He didn’t remember the elevator being so slow. Finally it lurched to a halt and released him into the hallway. After two rings of the bell, the door opened. Cat was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her face scrubbed of makeup, hair pulled back. If he hadn’t gotten her call he would have thought that she wasn’t expecting visitors. Her appearance did not detract from her looks. She closed the door and put her arms around him, that same perfume hitting his senses.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Rick.”
“What’s wrong? From your voice it sounded like there’s some crisis.”
“Did I give that impression? Come sit down, I’ll tell you.” Rick stamped the caked snow from his boots onto the door mat, shed his hat and jacket, and followed her into the living room. A book lay open next to the chair where she was sitting down. He took the place opposite her.
“It’s that woman.”
He frowned. “What woman?” Had Gina Cortese contacted Cat? Made some kind of threat?
“That woman from the consulate. She’s driving me crazy.”
Rick couldn’t decide whether to laugh or get pissed off. He opted for the latter. “You had me rush over here because you can’t get along with the person who drove up here to help you in your time of crisis?”
Cat’s expression turned into a pout, and it was not becoming. “Rick, she’s just…stifling. She hovers like the dorm supervisor we had in school. I can’t stand her.”
“Well, you can’t always choose the people you have to deal with in life, Cat.” He got to his feet.
“Don’t go, Rick. I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, this is not an easy time. I’m on edge.”
He studied her face and slowly sat back down. She was right about finding herself in a tough situation, and it wasn’t his place to be judgmental. He knew he had to give her the benefit of the doubt. What happened to her brother wasn’t her fault—at least he didn’t think it was.
“Okay, Cat, you got me here. How can I help?”
“First let me help you.” She bounced to her feet and Rick noticed that the sweatshirt, though roomy, still fit well. “I am remiss in my duties as a hostess. What can I get you to drink?”
“Do you have any beer?”
“I think so. But it’s Italian.”
“Well, we are in Italy, Cat, last time I checked. That will be fine.”
She disappeared into the kitchen. He got up and looked around the room, which hadn’t changed since his last visit. The cover of the book she was reading was dominated by a woman barely dressed in futuristic armor, facing off with a tentacled creature not in the least intimidated by her ray gun. Rick always wondered what kind of people read such books, and now he knew. He heard the pop of a bottle cap being removed, then the beer pouring into a glass. Even at many of the best places in Albuquerque, patrons were always asked if they wanted a glass or just the bottle, but this wasn’t New Mexico. Cat reappeared, a beer mug in one hand and a crystal glass with something on the rocks in the other. Rick took his beer, tapped it with her glass, and returned to his chair.
“Is there any news on the investigation?” Cat settled back into the cushions.
“I don’t really know what Inspector Albani is up to,” Rick said. It wasn’t true, but he didn’t want to get into any details with someone who was at least peripherally considered a suspect. “I know he’s been interviewing a lot of people.”
“I thought you were, you know, working with him.”
Rick took a sip of his beer to give him time to respond. It didn’t taste like one of the big national brands, like Peroni or Moretti; it was probably something local. With the number of German speakers in the Dolomites, there would have to be lots of local beers.
“I was here to help translate, Cat. But if you have something else he should know, something you’ve remembered, I can tell him. We’re staying in the same hotel.”
“No, nothing new. I just thought…”
Rick studied her face silently, considering various possibilities. The most obvious was that she truly was upset, outside her comfort level, and in need of some support. Of course Lori had been giving that support all afternoon, but perhaps in a manner that was more overbearing than comforting. Or perhaps Cat was somehow involved in the murder and was probing to find out how much he knew. If that was the case, their interaction now would become a game of cat and mouse, or rather Cat and Rick. The third possibility was that she was simply attracted to him, and that’s why she’d called and asked him to come over. He had to admit he preferred that one to the first two. There was a fourth possibility: some combination of the first three.
“The inspector is tracking down various leads, I know that. He seems very efficient.”
“It was someone local, wasn’t it?”
“I doubt if someone came up from Milan, or from the States, if that’s what you mean.”
She took a strong pull of her drink. “I just wish there was something I could do.”
“Cat, perhaps it’s best for you to try and take your mind off things. Being with the vice consul all day, dealing with the details you had to talk about, has taken its toll.”
“I had no idea there were so many decisions to make.”
“I’m sure. And you’ve been cooped up here all afternoon. Why don’t we go out for a walk around town? Getting some fresh air will do you good.”
“Oh, I’d love that, Rick.” She stood up, and to his surprise, drained her glass. “Take your time with your beer, I’ll just freshen up.”
Before he could get to his feet she disappeared down the hall. His hand reached for the mug on the table next to the chair. After another drink of the beer he held it up and studied the frowning face of the Irish leprechaun, his fists up, ready for a fight. Perhaps this had been Cameron Taylor’s third-favorite possession, after his cap and expensive skis. Rick put down the mug and walked to the window where he could see people walking slowly along the sidewalk below. He couldn’t tell if the flakes swirling on the street were falling from the sky or being picked up from the ground by a passing gust of wind. Whatever their source, they gave the couples he watched a good excuse to pull closer.
He walked back to the chairs, picked up his mug and Cat’s glass, and walked into the kitchen. In the sink were some dishes and a frying pan, but he found room for the glass and mug, into which he ran some water. In the drain were a few strands of spaghetti, the remnants of what looked like a simple meal. Probably all that Cat would be capable of, Rick decided, without Maria in the kitchen. He walked back into the living room and sat down, stretching his legs out toward the coffee table, noticing his boots. They would need a good polishing when he got back to Rome, thanks to the slush of Campiglio’s streets. They were ones from the Boot Barn in Albuquerque, not the fancy place in Santa Fe where he’d gotten his other, more dressy pair. These were more comfortable.
“I’m ready.”
Rick looked up. Cat had changed into something which looked like a long sweater, but which he quickly realized was a dress of heavy wool that ended just above her knees. Loose-fitting snow boots rose to meet the hem, but ended just below the knees. The dress was not loose-fitting. Quite an outfit to stroll about the streets of Campiglio, he thought. She had brushed some color to her face, added a light coat of lipstick, and changed the ribbon holding back her hair. After taking it all in, he rose to his feet.
“That was quick. Where’s your coat?”
“The closet there by the door.”
Rick opened the closet door and found the coat she had worn that morning. Next to it were two that must have belonged to her brother. She turned her back to him and he slipped it up over her arms, noticing that she’d added a few new sprays of perfume. He pulled on his own coat, took his hat, and opened the door to the apartment.
When they emerged on the street a gust of snowy wind swirled around their two bodies. Cat pushed h
erself against Rick’s chest.
“You should have worn a hat, Cat.”
“I’ll be okay. It feels good to be out of that apartment.”
The violent images of the previous evening, pushed from his mind, reappeared. It was just ahead that he had been jolted by the cries of Pittini and rushed up to find him bleeding in the snow. He instinctively glanced around to find that now several people strolled the sidewalk. That would be expected since the snow was not as heavy and the hour not as late. He toyed with the idea of telling Cat about the incident but rejected it immediately. She had enough on her mind. He wasn’t sure how much she wanted to talk, so he decided to wait to let her start the conversation. They came to a shoe store and stopped to gaze at the pairs lined up on the shelves inside the long glass window. The stock was dominated by boots, as would be expected in a mountain town in the winter.
“This is where I got these boots,” Cat said, extending her toe. “They’re very warm.”
“These are warm too,” he said, noticing that she was glancing at his footwear.
“Do you always wear cowboy boots, Rick?”
“When I’m in the States, I wear Italian shoes.”
“Really?”
“Pretty much. Loafers, mostly, when the weather’s not too cold.”
“Clever. American women think the Italian shoes are cool, and Italian women are fascinated by the cowboy boots.”
“That never occurred to me.”
“I’ll bet it didn’t.”
They continued walking slowly along the sidewalk and reached the pedestrian-only area around the main square. Despite the hour, people still milled around in small groups, but they were younger couples instead of the pensioners of the mornings. On leaving the protection of the storefronts Cat clutched Rick’s arm more tightly and pushed herself into his shoulder.
“Shall we go in there for something warm?” he asked. “I went there with Flavio the night we got here.” His eyes pointed to the large bar on one corner of the piazza. Its porch area was covered with snow, but through the frosted windows they could see the heads of people sitting inside.
“Yes, let’s. You haven’t told me about Flavio.”
“College buddy. We’ve been trying to get together since I moved to Rome and finally managed to work it into both our schedules. He lives down in Trento but grew up here.”
They climbed the few steps, crossed the porch and pushed through the heavy wooden door.
The inside was one large room on two levels, perfect to see and be seen, which Rick decided was the idea. On the upper level a bar ran along the entire back wall. Behind it various espresso machines gleamed between rows of bottles and glasses. Chrome stools lined the bar, but most of the customers on the upper level were at the tables along the railing in front of it, or sitting at the area below. A harried waiter rushed past Rick and Cat, giving them his best “sit wherever you’d like” look. They found a table for two at the far end of the upper row with a good view of the entire room. In contrast with the square outside, it was bright, warm, and noisy. They slipped off their coats and draped them over the empty chairs.
“What would you like, Cat?”
“I’d love a cappuccino.”
Rick got the waiter’s eye and he hurried to their table, dropping napkins in front of each of them with a quick movement of the hand. “Un cappuccio e una spina,” said Rick, and the man disappeared.
“Did you say cappuccio?”
“You have a good ear. Yes, it’s more informal, but the same meaning.”
“And what’s a spina?”
“A draft beer. Watch the bartender.” She looked up and saw the man holding down a tall plastic handle, filling a glass with beer.
“I think I get it. He’s pulling on a thing that looks like a spine. So, spina.”
“Brava, Cat, you’ll be fluent in Italian before you know it.”
“I doubt that.” Their drinks arrived at the table. She stirred sugar into her coffee, blew on it, and took a sip. “Perfect. I didn’t think I was cold, but this hits the spot.” She held the cup in two hands and looked over its rim into Rick’s face. “It was awfully nice of you to come to my aid, Rick.
“Glad to help out, Cat.”
“So, there really are no leads on the murder? Must be something.”
He took a sip of his beer, giving him time to think of an answer. It was smoother than the bottled stuff he’d had at her apartment, but that could have been in the refrigerator for weeks. “There are some local leads, I think, but I don’t know the details.”
“I got the impression you were in tight with the inspector.” She took another drink of her cappuccino and placed the cup back in the saucer.
“I don’t think I can be described as ‘in tight’ with the man.” The way she was pushing him made it easy for Rick to lie. He shrugged. “As I said, he’s staying in the same hotel.”
“Well maybe you could ask him for me the next time you see him. It’s my brother, after all, I have a right to know. If it makes you feel any better, you don’t have to say I asked.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Her hand moved to cover his. “Thank you, Rick.” Her eyes moved from his to over Rick’s shoulder. “Well now,” she said, her voice lowered slightly, “you know this is a small town when even I start to see people I know.”
Rick turned to see Bruno Bauer walking through the door. He shook snow off his thick black hair with his gloved hand and surveyed the room. After a few sweeps he spotted someone and walked toward a table near the front where a blond woman sat with her back to Rick and Cat. Bauer bent over the woman who turned her face so he could kiss her on both cheeks before sitting in the opposite chair. Well, well, thought Rick. Bauer and Gina Cortese seem to be friends.
Bauer pulled off his gloves and coat and found the waiter. After giving his order he looked up and spotted Cat. He leaned forward and said something to Gina, who turned around. She was a different woman from the one he’d seen drinking with her colleagues, starting with a tight sweater and slacks. The hair was now puffed up to double the previous size, hoop earrings dangled from her ears, and she had enough makeup on to cover several faces. Her expression showed puzzlement with a dash of annoyance. Bauer got to his feet and walked toward them.
Rick was standing when Bauer reached the table and took Cat’s hand in both of his. “Caterina, I am so sorry. My condolences.” His English was thickly accented but passable. It came from dealing with the few American and English tourists who come through Campiglio, Rick thought.
“Thank you, Bruno. This is Rick Montoya, an American friend.”
Rick shook Bruno’s hand and stayed in English. “Bruno and I have met, Cat. I rented my skis at his shop on this trip.”
The man was uncomfortable, but Rick couldn’t know if it was because of Cat’s loss or finding she was with the person who’d come into his shop with the policeman. Or his limited English. Whatever the reason, Rick expected Bruno to beat a quick retreat, and he did. After mumbling some more words to Cat he went down the steps to the lower part of the room and returned to his seat facing Gina Cortese. Cat had not recognized Gina, and Rick thought it better not to point her out.
“Do you know Bruno well?” Cat asked before sipping her coffee.
“Not really. Flavio introduced me when I was renting the skis.” No use mentioning the encounter with Luca, Rick thought. “And how well do you know him?”
“The same.”
Rick would not have expected Bruno’s tender condolences, even from an Italian, if his relationship with Cat was based purely on determining her boot size. Watch it, Montoya, he thought. Your Italian side is taking over, the one that’s always looking for something hiding behind even the most innocuous statements. He drank another sip of beer, noticing a slightly bitter aftertaste.
“What are your plans,
Cat? I mean in the next week or so.”
She stirred the cappuccino and pondered the question. “Cam’s body won’t be released for a few days, and I’m not in any rush to get back to the States. The apartment here is paid for through the end of the month, not that Daniele would throw me out. I really don’t have anything to get back to.” She had been staring at her cup and now she looked at Rick. “That’s why I came here in the first place, to get away from what was going on back there.”
“Your divorce is final, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but that’s not the problem. I’m just not sure what I’m going to do next.”
“Like work? Or where you want to live?”
“Both those things. I have a lot of questions to answer.”
“I get the sense you don’t even know yet what all the questions are.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Rick. Perhaps you’re right.”
The woman is aging before my eyes, Rick thought. For him, life had moved easily from one stage to another without many agonizing decisions. From as far back as he remembered he’d wanted to go to college where his father had graduated, and once at UNM getting into language study was another logical choice. After all, he was already fluent in English and Italian, and almost the same level in Spanish. The translation work had started in college, helping pay his tuition, so it was easy to hang out a shingle after he got his graduate degree. Even moving the business to Rome was an easy decision. And it all had turned out well so far. Unlike this poor woman who had already messed up her life by getting into a bad marriage. And now she didn’t know what to do with herself, or even where to do it. At least money wasn’t a problem for Catherine Taylor. He watched her as she stared blankly around the rest of the large room.
Death in the Dolomites Page 13