Death in the Dolomites (13 page)

He's back to using “we” again, Rick thought. “And who would that be?”

“Bruno Bauer, of the hat emporium. You said that Signora Taylor spoke of him like they knew each other, and now we find that he got a loan from Melograno.”

“I don't see any motive for Bauer to murder Taylor.”

“Nor do I, Riccardo, nor do I. Unless, again, the murdered man's sister is actually behind the crime, and we substitute Bauer for Lotti in that scenario.”

“The picture you're painting of Cat is one of a scheming woman who can wrap men around her little finger.”

“Well, Riccardo, I assume you noticed that she is a beautiful woman, and—”

He was interrupted by the arrival of the custard in a small ramekin. A brownish liquid had been dripped over the white surface. The waitress also set a bowl of fruit on the table, which Rick began to study after gesturing for Luca to eat. The inspector took a small spoonful of the custard.

“An excellent
panna cotta
. Smooth with a dash of amaretto serving as the perfect foil for the cream. Your suggestion is much appreciated.”

Rick pulled an orange from the bowl and placed it on his plate. Using the knife provided by the waitress, he sliced off one end and peeled the thick skin, happily finding that it was a Sicilian blood orange, his favorite. After separating the slices, he picked up a fork, sliced one of them, and put it in his mouth. Italians always used a knife and fork to eat fruit, even bananas. Luca watched the process as he enjoyed his sweet.

“Enough murder talk, Riccardo. Tell me, where do you live in Rome?”

“I have a small apartment near Piazza Navona.”

“Ah, right in the
centro storico
. How were you able to come across such a place?”

“A distant relative owns it.”

Luca had made quick work of his dessert and was scraping up the last bits with his small spoon. “Of course. That's what family is for. I lived with my parents until I got married, a typical Italian story, and then managed to find an apartment only a few blocks from where they live.”

“Much to your mother's delight.”

“And my wife's. Fortunately they get along well. When I was transferred up here I don't know what upset Mamma more, losing her son, or her daughter-in-law.”

Try moving to a different continent, Rick thought, and see how your mother takes it. “Where was your apartment?”

“Outside the walls, the Porta San Giovanni area. Near Piazza Zama.”

“I've been to Piazza Zama,” Rick said, “There's a restaurant—”

“Severino. Best
saltimboca
in Rome, which is saying a lot.” His empty custard bowl was whisked away, a coffee cup put in its place. “Riccardo, do you know what Piazza Zama is named for?”

“The Battle of Zama, if I remember my Italian history correctly.”

“
Bravo
. The final and decisive battle of the second Punic War, Scipio defeating Hannibal outside Carthage. Here it is the twenty-first century, and we Romans think it important to name a square after an event that took place in 202 BC. Quite a long collective memory, don't you think?”

Rick drank the last of his coffee. “There's simply more history to remember here, Luca. The state I come from in America boasts the oldest capital in the country, yet it only dates back four hundred years.”

“The one with the Roman street grid.”

“Your short-term memory is pretty sharp too.” Rick glanced at Flavio and Lori, who were in the middle of a deep conversation. He wondered what language they were using, but suspected it was English. Despite the jokes, Flavio's English was excellent, as was his accent—when he wanted it to be. Rick returned his attention to the inspector. “Do you really want me to go with you to talk with Mitzi and Bruno Bauer tomorrow?”

“Absolutely, having you present when I talk to people keeps them off guard, better than if I took one of the local police with me. And I value your opinions.”

“That's good of you, but I—” Rick was interrupted by his cell phone, which he pulled from his pocket. Not a number he recognized. He glanced at Luca who gestured for him to take the call.

“Montoya.”

“Rick, this is Cat. I need your help. Can you come over right now?”

***

Rick looked at himself in the mirror of the elevator as it rose to Cat's floor. He wore the shearling coat from a small shop in Taos, bought when he was on a ski break from college. The leather on the sleeves was beginning to get shiny, and it had a small hole on the bottom of one side from when he'd caught it in his seat belt lock. It was too expensive to have the hole repaired, and over time the story of the bullet hole had proven to be worth gold at Albuquerque singles bars. He would never get rid of the jacket; not just for its warmth, but the memories it held of cold times past. And it went with his cowboy boots, as well as with the wide-brimmed hat he now held in one hand.

He didn't remember the elevator being so slow. Finally it lurched to a halt and released him into the hallway. After two rings of the bell, the door opened. Cat was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her face scrubbed of makeup, hair pulled back. If he hadn't gotten her call he would have thought that she wasn't expecting visitors. Her appearance did not detract from her looks. She closed the door and put her arms around him, that same perfume hitting his senses.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Rick.”

“What's wrong? From your voice it sounded like there's some crisis.”

“Did I give that impression? Come sit down, I'll tell you.” Rick stamped the caked snow from his boots onto the door mat, shed his hat and jacket, and followed her into the living room. A book lay open next to the chair where she was sitting down. He took the place opposite her.

“It's that woman.”

He frowned. “What woman?” Had Gina Cortese contacted Cat? Made some kind of threat?

“That woman from the consulate. She's driving me crazy.”

Rick couldn't decide whether to laugh or get pissed off. He opted for the latter. “You had me rush over here because you can't get along with the person who drove up here to help you in your time of crisis?”

Cat's expression turned into a pout, and it was not becoming. “Rick, she's just…stifling. She hovers like the dorm supervisor we had in school. I can't stand her.”

“Well, you can't always choose the people you have to deal with in life, Cat.” He got to his feet.

“Don't go, Rick. I'm sorry. It's just that, well, this is not an easy time. I'm on edge.”

He studied her face and slowly sat back down. She was right about finding herself in a tough situation, and it wasn't his place to be judgmental. He knew he had to give her the benefit of the doubt. What happened to her brother wasn't her fault—at least he didn't think it was.

“Okay, Cat, you got me here. How can I help?”

“First let me help you.” She bounced to her feet and Rick noticed that the sweatshirt, though roomy, still fit well. “I am remiss in my duties as a hostess. What can I get you to drink?”

“Do you have any beer?”

“I think so. But it's Italian.”

“Well, we are in Italy, Cat, last time I checked. That will be fine.”

She disappeared into the kitchen. He got up and looked around the room, which hadn't changed since his last visit. The cover of the book she was reading was dominated by a woman barely dressed in futuristic armor, facing off with a tentacled creature not in the least intimidated by her ray gun. Rick always wondered what kind of people read such books, and now he knew. He heard the pop of a bottle cap being removed, then the beer pouring into a glass. Even at many of the best places in Albuquerque, patrons were always asked if they wanted a glass or just the bottle, but this wasn't New Mexico. Cat reappeared, a beer mug in one hand and a crystal glass with something on the rocks in the other. Rick took his beer, tapped it with her glass, and returned to his chair.

“Is there any news on the investigation?” Cat settled back into the cushions.

“I don't really know what Inspector Albani is up to,” Rick said. It wasn't true, but he didn't want to get into any details with someone who was at least peripherally considered a suspect. “I know he's been interviewing a lot of people.”

“I thought you were, you know, working with him.”

Rick took a sip of his beer to give him time to respond. It didn't taste like one of the big national brands, like Peroni or Moretti; it was probably something local. With the number of German speakers in the Dolomites, there would have to be lots of local beers.

“I was here to help translate, Cat. But if you have something else he should know, something you've remembered, I can tell him. We're staying in the same hotel.”

“No, nothing new. I just thought…”

Rick studied her face silently, considering various possibilities. The most obvious was that she truly was upset, outside her comfort level, and in need of some support. Of course Lori had been giving that support all afternoon, but perhaps in a manner that was more overbearing than comforting. Or perhaps Cat was somehow involved in the murder and was probing to find out how much he knew. If that was the case, their interaction now would become a game of cat and mouse, or rather Cat and Rick. The third possibility was that she was simply attracted to him, and that's why she'd called and asked him to come over. He had to admit he preferred that one to the first two. There was a fourth possibility: some combination of the first three.

“The inspector is tracking down various leads, I know that. He seems very efficient.”

“It was someone local, wasn't it?”

“I doubt if someone came up from Milan, or from the States, if that's what you mean.”

She took a strong pull of her drink. “I just wish there was something I could do.”

“Cat, perhaps it's best for you to try and take your mind off things. Being with the vice consul all day, dealing with the details you had to talk about, has taken its toll.”

“I had no idea there were so many decisions to make.”

“I'm sure. And you've been cooped up here all afternoon. Why don't we go out for a walk around town? Getting some fresh air will do you good.”

“Oh, I'd love that, Rick.” She stood up, and to his surprise, drained her glass. “Take your time with your beer, I'll just freshen up.”

Before he could get to his feet she disappeared down the hall. His hand reached for the mug on the table next to the chair. After another drink of the beer he held it up and studied the frowning face of the Irish leprechaun, his fists up, ready for a fight. Perhaps this had been Cameron Taylor's third-favorite possession, after his cap and expensive skis. Rick put down the mug and walked to the window where he could see people walking slowly along the sidewalk below. He couldn't tell if the flakes swirling on the street were falling from the sky or being picked up from the ground by a passing gust of wind. Whatever their source, they gave the couples he watched a good excuse to pull closer.

He walked back to the chairs, picked up his mug and Cat's glass, and walked into the kitchen. In the sink were some dishes and a frying pan, but he found room for the glass and mug, into which he ran some water. In the drain were a few strands of spaghetti, the remnants of what looked like a simple meal. Probably all that Cat would be capable of, Rick decided, without Maria in the kitchen. He walked back into the living room and sat down, stretching his legs out toward the coffee table, noticing his boots. They would need a good polishing when he got back to Rome, thanks to the slush of Campiglio's streets. They were ones from the Boot Barn in Albuquerque, not the fancy place in Santa Fe where he'd gotten his other, more dressy pair. These were more comfortable.

“I'm ready.”

Rick looked up. Cat had changed into something which looked like a long sweater, but which he quickly realized was a dress of heavy wool that ended just above her knees. Loose-fitting snow boots rose to meet the hem, but ended just below the knees. The dress was not loose-fitting. Quite an outfit to stroll about the streets of Campiglio, he thought. She had brushed some color to her face, added a light coat of lipstick, and changed the ribbon holding back her hair. After taking it all in, he rose to his feet.

“That was quick. Where's your coat?”

“The closet there by the door.”

Rick opened the closet door and found the coat she had worn that morning. Next to it were two that must have belonged to her brother. She turned her back to him and he slipped it up over her arms, noticing that she'd added a few new sprays of perfume. He pulled on his own coat, took his hat, and opened the door to the apartment.

When they emerged on the street a gust of snowy wind swirled around their two bodies. Cat pushed herself against Rick's chest.

“You should have worn a hat, Cat.”

“I'll be okay. It feels good to be out of that apartment.”

The violent images of the previous evening, pushed from his mind, reappeared. It was just ahead that he had been jolted by the cries of Pittini and rushed up to find him bleeding in the snow. He instinctively glanced around to find that now several people strolled the sidewalk. That would be expected since the snow was not as heavy and the hour not as late. He toyed with the idea of telling Cat about the incident but rejected it immediately. She had enough on her mind. He wasn't sure how much she wanted to talk, so he decided to wait to let her start the conversation. They came to a shoe store and stopped to gaze at the pairs lined up on the shelves inside the long glass window. The stock was dominated by boots, as would be expected in a mountain town in the winter.

“This is where I got these boots,” Cat said, extending her toe. “They're very warm.”

“These are warm too,” he said, noticing that she was glancing at his footwear.