know, I really like to look at women.”
“Not just look at them.”
“Okay. And I’ve become convinced that I recognize this woman. Because I’m sure I’ve met her. It would take very little to make a positive identification.”
“Very little! Mimi, what on earth are you thinking! You want me to go to this lady and say: ‘I’m Inspector Montalbano, ma’am. Er, would you please drop your panties for a moment?‘ Why, she’d have me put away, at the very least!”
“That’s why I thought of Ingrid. If it’s the woman I think it is, I actually saw her a few times with Ingrid in Montelusa. They must be friends ...”
Montalbano twisted his mouth.
“You’re not convinced?” asked Mimi.
“Oh, I’m convinced all right. But the whole idea has one major problem.”
“What?”
“I don’t think Ingrid would be capable of betraying a friend.”
“Who ever said anything about betrayal? We just need to find a way, any way at all, to create a situation where she might blurt something out—”
“How, for example?”
“Bah, I don’t know, you could invite Ingrid out for dinner, then bring her to your place, give her something to drink, a little of that red wine of ours that the girls are so crazy about, and—”
“—And then start talking about body hair? She’s likely to have a fit if I mention certain things with her! She doesn’t expect it from me.”
Mimi’s jaw dropped in surprise.
“She doesn’t expect it? Do you mean to tell me that, between you and Ingrid ... Never?”
“What are you thinking?” said Montalbano, irritated. “I’m not like you, Mimi!”
Augello looked at him for a moment, then joined his hands in prayer, eyes raised to the heavens.
“What are you doing?”
“Tomorrow I’m going to write a letter to His Holiness,” Mimi replied coyly.
“Saying what?”
“That you should be canonized while still alive.”
“Spare me the bonehead humor,” the inspector said gruffly.
Mimi quickly turned serious again. With certain subjects, when dealing with Montalbano, one had to tread lightly.
“Anyway, as for Ingrid, give me a little time to think about it.”
“Okay, but don’t take too long, Salvo. You know, it’s one thing to kill someone over a question of infidelity, and it’s something else—”
“I am well aware of the difference, Mimi. And you’re not exactly the person to be teaching me about it. Compared to me, you’re still wrapping your ass in diapers.”
Augello took this in without reacting. He’d pushed the wrong button, talking about Ingrid. He had to try to dispel the inspector’s bad mood.
“Salvo, there’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about. Yesterday, after we ate, Beba invited me over to her place.”
Montalbano’s gloom immediately lifted. He held his breath. Had what was supposed to happen between Mimi and Beatrice already happened, just like that? If Beatrice slept with Mimi too quickly, the affair might soon be over, and Mimi would inevitably go back to his Rebecca.
“No, Salvo, we didn’t do what you’re thinking,” said Augello, as if he could read Montalbano’s mind. “Beba’s a nice girl. And very serious.”
How did Shakespeare put it? Oh, yes: “These words content me much.” If Mimi spoke this way, there was hope.
“At a certain point she went to change her clothes. Left to myself, I picked up a magazine that was on the coffee table. When I opened it, a photo that had been inserted between the pages fell out. It showed the inside of a bus, with the passengers in their seats. In the background, you could see Beba from behind, with a frying pan in her hand.”
“When she came back out, did you ask her when—”
“No, it would have seemed, well, indiscreet. I put the photo back, and that was that.”
“So why are you telling me about it?”
“Something occurred to me. If people are taking souvenir photos on these tours, it’s possible there are some in circulation from the excursion to Tindari, the one the Griffos went on. If we could find these photos, maybe they could tell us something, even if I don’t know what.”
Well, there was no denying that Mimi had a very good idea. And he was obviously awaiting some words of praise. Which never came. Coldly, perfidiously, the inspector didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. On the contrary.
