The Bitter Taste of Murder

by Camilla Trinchieri

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what game she’s playing.”

  Nico gathered the leftover plants and put them in a basket. “I can finish up later. Let’s go upstairs and we can talk on the balcony. It’s cooler there.”

  They sat overlooking Aldo’s olive grove, each drinking from a glass of cold water. Nico had offered cold white wine, Aldo’s own, but Aldo had said it was too early.

  “What did she want?” Nico asked.

  “Nothing. She came to reassure me I didn’t have to worry about what Mantelli had written about me. She was going to make sure it didn’t come out.”

  “The blog post would come out even now that he’s dead?”

  “Apparently he wrote his posts a few weeks in advance and sent them to his magazine publisher.”

  “How often did he write posts?”

  “Once a month. He was supposed to send the July post on Monday. According to her, he finished writing it Monday night, but didn’t send it in. She said she was going to delete it.”

  “You must feel relieved.”

  “I should, but I don’t. Why would she do this for me?”

  “Maybe she’s a decent person. Maybe she thinks your wine deserves better. Or she wants to undo her husband’s work, out of anger or for reasons of her own.”

  “She wanted to meet Cinzia, which made me uncomfortable for reasons I don’t need to explain. I told her Cinzia was busy, but she insisted. I got the feeling meeting Cinzia was a must if I wanted the post gone.”

  “Did they meet?’

  “Yes. Cinzia took her over to the welcome center. She asked me to leave them alone. They didn’t talk long. Maybe ten minutes. According to what Diane Severson told Cinzia, the reason Mantelli wanted to destroy me was because I didn’t pay up.”

  “Had he asked you for money?”

  “No, that’s what makes no sense.”

  “It makes sense if she knows he asked for handouts to other vintners and assumed you’d been asked as well.”

  “Mantelli was after me because I took Cinzia away from him. Two months after we got married, he married Diane.”

  “Maybe Diane doesn’t know that or doesn’t want to admit it. It’s not fun thinking your husband married you on the rebound.”

  “Why she told Cinzia about Mantelli wanting payment for a good review and said nothing to me is beyond me.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want to embarrass you.” Nico said it, but didn’t believe it.

  “I don’t know. I hate to say this, Nico, but I’m not sure Cinzia is telling the truth.” Aldo wiped his face with his hand.

  Another uncertainty. Had Diane told Cinzia that Mantelli’s death wasn’t an accident?

  Aldo put a hand on Nico’s shoulder. “I’m ready for that wine if you’re still offering.”

  “Of course.”

  Half a bottle of Ferriello Chardonnay later, normally verbose Aldo still hadn’t said anything.

  “When did Mantelli first meet Cinzia?” Nico asked.

  “Over twenty years ago. In Rome, when she was at the university. Mantelli was an adjunct in the economics department. They were together for less than a year when we met. She left him and married me.” Aldo poured himself more wine and took long, slow sips. After a few moments, he said, “She was going to be an architect. She had only two exams left when she met me. Gave all of it up for me. I often feel guilty about the life I’ve given her. She has to work so hard here. Maybe she would have—” Aldo looked up and gave Nico a halfhearted smile. “Thank you for listening. Of course Cinzia is telling me the truth. I’m just shaken. Punching Mantelli in the piazza, him plummeting down a ravine, now his wife telling me his last post about me isn’t going to appear. Talking to Cinzia. It’s all just happened so fast.” Aldo stood. “Thanks for the wine. It’s the best, right?”

  Nico stood as well. “The very best.”

  “I’ll send over a case.”

  “No need. Friends listen to friends.”

  “Thank you, Nico.” Aldo gave him a fast hug, which Nico returned.

  They walked to the door. “Aldo, I think Perillo should know about Diane’s conversation with you.”

  “It was a soliloquy, not a conversation. You tell him.”

  “With your permission, I will.” He opened the front door. “Take care, Aldo.”

  “You too.”

  Perillo and Daniele were standing just outside the station’s entrance when Diane walked through the gate. Perillo quickly put out his cigarette. She was wearing sunflower yellow slacks and a matching sleeveless top with purple streaks that looked like fern leaves.

  “Thank you for coming,” Perillo said.

  “It didn’t seem like I had a choice.”

  She didn’t extend her hand this time, Perillo noted.

  “I’d like to get this over with,” she said.

  “Of course. I thought we might talk in the shade in the park across the street. The heat in my office is brutal.” He had for this occasion put on his uniform.

  Diane glanced down at it. “Heat doesn’t bother me in the least, but mosquitoes do.”

  Defeated, Perillo stepped aside. As she strode past him, he picked up a sweet flowery scent, pure manna for mosquitoes. He caught Daniele sniffing too.

  In the office, the two screenless windows were opened wide, and the fan whirred. The mosquitoes would eat her up here too, Diane thought as she watched Perillo sit behind the desk he had hoped to avoid. The sweet-looking brigadiere held his back steel-rod straight in front of his computer, his fingers poised at the keys like a piano player. She would be the one to start.

  Diane moved her chair so the fan would not lift her hair. “The last time I saw my husband alive was Tuesday night at Il Falco. It was a misguided last-ditch effort to try to convince Michele that he was being unnecessarily horrid about our money. I didn’t get close enough to him to administer anything but anger. He shooed me away instantly.”

  The signora liked to take control, Perillo noted to himself. He found it irritating. “I realize you are anxious to get this necessary interrogation over with, but please wait for my questions.”

  Diane crossed her legs and decided the maresciallo was a pompous ass. “Of course. It’s your show.”

  “Did anyone witness your meeting with your husband at the restaurant?”

  “I’d brought a friend of Michele’s for support.”

  “His name?”

  “Luca Verdini. He owns the ColleVerde Vineyard.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “I suppose the waiter and the other diners. I did have my back to them, so if I’d slipped something in his glass, they wouldn’t have seen it.”

  “And the second-to-last time you saw him, when was that?”

  “God, I don’t remember. I guess in Milan.” She’d asked him to come to her apartment to talk things over one time. He’d shown up with the beautiful Loredana. “If I had any money left,” he’d said, “she’d be getting it, not you. She doesn’t have your brains, but she’s got looks.” Diane had calmly walked to her front door and opened it. He took the hint. “It must have been just before Easter. He always moved back to the Montefioralle villa for the summer on Good Friday.”

  “When was the last time you were at the villa?”

  She leaned toward Perillo. “Ah, you’re going to like this. Tuesday morning. I drove by and saw he wasn’t home. I wanted to talk to Peppino before Michele told him.” She sat back in her chair to let him ask his next question.

  Perillo understood she was playing with him. Usually with a suspect, it was the other way around. He glanced back at Daniele. “Are we going too fast for you?”

  Daniele lifted his hands and made a show of massaging his fingers. His boss was good at this. “Ready, Maresciallo.”

  Perillo turned back to look at Diane. “Go on. You w
anted to talk to Peppino.”

  “You want me to tell you why?”

  “That would be helpful.”

  “Michele had sold the villa. Of course he wasn’t going to get the money until our divorce came through, which would have been sometime this winter. I wanted Peppino to know. The sale would break his heart.”

  Odd. The gardener hadn’t mentioned the sale this morning. “How did he react?”

  “He didn’t believe me. It seems Michele had promised him he would never sell. I kept telling him it was true. He decided I was telling him this lie because I was angry at Michele. I gave him a hug and left.”

  “When your husband stumbled leaving the villa Wednesday, he told Peppino that three glasses of whiskey had been too much. At the restaurant, he only had two.”

  “I did not spike Michele’s whiskey bottle with wood alcohol. I don’t even know where to get wood alcohol. Any more questions?”

  “Not for now. If more should come up, I’ll get in touch with you. I do ask that you stay in the area.”

  “You’ll find me at the villa. I’m moving in today.”

  “Thank you, Signora Severson. Daniele will now print out what we’ve said here. Please read it over and sign it.” Perillo stood up. He needed to wash his face, take a quick walk in the park’s shade. Another difficult visit was waiting for him and Daniele. “Buongiorno,” he said with a slight bow and walked out.

  SIX

  A few miles before reaching the town of Montefioralle, Daniele followed the Il Glicine sign and turned left into a narrow sloping road lined with cypresses. The bed and breakfast place where Loredana Cardi was staying was easy to spot, thanks to the enormous curtain of pale-purple wisteria blooms spreading across the two-story stone house. Daniele carefully parked the Alfa on the edge of the unpaved road.

  “Damn these roads,” Perillo said, unlatching his seat belt. The windshield of the car was covered in fine white dust. “Our shoes and trousers are going to get covered in it, and my wife will start cursing.”

  As they were on official duty, they were both in uniform. Daniele would have liked to point out that men were perfectly capable of brushing their own shoes and trousers. Loving his job, he said instead, “There’s a clothes brush in the glove compartment.”

  “Good thinking, Dani,” Perillo opened the glove compartment and took the brush out. “We’ll use it before going in. First impressions are important. I’m sure your mother taught you that. We represent the law and the law must look clean, even if it often isn’t.”

  Daniele had learned early on that Perillo cared more about his appearance when women were involved. A little too much, perhaps, but that was a thought Daniele wouldn’t share with anyone, not even his mother. It would be disloyal.

  Perillo carefully stepped out of the car with clothes brush in hand. Dust immediately settled on his black shoes.

  Loredana stood next to the twisted trunk of the wisteria and waved to let the two carabinieri see her. It was too late to use the clothes brush. He would look foolish. Perillo handed it back to Daniele, who threw it in the car.

  Perillo lifted his hat in salute. “Daniele, please, try not to raise too much dust.” He made his way forward slowly, a smile on his face. Montefioralle, being high up, was at least five degrees cooler than the office.

  “Buongiorno,” Loredana said before Perillo had a chance to introduce himself. He was momentarily stunned. Nico had been right on the mark. She was at most twenty-five—far too young for Mantelli. But it was her looks that took his breath away. Behind him, he heard Daniele’s own small gasp. Loredana Cardi had the biggest eyes Perillo had ever seen, as blue as a summer sky, rimmed by thick black eyelashes. A soft oval face with a pale complexion that hadn’t been changed by the sun. Full lips the color of the shiny mauve shirt she had tucked into tight white jeans. Her long blond hair, covering her shoulders like a shawl, sparkled in the patch of sun the clouds had released.

  Loredana smiled as the men mumbled an introduction. She was used to their reaction. Her smile was her best feature, she thought. Her round eyes would lengthen. Her thick lips would thin out, and she’d look happy instead of miserable. Lately a constant state. Now with another emotion she thrived on: anger.

  After introducing himself and Daniele, Perillo held out his hand.

  Loredana didn’t take it. “I know he’s dead, if that’s why you came. Diane called me.” She crossed her arms, a defiant look on her face. “Mica had no right to die.”

  “I’m afraid that is a right we cannot dispense with.”

  “Well, he had no right to die now. We were going to be married. Well,” she unlocked her arms, gathered her hair and threw it over to one shoulder, “that’s of no interest to you. Why are you here? I don’t know why Mica drove off the road.”

  “Signorina, can we find a place to sit? Perhaps in the garden, if there is one.”

  Loredana looked at the time on her cell phone. She’d found lately that being rude gave her satisfaction. This morning, when the owner of the B&B told her how sorry he was for her loss, she told him to stick it up his ass. Before, she’d always lapped up the attention. Especially compliments, which had made her feel as though her soul was being massaged. Before. Now it was after, and there was nothing she could do.

  She stopped looking at her phone. “Okay. There’s an awning.”

  Perillo and Daniele followed her into the building. Loredana led the way down a long corridor at the end of which they could see a rectangle of grass lit up with sun. Perillo walked down the narrow corridor behind Loredana. Daniele trailed behind.

  The opening of a door blocked Daniele from going any further.

  A head stuck out.

  “Don’t believe a word that woman tells you,” the head whispered so the other two wouldn’t hear.

  Daniele straightened his shoulders and pulled down his shirt. “Your name, please.”

  “Dario Terzini. I own this place with my wife. Accidents can be made to happen, and if that’s the case with Mantelli, give Signorina Loredana a good look.”

  Before Daniele could say anything, the door slammed shut.

  When the brigadiere stepped out into the garden, Perillo and Loredana were sitting in two white plastic chairs, smoking under a green striped awning.

  “Bring up a chair,” Perillo said. “Signorina Loredana is in a hurry, but I told her it was best if you were also present.”

  Perillo always wanted a witness when he had important news to convey. Four eyes were better than two to assess an unusual reaction.

  Loredana took a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled smoke in Daniele’s direction. “Diane is picking me up in half an hour. She’s taking me to lunch.”

  Daniele pushed his chair further away. She smiled at him, and he decided she might be beautiful, but it didn’t make her very nice.

  “You’re having lunch with Mantelli’s wife?” Perillo asked. Odd, but then, Signora Severson had seemed worried about her husband’s girlfriend. Out of compassion, perhaps. Or was it self-interest?

  “Yes. We’re best friends all of a sudden. She probably thinks I know where Mica’s money is hidden.” Loredana smashed her cigarette out on the tile floor and left it there. Daniele looked away.

  “You know about the money?”

  “Didn’t I just tell you that? Mica halved my allowance and promised he’d make it up to me once the divorce went through. That’s not going to happen now, is it? Now, what is this important news you have to tell me right this minute?”

  Perillo took out the portable ashtray Daniele had given him and put out his cigarette in it. To his surprise, he liked using it. What he did not like was what he now had to say to this woman, even if she was being rude. His words shattered dreams, lives. There was nothing he could do to alter the truth of someone’s murder. He leaned forward and aimed his eyes at her large blue ones. “Signorina Loredan
a—”

  The first notes of “O Sole Mio” rang out. He quickly took his cell phone out of his pocket and silenced it. Whoever it was could wait. “Signorina Loredana, your Mica’s death was not an accident.”

  “If you think he killed himself, you are very wrong. Mica was convinced he walked on water. He loved his life. Lived it to the fullest, no matter who he hurt.”

  Perillo took in the clenched jaw, the pained look in her eyes. Had Mantelli not been good to her? This woman was Mantelli’s girlfriend—she had a right to know. The media was going to ferret out the truth soon enough, if Signora Severson hadn’t spilled the news already. “He was murdered.”

  Loredana threw her head back to reveal a long, smooth neck and laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I’m afraid it isn’t.”

  Her laugh subsided into a giggle. “It is. It’s ridiculous. Not believable. You’re just trying to give yourself importance. Men do that all the time, especially with me. Tell me they’re CEOs of a multimillion-dollar company that doesn’t exist. Or they own this or that villa, yacht, painting.” Her giggles turned into hiccups.

  “Get her a glass of water,” Perillo said.

  Daniele ran into the building.

  Loredana held her breath to stop the hiccups. “Men are full of lies.” Another long held breath. The hiccups continued. “Always thinking we’re going to believe them. And we do. We are so stupid, we believe, but I don’t believe you.” Her eyes filled with tears. “We were going to get married. That’s what he said, and I believed him and now he’s dead.” She held another long breath.

  Daniele rushed back into the garden with a full glass of water.

  She grabbed the glass from his hand and emptied it slowly over her face. The water dripped down her mauve top, leaving long, dark stains. “My tears for Mica. I don’t have any of my own left.” She sat back in the chair, the hiccups stopping as abruptly as they started. She rubbed her eyes, smudging her mascara. She knew she looked like a mess, but then, her life really was a mess now. No more being taken care of. No more illusion that what Mica had promised was true. “Did someone cut the car brakes?” she asked. She’d read that in a mystery novel once.