“I can’t make it right now. I’ll see you at your place at two.”
“Tonight?!”
“Yes, and if you’re not there, I’ll wait.”
~
“Hello, darling? It’s Livia. Sorry to call you at work, but—”
“You can call me whenever and wherever you want. What is it?”
“Nothing important. I was reading in a newspaper just now about the death of a politician in your parts. It’s just a brief notice. It says that Inspector Salvo Montalbano is conducting a thorough investigation of the possible causes of death.”
“So?”
“Is this death causing you any problems?”
“Not too many.”
“So nothing’s changed? You’re still coming to see me Saturday? You don’t have some unpleasant surprise in store for me?”
“Like what?”
“Like an awkward phone call telling me the investigation has taken a new turn and so I’ll have to wait but you don’t know how long and so it’s probably better to postpone everything for a week? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Don’t worry, this time I’ll manage.”
~
“Inspector Montalbano? This is Father Arcangelo Baldovino, secretary to His Excellency the bishop.”
“It’s a pleasure. What can I do for you, Father?”
“The bishop has learned, with some astonishment, I must say, that you think it advisable to prolong your investigation into the sad and unfortunate passing of Silvio Luparello. Is this true?”
It was indeed, Montalbano confirmed, and for the third time he explained his reasons for acting in this manner. Father Baldovino seemed persuaded, yet begged the inspector to hurry up, “to avoid untoward speculation and spare the already distraught family yet another torment.”
~
“Inspector Montalbano? This is Mr. Luparello.”
“What the hell! Didn’t you die?” Montalbano was about to say, but he stopped himself in the nick of time.
“I’m his son,” the other continued, in a very educated, polite tone that had no trace of dialect whatsoever. “My name is Stefano. I’m afraid I must appeal to your kindness and make what may seem to you an unusual request. I’m calling you on my mother’s behalf.”
“By all means, if I can be of any help.”
“Mama would like to meet you.”
“What’s unusual about that? I myself was intending to ask your mother if I could drop by sometime.”
“The thing is, Inspector, Mama would like to meet you by tomorrow at the latest.”
“My God, Mr. Luparello, I really haven’t got a single free moment these days, as you can imagine. And neither do you, I should think.”
“Don’t worry, we can find ten minutes. How about tomorrow afternoon at five o’clock sharp?”
~
“Montalbano, sorry to make you wait, but I was—”
“On the toilet, in your element.”
“Come on, what do you want?”
“I wanted to let you in on something very serious.
The pope just phoned me from the Vatican, really pissed off at you.”
“What are you talking about?!”
“He’s furious because he’s the only person in the world who hasn’t received your report on the Luparello autopsy. He felt neglected and told me he intends to excommunicate you. You’re screwed.”
“Montalbano, you’ve completely lost your mind.”
“Can you tell me something, just out of curiosity?”
“Sure.”
“Do you kiss ass out of ambition or natural inclination?”
“Natural inclination, I think.”
The sincerity of the response caught the inspector by surprise.
