“What about Loredana? She might know something.”
“You think that’s why I invited her to stay with me?”
“It’s not unreasonable.” Why else invite her former rival?
“Well, I did think she might know something. Then I realized that what I needed was her company. We are two women who both loved the wrong man. There was the possibility that we could console each other.”
“Did you?”
“No. I guess you have to grieve on your own. And she says she knows nothing about the money. It was dumb of me to think she would. Michele didn’t trust women, thanks to his own mother farming him out to an aunt when he was three, so she’d be free to party.” She took a spoon and fished out the wet cantuccino crumbs from her wine glass, then slipped them into her mouth.
Nico watched her close her eyes as she enjoyed the wine-soaked sweet. A tough woman who now needed consoling. Because she had lost the man she loved? Because Mantelli’s money might be gone forever? Or because she was feeling guilty? She certainly struck him as capable of poisoning her husband.
Cantuccino gone, Diane opened her eyes and smiled. “There’s heaven in small things.”
“Maresciallo Perillo needs that laptop.”
“Of course he does. I’ll take it over to the station in the morning. His technical team might be better than I am. They might find the money and the murderer.”
Perillo’s technical team was Daniele, and he was good. There was a chance he could find at least a hint as to where the money was. “How would they find the murderer?”
“Michele kept a sort of diary of all his business dealings, about which I doubt your maresciallo knows anything. For instance, a list of the new vintners who paid him for a good review. One of them might have gotten tired of paying for what he thought wasn’t a good enough review, or simply tired of paying at all. It’s a possibility. Your landlord is on the list.”
“How do you know they’re bribes?”
“A sequence of sums next to each name. What else could they be?”
“Who else besides Aldo?”
“From Tuscany, only him and Luca Verdini. The other two are small-timers from Piedmont and Sicily. Four names in all. I’m surprised Luca agreed to the bribe. I thought he had a great start without Michele’s help. A lot of other vintners were starting to praise him, but I guess he couldn’t resist the great Mantelli blessing.”
“Aldo said he was never asked to pay anything.” Nico believed him.
“He would, wouldn’t he?”
“You think he’s the murderer?”
“He certainly had good reason, but I don’t know anything beyond that. It’s up to your friend to find out, with your help.”
“After you spoke to Aldo, he told me you had a private conversation with Cinzia.”
“Yes.”
Nico sat back in his chair, keeping his eyes on her.
Diane met his gaze, then laughed. “Is that your interview-room stare? I’m supposed to confess under your penetrating gaze. My Siamese cat used to do that when I didn’t give her the food or the toy she wanted. She’d jump on my lap and stare me down. She could stare for hours. You probably can too.” Diane raised her arms in surrender. “All right, I’ll tell you what I told her. That she was the only woman Michele had ever truly loved. He’d told me that only once, on a night when he was very, very drunk, way before the gout stopped him from binging. I believed him and still do. Cinzia leaving him that abruptly hurt him so deeply that he found refuge in being mean and selfish. He apologized for that, but said he couldn’t help it.”
“In other words, blame the woman. First the mother, then Cinzia.”
“Yes, the usual out for many men, but in his case he had reason. I believe he did love only her. At least he believed it.”
Nico wondered if Cinzia believed it now too. He hoped she wouldn’t blame herself for his actions or his death in any way. He wanted to talk to her. He drank more of his wine. “Why did you erase the bad Ferriello wine review from your husband’s computer?”
“I erased everything, not just that review. It gave me great pleasure to undo my husband’s meanness, his fraudulent work. There will be no more ‘Michele Mantelli Wine Critic’ blog. No more Vino Veritas.” She picked up a cantuccino and bit into it. “Mmm. Delicious, even dry. These are the best cantuccini I’ve ever had.”
“Alba, who waited on you, was the one who made them.”
“She should go commercial with these.”
“She’s thinking about it.” Or at least, Tilde was.
“Don’t think about it, go Nike. Just do it. If she needs any help with packaging or marketing, she can count on me.”
Nico rested his arm near the candle so he could see his watch.
Diane caught him looking. “It is late, and I’ve kept you here too long. I hope I’ve earned your time.”
She hadn’t told him anything he didn’t know, but he was telling the truth when he said, “I enjoyed talking to you.” Looking at her, he determined that she didn’t need looks to be attractive. Her intelligence was enough.
“Good. You’ve made me feel infinitely better. Thank you.” Diane stood up and double kissed his cheeks.
Nico watched Diane Severson walk away with a model’s long-legged stride. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of her.
EIGHT
Saturday morning, Tilde ushered Nico and OneWag into her kitchen. This room was a first for OneWag. He had already greeted Tilde with his single wag. Now, it was time to explore the brand-new smells.
Nico stayed in the doorway. He had many memories attached to this kitchen. He and Rita had eaten countless breakfasts in the wood-floored room that belonged to a previous century. Two old, mismatched armoires and a fat bureau stood against the walls in place of cabinets. Under the one window, a long oak table that had once been in a refectory served as counter space. Now, it displayed two cakes. One wall held a vast array of pots and pans so clean they gleamed. A waist-high fireplace was wedged into the corner. In the center of the room, a round table covered by a white lace tablecloth was already set for breakfast with Tilde’s good china. The stove and refrigerator were the only modern appliances in sight.
Tilde noticed the softness in Nico’s eyes. She patted his arm. “They were happy times.”
“Very,” Nico said. He turned to give Tilde a quick embrace for understanding him. “Today is happy too. Where’s your beautiful daughter?”
“Doing her granddaughterly duty. Elvira always has to come first. You know that.”
“She isn’t having breakfast with us?”
“No. She isn’t very good at sharing Stella. Sit down, I’ve just made coffee. Enzo has gone to pick Stella up.” Elvira lived near the restaurant, Tilde and Enzo in the other half of the old town, a good fifteen-minute walk from Elvira’s home. Nico suspected the choice of location was Tilde’s.
Nico sat in one of the chairs around the table. Tilde poured coffee into a delicate cup.
Enzo walked in. “Ciao, Nico.”
Nico stood up. “Buongiorno.”
The doorway filled with a sudden splash of bright blue. “Zio Nico!”
Nico opened his arms, and Stella rushed into them.
“Ooh, I’ve missed you.” Stella said, looking at Nico’s strong face with its deepening wrinkles and the smiling eyes. She stroked his cheek. Good, solid Nico, who was always so kind to her. When she’d moved to Florence at the beginning of the year to start her job as a museum guard at the Opera del Duomo Museum, he had written long weekly emails encouraging her and giving her strength. He’d wanted to call, to visit, as had her parents, but she’d asked them not to. She needed to be alone, but the emails were more than welcome.
OneWag looked up at Stella and barked. She picked him up, burying her nose in his fur. Everything at home seemed the same, and yet it wasn’t, or a
t least, she wasn’t. She was stronger and more independent now.
“Sit down everyone,” Tilde said. She led Stella to the table. When she had come home last night, Tilde couldn’t keep her hands off her beautiful, sweet daughter. Almost six months had passed since she’d left. Staying away from Florence had been painful. Many times she had been tempted to drive to the city and hide somewhere in the museum simply to watch her daughter, breathe in her presence. She realized what a silly thought it was. She never would have been able to just watch. The need to hug Stella, to talk to her would have overwhelmed her. She had since made peace with talking to her in emails. Stella would email back at most a paragraph, reassuring her all was well. Once a week, Stella would call on FaceTime, telling them about the people she met at the museum, going into details on the art and signing off with, “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I love you.”
“Sit,” Tilde said. “The coffee’s getting cold.”
“And I’m starved.” Stella sat between Nico and Enzo, the only two men in her life now. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all the attention she was getting at home, though loving it too. “I hear there’s been another murder.”
Tilde’s sharp voice cut her off. “Please, Stella!” Last year’s murder had weighed heavily on all of them.
Nico squeezed Stella’s hand. He hadn’t seen her in almost six months. She had called only twice, when she was worried about her parents. She looked tired and too thin. “I hear you have something special to tell us.”
“I’ll tell you after I’ve filled my stomach with Mamma’s cooking.” As Tilde poured coffee for the four of them, Stella brought over the two cakes that had been sitting on the refectory table. “My favorites! Mamma, thank you. I’m going to get fat this weekend.”
“You need it,” Enzo said and took the two cakes away from her. “Tell us the news now, please, if you don’t want your mother to have a heart attack.”
Stella laughed. “Mamma’s too young for that.” She sat back down and pushed the cakes back in front of her. “I’ll only tell you if I can talk with my mouth full.”
“At twenty-two, you can do whatever you want,” Enzo said. “Just remember not to do that in front of your grandmother. Did you tell her?”
“No, Babbo. You come first.” Stella cut a slice of semolina cake dotted with raisins and crystallized fruit and offered it to Nico. He pushed the plate back. “Eat and tell us.”
Stella dug her fork and held it up in front of her. She wasn’t being fair to them. “My good news is that I’ve been promoted. I even got a small raise.” The loaded fork went into her mouth.
Enzo hugged her. Tilde clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from tearing. Nico patted her back. “So soon. That’s wonderful.”
“I’m not surprised,” Enzo said. Tilde nodded. Her daughter deserved much more and would ultimately get what she deserved. Tilde had no doubts.
Stella continued to eat. She had taken it upon herself to be more than a guard for the area she was in charge of. She entertained the visitors with her knowledge of the works: The Penitent Magdalen by Donatello that had moved her to tears the first time she had seen her, Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise restored to a golden sheen, each panel a story all its own. The most moving of all was Michelangelo’s Pietà. The director of the Duomo had noticed her involvement with visitors and promoted her to guide.
After polishing off two slices of each cake, Stella turned to Nico. “Someone you know has come to visit the museum several times. You’ll never guess who.”
“Gogol.”
“No, although he would love it. You should book a tour with me and bring him.”
“Not a bad idea. I’ll suggest it.”
Tilde stood up to make more coffee. “Gogol has only ever gone as far as Panzano. Florence would terrify him.”
“Show him pictures of the Gates of Paradise,” Stella suggested. “That might convince him.”
“Who, then?” Enzo asked.
“Daniele, Salvatore’s brigadiere. He only knows about Venetian artists, so he’s full of curiosity about our art. He’s a wonderful listener and can be quite funny too.”
“Good for him,” Nico said, noticing a slight frown appear on Enzo’s forehead.
“You’ve seen him outside the museum?”
“Yes, we had coffee after work.” She regretted having mentioned Daniele in front of her father. Daniele had been involved in last year’s murder investigation, but then, so had Nico.
“He’s a nice boy,” Tilde said to put Enzo at ease. “Am I right, Nico?”
“Daniele is a piece of bread,” Nico said, using the Italian expression he had learned last year. It meant Daniele was good and kind.
Enzo looked at his watch. “Ehi, it’s time we got to the restaurant.” He stood up and took his plate to the sink. “Nico, I need a favor.”
“I’m yours.”
“The other day I ordered three cases of ColleVerde wine thanks to Mantelli’s recommendation. I got a bill, but the wine won’t be delivered until Monday. I could use a case tonight.”
“I’ll pick up all three cases this afternoon.”
“Thanks.”
“You’d better hide the bill from your mother,” Tilde said. Elvira’s hawk eyes examined every invoice, and her arthritic hand wrote the checks. “She’ll burst a blood vessel if she knows you listened to Mantelli.”
“I’ve already taken care of it.”
“Good.” Tilde started to clear the table.
Stella stopped her. “Stop, Mamma. I’ll clean up. I’ll see you at the restaurant. Tell Alba she’s got a helper for the weekend.”
“She knows.” Tilde dropped a kiss on Stella’s head, waved to Nico, took off her apron and was out the door. Enzo blew a kiss at Stella and followed.
“I’m glad Daniele is taking advantage of what Florence has to offer,” Nico said as he helped clear the table.
“He seems very eager to learn.”
Nico wondered if that eagerness had more to do with Stella than the art on display. Stella was just as beautiful. But he said nothing. Stella seemed lost in thought.
Stella threw out the coffee grinds and rinsed the two mokas. She liked Daniele’s company, his enthusiasm, his innocence. The second time they had coffee together, she didn’t want him to leave. She walked him to the bus depot behind the Santa Maria Novella train station. As he got on the bus, she had reached up and kissed his cheek. The redness that bloomed on his cheeks had made her smile.
Nico stopped at the Ferriello vineyard before going home. OneWag jumped out, looking for Arben.
Cinzia heard the car and came to the open door of the welcome center to see who it was. “Ciao. Nico. Aldo’s not here. Salvatore asked us to give official statements about our whereabouts on the day Mantelli was poisoned. He wanted us separately, so Aldo went first.”
That explained what she was wearing: a simple loose beige dress that covered her arms and knees. Cinzia’s usual uniform was tight slacks and even tighter Ferriello top.
Nico walked over and kissed her cheeks. “I came to see you, actually. Do you have a moment?” Behind him, OneWag leapt after a tennis ball flying across the parking lot.
“That’s a happy dog,” Cinzia said stepping back inside. “I wish I could say the same for me.”
“You’re worried?”
“I’m definitely scared. Did you know Aldo and Mantelli were at Il Falco at the same time Tuesday night?”
“I did.”
“Thank God Mantelli’s wife was there too. She has a much stronger reason for killing Mantelli than Aldo does.”
On the selling counter, Nico noticed an open bottle of wine and a half-empty glass. It was only ten-thirty.
Cinzia caught him looking. “Wine calms me down. Join me.”
“No, thanks.” He took both her hands and sat her down nex
t to him on the bench. “Did Perillo tell you that the investigation is going to be in the hands of a captain from the Nucleo Investigativo?”
“Yes, he did. It makes things so much worse. Salvatore, Daniele, all the carabinieri at the station know us. We’re good people, and Aldo would never kill anyone.”
“I know that, but you have to tell the truth now. Both of you have to.”
Cinzia took her hands back and sat up straight. “We have.”
“I wish I’d come earlier, before Aldo went to the station.”
“He told the truth yesterday. Salvatore will remember what he said, and Aldo will tell the truth today.”
“What about you? Have you been telling the truth?”
Cinzia reached for the glass and took a long sip. “Of course I have.”
“Omitting something is just as bad as lying, Cinzia.”
“Since when have you picked up a judge’s gavel?”
“I’m not judging anyone. It’s not my place. I’m trying to help. If you don’t tell the whole story about you and Mantelli, Capitano Tarani will find out. Perillo would have found out too. It’s just a matter of putting two and two together.”
Cinzia finished her wine and started pouring herself another glass. Nico tried to stop her. She slapped his hand away. “Fuck off, Nico. What do you know about anything?” She filled her glass and held it to her chest.
“Maybe nothing. Maybe I have it all wrong, but this is what I think may have happened. The name Ferri is on Mantelli’s list of vintners who paid him for a good review. Mantelli could never give the man who stole his love a good review, but as long as he got paid, he wouldn’t give him a bad one, either. Aldo is not a man who bows down to threats. He would have risked losing his vineyard rather than pay Mantelli.”
Cinzia said nothing.
“You paid in his place.”
Cinzia opened her eyes wide. “I did? If I paid him, why would Michele write that terrible review? His wife read it aloud to me, you know. He wrote that Aldo cheated, used grapes from another region. Why would he do that if I’d paid him?”
The Bitter Taste of Murder Page 12