The door opened, and there appeared a short, homely girl of about twenty, dark as a crow, chubby and wearing thick eyeglasses. Tina, surely. The element of surprise worked. But in reverse.
“I’m Inspector Mon—”
“—talbano!” said Tina, a big smile cleaving her face from ear to ear. “Wow! How cool! I never thought I’d meet you!
Cool! I’m so excited I’m starting to sweat! I’m so happy!” Montalbano couldn’t move. He looked like he’d turned into a puppet without strings. To his bewilderment, he noticed a strange phenomenon. The girl before him had started to evaporate. A cloud of steam was enveloping her. Tina was melting like a pat of butter in the summer sun. The girl then extended a sweaty hand, grabbed the inspector by the wrist, pulled him inside, and closed the door. Then she stood there in front of him, speechless and ecstatic, face red as a ripe wa-termelon, hands joined in prayer, eyes glistening. For a brief moment, Montalbano felt exactly like the Blessed Virgin of Pompeii.
“I would like—” he ventured.
“Of course! I’m so sorry! Come!” said Tina, rousing herself from her ecstasy and leading him into the inevitable sitting room. “Boy, the moment I saw you there before me in the flesh, I nearly fainted! How are you? Have you recovered?
This is amazing! I always see you when you appear on TV, you know. And I read a lot of detective novels, I just love them, but you, Inspector, you’re a lot better than Maigret, or Poirot, or . . . You want a coffee?” “Who?” asked Montalbano, dazed.
Since the girl had spoken almost without interruption, the inspector had heard only something like “Uwanakafi,” thinking this might be the protagonist detective of some African writer with whom he was unfamiliar.
“So, will you have some coffee?”
Maybe it was just the thing.
“Yes, if it isn’t a bother . . .”
“Not at all! Mama went out shopping about five minutes ago and I’m all alone because the housekeeper’s not coming today, but I can have it ready for you in a jiffy!” She disappeared. So they were alone in the house? The inspector got worried. This girl was capable of anything. From the kitchen he heard a clinking of demitasses and saucers and a sort of low murmur. Who was she talking to, since she’d said there was nobody else in the house? Herself? He got up and went out of the living room. The kitchen was the second door on the left. He approached slowly, on tiptoe. Tina was talking in a low voice on her cell phone.
“. . . he’s here, I tell you! I’m not kidding! All of a sudden, there he was, right in front of me! If you can get here within ten minutes, he’ll still be here, I promise. Oh and, listen, San-dra, be sure to tell Manuela, I’m sure she’ll want to come, too.
And bring a camera, so we can all take our pictures with him.” Montalbano retraced his steps. This was all he needed!
Three twenty-year-old girls attacking him like some rock star!
He decided he would shake free of Tina in less than ten minutes. He drank the coffee boiling hot, scalding his lips, and began his questioning. But the element of surprise hadn’t worked, and the inspector gained little or nothing from the conversation.
“No, I wouldn’t say friends as in
“No, she never mentioned any other boys to me . . .”
“No, she never said anything to me about any other guys coming on to her . . .”
“Susanna is generous and sincere, but I wouldn’t say she’s very expansive. She tends to hold everything inside . . .”
“No, yesterday she went away like every other day. And we agreed to meet again today at five . . .”
“Lately she’s been the same as usual. Her mother’s health has been a constant worry. Normally around seven we would take a break from our study, and Susanna would phone home and find out how her mother was doing . . . Yes, she did the same yesterday . . .” “Inspector, I really don’t think she was kidnapped. I feel pretty good about that. Oh God, it’s so cool being interrogated by you! You want to know what I think? Jesus, this is so fabulous! The inspector wants to know what I think! Okay, I think Susanna went away of her own accord and will come back in a few days. She probably needed a little rest and couldn’t handle watching her mother die that way, day after day, night after night . . .” “What, are you leaving already? Don’t you want to interrogate me some more? Couldn’t you wait another five minutes, so we can take our picture together? Aren’t you going to summon me down to the station? You’re not?” She suddenly stood up, seeing the inspector do the same.
Then she made a move that Montalbano mistakenly interpreted as the start of a belly dance.
“Okay, okay, I’ll summon you down to the station,” he said, racing toward the door.
o o o
Seeing the inspector appear unexpectedly before him, Catarella nearly fainted.
“Jesus, what a pleasant s’prise! Jesus, iss so nice t’see you all over again, Chief!”
No sooner had Montalbano entered his office than the door slammed violently against the wall. Since he was no longer used to this, the inspector took fright.
“What’s going on?”
A panting Catarella stood in the doorway.
“Nuttin’, Chief. My hand slipped.”
“What do you want?”
