The Bitter Taste of Murder

by Camilla Trinchieri

  “Loredana? You think she has something to do with Mantelli’s murder?”

  “She is one who has death in her heart.”

  “What are you saying? What do you know?”

  “I know only the poet’s verses. I go now. Monday, if I live. Sunday, I am in church with the Holy Mother.”

  Gogol loved being enigmatic. Nico occasionally thought it was a ploy for attention. “I’ll be there Monday, but let me drive you home. I’m going to pick up some wine at the Verdini vineyard.”

  “Nelli’s boots will walk me home.” He bent down to scratch OneWag’s head. “Go with your master. Keep him safe.”

  OneWag padded over to where the car was parked and waited for Nico to open the door.

  Nico pulled into the ColleVerde parking lot and parked next to a Prius and a Mercedes. As soon as he opened his car door, OneWag leaped over his lap and sped down the path, looking for Contessa. “No manure,” Nico called out just in time to see Verdini’s Irish setter greet OneWag. They checked each other’s smells, and then off they went. Nico took his time walking down the path, wondering if he should line his vegetable garden fence with geraniums. A slight welcome breeze stroked Nico’s face. The house and selling shed sat on a crest. The vineyards lay below. He looked down to see Contessa running between fenced vines, OneWag chasing her. His dog would come back filthy, tired and very happy. Gogol’s words returned to him. Was his friend right? Was he being childish by not acknowledging the warmth he felt in Nelli’s presence? For choosing loneliness over the complications of a new relationship? Maybe love or something close to it was in his heart, but he was scared. And being scared was more than childish—perhaps it was stupid.

  “Buongiorno,” said a man walking up the path toward Nico, carrying a bag full of bottles.

  Nico greeted him back.

  “Here, taste the ’15 vintage.” His German accent was strong. “It is superior. There are only a few bottles left.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  The man hurried past him, bent to one side from the weight of his bottles.

  Nico continued to walk down the path. As he reached the selling shed, he heard a woman’s voice. “You were friends.”

  “Only business friends.”

  Nico recognized Verdini’s voice. “Buongiorno,” he said, stepping inside the small veranda.

  Loredana, seated in a chair, looked up at him with her large blue eyes. “You again.” Even frowning she looked beautiful, with her long lacy dress draped over her chair.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Not in the least.” Verdini stood up and shook hands. Nico thought he detected relief in his voice. “Signorina Cardi was just about to leave.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” She stared at Nico’s face. “You’re not following me, are you?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “You’re friends with the maresciallo, and he thinks I killed Mica. That’s why.” Her words came out slightly slurred. She was still high.

  “I’m here to pick up three cases of wine for Sotto Il Fico,” Nico said.

  “Of course.” Verdini stood. Nico was sure now of the relief on his face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t deliver. I’ll go get them.”

  Loredana watched Verdini’s back as he crossed the path and hurried into the house.

  “Did all go well at the carabinieri station?” Nico asked.

  “I’m still free. So is Diane, who has more reasons to want him dead than I do.”

  “What reason would you have?”

  “I loved him. He was going to leave me. I saw the signs. I’m good at catching on to the bad stuff. I’ve had a lot of that in my life.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you.” She turned away from Nico and looked down at the vineyards below. She felt herself tremble. She wanted to shut up, but the pentobarbital l had torn down her usual barriers. She felt free, which was good. Scared too. Maybe she’d taken too many. She’d been able to hold herself together with that maresciallo, who was eating her up with his eyes. The young one was nice. He’d smiled at her as though they were friends. “Everyone only sees my looks and fawns over me. No one bothers with what’s inside. Mica certainly didn’t. He just wanted to show me off.” She turned around and pointed a finger at Nico. “You know what’s funny?”

  Nico shook his head.

  “Diane. His wife. She caught on right away that I had a suitcase full of crap inside me. She advised me to leave Mica. I thought she just wanted him back. But no, she was worried for me. She took me in, her husband’s girlfriend. Even gave me some money. Does that make any sense to you? I like her and all, but I’m getting out. I’ve got other plans.”

  Nico looked at his watch. Verdini was taking his time getting those cases.

  “He’s hoping I’ll leave.”

  “Why would he?”

  Loredana giggled and leaned over the table. “He’s attracted to me. I can tell, but he doesn’t want to be disloyal to Mica. They were very good friends.”

  Nico tried to keep his eyes away from her chest, now in full display. “What makes you think they were friends?”

  “All those wonderful reviews. That’s what you do for a friend.”

  “When did you meet Mantelli?”

  “Easter last year. I came to Greve for the weekend with a girlfriend. Mica was eating at the same restaurant, at the table next to mine.” She sat up, excitement in her face. “And guess who was sitting next to him?”

  “Luca Verdini?”

  “Yes, yes. See? They were friends.” A proud smile on her face.

  She reminded Nico of a child who’d just found a lost toy. “And you think he knows about the money.”

  “I know he does. I’m good at catching on to these things. It helps me survive.”

  What a sad, beautiful woman. And no, there was no way to exclude “beautiful” when thinking of her. “Did Diane send you here?”

  She tossed her long hair from one side to the other. “No one sends me anywhere. I have my own plans. Ah, here’s Luca.”

  Verdini came out of the house pushing a cart loaded with the three cases. “I apologize for taking so long,” he said, avoiding Loredana’s gaze. “I’ll walk this to your car.”

  Nico could easily have taken the cart, but he sensed that Verdini was trying not to deal with his female visitor.

  “Can you whistle for Contessa? My dog went off with her.”

  Verdini put two fingers in his mouth and produced a piercing sound. Two minutes later, Contessa came leaping up the path on her long graceful legs, her ears flopping with each leap. It took another minute for OneWag to scramble into view, panting hard. “Good boy,” Nico said. No bad smells this time.

  Nico turned to Loredana and said, “Arrivederci.”

  Loredana gave him her best smile and wiggled her fingers at him. Now she had Luca to herself. He was handsome, divorced. He had money. They could share. A new life with Luca. She blinked at the Irish setter, who stared back at her, sniffing the air. Did she stink? She widened her eyes to see better. The dog was dancing. She blinked again. The dog became fuzzy. Sleep. She needed sleep.

  Loredana rested her head in her arms and closed her eyes. Mica was dead. At least he couldn’t leave her now. Luca, alive. Nothing wrong with dreams. She heard the buzz of a bee. Footsteps. The squeak of the cart. Then nothing.

  “I don’t know why that woman came here,” Verdini told Nico as they both pushed the cart up the path. “I don’t understand what she wants. She keeps saying I was Mantelli’s good friend and now that he’s gone . . . and then she stops there and looks at me with those big pleading eyes as if I’m the solution to all her troubles.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s high on something.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s clear. I’m sorry for her loss, but I can’t help her.�
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  They reached Nico’s car. Nico opened the door, pushed the seat forward. Verdini handed him the crates one by one. Nico dropped them in. OneWag jumped up on the passenger seat, rewarding himself for deserving a “Good boy” from the boss.

  “A Fiat 500 was my first car,” Verdini said. “I wish I’d kept it.”

  “What do you drive now?”

  Verdini pointed to the blue Prius, the only other car in the lot.

  Nico had assumed that was Loredana’s car. “How did she get here?”

  “Diane dropped her off. I’m now going to call her to pick her up.”

  “Ah, that’s right. You know each other.”

  A questioning look appeared on Verdini’s face, quickly dismissed. “I do, thanks to my ex-wife. They’re in similar businesses. Diane does textiles and design, Mirella furniture.”

  “You had dinner with Diane the night before her husband died.”

  “Yes, I did. At Il Falco. Mantelli was there too. Diane was hoping to have a word with him. I was there for support.”

  “She spoke to him?” Nico wanted to hear Verdini tell him what happened, in case it varied from what Perillo had said.

  “Yes, I went with her. He was in a foul mood, kept saying his whiskey tasted like shit. She lectured him about drinking making his gout worse. He told her to fuck off. I pulled her away. In his mood, he might have struck her. Women are funny. After what he did to her, you’d think she wouldn’t care if he drank himself to death.”

  “What did he do to her?”

  “He cleaned out his bank account and probably stashed it in Switzerland, Lichtenstein, or some Caribbean island. She knew he’d written her out of the will, but that money also belongs to their son.”

  “If she finds it.”

  “I told her to get the Italian finance officials involved. They’re so hungry for tax money, they’ll ferret it out.” Verdini punched some numbers into his cell phone. Nico waited.

  “Diane, please, come and get your sick friend. She needs help.” He clicked off.

  Nico held out his hand. Verdini shook it. “I’ll come back next week to pick up some wine for myself.”

  “I can get it for you now.”

  “No. It will give me an excuse to come up here again. Your vineyard is a feast for the eyes, and my dog has found a friend.”

  “I just hope this heat doesn’t keep up, or it’s going to hurt us.” His expression was grim. “You’re both welcome to come any time. No need to buy. Arrivederci.”

  “See you soon.” Nico got in the car and watched Verdini walk away. As soon as he was out of sight, Nico called Perillo. “How’s it going with Tarani?”

  “I can’t talk right now. He’s bringing us up to date. Tonight, after dinner. I’ll come to the restaurant.”

  “Good. Don’t let him get to you. You’ll solve this right under his nose.”

  “Thanks. We’ll talk later.” They clicked off in unison. Nico started the car. “Off the seat!” he ordered.

  After a pleading look that got him nowhere, the dog obeyed with a low grumble.

  Capitano Tarani was circling the room again, his boots hitting the floor hard. The room had been cleared quickly of all food by Vince and Dino, who happily helped themselves to Perillo’s leftovers. Loredana Cardi had made her statement, signed it and left over an hour ago. Not even her beauty had softened Tarani’s grim face.

  “I’ve read Mantelli’s will, notarized exactly two weeks ago. He left his wife nothing, which of course is against Italian law. Wives and children cannot be disinherited. Mantelli hadn’t yet divorced her, nor had they filed for a separation. She will get what is due to her. To his son, he leaves the bulk of his money, except for two thousand euros that go to a Giuseppe Risso.”

  “That’s his gardener,” Daniele said.

  Tarani continued, clearly not interested to know more about Giuseppe Risso. “There are no other codicils. We’ve spoken to the manager of the bank where Mantelli had a joint account with his wife. He confirmed there were only a few thousand euros left in it.” Round and round the room he went, like a circus horse. “I pressed him to work backward to pinpoint when big sums of money were withdrawn. I said it was of the utmost urgency. Mantelli might have been the victim of a blackmailer, but blackmailers don’t usually kill their victims, so I’m not giving that theory much weight. He’ll get back to me soon. We have also contacted the department of finance to look into where Mantelli’s money ended up. However, his money is only of tangential importance to our case.”

  Then why the utmost urgency? Perillo wondered. His fingers kept twirling a cigarette. He was ready to sell his soul to the devil for a smoke. And it was way past his afternoon coffee break. “You don’t think he might’ve been killed because he wouldn’t reveal where the money was?”

  “Seems pointless, but it is a possibility. Now, I want a factual account of what happened between this Aldo Ferri and Mantelli on Tuesday afternoon. Only the facts, please. Leave the interpretations to me.”

  Perillo, seated at his desk in the middle of the room, was getting a neck ache trying to keep eye contact. “I was not present at the dispute between the two. What I know was referred to me.”

  “By whom?”

  “Connor Domenico Doyle, who was here when you came in.”

  “The American who walked out loudly chewing a pear?”

  “He goes by the name of Nico,” Daniele chipped in.

  “He left out Connor when he introduced himself. A man who has refused his first name. Odd.”

  “His father was Irish, his mother Italian.”

  “A volatile combination, I’ve been told. So he chose the mother. How long has he been here?” He looked at Daniele for the answer, since the young brigadiere knew the man’s nickname.

  “One year, Capitano.”

  Tarani turned to Perillo. “Could he in any way be involved in Mantelli’s murder?”

  “No. He happened to be in the piazza when the incident took place. Aldo Ferri is his landlord.”

  “So Doyle will give a biased account. Were there any other witnesses?”

  “Yes, quite a few.” Perillo was groaning inside. He hadn’t bothered to get the names of the people in the piazza. He’d relied solely on Nico’s account. Tarani was going to give him an ulcer. “Aldo Ferri is a respected man in Gravigna. Everyone will be biased in his favor. Mantelli was not well-liked. Ferri himself described what happened in his statement. I have it here. It’s a straightforward account.” Perillo held out the two sheets.

  Tarani read the statement as he continued his walk about the room. Once done, he threw the stapled sheets at Perillo. They landed on his desk.

  “Good throw, Capitano,” Daniele said.

  Tarani rewarded Daniele with a surprising smile. Daniele made a mental note of it. Tarani warmed to compliments.

  “I was the captain of the basketball team at the University of Pisa.”

  “A fast, difficult game,” Daniele said.

  “Yes, indeed.” The circling continued. “It seems to me that we have three strong suspects in the murder of Michele Mantelli. His wife, Diane Severson, Mantelli’s girlfriend, Loredana Cardi, and Aldo Ferri. What about Ferri’s wife? She had a motive, saving her husband’s business.”

  “We have her statement. She has an impeccable alibi for Tuesday during the day. At ten o’clock that evening, she drove to Mantelli’s villa hoping to talk to him, but she saw from the open window that Mantelli’s girlfriend was with him. She left without speaking to him.”

  “And you believe her.”

  “I do, since the girlfriend stated that the only people in the villa were herself, Mantelli and the gardener. I think the girlfriend would have been only too happy to add another to the suspect list.”

  “Any other possible suspects?”

  Daniele spoke up. “The ga
rdener lived with Mantelli and therefore had access. He might have known about the two thousand euros in the will, but he’s a simple man who wouldn’t know what to do with that money. He just wants to take care of the house and the garden until he dies.”

  “I agree,” Perillo said. “Mantelli also had a part-time housekeeper, Ida.”

  “The one you were going to call in?”

  “The very one.”

  “Bring her in tomorrow. I presume you don’t mind working on the Lord’s Day.”

  “Murder does not pray.” Perillo looked back at Daniele, who was already on the phone dialing Peppino for Ida’s phone number. Poor Daniele would have to miss Mass. Perillo looked at the time on his cell phone. “We have half an hour before the Il Falco waiter arrives. I suggest a coffee break. There’s a café next door.”

  “Excellent idea. What can we bring you, Brigadiere Donato?”

  Daniele felt heat rise on his cheeks. He wasn’t used to being left behind. “A fruit juice, thank you. Apricot if they have it.”

  “It shall be done.”

  Perillo looked back at Daniele and winked. “You will forgive me, Capitano, but it is my habit to have Brigadiere Donato accompany me to the café.”

  Tarani stiffened. “Of course. My apologies.”

  “Come on, Dani. We all need a break.”

  With a bright-red face, Daniele rushed to open the door for his two superiors.

  NINE

  Enzo helped Nico unload the three cases of ColleVerde into the front room of Sotto Il Fico. As they entered one after the other, Elvira sat up in her armchair and peered at the front door like a hawk that had just spotted a sudden movement. She was neatly dressed in her Saturday outfit, a loose green shirtwaist that covered most of her. Tomorrow, on Sunday, she would wear white to honor Jesus.

  “Buonasera, Elvira,” Nico called out.

  She ignored him. “Enzo, did you get a receipt?”

  “Yes, Mamma. All done. Go back to sleep.” Enzo set down the first case behind the bar.

  “I sleep in my bed. Here, I keep my eyes wide open. That terrible wine you ordered behind my back belongs in the basement. I don’t want it anywhere near me. I can’t believe my son listened to that terrible wine critic, God rest his soul.”