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

“I wasn’t sure the man would even show. And simply meeting him didn’t seem to be an issue. It was just like my meetings with Landi and the others, but maybe fruitful as well. We’ll have to see.”

“You have the phone number?” Conti did not seem upset.

“No, Commissario, he called me at the hotel.”

Conti made a terse phone call to one of his sergeants while Rick waited. “He will call the hotel to get the number, and then check it. Now, you said you called the ministry. Their reaction?”

“Beppo was pleased, understandably since this whole scheme was his idea. He’ll be ready to come to Volterra as soon as there is something more concrete, which would be when I actually see something for sale.”

Conti leaned back in his chair, causing a high-pitched squeak. He didn’t notice the sound, which had become a part of his office like the furniture and the smell of disinfectant. “It would be wise for your friend not to pack his bags yet, Signor Montoya. There are at least three possibilities here.” He held up a thumb, Italian style, beginning the count. “The first, and the one we all wish for, of course, is that you have indeed drawn out the very person the ministry has been hoping to catch.”

From Conti’s tone, Rick doubted if the man truly wished that outcome. The policeman’s skepticism was still evident in his voice and face.

The index finger was added to the thumb of his still upraised hand. “But another is that Santo is simply a legitimate dealer with a penchant for secrecy.” Finally the middle finger joined the others, and Conti turned his wrist slowly in the air. “The third is that Santo, if that is really his name, is trying to sell you fakes.”

“I will only know that once he has shown me the merchandise.”

“Will you?” Conti’s eyes searched Rick’s face.

“You’re correct, of course, Beppo will have to make the final call on authenticity.”

“Or we can save him the trip and have it checked by Dr. Zerbino.” He waved his hand. “But we are getting well ahead of things, are we not? We must first see if this man reappears, laden with ancient artifacts for our foreign buyer.”

Only Rick’s respect for his uncle’s profession kept him from reacting to Conti’s sarcasm. Instead he asked, “Commissario, what do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know, Signor Montoya, but if you get another call, I hope you will let me know immediately.”

At that moment a policeman entered after making a soft tap on the door.

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“The call was made from a public telephone in San Gimignano.”

Conti turned to Rick. “Well, Signor Montoya, it appears that your friend Santo may be from the lovely city of towers. And he either can’t afford a cell phone or is more secretive than we might have thought.”

***

LoGuercio stood rigidly in front of Conti’s desk, his suit jacket respectfully buttoned. He started to fold his arms over his chest, but immediately realized that it was a gesture which could be taken as confrontational. Instead he let his arms hang, clasping his hands in front.

“Sir, DeMarzo was in a bind when he saw Montoya talking with the other man. He couldn’t tail both of them. His instructions had been to stay with the American for his safety, so that’s what he did.” He paused. “I told him he did the right thing.”

Conti exhaled a deep sigh and nodded. “Yes, I suppose he did. If Montoya had told me about the call I could have had someone else there, so we will blame the American. Did DeMarzo get a good look at the man?” LoGuercio relayed the description, which was the same as what Montoya had given Conti.

“Well, Detective, it appears that there may be another contact soon by this Santo, so you should have another man on call ready to back up you and DeMarzo. That is, if Montoya remembers to let us know this time.”

***

The small table in Rick’s room was there for female guests to put on their makeup, but his small lap-top fit perfectly. And the chair, while not heavily cushioned, was comfortable enough. With a bit of evening translation work in mind, he had taken a relatively light meal in the hotel dining room, even passing on wine. Rather than a pasta, he ordered the acquacotta, which, as its name—cooked water—indicated, was a light soup with some vegetables added. For secondo it had been half a grilled chicken, its crisp skin carrying just the right amount of pepper. After such a repast he deserved something for dessert, a course he usually skipped, but still he stayed with the light fare and ordered macedonia di frutta. Nothing cleared the palate, even a lightly seasoned one, like a fruit salad, its competing textures and flavors pulled together by dash of sweet liqueur.

He just finished checking his email when the room phone rang. He hoped Erica would call, but wondered why she wasn’t using his telefonino. His was charged and lay next to his computer. He picked up the phone and heard a feminine voice, though not the one he expected.

“Ricky, this is Donatella.”

“Donatella, how nice of you to call.” He said it without thinking.

“And it’s good to hear your voice too. I just finished a meeting in town, and thought I’d see if you were free for a drink before I drive back to the villa.”

“I, uh, was just—”

“Only to talk business, of course. Erica won’t mind, not that she even needs to know.”

The woman is a mind reader, Rick thought. “It would be a pleasure. Where shall I meet you?”

“I’m here in the lobby. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

He kept her waiting less than five minutes. When he got off the elevator she was sitting in one of the lobby chairs leafing through a magazine. Her coat was open, revealing a long knit dress, its hem covering the tops of calf-length leather boots. Her hair was done up more formally than