side. He felt a violent pain, while the headmaster brought his hand to his heart and leaned against a car to keep from falling. Marin became terrified.
'What did I say? My God, what did I say?'
Immediately outside the garage, the headmaster started shouting cheerfully:
'We guessed right!'
And he traced a few dance steps. Two passersby, who knew him as a pensive, somber man, stopped in shock. Having got it out of his system, Burgio turned serious again.
'Don't forget we promised San Calogero fifty thousand lire a head.'
'I won't forget.'
'Do you know San Calogero?'
'I haven't missed the annual celebration since I moved to Vig.'
'That doesn't mean you know him. San Calogero is someone, who, how shall I say?, who doesn't let things slide. I'm telling you this for your own good.'
'Are you joking?'
'Absolutely not. He's a vengeful saint, and it doesn't take much to get his dander up. If you make him a promise, you have to keep it. If you, for example, get in a car crash and narrowly escape with your life, and you make a promise to the saint which you don't keep, you can bet your last lira you're going to get in another accident and lose your legs at the very least. Get the idea?'
'Perfectly.'
'Let's go home now, so you can tell my wife the whole story.'
'So I can tell her?'
'Yes, because I don't want to give her the satisfaction of hearing me say she was right.'
...
'To summarize,' said Montalbano, 'things may have gone as follows.'
He was enjoying this investigation in slippers, in a home from another age, over a cup of coffee.
'The sailor Mario Cunich, who became a kind of local boy around Vig, fell in love with Lisetta Moscato, who loved him too. How they managed to meet and talk to each other, God only knows.'
'I've given it a lot of thought,' said Signora Angelina. 'There was a period I think it was from 42 until March or April of 43 when her father had to go far away from Vig on business. They could have fallen in love then, and they would certainly have had plenty of opportunities to spend time together in secret.'
'They did fall in love, that much we know,' resumed Montalbano. 'Then her fathers return again prevented them from seeing each other. Soon the evacuation also came between them. So when news came of his imminent departure...Lisetta escaped, she came here, she met Cunich, but we don't know where. The sailor, so he could have as much time as possible with Lisetta, didn't return to ship. And at some point, they were murdered in their sleep. So far, everything clicks.'
'Clicks?' asked Angelina, taken aback.
'I'm sorry, I merely meant that thus far, our reconstruction makes sense. The person who killed them may have been a jilted lover, or even Lisetta's father, who may have caught them together and felt dishonored. We may never know.'
'What do you mean, we may never know?' said Angelina. 'Aren't you interested in finding out who murdered those two poor kids?'
He didn't have the heart to tell her that he didn't care that much about the killer himself. What really intrigued him was why someone, perhaps even the killer, had taken it upon himself to move the bodies into the cave and set up that scene with the bowl, the jug, and the terra-cotta dog.
Before going back home he stopped at a grocery store and bought two hundred grams of peppered cheese and a loaf of durum wheat bread. He got these provisions because he was sure he wouldn't find Livia at the house. And indeed she wasn't there; everything was the same as when he'd left to see the Burgios.
He didn't have time to set the bag of groceries on the table when the phone rang. It was the commissioner.
'Montalbano, I thought I should tell you that Undersecretary Licalzi called me today, wanting to know why I hadn't yet put in a request for your promotion.'
'But what the hell does that man want from me, anyway?'
'I took the liberty of inventing a story of love, something mysterious, I said, left unstated, between the lines... He took the bait; apparently he's a passionate reader of pulp romances. But he did settle the matter. He told me to write to him and ask that you be given a substantial bonus. So I wrote the request and sent it. You want to hear it?'
'Spare me.'
'Too bad. I thought I'd written a little masterpiece.'
Montalbano set the table and cut a thick slice of bread before the telephone rang again. It wasn't Livia, as he had hoped, but Fazio.
'Chief, I've been working all bleeding day for you. This Stefano Moscato wasn't the kind of guy you'd want to sit down to dinner with.'
'A mafioso?'
