Good Blood

He paused to extract a stray bit of crayfish shell from his teeth. “Francesca was nuts about Dante—I know, it’s hard to believe now, but she was—but Domenico put his foot down and told her he wouldn’t have the guy as a sonin-law. He’d disown her if she married him. So she did and he did. But then she got on his good side again, even though he wouldn’t let Dante in the house. Wouldn’t even allow her to say his name when she came over. Seriously. She was welcome, but Dante had to stay home in this dinky apartment they had in Modena.” Another longer, more meditative pause as he chewed.

“And?” prompted Julie.

“And then Domenico dies, and, like, two months later they move in. Free room and board for the rest of their lives, and Francesca has a whole household staff to boss around. But Jesus, be serious, that’s no motive for murder...”

The three of them looked at each other.

“. . . is it?” Phil finished weakly. And then: “Yeah, I guess maybe, in a cop’s mind, it would be.”

“No, in a cop’s mind, it would be two motives,” Gideon said. “One for Dante, one for Francesca. You need to tell Caravale about this, Phil.”

“But won’t he just think I’m trying to cast doubt on others to disguise my own dastardly motives?”

“Seriously. You need to tell him. And you said ‘grudges.’ Is there something else?”

Phil shook his head. “Aw, this is ridiculous. I mean—”

Julie put her hand on his arm. “Phil, it’s not ridiculous. We’re not playing some kind of gossip game. One of those people is a murderer. If there’s something else you know—”

“Well, there’s Basilio—I can’t believe I’m saying this— but I guess if you’re going out of your way to dig up stuff, you could say Basilio had a reason to kill him too.”

Basilio Barbero, it seemed, had gotten himself into a mess not long after a payroll supervision position had been found for him at Aurora Costruzioni. Whether it involved embezzlement or incompetence had never been firmly established (although Phil, knowing Basilio, leaned toward the latter), but it was common knowledge that the angry Domenico was thinking of firing him, expelling him from the nest at Isola de Grazia, and possibly even prosecuting him.

And then—as with Dante’s case—Domenico had conveniently died, and the situation had blown over. Vincenzo, the new man in charge, had kept him on, and even made him the chairman of the morale committee.

“I guess you’d have to call that a motive, wouldn’t you?” Phil said disconsolately.

“Two motives again,” Julie said. “Don’t forget his wife. Bella.”

“Actually, Bella makes more sense. I can’t see Basilio killing anybody.”

“Either way, you have to tell Caravale about it,” Gideon said. “Anything else?”

“You want more motives yet?” Phil, never a big eater, pushed away his half-finished plate and thought about it. “That’s it, I’m afraid. Nobody else would have any reason to do away with Domenico. Not that I know about, anyway.”

“Sure, you do,” Gideon said. “Vincenzo.”

“Vincenzo? What are you talking about? All right, the guy’s an asshole—sorry, Julie—but why would he kill his own—oh. The inheritance, you mean.”

“Yes, the inheritance. When Domenico died, Vincenzo became padrone—of the Isola de Grazia, of the company, of everything. And I assume the money went to him too. Right?”

Phil shrugged. “As far as I know, sure.”

“A lot of people have been killed for a lot less, Phil. Even by their own sons. Or maybe it was because he didn’t want to wait any longer to get control of the company.”

He offered around the bottle of wine they’d ordered, a straw-colored, fruity Lugana from Lake Garda. Phil, who wasn’t much of a drinker either, covered his glass with his hand. Julie held hers up.

“Damn, Gideon,” Phil said, shaking his head, “I never knew you had such a nasty mind.”

“It’s the first axiom of the forensic scientist,” Julie said. “When in doubt, think dirty.” She sipped some of the newly poured wine. “I even have a motive for your grandfather, if you’re interested.”

“For Nonno Cosimo? That sweet old man? You gotta be kidding me.”

“Now, I’m not saying I believe this. I’m just trying imagine what Caravale’s probably thinking.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that, on some level, Cosimo must have hated him—well, resented him anyway—because it was Domenico who got everything, who became the padrone.

He was even a count. And all because he was born a few years earlier. Cosimo, as the kid brother, got nothing at all. Or don’t I understand the way that works?”

“No, that’s the way it works, all right, but if what you’re saying is true, which I don’t buy for a minute, why didn’t he kill him years ago, before Vincenzo was born, so he would’ve inherited? What good does it do to wait till they’re both in their seventies?”

Julie dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Mm, yes, that could be a sticking point.”

“Not necessarily,” Gideon said. “It could have been from emotions that finally got out of hand from playing second fiddle his whole life. From what you told me, Cosimo lived his entire life, first in his brother’s house, and then in his nephew’s house. Never even had his own home. That could build a lot of resentment. Who knows what might have kicked it off?”

Phil leaned back in his chair and regarded them both. “Do you people really believe what you’re saying, or are you just playing with my mind?”