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

Rick turned his eyes from the stone to his host. Landi had an expectant smile on his face, spoiled somewhat by the row of yellow teeth. No doubt he was hoping for at least a pro forma compliment about the merchandise, or perhaps something about a firm sales order. But instead Rick went to a new topic. It was time.

“Signor Landi, your mention of ancient art brings up something else of interest to me. While these pieces could be appropriate for our normal customers, we also have very affluent collectors in our city who are, might I say, looking for something exceptional, even extraordinary. They see a beautiful work of art in a museum and want to own such genuine art themselves. When they purchase rare works they often keep them locked away in a private room, for safety and for the joy of owning something unique. If you know of any items like that on the local market, my associates in America could be interested. Obviously the gallery would show our appreciation to you if we were pointed in the right direction.”

Landi’s face went serious as he took in Rick’s words. Did he get the message? And if he did, was he the right person to do anything about it? Rick was beginning to doubt it when the man began to nod slowly.

“I think I may know someone who could be of help. Let me make a phone call when I get back to the store.” He was smiling again as he turned to the men who sat near where they stood. “Dino, our thanks, we will let you get back to work.” The foreman nodded sullenly and got up, followed by the other craftsmen who put out their cigarettes and shuffled to their tables. The air, which was now almost clear, would soon be filled with dust again.

Back in the street, Landi brushed off his clothes with rough slaps. “No matter how careful I am when I go in there, I always come out covered. I don’t understand how the men stand it. At least Malandro, who you met there, will start to get a break from the shop. I haven’t told him yet, but he will likely be replacing Canopo, splitting his time between the store and the workshop.”

He’s going to have to clean up quite a bit before he’s put out in front of the tourists, Rick thought. At that moment his cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his coat pocket. Not a number he recognized, but a local one. He looked at Landi.

“Please take your call, Signor Montoya, I really should be getting back to the store anyway.”

They shook hands and Landi stepped quickly down the street.

“Montoya.”

“Signor Montoya, this is Commissario Conti. I need to see you right away. Are you close to my office?”

Chapter Six

Rick’s first entry into the back of the building went without a hitch. He didn’t even have to show an identification before being waved past the policeman. Conti was so anxious to get Rick to his office quickly that he must have alerted security. As Rick stopped to get his bearings, a man who had entered the building just behind him brushed past and hurried down a corridor. Unlike the others milling around inside the entrance, the man did not have a uniform. Rick found the stairway that took him up to Conti’s floor.

“Signor Montoya, thank you for getting here so quickly.” Conti had come to his feet when Rick entered, and now shook his hand before motioning him to the chair in front of the desk and sitting back down. The smile today seemed more genuine. Was the policeman more accepting of Rick’s assignment? Would that be the reason for the call? He settled into the same chair as the previous evening, noticing that the seat was just as hard, and looked at Conti.

“Of course, Commissario. Has something come up regarding my activities here in Volterra?”

“No, not directly. I am in need of your help on another matter, one that you are aware of because of your…” He searched for the right words. “Your connection with the subject of my investigation. I am referring to the Canopo case.”

“But Commissario, I already told you everything yesterday. Certainly there could not—”

Conti held up his hands. “No, no, I fear I have not made myself clear. Your involvement in the…the accident, is not in question. What I need is your professional assistance.”

Rick shifted in the chair, wishing it had some kind of cushion. “I don’t understand.”

“Signor Montoya, there were two American tourists who witnessed Canopo’s plunge from the wall. When they returned to their hotel they told their hotel manager about it, and he, fortunately, called us. When I did a check on you yesterday, purely routine, of course, I found that you are a professional translator. Alas, my English is almost non-existent, so I thought that—”

“Of course, I would be pleased to be of assistance.” Rick smiled.

Conti returned the smile, which this time did not seem forced. “There is something else that I found out about you, Signor Montoya.”

Now what?

“You did not mention to me that your uncle is quite a high-level policeman in Rome. Most Italians would have immediately brought up such a family connection when finding themselves in a difficult situation with law enforcement authorities, as you had yesterday. It is obvious to me now that you are American, or mostly American.”

Perhaps Conti had a point; it had never entered Rick’s mind to mention Uncle Piero. He made a mental note: Montoya, next time you’re a suspect in an Italian murder investigation, act more Italian. “It didn’t seem relevant, Commissario.”

“Of course it didn’t.” Conti actually chuckled as he rose from his desk, a first in Rick’s presence. “I believe they are in the waiting room, but please stay seated. I think I have enough English at least to greet them and bring them here.” He motioned to the other end of the