Rick nodded. “I can see how that would upset Aunt Marta. But a youthful fling isn’t the end of the world, and—”
“The woman is twice his age, Riccardo, and married. She is also wealthy, and she’s set Fabrizio up in a small apartment close to her palazzo. But Orvieto is so small, everything is close.”
“Ah.” Rick digested the facts, considered making a joke, but stifled the thought when he read the look on his uncle’s face. “So you need someone to talk some sense into Fabrizio.”
“That’s correct.”
“And what better person than the older cousin whom the kid has idolized forever?”
“Precisely.”
Rick’s deep breath was something closer to a sigh. He’d been meaning to get up to Perugia to see the Dozzi since he’d moved to Rome from Albuquerque, but something had always come up, usually work. Building up his interpreting and translating business took time, and he had to drop everything when a job appeared. Now he had gained enough of a reputation around Rome to be selective in the jobs he accepted. Coincidentally, just the previous week he’d thought about traveling to the Umbrian capital to visit his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Now, at least to see Cousin Fabrizio, he would not have to go as far as Perugia. This was a task that had to be done in person, and Orvieto was a relatively short drive from Rome.
“I suppose Aunt Marta has made an attempt.”
Piero’s reply was to lift his eyes to the heavens and then back to Rick.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been up to Orvieto, and Betta has finally worked at the art police long enough to have accrued some vacation time. We’ve talked about getting out of Rome for a few days, this could be just thing.” The thought of spending a few days with Betta definitely helped.
“So you can catch two pigeons with one fava bean.” Piero used the Italian equivalent of “kill two birds with one stone.”
“Exactly, Zio.” Rick quickly sorted things out in his mind. “But I have a contract to interpret for a visiting group of American doctors the next three days, so I can’t go up until the weekend. I assume you know where Fabrizio is.”
“I know exactly where he is, at an apartment rented in the name of Tullia Aragona. There are advantages to having the resources of the Polizia dello Stato at hand.”
“You agree, Zio, that it will be better for me to drop in on Fabrizio rather than to phone?”
“Absolutely. Surprise him in person. He won’t listen to reason over the phone. I’ve tried. Your Aunt Marta has called too.”
I’ll bet she has, Rick thought. “Send me the information and I’ll get a car rental reservation.”
As Rick and Piero walked toward the door, five young plainclothes policemen nodded polite greetings to the commissario and wondered who the young guy with him was. Once out on the street, the two instinctively checked the patch of sky visible between the buildings to see if any change in the weather was in the offing. The few clouds they saw, which would have constituted a promising weather system in New Mexico, were not worth noting in Rome. The commotion of coffee machines and conversations in the crowded bar was replaced with the cacophony of the street, including the sound of mopeds and cars. The imposing police building did not keep Roman drivers from behaving as they did in the rest of the city, including parking at angles not condoned by municipal regulations. The two men squeezed between two parked cars and waited for a speeding Fiat to pass before carefully crossing the street. They paused in front of the large entrance, its tall doors guarded by two uniformed policemen who stood straight when they spotted Rick’s uncle.
“Sorry we are burdening you with this task, Riccardo, but you are the perfect person to take it on.”
“I hope you’re right, Zio.”
“I know I’m right. You solved those mysteries up north, so this should be simple.”
Walking back to his apartment, Rick thought that finding a murderer would be easier than getting his young cousin to give up the pleasures of a woman. Which brought his thoughts back to Betta and spending a few days with her in Orvieto. He extracted his phone from his pocket and scrolled down the numbers.
***
The desert heat pressed down on Scottsdale, as usual, but inside the house the air felt icy cool. Two large suitcases lay open on the wide bed, their dark canvas contrasting with the white of the bedspread, walls, and furniture. The thick carpet was a soft pink, not a color or a pile that would be the first choice of most men. But the men who’d entered the room over the years hadn’t noticed, or if they had, didn’t care. Rhonda Van Fleet opened the drawer of one of four dressers, pulled out another clump of clothing, and dumped it in one of the suitcases. She stepped back, her bare feet making no sound as they sank into the lush pile. Looking at one almost-full suitcase, she thought how different this trip would be from that first one those many years ago. She didn’t have two bags then, only a stuffed backpack that she’d carried on the plane. Life was simpler in those days, but so was she. The thought made her laugh silently.
“What is your name?”
“Rhonda. It is a family name.”
“And a beautiful name. It sounds like music.”
“And what is your name?”
“Luca. With one C, not like the city.”
“You live in Orvieto?”
“My aunt does, I come to visit her. You are a student?”
“Yes, I will study art. And learn Italian.”
“I will visit my aunt more often. I can help you learn Italian.”
“I would like that.”
“Can I help you with something, Mrs. Van Fleet?”
Rhonda answered without turning to the woman standing in the doorway. “The decisions on what to
