The Bitter Taste of Murder

by Camilla Trinchieri

  “Did anyone else approach Signor Mantelli?” Perillo asked.

  “Maresciallo,” Tarani warned, sottovoce.

  “Yes,” Yunas said. “When I served him his second whiskey.”

  Sotto Il Fico was closed. The tables had been cleared; the last run of the dishwasher was churning away. Enzo had taken Elvira home. Tilde was catching up on Stella’s life in Florence while they both wiped down the counters. To give them privacy, Nico went to the bar and poured himself a small whiskey. It was almost midnight, and Perillo still hadn’t called. Nico had sent him a text, but no answer yet. Drink in hand, he stood in the open door and let the cool night air wash over him. Across the street, the blue light of a TV filled a window. When he stood to one side, he could make out two flickering figures. A man’s voice, then a woman’s. “Amore” floated out of the open window, followed by sighs, heavy breathing, long groans of pleasure. Two people making love. How long had it been for him? Over two years. Once Rita got sick, he had only been able to hold her in his arms, kiss her lightly on her lips, her face, her hair, her hands. Bare touches because she hurt so much. When it was over and she lay on the bed with her hands folded over her chest, he had kissed her feet and said goodbye for the last time.

  “There you are!”

  For a moment Nico thought the voice came from the TV set.

  “Nico!” The voice came from down the hill. He couldn’t see who she was, as the street lamps down the hill weren’t lit. What little light there was came from open windows.

  Nico closed the door of the restaurant behind him and walked down toward the voice.

  “I was worried something had happened. I couldn’t find your car.”

  “Nelli!” She was holding OneWag. The dog saw him, squiggled out of her arms and ran to him.

  “I knew you wouldn’t abandon Rocco.”

  Nico leaned over as OneWag planted his front paws on Nico’s legs, his head reaching up as far as it could go.

  Nico leaned down and ruffled his fur. “Hey boy, you miss me?”

  “He missed you so much, he came to my studio and would have stayed with me all night.” Nelli stepped into the pool of light from the restaurant lamp. She was in her usual work outfit: wide-legged jeans and a man’s shirt several sizes too big for her. Both were splattered with paint, Nico noticed, as were her hands and her lovely open face.

  “This hill is going to keep us young or kill us. Where did you park your car? I was going to leave Rocco inside. I don’t like him wandering in the dark. He’s small, and cars won’t see him.” Nelli walked up a bit more and sat down on the church steps. OneWag dropped down in front of her feet.

  The sight of the two of them sitting together, both looking at him, made Nico smile. “You two are picture-worthy.”

  Nelli reached down and tugged at OneWag’s ear. “We are a pretty pair, aren’t we, Rocco?” OneWag tilted his head toward her hand to give her a better grip of his ear. “I guess that’s a yes.” She looked over at Nico, who was still standing by the restaurant door. “Now that I see you didn’t rush off with Perillo on the hunt for a murderer, where did you park your car?”

  “Next to the church, in Don Alfonso’s parking spot. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “You’ll end up in hell, and yes, a limoncello, thank you.”

  “That’s cough syrup.”

  “Cough syrup to you, delicious to me.”

  Nico stepped inside and went around the bar to open the small refrigerator. The bottle of limoncello was kept in the freezer.

  Tilde heard him in the kitchen and called out. “Why are you still here?”

  “I’m getting Nelli a drink.” And waiting for Perillo to get back to me.

  Stella let out a squeal. “Nelli!” She came running out of the kitchen and rushed outside. Nico poured limoncello into a small glass. He took advantage of the two women catching up on their news to text Perillo one more time.

  “Nico, come out here,” Stella called.

  The two women were kissing each other’s cheeks as he walked out.

  “I’ll come to the studio tomorrow,” Stella said. “I can’t wait to see your work. And I’ll come to the show, I promise.”

  Nelli pointed a finger at Stella. “See the work first, and no favors. I need your honest opinion. Saying you love it when you don’t is no help at all. Only the truth.”

  Stella laughed. “That will be easy. I love your paintings. Ciao. I have to get back to the kitchen.” Another kiss on the cheek and she slipped back inside.

  As Nico handed Nelli her limoncello, he heard his phone chirp. “Excuse me.” He took the phone out of his pocket and clicked into his messages.

  sorry. i can’t make it. i’ll explain tomorrow.

  Nelli noticed Nico’s brow furrow. She sat back down on the church steps, sipped from her glass and gave him time to digest whatever news he had just gotten.

  Nico looked at the time on his phone, turned it off and slipped it back in his pocket. Perillo’s response didn’t convince him. Too abrupt. It was already twelve-fifteen. Why hadn’t Perillo called earlier? Something must have happened.

  “Come sit with me and Rocco. We like company.”

  Nico walked over and sat down. “I was supposed to meet Perillo tonight. He wanted to talk things over with me. He canceled just now.”

  “That worries you?”

  “Yes, it does. It’s unlike him to do that so suddenly.”

  “There could be an emergency.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. I hope he’s okay. His wife, too, and Daniele.”

  “Maybe he was just in a foul mood. Another murder investigation can’t be fun.”

  Nico leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Of course! It’s Capitano Tarani. Thank you!”

  Nelli drank the last drop of limoncello. “Who’s he?”

  Nico explained. Nelli listened as she licked her glass clean.

  “Poor Salvatore,” she said, resting the glass on the step. “He’s such a proud man. He’s become a good friend, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes. I’ve been lucky. Just over a year ago, I came to Gravigna only knowing Tilde’s family, and now I need two hands to count my friends. You’re one of them, in case you don’t know it. OneWag, what are you doing?”

  The dog had jumped up on the step and was licking Nelli’s empty glass. “Silly dog, you’ll get drunk.” She took OneWag in her arms and kissed the top of his head, glad for the interruption. She wanted so much more than friendship.

  “I’m very worried about Zio Peppino,” she said, latching on to something that had been on her mind since yesterday.

  “Mantelli’s gardener?”

  She let go of the dog. OneWag settled himself on her lap, licking his mouth looking for the sweet taste from the glass. “Yes. He’s beside himself, saying that his life is over, that he might as well end it. It’s heartbreaking to see him like this.”

  “This is about Mantelli’s death?”

  “It’s the villa. He just found out Mantelli sold it a few days before he died. His wife has been trying to explain to Peppino that she can’t stop the sale from going through. It was Mantelli’s house before they married. I feel for him; that place is his life.”

  “Maybe the new owners will want him to stay on.”

  “Signora Mantelli tried. She introduced Peppino, and the owners told him they were sure he was a hardworking man, but the time had come for him to rest his tired body.”

  Nico wondered what possessed some people to hurt for no reason at all. Did it make them feel superior? He couldn’t understand it. “I’m sorry, Nelli. For him and for you. I know he means a lot to you.”

  “He’s a good, sweet man.”

  “Someone else will hire him.”

  “I’ve started asking around. The sad thing is, Peppino doesn’t want a new job. He want
s the one he’s had all his life. He was much more than a gardener. He ran the house. It was his home. Where is he going to live?”

  “I’m sure Mantelli left him some money in his will.”

  “He did. He told Peppino that the chances he would outlive his employer weren’t good, but just in case, Mantelli was going to leave him two thousand euros.”

  Nico did a mental multiplication. At the current rate, that meant Peppino would receive just over twenty-two hundred dollars. “Mantelli was a stingy man.”

  “Peppino doesn’t want money. He wants to stay and die where he has worked and lived for over sixty years. And now he can’t.” She buried her face in OneWag’s fur. Tears started falling. For Peppino; for Nico, who wouldn’t let her in; for feeling suddenly old and alone.

  Nico watched her shoulders tremble. He didn’t know how to help. Women’s tears always made him freeze up. “I’m sorry, Nelli,” he said. “I wish I could help.”

  Nelli looked up, her wet cheeks shining under the light of the restaurant lamp. “You can.” She lifted his arm and wrapped it around her back. They sat in silence on the church steps for a few minutes, OneWag curled on her lap.

  Nico leaned into Nelli’s shoulder, embarrassment forgotten. It felt good to hold her.

  Tilde and Stella came out of the restaurant, locked the door and said goodnight. Both smiled and muttered something to each other as they walked off.

  Nelli watched them go. A few moments later, she dropped the dog into Nico’s lap. “Your dog has more sense than you do.” She kissed Nico lightly on his lips and stood up. “Goodnight, Nico. See you around.”

  “Do you want a ride home?” Nico asked, already missing the weight of her shoulder against his.

  She waved, not looking back. “No thanks. I live down the hill.”

  Nico knew that, and Nelli knew he knew. He really felt dumb now. “Buonanotte,” he finally managed to call out, although she was already halfway down.

  OneWag jumped off Nico’s lap and headed for the car with a bounce in his step. At last, progress had been made.

  Cinzia was pacing in front of the small farmhouse when Nico and OneWag got home. She rushed to the car. “God, where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling.”

  “I’m sorry. I turned my phone off. What’s the matter?”

  She punched his arm, hard. OneWag growled softly. “Nico, you know perfectly well what’s the matter. I thought we were friends. God damn you and Salvatore, and may that bastard Tarani get bitten by a viper.” OneWag growled as she tried to slap Nico.

  Nico took her hands down from his face and held them. “Cinzia, come upstairs. We’ll sit down and you can tell me what happened.”

  “Come on, Nico; don’t pull that I-don’t-know-anything crap on me.”

  “All I know, from the state you’re in, is that whatever happened involves Aldo.”

  “In the middle of dinner, Tarani, Salvatore and some men I’ve never seen before showed up at the house with a search warrant. No explanation offered. The men slipped on gloves and started going through the rooms, our closets, drawers, everything. I followed them and kept asking, ‘Why are you doing this? What do you think you’re going to find?’ It was horrible. I felt violated. How dare they!”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

  “Oh, sorry? You haven’t even heard the end. Your friend Salvatore is a coward, didn’t want to own up that he was part of this charade.”

  “He didn’t have a choice.”

  Cinzia hit Nico’s arm with another punch. The dog bared his teeth. “Don’t defend him, Nico. Not now. I’m too upset. Do you know what Salvatore had the stomach to say to me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “‘Don’t worry, Cinzia. They have to do this. It’s part of the investigation. I know they won’t find anything.’ It was perfect timing, like something right out of a movie. Salvatore says that and one of Tarani’s men comes into the kitchen. ‘I found this in the tool shed.’ He was holding an opened can of antifreeze.”

  “‘What did you use this for?’ Tarani asked Aldo. Aldo told him it was for our cars. Tarani’s answer was like a stiletto plunged right into my heart. He smirked and said, ‘It’s also useful for killing people.’”

  She started crying. Nico tried to hug her, but she pushed him away. Gulping air to calm down, she sputtered, “Tarani is detaining Aldo on suspicion of murder. They’re on their way to Florence now. I wasn’t allowed to go with him. God, why is this happening? What are we going to do? I curse the day I met Michele Mantelli. Aldo, my sweet Aldo. They think he’s a murderer. I don’t know which way to turn. It’s not true. You know it’s not true.” She clasped his face with both hands and shook it. “It’s not true.”

  Nico took her hands and held them against his chest. “I know that.” Would the Italian justice system be fair to Aldo? It hadn’t been fair to Amanda Knox. Now he knew why Perillo had canceled. “Come with me.” He unlocked the front door and led Cinzia up the stairs.

  Once inside, he sat her down in his one large armchair. “Wine or whiskey?”

  “I don’t care.” Cinzia sank into the big armchair and closed her eyes.

  Nico opened the whiskey bottle, filled two shot glasses and handed one to Cinzia. She looked ravaged.

  He sat across from her on the two-seater sofa and watched Cinzia take a deep swallow with her eyes still shut. “There has to be more than an open bottle of antifreeze to detain him. There has to be some new evidence. What is it?”

  Cinzia let out a long breath. “Aldo is like a child. He’s convinced that if he keeps something to himself, no one will find out about it.” She looked at the glass cradled in her hands. She seemed reluctant to go on.

  “What something?”

  “Aldo didn’t tell the whole truth in his statement.”

  “What did he leave out? Perillo hasn’t said a word to me about Aldo—we were supposed to meet tonight, but he canceled. So please, tell me what you know.”

  She sat back up, her eyes meeting Nico’s. “The waiter who served Mantelli Tuesday night told Tarani that Aldo and Hua Chen, our Chinese buyer, walked up to Mantelli’s table and talked to him, a fact Aldo didn’t bother to tell me and omitted in his statement to Salvatore.”

  “Not a good move, I’ll admit, but talking to Mantelli the night before he died isn’t evidence of murder.”

  “There’s more. The waiter said he had served Mantelli his second whiskey a few minutes before Aldo and Hua Chen came over to his table. After they left, Mantelli called him over complaining that the whiskey didn’t taste right. How Tarani can think Aldo poured antifreeze in the whiskey right in front of Mantelli makes no sense. It takes more than a drop to kill someone, doesn’t it?” She looked at Nico with pleading eyes.

  A tablespoon was enough to kill a man, Perillo had told him. “I’m sure it takes much more. Let me drive you home. You need to get some rest, because tomorrow morning you need to get back to being the feisty, fighting Cinzia I know.”

  “Yes, I’m going to Florence the minute I wake up. Our lawyer is there.”

  “Good. He’ll take care of all the rigamarole the Italian legal system requires. Next, get ahold of your Chinese buyer. Call, text and email. If Aldo didn’t get close enough to Mantelli’s table to alter his drink, he can clear Aldo.” If the prosecutor was willing to believe him. It wasn’t going to be easy, not with Della Langhe in such a hurry to close the case. He wished he understood the Italian Code of Criminal Procedure better. The Penal Code, written during Mussolini’s government, was clear. It made good bedtime reading. The Code of Criminal Procedure, recently rewritten, he found unduly complicated. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

  Nico stood and held out his hand. “I’ll drive you home.”

  She handed him her empty shot glass. “I prefer to walk.” It was no more than a ten- or fifteen-minute trek. “I need to clea
r my head. Thanks for listening and caring. I guess Salvatore let you down too.”

  “I think he was worried I’d warn you.”

  She cocked her head. “Would you have?”

  “Yes, but I would also have stayed with you to make sure the two of you couldn’t skip out. Running away would have only made things worse.”

  “I know that, but it would have been hard to resist. One day all is going well and then, with the snap of a finger, it’s gone. I’m having a hard time making sense of it.”

  “I know.”

  “Yes, you do. You lost your wife.” Cinzia raised herself on tiptoe and leaned toward Nico. OneWag stood up on the sofa with an almost inaudible growl, ready to jump off if needed. “Goodnight, Nico.” She kissed his cheeks. “You are a good friend. Tell your dog I won’t hit you again.”

  “He was just showing off for you. We’ll come downstairs with you. I need to water my vegetables.”

  Nico and the dog stood by the vegetable garden fence and watched Cinzia walk away. Aldo was in trouble, and it wasn’t going to be easy to get him out of it. The only way was to find the real killer, Nico realized. And Perillo was going to help him, like it or not.

  TEN

  Perillo swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. He leaned over the passenger seat and rolled down the window. Nico, on his daily run to town, recognized the car and ran past him.

  “Ehi, Nico, stop. Get in the car. I was coming to see you.”

  Nico kept running.

  Perillo slapped the horn in frustration. Nico was angry. Perillo couldn’t blame him. Well, he was angry too. If Nico had a perfect right to display his feelings—displayed childishly, in Perillo’s opinion—then the maresciallo had a right to explain himself. He put the car in first gear, slipped back onto the road, shifted twice and raced past Nico, spewing gravel from the back tires.

  Juvenile, Nico thought, slowing down. His knees hurt, and his breaths were getting shorter and shorter. He didn’t want Perillo to see the sorry state he would be in if he kept up his normal pace. Slow was good, slower even better. Let the maresciallo wait.