“Well, yes, it’s very difficult for me too, you know. But certainly not as hard as it is for Salvatore.” He stood up stiffly.
“Shall we go back inside?”
“I think I’d like to get a little more air.”
“Well, I’m going in. I’ll go see how Giulia’s doing, and if Salvatore’s awake, which I doubt, I’ll tell him what you said to me. If not, I’ll tell him tomorrow morning. Good night.” Montalbano didn’t have the time to finish a cigarette before he saw the doctor’s silhouette come out of the living room, slip into his SUV, and drive off.
Apparently Salvatore hadn’t been awake and the doctor hadn’t been able to talk to him.
The inspector got up and went into the house. Fazio was reading a newspaper, Minutolo had his head buried in a novel, and the uniformed policeman was looking at a travel magazine.
“Sorry to disrupt the quiet contemplation of your reading group,” said Montalbano. Then, turning to Minutolo, “I need to talk to you.”
They withdrew into a corner of the room, and the inspector told him everything he’d learned from the doctor.
o o o
While driving home, he glanced at his watch. Christ, was it late! Surely Livia’d already gone to bed. So much the better, because if she was still up, the usual squabble, sure as death, was bound to break out. He opened the door gently. The house was dark, but the outside light on the veranda was on. And there was Livia, in a heavy sweater, sitting on the bench in front of half a glass of wine.
Montalbano bent down to kiss her.
“Forgive me.”
She returned his kiss. The inspector heard singing in his head. There would be no quarrel tonight. Livia, however, seemed melancholy.
“Did you stay home waiting for me?”
“No. Beba called and told me Mimi was in the hospital.
So I went to see him.”
1 2 6
10
A sudden pang of jealousy. Absurd, of course, but he couldn’t help it. Could Livia be melancholy because Mimi lay in a hospital bed?
“How is he?”
“He’s got two broken ribs. They’re discharging him to morrow. He’ll have to take care of himself at home.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Yes, I couldn’t wait any longer,” said Livia, getting up.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to warm up some—”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll get some stuff from the fridge.” He returned with a dish covered with green and black olives and Ragusan
“I can’t stop thinking about that girl who was kidnapped,” she said without turning, “and something you said to me the first time we talked about it.” In a way, Montalbano felt reassured. Livia’s melancholy was not for Mimi but for Susanna.
“What did I say?”
“That the day she was kidnapped, she went to her boyfriend’s apartment to make love.”
“So?”
“But you told me that normally it was always the boy who had to ask; whereas that day, Susanna herself took the initiative.”
“What does that mean, in your opinion?”
“That maybe she had a premonition of what was going to happen.”
Montalbano said nothing. He didn’t believe in premonitions, prophetic dreams, or things of that nature.
After a brief silence, Livia asked:
“Are you getting anywhere?”
“Just two hours ago, I had neither compass nor sextant.”
“And now you’ve got both?”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
He began telling her what he’d learned. When he’d finished speaking, Livia looked puzzled.
“I really don’t see what conclusions you can draw from the story this Dr. Mistretta told you.”
