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

into the garage, pulling his coat collar around him, thankful for his warm hat. “Can I use your phone?” he called to the mechanic. The man pointed at a battered telephone in a niche near the door, and returned to his wires. As he dialed, Luca noticed that the woman in the office was still staring at her computer. The call was answered after three rings.

“Agenzia Immobiliare Melograno, how can I help you?”

The young voice sounded vaguely familiar. “This is Inspector Albani. I’d like to speak to Signor Melograno.”

“Yes, Inspector, this is Alberto Zoff. I’m afraid he is not in the office at the moment.”

Luca remembered that Zoff had tried to be very helpful when questioned about his boss’ movements for Saturday, though it hadn’t aided the investigation very much. “Is he expected back soon?”

“I think so, sir, but I can’t be sure. Things have become very busy in the last few days. Signor Melograno is moving ahead quickly to get verbal commitments for the purchase of apartments in the new building. He’s meeting with some possible buyers this afternoon.”

“Are you referring to the project for the lot north of the city?”

“That’s right, Inspector. And one of the prime apartments, which he had been holding back, is now for sale again.”

“Perhaps I might be in the market.”

“Really, Inspector?”

“No, Zoff, I was making the piccolo scherzo. I’m sure those apartments are outside of a policeman’s financial reach.” At least an honest policeman, he thought. Perhaps Zoff was thinking the same thing.

“Well, sir, if you know anyone in Trento who might be interested, you can have them contact me. Should I have Signor Melograno call you when he gets in?”

“No, I’ll just drop in later.” He glanced at the Mercedes. “By the way, Zoff, he told me that his car was in for repairs. How is he getting around?”

“Mostly he walks, Inspector, but I saw him driving a red vehicle.”

“He rented a car?”

“I doubt it, sir. More likely is that someone lent it to him. There are many people in this town who owe Signor Melograno favors.”

***

Rick exchanged greetings with the Smiths and Bruno before turning to Cat. “Sorry, but I have to get into town right away, something’s come up.”

“In the investigation, Rick? Was that the inspector on the phone?”

He looked around and saw that everyone had heard and were looking at him, awaiting an answer. “Let’s just say there may be a break, Cat. Flavio, can you see that the ladies get another couple good runs before the end of the day?”

“Of course, Rick. Nothing would give me more pleasure.”

“John and I will chaperone them, Rick,” said Mary Smith, getting a laugh from all the others except Bauer.

Rick assumed that Bruno’s English was not fluent enough to follow most of the exchange, but apparently he’d understood enough. “Riccardo,” he said in Italian, “if you are in a hurry, why don’t I go down with you? I really must get back to my store and I know a shortcut we can use.”

“That would be great, Bruno.” They said their good-byes and the group watched as the two skiers gained speed and disappeared over a rise.

“Rick is a very good skier,” Lori said. “I’ve been working so hard to stay on my feet that I hadn’t really watched him ski.”

“He has come a long way,” Flavio said. “You should have seen him before I began helping him out.”

John Smith tapped his glove against his chest. “Perhaps you could give me a few pointers, Flavio.”

“Well, John, let me look at your technique on the way down.” He looked at the captain’s skis. “You certainly have good equipment, so that should help.”

“Only the best from Bruno’s shop. I love these skis.”

Flavio pushed himself closer and checked them out. Suddenly he pulled down his goggles and adjusted the straps on his poles. “Please excuse me, Lori. John, if you would take care of the ladies, I must go.”

Flavio ducked his head and began speeding down the slope.

***

The trail was one Rick had used a few times over the past days to get back to the base of the mountain, at least initially. When the terrain changed from wind-blown openness to forest, Bruno, who had been ahead since they’d left the group, veered to the right, a cloud of snow shooting from the back of his skis. He looked back, waving his ski pole to be sure Rick made the turn. This was the shortcut, marked by a wooded barrier and a sign, which Bruno had deftly skied around. Rick didn’t bother reading the sign; he swooshed past it, keeping his eyes on Bruno.

Rick was impressed by the man’s skill, but knew from Flavio that all children born in Campiglio had skis put on their feet as soon as they learned to walk. They were taught the languid style that he’d noticed the first time skiing with Flavio north of Santa Fe. It was a more fluid and elegant way of skiing than he’d seen with Americans. Even on snow, the importance of bella figura came through.

Dark clouds had slipped over them from the west, and a few flakes of snow showed up against the backdrop of the evergreen trees. They were now on a narrower and somewhat steeper track, so that Rick had to concentrate to avoid going into the trees while still keeping up with Bruno. The section had not been groomed, making it even trickier. As he made his turns he could see a fork in the trail about a hundred meters ahead. At the split he could just make out what looked to be a cliff, but the snow, now helped by wind, blurred his vision. He guessed they would be taking the left fork, the one his bearings told him would be a direct route to Campiglio. They were most of the way to the fork when Bruno swerved to a halt. Rick barely missed him as he skied by and stopped in the middle of the fork. Below him, after