The Bitter Taste of Murder

by Camilla Trinchieri

  Daniele thanked her. The invitation warmed his heart.

  “Tarani needs to know about Loredana,” Perillo said as soon as they reached downstairs. “I want you to check that Ida did go to the doctor on Tuesday, and tomorrow, you’re going to climb back up there and find out what she means by two and two doesn’t always make four.”

  “I’ll be happy to,” Daniele said. He’d go at sunset.

  OneWag started wriggling with excitement as soon as Nico entered the Verdini parking lot. Nico opened his door and the dog scrambled over him, barking in joy. Nico had to laugh as he watched OneWag shoot down the path to find Contessa. “I’ve got a smitten dog,” he would tell Nelli. She would laugh that throaty laugh of hers that managed to undo whatever knots he had in his stomach. “I like her a lot,” he’d confessed to Rita as he arranged the yellow roses beneath her picture. He’d stood there a good half hour. Slowly, the confusion and guilt he’d been feeling since last night evaporated. Was Rita giving him permission to live his new life? He knew he was the one who was afraid of being disloyal, of opening up and caring for a woman again. Afraid to suffer a second time. It was easier to put the burden of his emotions on Rita, as he had done when she was alive.

  “Buongiorno,” a young voice called out halfway up Verdini’s path.

  Nico got out of the car and waved at a slim young woman in a ruffled long white skirt and red top.

  “Buongiorno. I’m here to see Signor Verdini.”

  They walked toward each other. “I’m afraid he’s gone to Siena for the day.” As she reached Nico, she extended her hand. “I’m Ginevra.”

  He smiled and shook her hand. “Nico Doyle.” Ginevra here with Luca gone was exactly what he had hoped to find.

  “Luca told me you might be coming by. How can I help you?” She had a pretty round face behind glasses, with a girl-next-door quality that he instantly liked. She looked no more than thirty.

  “I’d like a case of his red, 2015 if available, but I’d also like to taste his white wine.” That would give him a chance to sit by the shed, enjoy the view and fish for information.

  “Of course.”

  They walked down the path edged with geraniums. Her top was the same red as the flowers. “I’ve always loved geraniums,” she said. “I used to think they kept vipers at a distance, but Luca told me it’s not true. I was miffed.” She shook her head. “Very childish of me.”

  “They’re still nice.”

  “I prefer red roses now. Luca has lots of those in the back garden.”

  Nico wondered if this was her usual welcoming chitchat, a way to put nervous wine buyers at ease. “How long have you worked for him?”

  “Three years. I used to work for another vintner, but I prefer it here.” They had reached the shed. “When there’s no work, I just sit here and look out at the valley. It’s heavenly, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.” He walked to the edge to see where OneWag had ended up down below. He covered his eyes with his hand and finally spotted the two dogs chasing each other along the fence of one large area of vines. “They’re not going to get electrocuted, are they?”

  Ginevra joined him. “They’re fine. We only turn the electricity on at night. Please sit down while I open a bottle of Vermentino. And forgive the chairs. Luca’s getting new ones. At least, that’s what he’s been saying since I started working here.” She smiled as she slipped into the shed.

  Nico sat in the same chair he’d sat in before. It had the best view. The sprinkling of poppies from a few days before had thickened. The sun, midway in the sky, had already made the air too hot, but up here, a slight breeze gave a little reprieve. “I found out about ColleVerde thanks to Michele Mantelli.”

  “It’s so sad about his death,” Ginevra said from inside the shed. The door was halfway open. “He was a nice man. I can’t believe he was murdered.”

  “You knew him?” He heard the air pop of the cork being released from the bottle.

  “Yes.” Ginevra came out of the shed holding the bottle of Vermentino and a white wine glass. “He came here several times, looking for Luca. The last time I saw him was exactly two weeks ago. I’m sorry Luca wasn’t here. Signor Mantelli was upset not to find him.”

  “He wasn’t upset the other times he came and Luca wasn’t here?”

  “The other times he waited for him. I’d try to keep him happy by asking questions about his work, his life. He would sit where you’re sitting now and chat about how much he loved the wine-growing business, how he liked to help struggling vintners whenever he could. He heaped praise on Luca, saying his wines deserved every bit of praise he gave.” She poured two fingers’ worth of wine into the glass and offered it to him.

  “Thanks.” Instead of taking the customary wine tasting sip, he drank it all down. “I like it. I know I should go on and say I taste the hint of cooked apples or honey-coated white peaches or some such”—he’d been reading Mantelli’s blog—“but ‘I like it’ is as far as I’ll go. I’ll take two bottles of this too.” He’d uncork them for his dinner with Nelli on Thursday.

  Ginevra gave him a sideways smile. “‘I like it’ is just fine. Here, let me pour you some more.”

  It wasn’t lunchtime yet, but why not? Maybe he could get her to keep talking. “Thank you.” She filled the glass. “Please join me, Ginevra. I don’t like to drink alone, and I’ll pay for the bottle.”

  “In that case, I will. Thank you.” She got another glass from the shed, sat down next to him and poured herself three fingers’ worth. “Now, tell me about you.” She clinked her glass against his.

  “I don’t need to talk about myself to be happy. I want to know about you and the vineyard.”

  “I have nothing to say except I love this work. Luca is a wonderful boss. My last boss liked to put his hands all over me, that’s why I quit. Luca is a gentleman.”

  “I’ve met Mantelli’s American wife, Diane Severson.” This time, Nico took only a small sip of his wine. “She knows Luca’s ex-wife. I think that’s how Mantelli found out about this vineyard.”

  “I didn’t know that. Mirella was the one who hired me. When I came here, they were at the tail end of their marriage. She left about six months later. I liked her a lot, and that’s all I’ll say.”

  “Diane is a nice woman. Has she ever come by?”

  “Not that I know of. You’re full of questions, aren’t you? Is it because of the murder?”

  “Doesn’t it make you curious?”

  “No, it makes me sad. And it’s none of our business really.”

  “You don’t want the murderer caught?”

  She tilted her head to one side, her eyes studying his face. “I do, but I expect the carabinieri will catch whoever it is. I prefer to worry about the vineyard.” She stood up and polished off her glass. “If this heat keeps up, we’ll have to harvest early. Luca says climate change is going to change the wine business in a big way.” She stood up. “Let me get you your bottles.”

  Nico stood up. It was clear Ginevra had gotten suspicious and wouldn’t be offering any more information, but he was satisfied. One thing she’d said seemed promising. He whistled for OneWag. Once home, he’d consult with Perillo.

  Perillo’s office was uncomfortable, the oversized fan distributing only hot air. Perillo suggested the three of them convene again in the small park across the street from the station. Nico found him sitting on a bench under the shade of an oak tree.

  “You should move your desk out here.” Nico sat on an adjacent bench next to Daniele. “It’s much more bearable.” OneWag, after his usual sniffing examination of Perillo’s boots, sat in front of Daniele and stared.

  Perillo was clicking a number on his cell phone with his cigarette hand. “What do you want from the café? If you’re hungry, Vince says the best is the focaccia stuffed with mortadella and provolone. Dani’s getting an apricot juic
e. You?”

  “Nothing thanks. My stomach is sloshing in wine.”

  “Then you have to eat.” Perillo spoke into the phone. “The usual for me and my brigadiere, plus one La Marinella. We’re in the park. Don’t wait for the pope to die, okay? Ciao.” He clicked off. “The housekeeper Ida says she’s given us Mantelli’s killer. What did Verdini give you?”

  “As I expected, he wasn’t there.” Nico pulled out his shirt to let some air hit his chest. “I spoke to his assistant, Ginevra. You first. Your news sounds more substantial.”

  OneWag, his eyes still focused on Daniele, whimpered. Daniele bent over to scratch his head. “No toy this time. I’m sorry.” OneWag lifted a paw, which Daniele took. “Next time, I promise.”

  Nico snapped his fingers at his dog, who took his paw back, got up and headed off to the farthest part of the park. “Pay no attention to him, Dani. He’s a ruffian. It’s my fault. I’ve spoiled him.”

  “You need to spoil a woman, not a dog.” Perillo put out his cigarette against his shoe and slipped the butt in his portable ashtray.

  Spoiling OneWag was easy, Nico thought. His needs were plain to see. “Who killed Mantelli, according to Ida?”

  Perillo sat back on the bench and spread out his arms in hopes of losing some body heat. “The week before Mantelli died, Ida overheard Loredana threaten to kill him. Apparently, he’d just told her their relationship was over. He was going to pay for her B&B for one more week, then she was on her own.”

  “Do you believe this woman?”

  “I do,” Daniele said. “What reason would she have to lie?”

  “Loredana might have treated her badly,” Nico answered. “Ida could be getting back at her.”

  Daniele jumped to her defense. “She’s a nice woman.”

  Perillo smiled. “She took to our Dani. I think he may have found a Tuscan mamma. And there’s no need for your Dani bloom now.”

  A red-faced Dani lifted his shoulders with a helpless expression on his face. “I can’t help it.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Nico said.

  “Some woman is going to fall in love with you for that blush, heed my words. My wife, for one, thinks it’s adorable. Ah, here comes Renzino.”

  A chubby teenager with a shock of white-blond hair crossed the street with a penguin waddle. The tray in his hand held steady.

  Perillo took one look at him and slapped his forehead. “Holy heaven, what have you done to your hair now? Two days ago, it was fire-engine red. Did you fall into a tub of bleach?”

  Renzino laughed. “Naw, my girlfriend wants to go blond—” he jumped back at seeing a dog at his feet. Having caught an appetizing smell in the air, OneWag had returned. “Does he bite?”

  “No,” Nico reassured him. It always surprised him how many Italians were afraid of even the sweetest-looking dogs. Tilde had explained that a lot of mothers didn’t let their children touch dogs, saying they were dirty or they’d bite. That fear seemed to stay with some of them as adults.

  Perillo picked up his double espresso and drank it down. “So your girlfriend wants you to be blond too?”

  “No. She just wanted to make sure she was going to like the color for herself.” Renzino lifted his wide shoulders. “It’s okay. I got tired of the red. Put the order on the station bill?”

  “That’s right.”

  Nico reached for his wallet. “Let me pay.”

  “No, this one is on the carabinieri. We’re working.”

  “Should I come back for the tray?” Renzino asked, keeping an eye on the dog.

  OneWag was now sniffing the tray’s aroma from a polite distance. He’d learned that frightened humans often kicked.

  “No, I’ll bring it back,” Dani said.

  “Ciao, then.” He ran off.

  “Someone should tell him that if he’s afraid of dogs, he shouldn’t run.” Nico turned his attention back to the murder. “Perillo, do you believe Ida?”

  “She’s a proud person. Made a fuss about not being interviewed, so she could be trying to get attention, but I do believe she heard the fight. Now we have to find out if Loredana followed through on her threat. I know you wanted to talk to her, but at this point, it’s best if you leave her to me.”

  “I agree.”

  “I don’t think Ida has told us everything,” Perillo said.

  “I checked about her call to Mantelli on Wednesday,” Daniele said, eager to defend her. “She did see her doctor that day.”

  “I’m convinced she knows something about Mantelli that she’s not telling us,” Perillo said. “Daniele will further charm his way into her heart and find out what it is. It may have nothing to do with the murder, but as she said, curiosity’s like the fangs of a snake once it bites.” He left the rest unsaid and picked up the tissue wrapped sandwich. “Here, have your La Marinella. Buon appetito.”

  Nico unwrapped it. “It’s enormous.” There was more than an inch of mortadella and cheese in between two layers of thick focaccia.

  “It’ll absorb the wine.”

  “It’ll absorb me.” Nico opened his mouth wide and took a bite. It was luscious. From the corner of his eye, he could see OneWag stealthily approaching again, snout and tail held high in the air.

  “All the café’s sandwiches have women’s names. The owner named each sandwich after one of his five daughters,” Daniele said, after taking a short sip of his fruit juice. “My favorite is L’Arabella. That’s with mozzarella and pesto. I have it for lunch a lot.”

  “The beyond of the beyond, according to Dino, is L’Isabella. Focaccia with layers of salami, prosciutto and mortadella, topped with arugula salad between the layers of meat.”

  Nico swallowed. If he didn’t bring them back to the matter at hand, talk of food might go on until sunset. “Have you told Tarani yet?”

  “I did as soon as we left Ida’s place, without mentioning the something we might not know. He has spoken to Aldo’s Chinese buyer and now agrees that Aldo couldn’t have slipped the poison into Mantelli’s whiskey at the restaurant.”

  “In fact, the poison could have been administered before Mantelli went to the restaurant. Just before or even a few hours earlier.” Nico took another big bite.

  Perillo nodded reluctantly. If that were the case, a lot of time and energy had been wasted. “Forensics reported the alcohol bottles they took from Mantelli’s villa had no trace of methanol. The one whiskey bottle was unopened, and all the glasses had been thoroughly cleaned. I guess giving him the poison at the villa would have been easier for Loredana.”

  “Or anyone else.” Daniele still found it hard to accept Loredana as a killer. “Signora Severson was at the villa Tuesday morning.”

  “But Mantelli wasn’t.”

  “She could have spiked something, then asked or paid Peppino to get rid of it after Mantelli had a drink,” Daniele said. “With Mantelli dead, she gets the money from the sale of the villa.”

  “I’m not dismissing the possibility,” Perillo said, “and we’ll call Peppino in again, but first I have to ask Loredana a few pointed questions.”

  “Is Aldo going to be released now?” Nico asked.

  “Not yet. Della Langhe still thinks everything points to him. His threat in the piazza, the bribes he paid Mantelli to keep him from ruining him—of course, for our prosecutor, it’s the vintners who offered bribes. Mantelli was only guilty of ceding to temptation. According to him, if Aldo didn’t do it at the restaurant, he did it earlier that day.”

  “Aldo has an airtight alibi for earlier in the day. And it was Cinzia who paid Mantelli,” Nico protested. “Aldo knew nothing about it.”

  “It doesn’t matter who paid. The fact is, they had to pay, or he’d put a big dent in their business. Did Ginevra offer anything of interest?”

  Nico tore off a piece of his focaccia and gave it to O
neWag. Delicious as it was, there was no way he could finish it. Some for his mutt, the rest he’d take home. “She made it clear that Mantelli had come over several times recently. When Verdini wasn’t there, he’d wait for him. Last Monday was different. He was upset Verdini wasn’t around. I think maybe Daniele is right. Mantelli could have gone to Il Falco to meet with Verdini. They exchanged phone calls on Sunday. Mantelli then went to visit him on Monday, didn’t find him and got upset.”

  “You think Verdini would have shown up at the restaurant alone, but then gotten stuck doing Mantelli’s wife a favor?” Perillo said. “Or that her being there was part of the plan?”

  Nico shook his head. “I don’t know what purpose that would serve. According to Yunas, there was no exchange of information. Mantelli shooed her away immediately. If Verdini was the man he was waiting for, her presence must have been a nasty surprise.”

  Daniele moved closer on the bench. “Maybe Verdini owed Mantelli money. There was no May ColleVerde payment listed in Mantelli’s computer notes.”

  “How much was he paying?” Perillo asked.

  “Eight hundred euros a month. Ferriello Wines paid four hundred euros until two months ago.”

  Perillo raised his hands in the air in surprise. “How do you remember that? I read the same notes and remember nothing.” There it was, the realization that haunted him. He was getting old. His memory had started playing hopscotch and missing the squares; he was muddling through this case, letting Nico, Daniele and Aldo down. “Don’t mind me. My two espressos haven’t kicked in yet.”

  “I reread the notes this morning,” Daniele lied. Lies were a sin, but if they made someone happy, God would surely forgive him.

  “What about the other vintners?” Nico asked. Something Ginevra had said made him want to know more about them.

  “Only two. The last payment for the one in Sicily was April, same as Verdini. The one in Piedmont paid the first of June. They paid much less. Two hundred euros each.”