While her colleague was speaking, Rick noticed Tucci’s eyes wandering around the room. It confirmed Betta’s observation that these events were as much for networking as anything. Everyone feigned interest in the art, but for many present this evening, it was secondary. At that moment, one of the museum staff interrupted their conversation.
“Signor Montoya? Dottor Vitellozzi asks if you could please give him some assistance.” They all looked back toward the door and saw the museum director standing with Signora Somonte and Lucho Garcia. The three were smiling woodenly at each other but not speaking. Rick concluded that she must have shopped in town for something more appropriate for widowhood than the wardrobe she’d brought with her. It was a subdued dark-gray dress that came down well below her knee, though it still showed off her curves. Garcia’s suit was dark with a dark-blue tie.
“I think he needs an interpreter. If you ladies will excuse me.” He walked quickly to the museum director. “Can I help, Dottor Vitellozzi?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, Signor Montoya. We were not communicating well, to say the least, and Signor Garcia suggested that you might interpret, as you did for the inspector at the hotel.”
“Certainly.”
“Please tell the signora that she has my deepest condolences for the loss of her husband.”
Rick went into his well-practiced consecutive interpretation routine. Signora Somonte and Vitellozzi exchanged appropriate pleasantries, and he told her that he would be noting her husband’s contribution to the event when he addressed the guests later in the program. She thanked him and said she would be pleased to say a few words herself, something that clearly took the museum director by surprise. He asked Rick to interpret for her, and Rick said he would be honored. Vitellozzi offered to take her around and tell her about each of the works displayed, but Garcia stepped in, saying he was familiar with them and could do it. Besides, he added, the director was busy with the other guests. Vitellozzi thanked him. Everyone shook hands and Rick returned to Betta, who was still standing with the two museum directors.
“You’ve already earned the price of tonight’s ticket, Rick.”
“And I’ll get overtime later when interpreting the signora’s remarks.”
Tucci’s eyes widened. “She’s going to address the crowd? The way she just tossed down that glass of prosecco, it could prove interesting.” They watched as Signora Somonte put her empty glass on a waiter’s tray and took a full one. “Extremely interesting.”
“Ladies,” said Betta, “Riccardo and I had better see the art before he’s put to work again, if you’ll excuse us.”
They did, and the two of them drifted to the other side of the room where The Marriage of the Virgin hung. Three people, who did not appear to be together, studied it while sipping from their glasses. The scene was an open square below a round, domed temple in the distance. The priest, ornately robed, held the hands of Mary and Joseph at the point when the groom was putting the ring on her finger. A group of women stood behind Mary, an equal number of men in back of Joseph.
After looking at the painting for a few moments, Rick turned to Betta. “You’re the art expert—tell me about this one.”
She took a deep breath. “You can read next to it that it’s on loan from the Brera in Milan, but it was originally commissioned by a patron for a church in Città di Castello. We drove near there yesterday. Given the rounded top, it was probably intended to be put above an altar. The perspective is done perfectly, taking the eye to the vanishing point at the temple door, which led to speculation that Raffaello had studied Piero’s treatise on perspective. The temple is painted so perfectly that some art historians think he worked from a wood model, but that’s never been proven.” She pointed with her hand. “The figures in the foreground are of course the stars of the work. You can see that Joseph is the only male wearing a beard, and the only person barefoot, which likely foreshadows the arrival of his son. Every aspect of the painting has a meaning, of course.”
“I could not help overhearing,” said a voice behind them. They turned to see a thin man peering at the painting through round glasses. “You must be an expert on Raffaello.”
“Not really,” said Betta. “Is this the first time you’ve seen this work?”
“Yes, indeed it is. We who live here in Urbino are delighted that it’s all been brought here, even if it’s just for six months. He was born in Urbino, you know.”
“We’d heard that,” said Rick.
“Yes, indeed. One of our main streets is named for him. The house where he was born is located on it.”
“We’ve been meaning to go during our stay here. You are a local—what else should we not miss while we’re here?”
The man pursed his lips and thought. “Well, this palace is the reason why most tourists come to Urbino, and you’re here tonight. But there is much to see in the regular collection, so you must come back. The other attraction that shouldn’t be missed is the Orto Botanico.”
It dawned on Rick who the man was. His eyes shot over to Betta and back to Florio. “Urbino has a botanical garden?”
“Oh, yes, a fine one.” He looked left and right and leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile. “I’m the director.”
“Really? Well, we will have to make a visit, won’t we, cara?”
“Absolutely,” Betta answered. “But didn’t we read something about the gardens in the newspaper? We always make a point to read the local paper whenever we travel.”
Florio kept his voice subdued. “A very nasty business, indeed. A man was found
