The Bitter Taste of Murder

by Camilla Trinchieri

  “What about her mother?”

  Tilde stopped stirring and looked at Nico in surprise. “You really don’t know anything about Nelli, do you?”

  “We don’t see each other that much. She’s stopped having breakfast at the café.”

  “Well, when you see her next, which might be a while, ask questions. Get her talking.”

  “I’m not very good at that. Rita did all the talking.”

  Tilde laughed. “I know she did.” She turned off the burner. “I’ll give this a rest until the orders start coming in. If you have nothing better to do, Alba could use some help setting the tables.”

  “What happened to Nelli’s mother?”

  “She died of an aneurysm when Nelli was six. She only had her father until he died about four or five years ago.”

  “Understood. Thanks.” He walked out of the kitchen and went over to Elvira, who handed him the pile of napkins she’d just folded. Folding napkins and opinionated comments were her daily contributions to her restaurant. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend.”

  Nico grabbed the napkins. “Nelli’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Your loss, then. It’s time you stop—”

  Nico’s phone rang. He tucked the napkins under his arm and reached into his pocket. “Sorry Elvira. I have to take this.”

  Elvira raised her eyebrows. “You don’t know who’s calling.”

  Nico looked at the screen. “I do. The maresciallo.” He walked toward the terrace.

  Elvira took another napkin from the pile and started folding it on her lap. “Fine. I’ll keep my lecture for another time.”

  A burst of sunlight hit Nico as he walked out onto the terrace. He put up his hands to shade his eyes. Alba waved at him.

  “Let me start out by saying I never believed in horoscopes,” Perillo said, “but holy heaven, I am beginning to think the astrologists are on to something.”

  Tucking his phone to his ear with his shoulder, Nico started distributing napkins. Perillo was always a talker. When he was upset, his mouth sprung a leak.

  “Ivana did my horoscope at the beginning of the month. She always does that, and I ignore the results. This month, I should have listened. She repeated it last night. The sun is in reverse, Mercury is rising somewhere. The result? Bad news. I’ve certainly had that in the past two weeks. And now . . .” Perillo paused for dramatic effect.

  “And now?” Nico dutifully asked. He pulled out a chair from a table outside and sat down. “I don’t know about you, but I have work to do.”

  “Tarani sent the report, as promised. Loredana was suffocated. The pentobarbital was administered to make it look like a suicide. Whoever did it either didn’t know how much was needed to kill and had to use the pillow or the reverse.”

  “Did they find any fibers?”

  “They found a lot in her mouth, under her fingernails and some on her clothes. She must have bitten whatever was suffocating her. The pentobarbital looks like it came later. They sent what they gathered to the lab to be tested. It might take a few days. Today, Tarani wants to discuss possible suspects and said to bring you in for the discussion. Are you willing?”

  “I can’t before four this afternoon.”

  “Good. I can have lunch.”

  “Well, buon appetito. See you at four.” He clicked off. He had another phone call to make. He walked under the shade of the fig tree. “Hi, Diane. Is this a bad moment?”

  “Not at all. Life is looking a little brighter these days. The deposit check from the buyers just came through, and my son is coming home in three weeks. I did spread the word to my Milanese friends about a good criminal lawyer. One friend says he knows of one, but wants to check with him first before giving his name.”

  “That’s great. That’s why I called. Thank you very much.”

  “It’s nice of you to care about Peppino, or is it because of his friend Nelli?”

  Nico didn’t answer.

  “Sorry, none of my business. Peppino deserves all the help he can get. I’m trying to keep up his work in the garden, but I don’t have his touch or his patience. I’ll call you as soon as I have a name.” The line went dead.

  Alba came under the fig tree, kissed Nico’s cheeks and handed him the basket half full of flatware. “Your turn now, Nico bello. I’ll bring out the plates.”

  “Thank you for joining us,” Capitano Tarani said as Nico and OneWag walked up the slight slope of the park to reach the benches sitting under the oak trees. The three men stood, all dressed casually. Tarani had a more human dimension without his immaculate uniform and boots. He no longer seemed like a store mannequin. Even the tightness of his face had eased.

  They shook hands. “I’m happy to help in any way I can.” Nico stepped into the shade of the trees and eyed the empty benches. “Do you mind if I sit?” After four hours at the restaurant, he was eager to be off his feet. He was also thinking of Perillo, who wouldn’t suggest sitting in front of Tarani no matter how much his knee hurt. Nico sat at the far end of one of the benches. OneWag, after a quick inspection of everyone’s shoes, wandered off on a longer sniffing expedition.

  Tarani chose the other bench and watched the few passersby walk on the street below for a few moments. No one spoke before he did. “It is unusual for me to conduct business in a park in plain view, but then, involving an American ex-homicide detective is also unusual.” He indicated the empty space on his bench. “Maresciallo, Brigadiere, please sit down. I do agree that sitting in the shade of old trees with the hint of a breeze is far more pleasant than a hot office.”

  “Glad you think so, Capitano.” Perillo sat down on Tarani’s bench. Daniele, pen and notebook already in hand, joined Nico.

  “Possible suspects?” Tarani asked.

  “It would be convenient to believe Peppino was responsible for Loredana’s death too,” Perillo said, “but I find it highly unlikely.”

  A fidgeting Daniele pushed himself to the edge of the bench, eager to speak.

  Tarani turned to Perillo. “She might have known he had killed Mantelli and perhaps tried to blackmail him.”

  “Go on, Dani,” Nico said in a low voice.

  Color flooded Daniele’s face. “If I may, Capitano, killing someone by poison is a passive gesture. You drop something in a glass or food. Time passes between the gesture and the death. You don’t even have to be present. And Peppino didn’t mean to kill Mantelli.”

  “That’s right,” Perillo said. “I believe he simply wanted to punish Mantelli by making him sick.”

  “Loredana’s murder was an aggressive gesture,” Daniele continued. “Whoever killed Loredana watched her die, made it happen with their own hands. I don’t think Peppino is capable of being that cold-blooded.”

  Perillo agreed. “Well said, Daniele.” He was surprised and proud Daniele had found the courage to speak up. “Now, I think Diane Severson is quite capable of watching her victim die. She’s a very strong woman and has a clear motive.”

  Tarani leaned back and crossed his long legs as though he were sitting on a plush sofa and not on a rough wooden bench. No longer a mannequin, Nico thought, at least today, but still a man of authority.

  Tarani turned his head toward Nico. “What do you think, Signor Doyle? You’ve spent time with her.”

  Annoyed, Nico managed to keep his face neutral. He’d dress down blabbermouth Perillo later. He’d been summoned here as an expert on Diane. “I’ve only had a few exchanges with her, but she strikes me as a very strong, capable woman. Also intelligent. She does have a possible motive, but a hard one to prove.”

  Perillo threw his hands up. “Money! It seems Mantelli had a gambling habit, but to lose all his money to gambling? It doesn’t make sense. Even if he did, Diane Severson doesn’t believe that. She thought Loredana knew where it was. Loredana didn’t know or if she did, she wouldn’t tell. After Da
niele called her to come to the station for more questioning, she could have panicked and called Diane for help. Diane wasn’t going to help her unless Loredana revealed where the money was. Say Loredana decided that being penniless was better than years in jail and told. With her beauty, she probably thought she could find another rich man to take care of her. Then Diane could have picked her up, suffocated her with a pillow she’d brought and injected her with the drug.”

  “It’s a reasonable possibility.” Tarani uncrossed his legs and leaned his torso forward, planting elbows on his knees. “Severson would have had to buy the syringe and the drug in advance.”

  “Not necessarily,” Perillo said. “Loredana could have kept a spare of both, in case withdrawal was too painful.”

  “But Diane wouldn’t have known that.” Nico said. He thought Perillo’s theory was based on too many ifs, not that his theory was any better. “Has anything been retrieved from Loredana’s smashed phone?” he asked Tarani.

  “Unfortunately, the technical lab wasn’t able to retrieve anything.”

  “There is another possible suspect,” Nico said.

  Tarani gave Nico his undivided attention. “Who?”

  “Luca Verdini. According to Diane, Loredana was very interested in Verdini. I saw them together once. Verdini was very happy to be rid of her.”

  “Why would he kill her?” Tarani asked.

  “Verdini claims he was paying eight hundred euros a month out of gratitude for Mantelli putting him on the map of excellent vintners. I find that hard to believe. Mantelli had loaned money to two other vintners. The money Verdini was paying back could also be a loan. Ida and Diane both said that Loredana was going through Mantelli’s drawers, closets, obviously looking for something.”

  “Information on his money,” Perillo said. “What else is there?”

  “A loan agreement with Verdini. A loan he would have to continue paying back to Diane. Loredana needed money badly. Maybe she thought she could get some from Verdini by threatening to tell Diane about Mantelli’s loan. It’s worth looking into.”

  Perillo reluctantly nodded his agreement. Diane as the culprit made much more sense to him. Daniele didn’t care. Finding out who had killed Loredana wouldn’t bring her back.

  Tarani stood. Perillo and Daniele did the same. Nico was slower to follow. “We know what we need to do. We will check Severson’s phone and her computer. I’ll ask Della Langhe for a search warrant to do a proper sweep of Mantelli’s villa. The prosecutor will not be happy, but it is necessary. His reluctance to accuse Severson has an advantage. It will allow me to obtain a search warrant for Verdini’s property as well, even though the connection to the victim is tenuous. Maybe luck will be on our side, and we’ll find a pillow or blanket with fibers matching those found in Loredana’s mouth. Never discount the role of Signora Fortuna in solving crimes. I will be returning to Florence now. Thank you all.” He shook hands with the three of them and walked away.

  As soon as Tarani was out of sight, Perillo sat back down with a thump. Daniele sat more gently.

  “You look stuffed,” Nico said, sitting next to Perillo.

  “I am.”

  “What did Ivana make you for lunch?”

  Daniele smiled and wiggled his index finger in the hollow of his cheek, a gesture that meant “delicious.”

  Perillo grinned. “A pasticcio of penne with artichokes, shallots, mushrooms and Parmigiano, of course. What is ‘pasticcio’ in English?”

  “A mess?”

  “Pasticcio is more elegant than that,” Perillo said. “A combination of ingredients held together by the miracle of a pink besciamella sauce. It is a gift from the heavens.”

  Nico stood up. “Sounds excellent. I suggest a long walk or no dinner. Talk to you tomorrow. I’m going back to the restaurant.”

  Nico and OneWag left them dreaming of their last meal.

  Diane called late that night while Nico was watering the vegetable garden.

  “I’ve got good news.”

  “That’s always welcome. Hold on a sec.” He walked over to the wall to turn off the water. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “My friends found a very good lawyer who’s eager to take on Peppino’s case pro bono. He’s been defending ultra-rich clients; he’s swimming in money and loves the idea of defending a gardener. Says it will give him good publicity. I’m assuming you don’t care about his reasoning.”

  “I don’t, as long as he’s good.”

  “He’ll get Peppino the minimum sentence.”

  The tension Nico had carried inside him since Peppino’s confession eased. “This is wonderful news. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “I could ask you to seduce me, but that’s only fun if we both want it, so maybe we can have a drink together instead—somewhere that doesn’t need your waiter services. I’m leaving the villa in two weeks, so before then?”

  “Of course. You pick the place. Again, I’m very grateful.”

  “Don’t be. Gratitude makes an evening drink awkward. Sweet dreams.” She clicked off.

  Nico whistled. OneWag took his time to appear. “Come here, you mutt.” He picked up the dog and gave him a hug, one he would have liked to give to Nelli with the good news. But it was past midnight, too late to call.

  Saturday morning, Gogol didn’t show up for breakfast. Nico waited until nine o’clock. At least now, he could go ahead and call Nelli. He’d check on Gogol at the old-age home after the call. He walked out into the piazza. The Bench Boys greeted him with raised hands. He called out, “Buongiorno. Beautiful weather, isn’t it?” All four looked up to check the sky, which was as blue as it had been the whole month.

  “It’s cooler today,” Nico said. A strong breeze was swaying the leaves and flowers of the two linden trees. He breathed in the scent.

  “At our age, we like the heat,” Gustavo said. “It cushions our bones.” All four wore sweaters.

  One day, his bones would need cushioning too, but today, Diane’s good news and the cooler weather made him feel that day was very far away. He sat on an empty bench on the other side of the piazza and called Nelli.

  “Ciao, Nico.” Her voice was soft and low. “I’m sorry I disappeared that day. I was going to text you.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I have some good news.” He told her about the lawyer Diane had found for Peppino. “He’ll do it for free.”

  Nelli let out a long sigh. “Thank you for telling me.” He had refrained from mentioning his involvement in procuring the lawyer. “I’m in my studio next to the art center. Come by.”

  Two heart-warming words, and yet he hesitated. He convinced himself it was for a good reason. “I should check on Gogol first. I’m worried about him. He stood me up this morning.”

  Over the phone came the wonderful sound of a small laugh—a giggle, really. “Gogol is here with me.”

  Nico laughed too. “I’ll be right over.”

  Nelli, in her usual painter’s attire, stood in a corner of the small room watching over a large gurgling moka sitting on a hot plate. Nico wanted to walk over and at least give her the usual ciao with the double cheek kiss, but didn’t know if it would be welcome. OneWag had no hesitations. He stretched himself up against her legs.

  She scratched the dog’s head. “Missed you.”

  “Ah, to be a dog,” Gogol said.

  “Want some coffee?” she asked Nico with a half smile on her face. OneWag had settled at her feet. “There’s enough for all three.”

  “Thank you, no. I’ve had enough waiting for this gentleman.” Gogol was perched on a stool, arms crossed over his thighs, his coat hanging down to the floor. “Nelli beckoned me.”

  “I did not, but I’m glad you came. You cheered me up with your lovely quotes. I’m grateful.”

  “‘Great sorrow took hold
of my heart when I heard her.’”

  “It’s him, not her,” Nelli corrected. “Inferno, fourth canto.”

  “Brava.” Gogol held out his hand to take the cup. “I adapt for the occasion.” He looked at Nico. “She gives satisfaction.” With full cup in hand, he carefully slid off the stool. “I will take my coffee for a walk to cool it down.”

  “Don’t forget to bring back the cup,” Nelli told his back. “And thank you for the visit.”

  “‘After I let my tired body rest awhile, I took to the road again.’”

  “See you Monday,” Nico said.

  Gogol didn’t answer.

  “Sit,” Nelli said pointing to the vacated stool. There were no chairs. The space was small and simple. The walls were covered with Nelli’s small abstract paintings of a barely recognizable Tuscan countryside. More paintings were stacked vertically underneath the table. A table pushed against a wall had tubes of oil paint scattered over it. The hot plate rested on the far end. Above the table, three small open windows looked onto a patch of dirt and weeds. A small refrigerator in a corner. A wooden easel faced the windows. Nelli moved to her painting stool with her big cup of coffee. OneWag followed, while Nico replaced Gogol on the other stool.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said.

  “You do not.”

  “Nico, please be quiet and listen. I was very angry with you for not helping me stop Peppino. You see, I knew what he was going to say, or at least sensed it. He was so upset after Mantelli’s death. He blamed it on the sale, but if that was the reason, where was his anger? I saw only pain, too much of it, and then I began to see guilt. The more I tried to help him, soothe him, the more he turned away from me with furtive looks. It’s hard for me to explain, and I suppose hard to understand. I saw it in his eyes. He’s such a good man, a pure heart. I had no doubt he didn’t mean to kill the man. I didn’t want him to suffer for a mistake, even a fatal one, and I stupidly tried to stop him. You were right. Not telling would have made him suffer even more than being locked up in jail.” She took a long sip of her coffee.

  Nico stood up and opened up his arms. “Can I please give you a hug?”