Cold Tuscan Stone (13 page)

“So, Riccardo, you have already made the news here in Volterra, and after just a day in the city.” She placed her hands on her knees, yoga style.

“I suppose everyone reads the local paper.”

“Or watches the news on TV.”

“They mentioned me on a newscast?”

“Well, not by name, but the reporter spoke of a visiting American who is here to buy art. It was you, was it not?”

“Guilty as charged.” He made a face of mock pain. “Perhaps that's not the phrase to use in this situation.”

He was interrupted by the arrival of Dario with a round tray carrying two small porcelain cups and saucers as well as a bowl of sugar and two glasses of mineral water. He placed it on the table in front of the sofa and shuffled out. Donatella added sugar to Rick's cup, at his request, but left her own espresso black.

“The newspaper said that the police are still investigating, and likely will be at it for a while.” She settled back into the chair and took a sip. “Don't you think it will be a while?”

Rick didn't want to talk about the case. He didn't know very much of what Conti had found out, though after spending so much time with the inspector, he certainly knew more than Donatella. Given the real reason for his presence in Volterra, the contacts with Conti were something he did not want to broadcast.

“I really wouldn't know.”

She had her saucer in the palm of one hand and held the cup by two fingers of the other, gazing over them into Rick's eyes. “We don't get many murders in Volterra, Riccardo. Everyone will be talking about it for weeks.”

“Murder? I assumed it was suicide.” He couldn't remember if the newspaper story had speculated as to the cause of the fall.

Donatella reached out and put her empty cup on the tray. “This is a small town, we need something other than local politics to talk about. Suicide would not be half as interesting as a murder, now would it? The man was not old, and had a family. Why would he take his own life? The obvious conclusion: murder.” Her smile struck Rick as hardly something that should go along with talk of a death.

“I'll stay out of the speculation game.”

“Not a game, Riccardo. Especially if you are the murderer.” She noticed his reaction and added, “I meant if
one
is the murderer. You don't look like the kind of person who would have done this man in.” For her it
was
a game, and she was enjoying playing it with him.

“Or done in anyone else, I hope you meant to say.”

She kept the playful expression on her face. “Of course. And more than one person would have been needed to push him over the wall. You probably didn't have time to recruit any accomplices in town, or did you bring some Roman thugs along with you?”

“Just me on this trip.” He was starting to feel very uncomfortable. Was it the line of conversation or the woman herself? Erica should have warned him, perhaps if she had gone into more detail about her friend, Rick would have treated this meeting differently. Like meet her at a neutral place in town. Did Erica avoid the details on purpose, perhaps as a test for him? Could Donatella be in on it? Hold on, Montoya, it's true that this is Italy and not Albuquerque, but let's stick with reality here.

“
Ancora un caffe
?”

“No, thank you, Donatella, one was just right. And I really should be getting back, I have some messages to send back to the gallery to let them know what I've been up to. I don't want them to think I'm just drinking wine and eating pasta at their expense.”

They rose, and as if on a signal Dario appeared at the doorway. As Rick picked up the folder, he remembered the real reason for the visit.

“Donatella, what you showed me here was very impressive, I hope something will be of interest to our clients in America. May I also mention that some Americans have very specific and—how shall I say?—exceptional tastes. They are always looking for something unique that can be enjoyed purely for its—”

“For its beauty,” she interrupted. Unlike Landi, the woman appeared to get the message immediately. “Something to have in a special place and enjoy in privacy.” She gestured toward the walls of the room with her hand. “Yes, Riccardo, I think I understand. Let me think about it and call you.” She took his arm as she walked him toward the door where Dario was already opening it for them. Rick nodded to him, eliciting an almost imperceptible nod in return, and he and Donatella walked out to the terrace. The sun was starting to drop over the hill west of the villa, taking much of the afternoon's warmth with it. At the edge of the brick he turned to his hostess and extended his hand. She took it and held up her face to let him kiss her on both cheeks. They had only just met, but after all, she was a friend of Erica.

***

Rick turned on his lights as he passed through the gate of the villa compound, accelerating without noticing the blue car parked just off the dirt road. Rick was soon back on pavement, wondering if his cell phone would work in this corner of Tuscany to call Erica. It did.

“
Ciao, Ricky
.”

“
Ciao, bella
. I hope I am not interrupting class or something else important.”

“What would be more important than talking with you,
caro
? Tell me what you've been doing. Here it is the usual dull routine. You are having the fun and all I have to look forward to is a room full of bored students.”

Might as well get it over with.

“I saw your friend Donatella.”

“Aha. And how is
la bella Donatella
? She did not make any advances on you, I hope.”

“Not that I was aware of.” He crossed two fingers on the hand doing the steering. “She has an impressive collection.”

“Are you referring to her art?”

Rick laughed, hoping it didn't seem too forced. “I'm beginning to wonder why you suggested I call her. I thought you two were friends.”

“She is a friend. Not close, but a friend. She does have a certain reputation, and from my experience at the university, it is not unwarranted.” She paused. “But Ricky, if you saw her collection, to use your words, you must have visited her villa.”

It was time to come clean about Donatella, but how to do it without getting into too much detail? He had felt guilty keeping it from her—though likely not guilty enough for her liking—yet if he told her too much now, it would not go well with Beppo. While all this was fun, if his translation business didn't pan out, working undercover was probably not the career he would pursue.

“Erica, Beppo thought that it might be a good idea to make contact with Donatella. Professionally, I mean. Perhaps he thought it would add credibility with the other people I'm seeing.” Stretching the truth?

“Ricky, you don't think your friend Beppo—”

“Erica,” he interrupted, “here's the thing. If I'm making contact with dealers, it would seem strange if I didn't call on her, don't you think? I doubt very much if Beppo thinks she could be mixed up in this.” OK, now he
was
stretching the truth, better to change the subject. “Something else has come up, which has nothing to do with my little mission.” He told her about the death of Canopo and his involvement in the case.

“This isn't another attempt by your uncle to get you involved in police work, is it Ricky?” It was an issue that had come up before in Rome. It could have been his mother talking.

“Of course not,” he said. “It was pure coincidence that I happened to be with the man just before his death. The police are satisfied I had nothing more to do with him. The commissario I am dealing with for my, uh, work here, is the same one investigating the death of the man.” Rick slowed down, he was talking too fast. He also took his foot off the gas pedal and wondered if using a cell phone while driving was illegal in Italy. If so, the police could make a fortune giving out tickets.

“So you and this policeman are old friends by now.”

“I wouldn't go that far. He's not happy about my presence in Volterra, and my connection with the murder is not helping things. Fortunately he found out about Uncle Piero, and that seems to have softened him a bit.”

“The uncle helping the nephew. That has a long tradition here in Italy.”

“True. But Uncle Piero isn't the pope.”

“Also true. Ricky, class is about to start, I'll talk with you tomorrow. Be safe,
caro; ciao, ciao
.” The phone clicked and he wondered if there might have been an edge in her voice. Was it his involvement in a murder investigation or the meeting with Donatella?

***

He was still thinking about the conversation with Erica when he drove through the city gate and turned into the hotel parking garage. The dashboard clock showed that it was late afternoon, which in Italy meant that much of the day still lay ahead. Many offices worked until six or seven, shops were still open, and most Italians wouldn't even start boiling their pasta water until eight. Best to plug in the lap top and get some translation work finished before dinner. After pulling his coat and Donatella's folder from the back seat, he locked the car door and walked out of the garage to the street, dodging a blue sedan that had just come through the gate. It was getting colder, but he didn't bother putting on the coat since he was steps from the hotel. He felt the warm air welcome him when he pushed open the glass door to the lobby. The woman behind the desk was talking loudly on the phone, as if it were long distance.

“…yes, you should be able to reach him at that cell number, he—” she looked up and saw Rick, waving her hand at him with the clawing motion that Italians use.

“Just a moment, please, he just walked in,” she said into the receiver before looking back at Rick. “A call for you, Signor Montoya, you can take it on the house phone.” She pointed to a telephone in a small niche on the side wall.

Laying the coat and folder over a chair, Rick walked to the phone.

“This is Riccardo Montoya.”

“Ah, yes, Signor Montoya, I was fortunate that you appeared as I was calling. My name is Santo.”

The voice was low and smooth, and had a guttural quality that would indicate a person raised somewhere north of the Po River, though Rick was not yet good enough with accents to be more precise than that.

“How can I be of service, Signor Santo?”

“I hope that it is I who can be of service. It is my understanding that you may be in the market for some works of art.”

Rick held the phone away from his mouth while he took in a quick breath. This is it, Beppo's scheme has worked. But who is this guy, and is he for real?

“Possibly, Signor Santo, but tell me, how did you learn of my presence in Volterra?”

“Besides from the newspapers?” The voice switched to a laugh, which stopped abruptly. “You'll forgive me for making light of a tragedy. Your question is a valid one, but what is more important is that we have made contact.”

Rick decided not to push it. Certainly the source of the referral would come out eventually, so at this point the man was just trying to be cautious. Rick couldn't help trying another line of questioning. “Do you do a lot of business with that person?”

“I would rather discuss doing business with you, Signor Montoya, but it would be better if we spoke in person. Would that be possible?”

The guy was good, Rick thought. “Of course,” he answered, glancing up at the clock above the hotel reception desk, “when would be convenient for you?”

“I could see you in about forty-five minutes.”

“Where are you?”

The man hesitated before answering, and Rick wondered if he was trying to get too much information from the man. But asking him where he was didn't seem that unreasonable.

“I'm not in Volterra, and it will take me some time to get there.”

That could mean either that he did not live or work in town, or was outside town at the moment. Rick opted not to ask for a clarification. “I can meet you in the bar of the hotel in an hour, we can talk there.”

“If you don't mind, I would prefer somewhere else. Do you know the cathedral?”

“I know where it is, but I haven't seen it yet.”

“Ah, it is a jewel of a church, very much underrated. And a perfect place for us to talk without being bothered by anyone. Only old women and tourists are found in our churches at this time of day, even the cathedral, and none of them will be interested in our conversation. I will see you there in one hour.” He hung up.

Rick looked at the phone while he gathered his thoughts, his first one being a question if Santo was really the person Beppo was trying to catch. “Works of art” the man had said. It would be just Rick's luck that there was a misunderstanding, and the man was only an art dealer, like Donatella. Santo could have read about him in the paper and tracked him down at the hotel, a logical place for an American art dealer to stay in Volterra. But then why the cloak and dagger meeting in the church instead of a place like the hotel where business would normally be done? No, this looked like the real thing; the question would be whether he had the real thing to sell. Rick picked up his coat and papers and started toward the elevator, catching the eye of the receptionist. For the first time she gave him what appeared to be a genuine smile before going quickly back to her computer screen. Must be his celebrity status.

***

Rick pulled the coat's cloth belt tightly around his middle and tied it in a loose knot. He was glad he'd packed the coat. The weather in Rome hadn't been that cold lately, but here either a front had moved in or it simply got colder in this part of the country. Volterra was way up on this hill, after all. He pulled his small GPS from the coat pocket, switched it on, and read 1694 feet above sea level. He really should have set it to meters now that he was in Italy, but the reading confirmed why there was the chill. Volterra
was
much higher than Rome, which was barely above sea level, and Tuscany was also much farther north. He repocketed the GPS and started up the street toward the cathedral, focusing on the mysterious Signor Santo, and who could have sent the man. It had to be Landi. Who else had he contacted? Well, Donatella, of course, he could be working for her or with her. The only other persons he had seen were Conti, not a suspect, and Zerbino, the same. Polpetto, the exporter, would have been a contender, but Rick hadn't met the guy yet. Unless his secretary with the red glasses could have taken his mention of Etruscan art and run with it. That could explain the difference between their brief encounter in the office and the equally brief meeting on the street. But that would be unlikely, since the boss would want to meet Rick before making any decision to pass his name to someone else.