Death in the Dolomites David Wagner (each kindness read aloud .TXT) 📖

hope you’re not planning on skiing in that suit,” said Rick, as Flavio poured him some red wine.

The man smiled, but his face was anything but carefree. “Unfortunately, my new American friend, I am here on business. And I have never worn skis in my life. Is that how you say it, Flavio, ‘wear skis’?”

“Close enough.”

Rick remembered his guessing game. “And what business brings you to Campiglio?”

“An unfortunate situation. A visitor to the town has been reported missing. Because the sub-station here is small, I have been sent to investigate.” He noticed Rick’s perplexed look. “You see, Riccardo, I am a policeman.” The smile returned.

So much for guessing professions, thought Rick. He would not mention this to Uncle Piero.

“Luca is fighting a losing battle against crime in the region,” said Flavio before taking a drink of his wine. “Despite his efforts we will eventually be overrun with criminal elements like the rest of Italy.”

It was classic Flavio. Rick looked at the policeman and noted his grin. “You appear to know Flavio as well as I do, Luca. At the university he was known as Glass Half-Empty Flavio.” This got a smile even from Flavio. “But you are not from Trento,” Rick continued. “You sound more Roman. How long have you been up here in the north?”

The answer was delayed by the arrival of their primi, three dishes of fresh pasta in a creamy mushroom sauce, just as Rick had pictured it all morning. They passed the cheese bowl, wished each other buon appetito, picked up their forks, and began to eat. After a few bites Luca replied.

“It has been, let’s see, a little more than two years, hasn’t it, Flavio?” Flavio nodded as he ate. “Flavio and I remember it well, Riccardo, since my first case when I arrived in Trento involved the accountant in Flavio’s wine export business who was embezzling funds. I hope you don’t mind me mentioning that, Flavio.” Flavio shrugged and continued working on his fettuccine. “It has been a fascinating two years,” the policeman said. “There is so much to see up here, so much to learn.” Rick noticed Flavio rolling his eyes. “But tell me about how you two met, it must be an interesting story. Flavio told me it was at the university in America?”

Rick sprinkled more cheese on his fettuccine. “It was. Our friend here came to my university on a skiing scholarship, and our paths crossed. When he found out my mother was Italian and I spoke the language, I couldn’t get rid of him. His English, I’m sorry to say, was atrocious.”

“Was not,” mumbled Flavio through a mouthful of pasta.

Rick continued as if Flavio had said nothing. “Since I was studying languages, I was able to help him. And he managed eventually to get his business degree. Though a lot of good it did him if now he goes around hiring embezzlers to work in his company.”

“This is a wonderful story.” Luca beamed. “I must hear all the details of your studies in America. I am fascinated by other cultures.”

Flavio pushed back his empty dish. “Luca is fascinated with everything, Rick. Sometimes it makes me tired to be around him.”

Luca grinned. It was the default facial feature of the man. “Flavio told me your uncle is a policeman in Rome. Perhaps I would know him?”

“Commissario Piero Fontana.”

“Commissario Fontana, of course. One of our best detectives. He sometimes teaches at the academy. And have you ever thought about entering the profession, Rick?”

“Funny you should say that.” Rick took a piece of crusty bread from the basket on the table. “My uncle has asked me that question more than once. But I have a translation business which is now well established in Rome, so I’m satisfied with my present work. And my mother would not be pleased if I became involved in criminal activity, even if it were on the correct side of the law.”

The waitress appeared and removed their empty plates. Flavio wordlessly pointed to the empty wine bottle and she nodded before heading into the kitchen.

The policeman’s face turned pensive. “You know, Rick, you being a translator, and American, perhaps you could be of some help to me in this case.” Puzzled looks spread over both Rick and Flavio’s faces. “But without getting you in trouble with your mother.”

Rick took a sip of the wine. “Tell me more.”

Luca brushed some crumbs from his suit jacket and checked to be sure that no mushroom sauce had dropped on his tie. “Well, the person who has gone missing is one of your compatriots, a man named Cameron Taylor who works for an American bank in Milan. He is here on holiday with his sister who is visiting from America. It was she who reported him missing, and I am going to talk with her this afternoon. I studied English at the liceo, but…”

“I understand,” said Rick. “Of course, if I can be of assistance, it would be my pleasure.”

“What about our skiing in the afternoon?” asked Flavio. “I don’t want to ski by myself.”

“Caro Flavio,” answered Rick patiently, “first of all, I spent the morning watching you ski out of sight as I made my way leisurely down the mountain. Second, the only times I caught up with you were when you stopped to chat with people you knew, which was often. So I doubt if you will be lonely out there. And finally, it is my civic duty to help our police.”

“I liked the last part,” said Luca. “And spoken by an American, yet.”

“He’s got dual citizenship, Luca. Italian mother.”

The waitress arrived with another bottle of the wine and showed the label to Flavio. “I think,” he said to his tablemates, “that perhaps we should switch from this Casteller, which was perfect with the cream sauce, to something more substantial to go with our cutlets. Do you agree?”

“Whatever you say, Flavio,” said Luca.

“You’re the wine guy,” Rick added.

“Fine.” Flavio turned to the waitress. “I think Giulio has a few bottles of