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

was looking forward to spending some time alone with Betta, but decided courtesy required that he accept. Also, there could be a way to find out why Morgante was going into Bianca Capello’s office.

The walk back from the police station took Rick along the side of the cathedral into the square in front of it. The last rays of the afternoon sun lit the top tier of the facade, and he couldn’t help stopping to admire it. He recalled the Sandia Peak east of Albuquerque, where the angle of the sun was constantly changing the hues and patterns viewed from below. It was the same way with the shapes and colors on Orvieto’s cathedral.

Rick was walking the final meters to the hotel when a short man leaning against the wall stubbed out a cigarette and came toward him. With long dirty hair and a rumpled suit, he looked vaguely familiar. He gave Rick a yellowed grin and extended his hand.

“Signor Montoya.”

“Yes,” said Rick, unable to avoid the handshake. “And who would you be?”

“Luciano Pazzi. I am a journalist. I expected that you would be staying in one of our best hotels, and inside they confirmed it. They also said you were out, so I decided to wait.”

Rick now remembered. Pazzi was the man in the police station talking with Morgante when he’d come out of LoGuercio’s office. He was the man everyone knew and disliked, and just from looking at him Rick could understand the dislike. Had LoGuercio given the journalist his name? He doubted it, but Pazzi looked like the kind of reporter who would have other contacts inside the police who would tell him what he needed.

“Why would you want to see me, Signor Pazzi?”

The smile returned. “It is my understanding, Signor Montoya, that you are assisting in the investigation of the murder of the American woman. As an American, you will, I’m certain, understand the importance of the press in finding out the truth. The public has a right to know. I have some questions about the crime and the police’s response to it. If you would be so kind.”

Rick looked down at the man, unsure whether it was the hair or face that was more in need of soap. “Your concern for the public is admirable, Signor Pazzi, but I don’t think I can be of any assistance. I know little of the investigation, and even if I did, the inspector would not be pleased if I shared it with the press. And my main concern at this moment is seeing all that Orvieto has to offer.”

“There is more to this city than the churches and museums, Signor Montoya. Once you scratch below the surface you can find the most curious activities. You wouldn’t believe what goes on in this town.”

“That is your specialty, Signor Pazzi?”

“I suppose one could say that.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a frayed card. “If you change your mind, please call me. I could make it worth your while.”

He gave the card to Rick, turned, and walked toward the cathedral. Rick watched him go, then mounted the steps of the hotel, went through the door, and walked across the lobby to the reception desk. He was deciding whether to ring the bell or just go back and pick up his key himself when he heard Betta’s voice.

“I’m in here, Rick.”

He waved and went in her direction. “Ciao, bella.”

The sitting room across from the desk was cozy, furnished with soft chairs arranged to seat several small conversation groups each with a floor lamp covered by a chintz shade. Betta sat at the far end, the same paperback book she’d been reading open on her lap. Rick walked past a foreign couple who eyed him with bewildered looks. From their dress and hairstyles Rick concluded they were British.

He leaned down and kissed Betta on the cheek before collapsing onto the sofa next to her. “Those people over there are confused. A guy walks in wearing cowboy boots and starts talking Italian with a beautiful young woman who calls him Rick, clearly not an Italian name. They’ll spend the rest of the evening trying to figure it out.”

Betta glanced at the couple and back at Rick. “How did it go with the woman? Did she confess to the murder?”

Rick sighed. “I’m afraid not. It was a bit of a waste of time since she really wanted to ask me what was happening in the investigation more than give information herself.”

“She wanted to know if you are getting close to finding out that she was the one who did it. Surely you could see that. Did she try to work her charms on you?”

“Hardly,” he said. “It was a waste of time.” He pointed his finger toward the hotel entrance. “But just now, in front of the hotel, I had a curious encounter with a journalist. He was in the police station this morning and LoGuercio warned me that he can’t be trusted. After a quick exchange with the man, I’d agree.” He tried to come up with a good Italian equivalent to “sleazy,” but all he could think of was squallido, which didn’t do justice to Pazzi.

“How did he find you?”

“I suspect someone in the station leaked my name.”

“He is probing into the murder investigation?”

“Exactly. Needless to say, I didn’t bite. But I should be asking how your afternoon went.”

“Me? Nothing of great interest. Did some shopping but didn’t buy anything except a postcard. That’s all.”

Rick looked into her green eyes. It was six months ago that they’d met in her native Bassano, and a few months since she’d moved to Rome to join the art squad at the ministry. He’d helped her find an apartment, shown her the city, spent evenings and weekends with her, shared countless meals. He’d come to know her better than any woman in his life other than his mother and sister. So he was quite sure that she now had something to tell him and