A Funeral in Mantova

by David P. Wagner

  “Uncle, so good to see you.” They exchanged air kisses and she shook hands with Rick and Lexi. “Thank you for coming. Had you already visited the Palazzo Te?”

  Angelo looked around, his eyes raised to the wall paintings and the highly decorated boxes inserted into the ceiling. “No, and this is quite a place.”

  “The other rooms are open, you will have to see them all. I’m told the program will be short, with very few people speaking, so you’ll have time to wander around. Unless you’d prefer to talk about local politics and cheese. That’s all these people are interested in.” She glanced over Angelo’s shoulder. “Some people just arrived I must talk to, Uncle. Please get yourself something to eat and drink, the three of you.”

  They promised they would. Livia walked over to meet the new arrivals just as a waiter stepped up to them with a tray of glasses. Angelo and Rick waited for Lexi to take one before they served themselves.

  “Here’s to Federico Gonzaga,” said Rick. “He knew how to build them to last.”

  “Almost five hundred years,” said Lexi, as she looked at the wine in her glass. “And still holding parties here.” She surveyed the crowd. “There’s the farm manager, Zucari. He must have cleaned up the broken cheese by now. Do you recognize anyone else, Rick?”

  “I recognize who he’s with. It’s Letizia Bentivoglio.”

  Angelo, who had been studying the ornate designs in the ceiling, turned quickly in that direction. “Roberto’s lady friend? I wonder if Livia realizes that she’s here, or even knows who she is. She looks younger than I expected, given my cousin’s age.”

  “Men at that age don’t usually take up with women older than they are,” said Lexi.

  “That’s true,” said her boss. “Very cynical on your part, Lexi, but true.”

  Rick watched the people who were starting to drift toward the food table. One large man stood next to it, deftly balancing a wineglass and plate in one hand while eating with the other. “There’s the guy who owns the dairy next to the Rondinis’, Emilio Fiore.”

  Angelo frowned. “The one we met after the funeral who’d had too much wine, and then at the restaurant. It looks like he’s at the grape again. Be sure to talk to him, Language Man.”

  At that point a man in a dark, tailored suit came up to Angelo and introduced himself as the president of the consortium. He spoke fluent English with a slight British accent. Rick realized that the presence in Mantova of the American cousin would have been common knowledge among this group. He took advantage of the situation to excuse himself and head for the food, even though he wasn’t hungry.

  Rick’s father the diplomat was a master at working the crowd at a reception, but unfortunately he’d never schooled his son in the skill. The only time Rick had observed it closely was one time in high school when one of the waiters didn’t show for an event in their home. Rick was given a white coat and a tray of food, and while he worked he observed the senior Montoya moving from one group to another, playing the perfect host. Fishing for clues to a murder was not exactly analogous, but it was close enough. He began with two couples standing close to one of the wheels of cheese, and introduced himself.

  As he half expected, they knew about Angelo, the American cousin, but were unaware that he’d brought his own staff along on the trip. Rick explained that Angelo’s assistant came from Chicago, but he was an interpreter based in Rome. He sensed that the four thought someone who lived in Rome to be even more exotic than an American from Chicago. Did they know the deceased well? The two men did—at least they claimed to, since they were connected in some unspecified way to the cheese business. Their wives shook their heads, though they exchanged looks that Rick read to mean they’d heard about Roberto, and what they’d heard may not have been flattering. He decided he wasn’t going to get much out of them, excused himself on the pretext of getting something to eat, and moved on.

  As he stood deciding which of the culinary treats to try, a man dressed in a dark suit approached him, his hands clasped against his chest.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked, and then noticed Rick’s puzzled expression. He held out his hand. “I’m Lorenzo Dini, I cater all the events for the Parmigiano-Reggiano Consortium. You look like you needed some guidance.”

  Rick shook Dini’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Signor Dini. Riccardo Montoya, visiting from Rome. Everything here looks delicious. The consortium does a lot of receptions like this?”

  “They keep us busy, not just here in the production area but all over the country. And a few events in other parts of Europe. I was in Munich last week. The Germans love cheese.”

  “I’m sure they do.” It seemed like a good time to pick up a small chunk, which he popped into his mouth. “Did you know the honoree this evening? Signor Rondini?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Rick swallowed the cheese and paid closer attention. “From these kinds of affairs? I’d never met him, I’m just working here, like you. As an interpreter.” He hoped his being an outsider would loosen the man’s lips.

  Dini looked to one side and then the other. “You can learn a lot about people from how they act in a social setting like this. I should not speak ill of the departed, but Roberto Rondini was the kind of person who would treat people differently depending on what he wanted from them. He was all smiles with foreign cheese buyers, but with others he could be quite different.”

  “That seems like a lot to conclude just from seeing him at receptions and dinners.”

  “You’d be surprised, Signor Montoya.” Again he looked furtively before continuing. “Do you see that man over there? With the woman?”

  Rick followed Dini’s eye and came to the manager of the Rondini dairy, who was standing with Letizia Bentivoglio and three men. This could get interesting. “The man with the good tan?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. I’ve never seen the woman, but I remember him from a reception several months ago at the chamber of commerce for a group of Arab investors. That man and Rondini were speaking with members of the visiting delegation, all very polite, but a moment later the two of them were in a corner of the room arguing. They weren’t raising their voices, but it was clearly an argument. Rondini was poking his finger into that man’s chest, and from the look on the man’s face I thought he was going react violently. Now what kind of a person would berate someone in public like that?”

  Dini was apparently unaware that Zucari had been in Roberto Rondini’s employ, and it was not Rick’s place to tell him. “Were there other times you saw Rondini like that?”

  “That’s the one I recall.”

  So the man—a world-class eavesdropper—was basing his view of Roberto Rondini on one incident. It was better than nothing, and it did involve the manager of the Rondini dairy. What would they have been talking with a group of investors about that would cause such a flare-up? Rick’s conjecturing was interrupted by a voice coming over the microphone of the man who had been talking with Angelo and Lexi. Rick walked over to his boss, ready to interpret, and as the crowd quieted, he positioned himself behind Angelo and Lexi so they both could hear his English playback.

  The remarks about their departed colleague were bland and neutral, and likely could have been given about most of the people in the room. Roberto Rondini had been, the president said, a prominent member of the consortium, always supportive of its ideals and standards, helping to grow the industry and the reputation of Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese in Italy and abroad. His words were as much about the consortium as they were in praise of its departed member, and they were greeted with polite applause. Someone else, whose title Rick didn’t catch, stood up and gave an equally bland discourse.

  “These guys are going to put me to sleep,” said Angelo after Rick finished his interpreting.

  Livia was the last speaker, and the group appeared to pay closer attention to what she said. It may have been because she was Roberto’
s daughter, and as the grieving daughter she deserved deference, or perhaps they were trying to size up the new owner of the Rondini dairy. She thanked everyone for coming, and said how much the consortium had meant to her father. She recounted an anecdote about her father and Rondini cows that got smiles and warm applause, and ended by saying that the Rondini dairy would continue to be a loyal member of the consortium as it had been when her father was alive. More applause followed, and the president thanked those gathered for their presence and declared the ceremonies ended.

  “She did well,” said Angelo. “I could see it on everyone’s faces. I wonder how many of the dairies are owned and run by women. My guess is very few.”

  “Very poised,” Lexi noted, “given the circumstances. What is it they always say? For most people the two most stressful things in life are funerals and public speaking? She had both of those tonight.”

  Angelo nodded.

  The crowd was moving toward the food table, ready to do it justice after the formalities had been dealt with. Rick scanned the group, looking for someone who might give him something, anything, to help shed some light on the investigation as Angelo had ordered. He spotted Emilio Fiore, the neighboring dairy farmer, still with a glass of wine in hand. He was in a circle of other men which included the Rondini dairy manager, Carlo Zucari. Rick immediately recalled when Fiore had come out of the dairy office just before the curious incident of the falling cheese. And that brought to mind the dull ache he still had in his leg. Something else occurred to him. If Zucari was in that group, where was his date? Rick’s eyes moved through the people and spotted Letizia Bentivoglio standing apart, looking up at a dark brown horse depicted on the wall. He excused himself to Angelo and Lexi and walked to her.

  “A stunning animal,” said Rick when he got to her side. She turned around, and he could see she was trying to remember who he was.

  “Yes. I’ve always loved horses.” Her eyes widened slightly. “Now I recall where I saw you, in the bar last night. You’re the one who’s translating for the visiting American cousin.”

  “Interpreting,” Rick said. He couldn’t reveal that he knew about the relationship she had with the deceased Roberto Rondini, but why not ask about her present companion? “Signor Zucari gave us an interesting tour of the cheese-making operation today. I must thank him again for it.” Her face betrayed nothing, so Rick guessed she had not been told of the falling cheese. “Have you known Zucari long?” It was a lame question, but she didn’t appear to notice. Her reply was equally lame, or perhaps purposely vague.

  “Everyone knows everyone else in this city, either personally or by reputation.”

  A waiter appeared with a tray of glasses. Letizia’s hand moved quickly to take one, and Rick joined her. They exchanged wishes of good health and she took a deep drink. Rick sipped his.

  “I was under the assumption,” he said, “given his present position, that he was from the country.”

  “You would think that,” she said, wiping her lips with the paper napkin that came with the wine, “him being a manager of a farm. But in fact he grew up in Mantova. His was not an easy childhood.” Her eyes darted to where Zucari was standing with the other men.

  Rick had the impression that this was not her first glass of wine that evening. It would make sense that she needed to be fortified, attending a memorial for the man with whom she was romantically involved, and in the presence of the dead man’s family. He was still unsure if Roberto’s daughter knew about Letizia Bentivoglio, or if she did, whether she disapproved. It was something he would likely never know, but he also doubted it could have anything to do with the man’s demise. He was trying to decide if he should ask her about Roberto Rondini when she abruptly excused herself and walked away. So that was all he was going to get from Letizia Bentivoglio. This was getting frustrating. Time for a break from investigating. He looked at Angelo, who was in deep conversation with two men. Lexi stood to one side, talking with two much younger men. As he watched, she took a sip from her wineglass and her eyes moved around the room before resting on Rick. He inclined his head in the direction of the far door, and she nodded before saying something to the two and walking off.

  “Enjoying yourself, my dear?”

  She made a face. “I was standing there trying to think of the last time I’d had this much fun. It’s enough to make me swear off cheese.”

  “Somehow I think those two guys were interested in more than just your views of cheese production. Well, Lexi, while you were enjoying a chat with Mantova’s rich bachelors, I pretty much came up dry with the people I’ve talked to. But I’m not done yet. Let’s take a quick break and see what’s in this next room. Then I’ll get back to doing what Angelo ordered me to do, and you can…well, do what you were doing.”

  “Sounds good.”

  The next hall—every room in the Palazzo Te was a hall—formed one corner of the square main building. The decoration on its walls and ceiling was even more ornate than the horse room, but the theme was different. Rather than horseflesh, what covered these walls was just flesh, very pink and either muscular or plump. The note on a stand in the middle of the floor identified the room as the Sala de Psiche, and explained that the decoration recounted the mythological tale of Cupid and Psyche. Those two were featured in one of the panels, but everyone else depicted around the walls paid little attention to them. They were too busy having a good time.

  “Well,” said Lexi as her eyes moved around the room, “I guess we know what the Gonzagas used this room for. Did you bring me in here on purpose?”

  Rick laughed. “I didn’t know, I swear.”

  “Nobody seems to be wearing clothes.”

  “It’s mythology, Lexi. And orgies are clothing-optional affairs. Thankfully, most of them are carefully draped.”

  “Most, but not all.” She pointed at a chubby figure, one arm around a satyr, the other embracing a wine jug. “That guy seems to be enjoying himself the most.”

  “Bacchus. You can always spot him since he’s drinking wine and wears grape leaves on his head. It’s quite a banquet. Look at all that food.”

  “As if they all came for the food.”

  They were standing in one corner, the better to get the complete sweep of the paintings on the opposite walls. As they studied the art, two men walked resolutely in, crossed the room, and exited through the other doorway. One gestured as he spoke, while the other studied the floor. Neither one paid any attention to the decoration or noticed the two people standing in the corner.

  “Wasn’t that…?”

  “Yes,” Rick answered. “Carlo Zucari, our cheese guide, with Emilio Fiore. Fiore was coming out of the dairy this morning when we drove up. They keep getting more and more chummy, those two.”

  “Why don’t we follow them? Maybe you can overhear what they’re saying.”

  “I can follow them and you can stay here and enjoy the artwork.”

  “I’ll come with you, thank you very much.”

  The two walked into the next highly decorated room, then into the next, still with no sign of the men. Rather than an open doorway at the other side of this room, there was a heavy door. Rick pushed it open and they found themselves enveloped by cold air, causing Rick to whip off his jacket and put it around Lexi’s shoulders. They were in a covered portico that connected two open areas on either side, and in keeping with the other rooms, its vault was decorated within an inch of its life. To their right lay the grassy, square courtyard in the center of the building. In the opposite direction, past columns and arches, was a bridge over a pool, and beyond that stretched the Gonzaga formal gardens. Rick looked both ways while Lexi stood shivering, despite the jacket.

  “They’re not out there, they must have continued into the next set of rooms.” He pushed open another door and once again they were inside an ornate space, but this one with little color. An endless army of ancient warriors marc
hed in two rows along a stucco frieze around the room just below the ceiling. More classical figures adorned the barrel vault, carved like large cameos and set inside the open boxes. It was all shades of white, with the occasional light blue, and after the other rooms the effect was striking. If the symmetry of the palazzo was to be maintained, there would be another room before getting to the one at the corner. In fact they could see a second and third room through the narrow doorways. They could also hear the voices of the two men, coming from the corner room.

  Rick held his finger over his mouth and gestured for Lexi to follow him quietly into the next room. She handed back his jacket before they slipped through the doorway and moved to the opposite side, near the opening to the room where Fiore and Zucari were talking. The two kept their voices low, but the words were clear enough for Rick to understand.

  “…you can’t let her do that.”

  “What am I supposed to do? She owns it, she can do with it whatever she wants.”

  “But that’s insanity. What does her husband think?”

  “He had some kind of accident last night and hasn’t made an appearance. You saw that he’s not here tonight. So I haven’t talked to him and I don’t know where he stands, or if he even knows what she’s decided to do. Knowing what a weakling he is, it wouldn’t surprise me if he isn’t even being consulted. I’ve always thought he married her to get control of the dairy one day, but now I don’t think she’s going to let that happen. She’s changed a lot since Roberto died. Before she was content to stay in the background, but now she’s become a different person. She’s her father’s daughter, Emilio, but we all had to wait until he died to find that out.”