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

get the phone call out of his head. The visit by that policeman was not something he needed in his life at this point. If his boss found out that the cops were talking with him, he might ask even more difficult questions than the inspector had. He couldn’t afford to lose the job now—it paid well and he was just getting to enjoy it. And now this call. Come in, we need to talk with you again. Jesus, what did that mean? Did they really consider him a suspect in this murder? His hand got clammy on the steering wheel at the thought. How could the cops think that?

He rounded a curve, the beams of his headlights brushing the trees on the other side of the road. Still he hadn’t passed another vehicle. He thought about turning on the radio to his favorite station, but stared at the road instead.

Calm down. Concentrate on what you’re going to do tonight.

Five minutes later his breathing steadied, and he pressed the radio button. The silence of the night was broken as the speakers behind him pounded a beat that was matched in violence by the rap lyrics.

***

Betta took off her reading glasses and put the book in her lap. Dressed in a loose fitting tee-shirt and light sweat pants, her preferred sleepwear, she adjusted the pillows between her back and the headboard of the bed. She sat cross-legged, the red toenails of her bare feet matching what was left of the day’s lipstick. Rick sat at the room’s small table, clicking away at his laptop. He too was barefoot, wearing jeans and a red tee-shirt emblazoned with a picture of Louie Lobo.

“Rick, you’ve barely said a word since dinner. Are you still angry with me?”

He looked up from the screen and his eyes went immediately to her forehead. “I’m trying not to be, but it will be difficult to forget what happened until your bruise heals.”

He was trying, but the sting of betrayal was still there. Betrayal may be too strong a word, he thought, but trust was key to a relationship. He could not help wondering if trust had been lost when she decided not to tell him about Carlo contacting her. Would he have done the same thing in her shoes? Impossible to say; he wasn’t an Italian woman. What bothered him was the thought that she might be keeping other things from him. Or would in the future. He tucked away his doubts and brought himself back to the murder.

“Betta, I keep thinking that nothing is happening in the case, and we’re going back to Rome tomorrow afternoon.”

“And you want to be in on it when Paolo catches the murderer.”

“Of course.”

“You want to be a successful police detective without being a policeman.”

Rick shrugged. “Why not? It’s worked before.” He turned the chair, stretched his legs so that his feet rested at the bottom of the bed, close to hers. “I thought women only did their toenails in the summer, when they wore sandals. Are you going to paint yours all winter?”

Before she could answer, his cell phone rang. He looked at the number. “This should bring some good news. I hope.” He hit the button. “Fabrizio?”

“Yes, Riccardo, it’s me.”

“No more break-ins, I hope?”

“I’m not sure.”

Rick closed his eyes tightly and opened them. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I got back to the apartment, thinking Tullia was going to come over, since she said she would. When I got upstairs I found a note from her.”

“She has a key to the place?”

“Of course, she’s paying the rent.”

Rick glanced at Betta, who was able hear both sides of the conversation. “What did the note say?”

“That we shouldn’t see each other for a while.”

Rick gave Betta a thumbs-up, and she shrugged.

“Well, Fabrizio, if that’s what she wants—”

“But I don’t know if it is what she wants.”

“You’re not making sense, Cousin. You’re not sure if there was a break-in, and you’re not sure that what she wrote was what she meant?”

“No, no. What I’m not sure is whether she even wrote the note. It started “Dear Fabrizio,” and she’s never used that name with me. Since we met she’s always called me Fabi.”

“So you think—”

“She either didn’t write it, or was forced to write it and used that name to tell me that she was doing it against her will. I tried calling her cell phone but she doesn’t answer. Riccardo, I know where she lives, I’m going over there.”

“Don’t do that,” Rick said sharply. Then, in a more measured tone: “I don’t think you should do that, Fabrizio. Whether she wrote it of her own volition, or was forced to by her husband, she clearly needs time to work things out. You can’t interfere. Did you leave a message when you called?”

“Yes. To call me.”

“Then leave it at that.”

A few seconds passed until Fabrizio spoke. “I suppose you’re right. But if I don’t hear from her by tomorrow afternoon, Riccardo, I’m going over there.”

“We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Sleep on it, Fabrizio. Or should I say Fabi?”

After hanging up with his cousin, Rick leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I sense that Fabrizio was looking for an excuse not to act, and despite his bravado, he was pleased I was able to give it to him. My guess is that Vincenzo forced her to write the note, but it is just as possible that she didn’t need any more convincing to know she should end the affair.”

“From the look I saw on her face yesterday, she might have been convinced then and there.”

“So let’s hope Fabrizio will now pack up his computer and do his writing at home in Perugia. Which reminds me that I should check my laptop e-mails.”

He took his feet off the bed, tucked them under the table, and brought the computer back to life. She watched him for a few moments before retrieving her book and reading glasses. Silence returned to the room. Betta