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

water in the small metal sink and began rinsing out the cups that were stacked there. “I am the wrong person to ask, Signor Montoya. As you know, I am a candidate for mayor, so I don’t want to alienate any voters by giving their names to the police.”

Rick could spot a clever answer when he heard one. Any attempt to assure her that whatever she said would be held in confidence was laughable in a town this size. Apparently Luca thought the same; there was no more talk of the murder as they finished their coffee. Rick insisted on paying and Luca did not protest. As she handed him his change, Mitzi thanked them and said: “If you’re planning to talk to my husband again, you won’t find him at the hotel today. He’s in Pinzolo at the Hotel Miramonte. He owns it too.”

Luca thanked her and glanced at Rick who was staring at the rows of cakes behind the glass. “Do you want to get something for your afternoon snack, Riccardo?”

“No, no, Luca. I was just…” He looked up at Mitzi’s wooden smile. “Thank you, Signora. We will get some of your famous cookies on a future visit.”

“Don’t wait too long in the day, Signor Montoya, they sell out early.”

He thanked her for the advice and they went from the enveloping warmth of the bakery to the crisp air of the street, buttoning their coats and adjusting their hats as they stood on the sidewalk.

“So, Riccardo, it appears that Signor Muller is in Pinzolo. Would you like to join me there this afternoon? You can talk to him about his car while I go to the mechanic to check on Melograno’s car.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Luca. I promised Cat I would take her skiing. But I promise to go see Muller this evening. And that way it won’t appear connected to the investigation; I can show up at his hotel because I’m interested in his Jeep, and that’s all.”

“That’s true. It won’t be as contrived.”

They checked the traffic in both directions, like school kids, before crossing the street to Bruno’s store. According to the hours posted on the door, it had just opened, but there was one customer there already, a man trying on ski boots. He was being fitted by a woman who watched as the man clomped around the rug. Bruno stood at the cash register watching, but looked up when Rick and Luca came through the door. His expression stiffened, but quickly took on a rigid smile accompanied by a nod to Rick. If he’d wanted to hide, there was nowhere to go. He came out from behind the counter and shook hands with Rick. Luca had wandered to the sale table where he had previously found his beloved hat.

“Salve, Bruno.”

“Ciao, Riccardo, come stai?”

“I’m well, thanks. I need some gloves.”

Bauer looked relieved. “For skiing?”

“No, just a warm pair for walking around town. Maybe lined leather.”

“Of course. I have—” He watched Luca fingering items on the sale table next to the shelf where gloves were on display.

“That’s my friend Luca Albani,” said Rick. “You sold him that hat a few days ago.”

“Yes, of course. We sell a lot of hats, but I remember him. The policeman, correct?” He rubbed his goatee with the back of his hand.

“That’s right, up from Trento investigating Cam Taylor’s death.”

The whole hand now massaged the goatee. “And Caterina, she is doing better after the tragedy? She seemed to be recovering when I saw her with you in the bar.”

“She’s coming along. I didn’t know that you and Gina were seeing each other.”

“You know Gina?”

“She didn’t mention to you that we’d met?”

“Perhaps she did. Let me show you some gloves.”

Bruno led the way to the gloves section where Luca was waiting with a pleasant smile and an outstretched hand. “Signor Bauer, I must thank you again for this hat. It is both warm and stylish.” Bruno shook his hand and mumbled a response. “But please don’t let me keep you from showing Riccardo some gloves. He’s been walking around for days with his hands in his pockets.”

It didn’t take Rick long to find a pair in a color that somewhat matched the stained patina of his leather jacket. Bruno had moved behind the counter, snipping off the price tag, when Luca approached. “You’re open every day in the winter, Signor Bauer?”

“Except for Monday mornings, Inspector. The ski season is when we make most of our money.”

“I can understand that. You must take in considerably more outfitting skiers in the winter than hikers in the summer. And you are here all the time?”

“Most of the time.” He handed the gloves to Rick. “I take an occasional break to ski, but I usually put in a ten-hour day.”

“Weekends too? For example, last Saturday?”

Bauer took a deep breath, as if trying to remember. “The days tend to run together when you work all of them.”

“I’m sure they do. That was the day Signor Taylor disappeared.”

He tried to make his shrug appear casual. “I think I came in at the usual time, about nine, and was here until we closed. I left in the late afternoon for a while since I hadn’t had lunch.”

Rick silently watched the exchange, noting how Luca had shifted smoothly from innocent inquiries into what could only be described as an informal interrogation. Bauer knew what was going on, but seemed determined not to acknowledge it.

“A sandwich at a bar?”

“No, I went home. It is just a few blocks from here.”

“Did you see Signor Taylor that morning, by any chance? He lived just across the street.”

“No, I never saw him mornings.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Again Bauer paused to think. “It must have been when he came in last week with his sister to rent her skis. I don’t remember what day it was, but I can look it up if you wish.”

“Don’t bother, we can ask Signora Taylor.” Luca looked around the store, which remained empty except for the