Rick picked up the wine bottle and refreshed the other two glasses before filling his own.
“Grazie Riccardo.” Luca took a sip and continued. “Or so we thought he had.”
“I think I can see this coming,” Flavio said.
Luca held up a hand. “About that time, I was working on a case in the Borgo, near the Vatican, and was in a nightclub trying to track down a shady character. I didn’t find the guy, but I did run into my cousin Federico. He was in there with a friend and their two female companions. Let’s just say he wasn’t trying to convert anyone that night.”
“That’s a fascinating story, but—”
“The story isn’t done, Riccardo. We met for coffee the next morning and he told me that he was glad I’d seen him at the nightclub. It had forced him to come to terms with himself, to stop living a lie. He had dropped out of the seminary and was studying accounting, which was his true calling. That weekend he would go home and tell his parents the truth.”
Luca drank some wine while Rick and Flavio watched, sensing that the story was still not finished. They were correct.
“Aunt Giulia has never spoken to me again. At every family gathering since then, whether a wedding, funeral, or christening, she avoids me as if I have some dread disease. She talks to everyone else, but not to me. I’ve come now to accept it.”
Luca spread his hands to indicate he was done. Rick and Flavio looked at each other and then back at the policeman, who was savoring another drink from his glass.
“Don’t you see? Signora Taylor is my Aunt Giulia.”
“That could be it,” Rick finally said. “She didn’t like her brother very much, but the one part of him she was able to admire was his business ethics. Then it turns out he was a blackmailing scoundrel, but instead of blaming her brother, she takes it out on you for discovering his sins. She doesn’t want to be around you.”
Luca hesitated, glancing at Flavio before answering. “Or, Riccardo, she doesn’t want to be around us. You were as much involved in this investigation as I.”
Flavio laughed. “That’s great, you find her brother’s murderer and that’s the thanks you get. But as strange as Luca’s aunt story was, it does make a certain sense.” He picked up his wineglass. “Let’s forget the vagaries of the Taylor family, drink to the successful end of Luca’s investigations, and change the subject to what is on the menu.”
After the toast, Flavio held the floor, and Rick was glad that he did. The analysis of Cat’s behavior rang true. He was the messenger and he was getting the blame.
“This exquisite Valpolicella,” Flavio was saying, “from the hills north of Verona, will be the perfect accompaniment to one of the specialty dishes of the Trentino region.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Pizzoccheri.”
At that moment the waitress arrived with a large platter, and with her serving fork and spoon began dishing out a pasta which looked different from anything Rick had ever seen. Had Flavio timed this?
“…made with buckwheat flour, thus the brownish coloring, tossed in butter with, as you can see, a bit of chard, slices of potato, and very importantly, soft casera cheese. Look how nicely the cheese has melted. And we shall add some grated cheese to enhance the taste. I prefer grana padana on this dish, but this parmigiano reggiano will certainly do no harm. It never does.”
The girl served the three and departed. Discussion of the investigation or anything else came to a temporary halt as they lifted their forks.
Chapter Fifteen
“You did not see her again?”
Commissario Piero Fontana looked across the starched, white tablecloth over tortoiseshell half-glasses. The glasses, Rick had decided, were a major concession for his uncle, a man who prided himself on cheating Father Time. At first it was only for reading. Now he used them in restaurants, not just for the menu but to better enjoy the visual as well as the gustatory aspects of a good meal. Naturally, his glasses were the height of fashion, which in this case meant traditional. As was his suit this day, a double-breasted charcoal gray to go with an off-white shirt and dark blue print tie.
“She left for Milan the next morning, without saying good-bye, but three days later called from Malpensa. I was on the train back to Rome. My guess is she was in the first-class lounge and had just downed a couple of glasses of prosecco while waiting for her flight.”
The policeman looked at his glass. “Prosecco? How ironic.”
Rick shook his head. “I never thought of that. Anyway, she thanked me and apologized for the way she’d slipped out of Campiglio. Then what you’d expect: look me up when you’re in the States, that kind of thing.
“Without much conviction.”
Rick shrugged and took a drink of wine.
“And you didn’t invite her to Rome?”
“I did not.”
Uncle Piero nodded and rubbed his chin, a sure sign that another question was coming. “Did she drive to Milan? That wouldn’t seem like something she would take on, even under normal circumstances.”
Rick smiled. “Only you would think of that small detail, Zio. No, her brother’s car was actually owned by the bank, and they later sent someone to get it. She was driven back by Daniele Lotti.”
“Ah. The landlord of the holiday apartment.”
“Ah indeed.”
The commissario tilted his head as he looked at his nephew. “Riccardo, you should take up this Taylor woman’s invitation to look her up in America. You could visit her and also drop in on someone else you know well. Erica is still there, is she not?” He paused, enjoying himself. “Has it occurred to you that the two of you could run into each other sometime?”
“It’s a big country, Zio. I think I’m safe.”
The second course appeared. It was
