite spot.”

  “If you want to take a dip, there are several bathing suits in the pool room, or you can go naked. I wouldn’t mind. I might even join you.” She purposefully did not look at him as she made the suggestion, in case she was embarrassing him.

  The infinity pool was tempting after weeks of unbearable heat, Nico thought, but he didn’t like what her offer implied. “Thank you, Diane, but I’m afraid I’m not here to have fun.”

  A brutal answer. “That’s too bad.” She let go of his hand. She was foolish to have hoped the evening might turn out differently from all her other evenings. She could use some romance. She hadn’t felt a man’s touch since Michele had left her. There had been offers—enticing ones too—but at the last minute, she hadn’t been able to go through with it. Michele still had his hold on her. Now that he was dead, she finally felt free.

  “I’m sorry, Diane.”

  She turned around and beamed him a smile that didn’t look the least bit sincere. “Don’t be. You have a murderer to catch. Come, sit.” She walked over to a grouping of lounge chairs and floated down onto one of them. She had such a refined grace. “I’m having a gin and tonic. What would you like?”

  Nico sat in a cushioned chair next to her. “Just plain tonic would be nice.”

  “Sober to the end. Behind me is the bar. Help yourself.”

  As Nico stood up, she handed him her half-empty glass. “Top this off for me, please. Just gin.” She might as well drink. While Nico filled her glass and got his tonic, she said, “You and the maresciallo think Loredana killed Michele, don’t you?”

  He handed her the refilled glass. “What do you think?”

  “Please don’t play that game with me. I asked a direct question. I’d love a direct answer.”

  “I believe so.”

  “Why? Because she ran away?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss.”

  “Of course not. You’re a loyal man. Loyal to your maresciallo friend, and I suspect still to your dead wife. I know, that’s none of my business. What’s this new possibility about the whereabouts of Michele’s money? He didn’t stash it away in some secret bank?”

  “That’s still possible. Tarani finally got an answer from your bank manager.” Nico repeated what the manager had said.

  “I’ve said that all along. What I need to know is which bank.” She took a long drink of her gin and tonic.

  “The other possibility is that he lost it all gambling on soccer.”

  Diane sat up. “Who came up with that idea?”

  Nico shook his head.

  “All right, it doesn’t matter who.” She took another slow sip. Michele did like to gamble. Nothing could tear him away from soccer home games or the TV set on Sunday. But most Italian men w
ere soccer fans. From there to losing all his money . . . was it possible?

  Diane rested back on the lounge chair. “It seems a bit farfetched, although it would explain why he sold this house out of the blue. I only found out about the sale thanks to my lawyer just a few days before he died. Michele loved this place, considered it his real home. He would have lived here full-time, but he felt he needed to keep a presence in Milan. He needed to show he had money, that he was as important as those hotshot industrialists. Poor Michele, he was so insecure. His arrogance was just armor. He was afraid people would see him for who he really was.”

  “Who was he?”

  “A small-minded boy. And a fraud.” She finished her drink. “Why is Tarani pursuing the money? I’m sure it’s not for my sake.”

  “If Mantelli was a big gambler, maybe he took out a loan he couldn’t pay back.”

  She curled up her legs on the chaise, propping her head up with her arm to face Nico directly. “I like that possibility. It would mean Michele didn’t hide his money to spite me. That’s the reason I fought him. My spite against his. It was never about the money. In the past five years, my business has been very successful. I have enough on my own for myself and my son’s future. And now, my son will get the money from the sale of the villa. The possibility that a despicable loan shark murdered Michele is much more preferable than thinking Loredana killed him. Have you met her?”

  “I saw her twice.”

  “Poor, gorgeous thing. I tried to help her, but she was unreachable. She’d been abusing drugs since she was twelve. Uppers and downers. Some crazy doctor had prescribed her pentobarbital to get rid of her anxiety. She’s had an incredibly difficult life.” Diane finished her drink. “If Loredana was going to kill somebody, I would think it would be herself. Too much of that stuff, and you’re gone.”