“I’ll see you to your car,” Nico said.
She waved. “No need. Stay with your friends. Ciao.” Out she went. A stooped Peppino followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.
“What do you think?” Perillo asked, looking both at Daniele and Nico.
“Loredana? Diane?” Nico said. “There’s no proof either way.”
Perillo sat back down in his chair. “We have to get Peppino back here somehow.”
Nico remained standing. It was time for him to go to the restaurant. “I would wait until you have Loredana’s autopsy results.”
“I think you’re right.”
Daniele stood next to his computer in the back of the room and said nothing. He was counting on Peppino to tell the truth.
Nico was helping Alba clear the tables when Nelli called.
“Ciao, Nelli. I was about to call you. Is eight o’clock a good time? Please just bring yourself, nothing else. Okay?”
“Nico, can you come to Greve now?”
He heard the tremor in her voice. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“No, it’s Zio Peppino. He wants to talk to Salvatore. He won’t tell me why, but he wants me to be with him. He’s very upset. He keeps saying, “It’s not right, it’s not right,” but he won’t tell me what he means by that. Maybe you can talk to him and find out? I’m scared. I feel like he’s going to say something to Salvatore that he’s going to regret. Can you come? Please.”
“Of course I’ll come. Where are you?”
“At the far end of the piazza, on the bench in front of the tourist office.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Nico clicked off. He grabbed as many dirty dishes as he could and took them to the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Tilde, I can’t finish up. Nelli needs me in Greve.”
Tilde looked up from scraping a pot. “Is she all right?”
“I hope so. I’ll let you know later. Ciao.” Nico lowered the dishes in the sink and rushed out.
“Give Nelli a hug for me,” Tilde yelled.
“Ah, Nelli,” Elvira said, looking up from her Settimana Enigmistica as Nico ran past her. “She finally lit a fire under your toes. About time.”
Nelli and Peppino stood up as Nico and OneWag walked across the piazza toward them. Peppino had regained his straight back, Nico noticed as he got nearer. His face looked rigid, determined. In contrast, Nelli, in her usual paint-splattered jeans and old shirt, looked diminished.
Nico kissed her cheeks and gave her hand a squeeze as OneWag stretched out his body against her legs. Nelli gave the dog a quick scratch on his head. “Thank you for coming, Nico.”
“Glad to.” He turned to Peppino, who impatiently shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Salve, Peppino. Nelli tells me you want to see Maresciallo Perillo again.”
Peppino stood still and nodded. “I must.”
“Let’s get away from here,” Nico said as he took Nelli’s arm.
Peppino didn’t move.
“Come on, Peppino. We’ll walk to the carabinieri station. It’s not far.”
“I know where it is. I don’t need you.”
Nelli freed herself from Nico’s hold and tugged at Peppino’s arm. “Tell Nico what is bothering you. He can help you. He’s friends with Salvatore. I don’t want you to have to pay for somebody else. Nico, stop him from going.”
Nico took her hand again. “No, Nelli, I can’t, I’m sorry. I think Peppino realized how serious his situation was during Perillo’s interrogation of Diane this morning. He has something on his chest he needs to get out.”
“He can tell us.”
“No! Only the maresciallo and the brigadiere. I will tell them.”
“We have no right to stop him, Nelli. I know you’re trying to protect him, but he knows what he’s doing.”
Nelli’s jaws clenched, her eyes coldly assessing Nico’s face. He felt bad for disappointing her. “Not speaking up will only make things worse for him.”
After a few seconds of assessing this man she thought she might have started to fall in love with, rethinking her feelings, Nelli shrugged and followed Peppino, who had started walking to the main street.
Taking advantage of their backs to him, Nico quickly phoned Perillo. “Peppino is coming. He has something he wants to tell you.”
“Finally, the truth?”
“I hope so.” Nico clicked off and, followed by OneWag, walked quickly to catch up with Nelli and Peppino. Halfway up the hill that led to the small park and the carabinieri station, Peppino started muttering, as if going over what he was going to say. Nico moved closer to him. “This morning at the station with Signora Severson was difficult for you, wasn’t it?”
“She insisted I come,” Peppino said. “I had the roses to clean. June is their month. They need care every day to keep them happy. The signore understood. She does not.”
“Ah, that’s why you looked uncomfortable. You were thinking of your roses.”
“The brigadiere, he didn’t take his eyes away from me. Those eyes said to me, ‘Tell the truth.’”
“Now you will?”
“Yes.”
“Why now?” Nelli asked.
“It’s time.”
When they reached the station, Peppino started to go inside.
Nelli stopped him. “I’ll come with you.”
He lifted her arm from his. “I’m going alone.”
She gave him a hug. “I’ll wait for you here.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Forgive me, Nelli. Take her home, Signor Nico. She likes you.”
“Zio Peppino, I’m not going anywhere. Hurry up in there, and then I’ll take you home and cook you the dish I made for your birthday. Ricotta ravioli with slices of pear. Remember? You practically ate the whole bowl!”
“Make that for Signor Nico, but thank you. Now, go home with your man.”
“In bocca al lupo,” Nico wished him.
“May the wolf croak.” Peppino said before the station door closed behind him.
Nelli kept her eyes on the closed door.
“Will you come home with me?” Nico asked, touching her elbow.
Nelli flinched. “No, sorry. I’m all nerves. I’m angry with you and furious with Peppino. Maybe I’m not being fair, but I can’t help it.” She kept watch on the door, not noticing OneWag sitting at her feet, looking up at her. Part of her was hoping Peppino would come back out with a wave and a smile, as he had done after a visit to the cardiologist she had taken him to just two months ago. They had celebrated with his potato soup and a whole bottle of red. She knew it wasn’t going to happen today. She turned toward Nico, who was standing by her side. “We’ll have dinner some other time. Okay?”
Nico had looked forward to their evening. Now he found himself hurt, like a kid suddenly deprived of fun. It made him feel foolish and selfish. “Sure. Can I keep you company now? We can wait on one of the benches in the park. He might be a while.”
“Forgive me, but I’d rather wait alone.”
“As you wish.” He walked away. After a few minutes, he looked back at Nelli. OneWag was still sitting at her feet. Nico whistled.
OneWag swiveled his head from one to the other of his favorite two-legs. “Go, Rocco,” Nelli said. “I’ll be fine.”
OneWag ambled slowly toward Nico.
“Buongiorno again, Signor Risso,” Perillo said from his desk as Vince brought Peppino into the office. He indicated the chair in front of him. “Please, sit.” He noticed the change in the man. His tanned, wrinkled face now looked sculpted out of rock.
Peppino stopped behind the chair, standing very straight, as if at attention. He set his eyes on Daniele, who was standing in the back. Half a minute, if not more, passed in silence.
“How can the maresciallo help you?” Daniele said, keeping his voice so
ft to hide his excitement. It looked like his visit last night had worked.
Perillo glanced at Daniele. He sensed that there was some kind of rapport between the old man and the young one. Maybe it was best to leave Peppino to his sensitive brigadiere. He gave Daniele a nod of approval.
“You came here for a reason,” Daniele reminded Peppino before sitting in front of the computer, ready to start typing.
The old man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I did not believe Signora Diane when she told me about the sale of the villa.” His voice was low and gruff. “I said, no, he would never do that. He promised. I worked hard for Signor Michele for fifteen years. We were friends, he said many times. Even though we are from different worlds, we are friends, he always said. In the afternoon, when he came home, I told him what the signora had told me. I said, ‘She makes up stories because she is angry with you.’
“He laughed. ‘You have the brain of a mule,’ is what he said. ‘You get an idea in your head, and no one is going to succeed in kicking it out of you.’” Peppino stopped and took a deep, shaking breath. “He said, ‘Diane spoke the truth. The villa is sold. I need the money.’”
“But the promise?” Peppino spoke as if addressing Mantelli, not Daniele. His rock-hard face was transformed into a mask of disbelief. “You promised I would work here, for you, until I died.” He shook his head, took another breath. “‘You’re a decrepit fool,’ he said. ‘You’ll die soon enough.’”
The old man’s knees seemed to give in. Perillo got out of his chair to help. Peppino raised a hand to stop him. “I will sit.” He sank into the chair, bent over, his shoulders slumped, his eyes wet.
Daniele wanted to offer Peppino a glass of water, a little comfort and understanding, but he had to do his job, fingers poised on the keyboard. Giuseppe Risso was about to surrender the truth.
Peppino wiped his mouth again with the back of his hand. “What I came to say is that I am the one who killed Signor Michele.” The tears his eyes had been holding back began to trickle down his rough cheeks. “I am a proud man. He insulted me. He took away my dignity, my peace. Taking care of the villa has been everything to me. It is my wife, my children, my relatives. It is my life. He took it away and made fun of me. I’m not making excuses, Maresciallo. I’m explaining why I put antifreeze in his whiskey glass. On Tuesday afternoon, he asked me for a whiskey. I would always remind him what the doctor said. Only one glass, Signor Michele.” Peppino raised his index finger. “Only one glass.” He dropped his hand back on his lap. “Tuesday I said nothing. Whiskey and antifreeze is what I gave him to make him sick, to have his stomach burn as he burned my heart. I wanted him to vomit until there was nothing left inside, because that was how I felt. I wanted him sick. Only sick. Not dead, never dead.”
Perillo leaned forward on his desk. “What you have just told us is very interesting, but why did you wait until now to confess?”
“This morning, you accused Signora Diane of killing her husband. If not the signora, Signorina Loredana. That is not right. It is time for the truth.”
“Are you certain it is the truth?” Perillo asked. “The carabinieri who came to the villa found only one unopened whiskey bottle. What happened to the bottle from which you poured the drink?”
“It was empty, so I threw it in the recycle bin.”
“When?”
“Tuesday night. The recycling dumpster is cleaned out on Wednesday mornings.”
Perillo sat back in his chair. No wonder the men didn’t find anything. They’d gone to the house on Thursday evening. “Peppino, I’m going to ask you to repeat your confession, but before you do, I want you to think hard about the consequences. You will go to jail for a very long time. If your only crime is throwing away a tainted bottle, your jail time will be much shorter.”
“I did not want him to die, but I am the one who killed him. I am telling the truth.” Peppino wiped his wet cheeks with his calloused hands and straightened his back to stare at Perillo.
Perillo reached for the office phone and called Tarani. Since the capitano was still in charge, why not let him come down and take this poor man to jail.
After checking for typos, Daniele sent Peppino’s statement to the printer. He sat back in his chair for a moment. He was tired, relieved and sad. Yes, Loredana was innocent, but Peppino was a good man who didn’t deserve to spend what was left of his life in jail. “Would you like a glass of water?” he asked Peppino.
“No, thank you, Brigadiere Donato, but a favor, please.”
Daniele shot up. “Yes, how can I help?”
“Nelli is waiting outside for me. Can you please tell her to go home?”
“We can bring her in,” Perillo offered. “Don’t you want to say goodbye?”
Peppino’s attention was on Daniele. “She will need your kindness.”
“I will do my best.”
As Daniele crossed the room, Perillo told him, “Get Vince to bring in the statement from the printer, plus the camera and the fingerprinting kit. You will have to be patient, Signor Peppino. Capitano Tarani is in Florence. It will take him an hour to get here.” He leaned across his desk again. He would have liked to have Nico’s courage and dismiss what this man had told him, but he couldn’t. There was no weapon to hide. The only way he knew how to help him now was to say. “You must be hungry. The café next door has delicious sandwiches—what would you like?”
Nico sat out on the balcony. All that was left of the sun on the darkening sky was a thin, pink-edged fading orange streak. OneWag had been fed and was asleep at his feet; the three swallows had come home and tucked themselves between the roof and beams for the night. Usually it was his favorite time of the day. Tonight, he missed Nelli. What Peppino ended up telling Perillo would hurt her, and he could do nothing about it. He dug into the big bowl on his lap for the last spoonful of chocolate gelato, his go-to Italian pain reliever. To make things worse, Perillo was taking his bloody time clueing him in on what Peppino had told him.
The phone call came just as he got up to take the empty bowl and spoon to the sink.
He picked up the phone and swiped. “Is it over?”
“Daniele was right. It wasn’t Loredana.”
Nelli’s anguished face flashed in front of Nico’s eyes. “He’s admitted Diane asked him to throw out the bottle.”
“No. He’s confessed to killing Mantelli.”
Nico sat back down, his mind instantly refusing the possibility. “It can’t be. He’s covering for her.”
“You’re letting your emotions cloud your thinking,” Perillo said.
“You believe he’s telling the truth?”
“I’d like not to. Peppino Risso is a good, simple man who didn’t know what he was doing. I do believe him. So does Tarani.”
“Nelli was waiting for him outside. Does she know?”
“Yes. Peppino asked Daniele to tell her. She didn’t seem surprised, Daniele thinks. She just nodded, thanked him and walked away.”
Nico wanted to kick himself for leaving her. He should at least have stayed nearby. “It’s over, then.”
“The Mantelli case is over, but the outcome is not something I want to celebrate. Dani feels the same way, despite being right about Loredana. Peppino will need a very good lawyer. Maybe he can get involuntary manslaughter. He could get away with doing five years.”
“Maybe Diane will help. She’ll know the right people.”
“I hope so.”
“You have one more death to deal with. Any news on Loredana’s autopsy?”
“Tarani thinks he’ll get it tomorrow. He promised he’ll email it as soon as he’s read it. I’d wish you buonanotte, but I know it’s not going to be a good night for you. Nelli is a good friend of yours. I can wish you some sleep.”
“Same to you.” He clicked off and sat back down to stare ahead at what was now blackness punc
tured by stars. He wanted to call Nelli, offer his shoulder to cry on, but she had preferred being alone earlier. They were not good friends as Perillo thought. They were friendly, but knew so little of each other. He had hoped dinner tonight would bring them closer to real friendship. Maybe something more.
Nico checked the time. It wasn’t too late to call. He reached for the phone again. “Hi, Diane. Nico here.”
“Peppino confessed?”
“Yes. You knew?”
“I suspected. I feel sorry for him. I know he didn’t want to kill Michele, but I must say I am relieved for myself.”
“He needs a good criminal lawyer. Can you help?”
“I do know a lot of people. I’ll ask around. Peppino doesn’t deserve any jail time. I’ll make a few phone calls and let you know.”
“Thanks, Diane. You’re a good woman.”
Her laughter came across the line strong and clear. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that said about me. Goodnight, Nico.” The line went dead.
Nico kept the phone in his hand and texted:
dearest nelli, i am so sorry. i wish i could make you feel better. please know that if you ever need a shoulder, i am here for you. nico
SIXTEEN
Ten o’clock the next morning Nico was in Tilde’s kitchen cutting slices of prosciutto in thin strips to toss them with thinly sliced mushrooms into a deep pot in which butter was simmering. After he was done, he watched Tilde add cream, a small amount of tomato sauce and several fistfuls of grated Parmigiano.
Tilde stirred with a wooden spoon and stepped back from the stove. “Your turn.”
Nico picked up a fat lemon and grated the peel into the skillet. At lunchtime, the sauce would coat plates of small maccheroni. “Did you come up with this dish?”
“It’s a Paolo Petroni recipe. If you want a Tuscan cookbook, he’s the best. Any news from Nelli?”
“She texted back just as I came here. ‘Thank you.’ Nothing else.”
“Give her space. When her father died, she disappeared from view for over a month. Peppino was her last link to him.”
The Bitter Taste of Murder Page 29