Return to Umbria David Wagner (english novels for students TXT) 📖

tourists: a jeweler, a fruit seller, a pharmacy, a shoe store, a salumaio, a women’s clothing shop, a bank. The only one that caused the two men to stop was the salumaio, its window filled with cheeses, fresh pasta, and other delectables. For a moment, thanks to a basket of porcini mushrooms, Rick’s mind shifted from the murder case to dinner. LoGuercio’s voice pulled it back.

“Her office should be a couple doors away. On the other side.”

As with every real estate office in Italy, this one’s window was covered with framed pictures of properties for rent or sale. Basic information such as price, square footage, and location appeared underneath the photos. An elderly man standing on the street reading the notices looked at Rick and LoGuercio as the two reached the doorway. The policeman reluctantly stubbed out his cigarette and they entered the office.

The room was the size of Professor Tansillo’s balcony. It had two desks, one occupied by a woman working the mouse on a PC and peering intently at the screen through half glasses. She looked up when she heard the door open and assessed the two who came through the door. Rick watched her face and could almost hear her mind working. Are these men possible clients or are they bringing a problem? She rose from her chair.

“How can I help you?” She took off the glasses and they hung by a thin gold chain over the front of her striped silk blouse.

“Signora Cappello?”

“Yes?”

The police identification card came out. “I’m Inspector LoGuercio and this is Signor Montoya. We’d like to ask you a few questions if you have the time?”

She motioned to the two chairs in front of her desk. “Of course, Inspector, please sit down. What is this about?”

They settled into the chairs, a modern metal and leather design which fit in with the rest of the décor. “You may have read the news of the murder that took place last night.”

She shuddered. “Yes, of course, the American woman. I talked about it this morning with my assistant.” She waved a hand at the empty desk. “I didn’t see the newspaper but she told me about it. It’s terrible to say, but we were wondering if it could have a negative effect on business. We rent apartments and villas to Americans all the time, and—”

“Was this woman’s villa one of your rentals, Signora?”

“No, no. I . . but I didn’t know she was staying at a villa. Is that why you’re here? You thought she had rented from my company?”

LoGuercio didn’t answer immediately, instead pulled the notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. “No, we didn’t, Signora Cappello.” He uncapped his pen and glanced at Rick who took the hint.

“Signora,” Rick began, “we think you may have known the victim.”

“I don’t think so, my assistant said the name in the—” She stopped when Rick held up a hand.

“The name in the paper was Van Fleet, but when she lived here many years ago, before she married, it was Rhonda Davis.”

The reaction was immediate. She gasped, and one hand went to her mouth while the other gripped the arm of the chair. Had to be genuine, Rick concluded, unless she was very good at acting. She took several short breaths before being able to speak.

“I can’t believe it. Rhonda was here in Orvieto? I didn’t know she was coming.”

“Had you two kept in touch?”

She stared at the desk before realizing that she’d been asked a question, then looked at Rick and shook her head. “No. Not for a long time. The first few years, after she went back to America, there were letters back and forth, but after that we lost contact. Was she still living in Arizona?”

“Yes, she was. Would she have been trying to find you?”

She held her palms up and shrugged. “She could have. But I believe I’d written to her about taking a job in Milan, and after that we lost touch. I spent twenty years working in a bank there before I returned to Orvieto to run this business. She must have assumed I was still in Milan.” She was struggling to maintain her composure, but her hands trembled.

“Would she have been searching for someone else?” LoGuercio asked.

“Inspector, you don’t think someone she knew back then could have done this, do you?”

“We’re just trying to find out as much as we can about the woman,” LoGuercio answered. “Who else from that time could she have wanted to see again?”

Her eyes closed in thought. “Professor Tansillo, of course. He ran the program back then. A kind man, but more of a scholar than an administrator.”

“We talked to him. He gave us your name.”

“I see. The only other person I recall from those days was Amadeo. Amadeo Crivelli. He was the pottery instructor. Did Professor Tansillo mention him?”

“He did,” said Rick. “Is there anyone else you can think of?”

She shook her head while trying to remember. “I don’t think so. It wasn’t a large program, and most of the instructors were professors who came over for a semester or two from Arizona. Amadeo was one of the few Italians.”

“And your position in the program?”

“I had just come back from nursing my sick grandmother outside Milan and had gotten a job at the tourist office. The office was glad to let me work part time for the program, helping the American students find their way around the city, learn the sites, and generally get acclimated. My English was good and most of them had little Italian, so whenever they had some question about Orvieto, they came to me. It was before I went off to the university myself, so we were about the same age. I made some good friendships.” The thought brought her hand back to her mouth. “Rhonda was one of them.”

“What can you tell us about Signora Van Fleet when she was a student here?” asked LoGuercio, his voice calm, almost soothing.

A hint of a smile showed on Bianca Cappello’s face. “Rhonda