Cold Tuscan Stone David Wagner (acx book reading .txt) 📖

empty cup and now looked at Rick. “You have a rare gift, Signor Montoya, of getting people to talk freely.”

“This is the first time I’ve been accused of that, Signor Canopo.”

Canopo narrowed his eyes as he looked at Rick’s face. “But it’s true, I sense such things.” The smile returned. “I also sense that you won’t take my comments the wrong way. I am very happy here, I have a wonderful family and Signor Landi has treated me well. All this despite the wretched cold of this city.” He glanced at his watch, as if to remind them both of Rick’s other appointment. As he did, Rick pulled back his coat to reach into his pants pocket.

“Don’t take out your money, Signor Montoya; it is of no value here.”

Rick thanked him for the coffee as they walked through the glass doors. They stepped into the street and Canopo gestured to the right with his hand.

“The shop is in this direction, I think you will—”

Rick had been looking down the street where Canopo was pointing, but now glanced at the man’s face. The smile had gone and what was remained was either annoyance or concern.

“Please excuse me for just a moment.” Canopo’s voice sounded a bit higher than it had inside. Without waiting for a reply he left Rick standing and strode quickly across the street toward a shoe store. Like all such establishments in Italy, the shoes were displayed along a glass corridor which lead to the entrance. This is a strange time to buy a pair of shoes, thought Rick, but then noticed a man standing close to the shop door. Because of the angle, he could see only the man’s left shoulder and his left arm inside the pocket of his coat. This limited view was soon blocked completely by Canopo, who stared through the glass, avoiding eye contact with the other man as the two talked. Before Canopo turned, Rick looked away so the two would not see him watching them, and he was checking the watches of a jewelry store when Canopo reached him.

“Signor Montoya, I am mortified. Something has come up and I will have to show you the workshop tomorrow. I pray you will forgive me.”

“Of course, of course, I understand completely. It may have been a bit tight for me to get to my appointment anyway.

“You are very kind. Until tomorrow then.” Canopo pumped Rick’s hand and scuttled down the street, pulling his hat down over his head as he went. Rick watched him for a few seconds, then turned to see what had happened to the other man, but he was nowhere to be seen. Must have gone into the shoe store.

There was still more than an hour until Rick’s appointment with Commissario Conti, enough time to wander the ancient streets of Volterra. He felt a tinge of guilt at engaging in some tourism on the ministry’s dime and time, but it quickly passed as he walked in the opposite direction from Canopo. At the corner the street dropped steeply toward the west wall. If he descended he would have to climb back up, so he opted for a left turn, bringing him out in a small square. It was the capolinea for provincial bus routes from outlining towns. Two busses were parked at the curb, one with its motor running softly, while their drivers stood on the sidewalk talking. Rick continued along the street which narrowed as it became cobblestone and started a soft incline.

At the end of the street he walked through a gate and found himself in a park. Not a small park with a bit of grass but an immense open green area surrounded by tall trees. In Italy, where there’s grass there are kids, and despite the chill and deepening dusk a small pack of young boys kicked a soccer ball in the middle of the field. Near Rick on wooden benches women sat next to empty strollers, chatting while keeping an eye on their toddlers scratching around for bugs in the dirt. The greenery formed a sharp contrast to the gray stone of the narrow streets a few hundred meters behind him. Rick raised his eyes, drawn to the view at the far end of the park. The walls of a huge castle rose high, a perfect backdrop for the set for a Disney movie. Strange that he hadn’t remembered anything about castle tours in his guidebook, since castles had been a passion of his since childhood. When he had moved back to Rome, one of his first tourist visits was a return to the Castel Sant’ Angelo, with its long history and great views over the Tiber. He remembered standing on its battlements as a kid while his father recounted the story of Pope Clement VII watching in helpless horror as foreign mercenaries sacked the city below. Volterra’s castle ramparts would have wonderful views of the valley, and while it didn’t date back to the emperor Hadrian like Castel Sant’ Angelo, there had to be some fascinating history in its stones. He made a mental note to find out. It looked like a keeper for sure.

***

The wind was picking up now, bending left and right to follow the curves of the narrow stone streets. After leaving the American, Canopo walked in short, brisk steps, keeping his eyes to the ground as he thought about the upcoming meeting. Normally they met inside, where it was warm. Why would he pick this spot, possibly the coldest place in Volterra? He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and stuffed his bare hands back in his pockets, better than putting on his gloves. He turned left and started down the street which ran along the top of the wall. As he had dreaded, the wind blew even more strongly there. It tore up from the ruins after whipping trees in the distance, picking up speed through the stone columns of the Roman theater. To add to the chill